falling leaves

This is my favorite weather. Cool, but not cold enough to need a jacket, the leaves turning, but flowers still in bloom. The dogs always get longer walks this time of year—this and Spring, we just got back from one.
Gavin was with me for the past twenty-four hours. It’s amazing how much it takes out of me, having to be on ‘on’ all the time. Parents are astounding—good ones, anyway. It’s also amazing how much I love being with him, how he really is the only thing/person I have found that makes the constant hurt go away. The knowledge of it is there, in the back of my mind/heart, but not able to control me as much. However, once he’s gone, it rushes back with a torrent. I made a mistake, but I knew I was making it. We were both so tired; I turned on the cooking network and we lay down on the couch and slept for two hours. We woke up at three when my folks arrived to take their ‘shift’ with him. I knew it was dangerous to take a nap, naps always are for me—I told myself to get things done while he was sleeping, but how do you pass up the chance to sleep with a warm, cuddly ball of perfection nestled on your chest? All too soon, he will be too big to hold, too old to cuddle. Know the moment you live in and devour it. To hell with the consequences. I grabbed every moment I had with HWMNBN because I knew what I had at the time, and it was worth the continuing aftermath. A small thing, but I knew the depression that would follow after the nap, but that moment with him is worth it.
I have to go to one of my best friend’s birthday’s tonight. I’ve been wanting to, been looking forward to it. He’s one of my friends I love most, and I’ve had a crush on him for awhile (one that I keep under control) (not sure what that has to do with anything), and I want to be there for him, help celebrate his birthday. However, I’m having one of those days where I really just want to turn to my hibernating ways. Wrap in the warmth and noisy anonymity of the coffee shop and loose myself in writing, or stay at home and take another long walk with the dogs while listening to my new Carpathian vampire novel (which makes me cry and feel safe at the same time), or maybe go paint more pottery with my ears pulled into my iPod. I want to see him and the group of friends that will be there. All my best guy friends will be there (save two), but it is going to take every once of strength I have to put on nice clothes, go to the restaurant, and face them. I remember when such things weren’t only the norm, but took no more effort than breathing. In fact, I was always a little upset when there wasn’t such an event to go to every weekend—if not more. Who was that boy? I liked him better.

It's beginning to look a lot like

I’ve decided I’m going to go ahead and make reservations for Seattle in the next couple days—when I have spare minute. Which may mean I will make reservations after I get back! I also made another decision, brought on by knowing that I will start Christmas shopping in Seattle. I’ve always put the tree up the day after Halloween. Except for last year. Halloween was painful and I simply couldn’t face living with a tree in the house when I felt so miserable. I think I will put the tree up the day I get back from Seattle. I’ll have presents to wrap, my bff gave me a new mermaid tree decoration that is sitting on my desk at home, and I need to live again. I’m nervous about putting it up. Nervous about what it will bring up within me and that it will highlight what is no more (the older I get, the more Christmas does that)—however, he’s with me all the time anyway, Christmas tree or not, I swear his ghost flooded the house last night, his absence screaming at me, his form and voice invading my dreams. Ass. You left me, leave me the fuck alone, quit haunting me. Wow, sorry didn’t mean to go there. Back on track—Hallmark also has five new Disney decorations I want—a new Little Mermaid (of course), and some from their new movies that aren’t documented on my tree yet.
So, three more weeks of work. Two days in Seattle—two days of comforting oblivion. Then Christmas tree. Man with a plan…

dirty hero

I am halfway to the weight I wanna be at for Halloween. Okay, not really, but I did get a hair cut yesterday. It’s amazing how that takes a good fifteen pounds off—at least until my shirt is removed. Damn it.
I was reading a story about Seth Stambaugh, as twenty-three year old graduate teaching student from Lewis and Clark (apparently, they founded a school on their explorations; Sacagawea was the headmistress.. Yes, she used a whip. Grrr…). He’s gay. Like me. He’s a elementary teacher. Like me. He’s got a stunning jaw line. Like me. Wait, I digress…
The other day (I don’t know how recently, so let’s just say last Thursday, why not? Better than on a Friday, that would just kill his weekend) one of his students asked him if he were married. Mr. Stambaugh responded by saying it wasn’t legal for him to marry. The kid then asked if he liked to hang out with guys. The teacher simply replied, ‘Yeah.’
The conversation ended there. (Story from Towleroad News)
Mr. Stambaugh is now barred from the district.
I couldn’t help but feel a spark of fear as I read this story (used to, I said, they could fire me, I didn’t care; however, in such a time when teachers are getting laid off right and left, getting fired could lead to me loosing my home). I also was pissed off by a few of the comments other gays had made on this story (not the majority by any means, but still)—saying he was inappropriate to discuss such things with his students. Uhm, he didn’t say that he was a PowerBottom or anything. (Yes, my dear breeders, those exist. Don’t think about it too long.) They went on to say that no teacher should talk about such things. Really? My straight teachers should never mention their husbands or children? I’ve told the kids about my dogs, what if I convert them from cat people into dog people? The world should be so lucky. Cats, ugh…
So far, when I’m asked this question, which is often—although, it surprises me how many assume I’m married and have kids—I often just make some stupid comment: my dogs take too much of my time, I eat too many burgers to have time to look for a relationship, I spend my time away from school sitting on my couch, wrapped in my blanket, lonely and crying. For some reason, the kids really love that last one. Cracks them up. Guess the truth is funny.
All my teachers know I’m gay. They all met, and really loved, HWMNBN. There are kids that say such horrible things about gay, yes in elementary school. Maybe seeing a teacher they love would at least make them think about their cruelty. There are several kids in the school I KNOW are gay. I want them to know. I would have killed to know about someone else like me when I was a kid. There are no words to explain how scary and lonely it was. How I hated myself. I often feel guilty that I may have kids that feel like I did, and here I sit, hidden from them. Leaving them in their own darkened corner, wrapped in a blanket, crying and lonely.
Mr. Stambaugh, I hope to be like you when I grow up.

plans

Getting ready to start another week. Just finished a long, long walk with the dogs. Gorgeous Fall weather. Didn’t take the iPod, thought it would be good to just be. Stupid idea since I just finished an hour and a half massage that made my mind go nuts. Too much time to think. And I wonder why I constantly keep myself busy. Ugh. However, while on the walk, I realized that Halloween happens to land on payday, which is over the weekend, so yay! Perfect!!! Looks like Seattle is more than likely gonna be a reality.
Part of me thinks I should go somewhere new. I’ve always, always wanted to see Boston in the Fall, and it’s gonna play a part in the fantasy series, so it would be nice to know what I’m talking about. New York. Sigh, I’m dying to return to New York City. However, you can’t do NYC on a low/no budget. Or at least I can’t. I don’t wanna go to NYC unless I can see at least, AT LEAST, two shows. Portland. One of the few cities in America that has full male strippers. Full. Trashy, yes. Sinful, probably. Cliché and passé, most definitely. So, what. However, for some reason, Seattle holds some aspect of peace for me, of safety and comfort. In a way that San Diego used to. I hope I can love SD again. However, we had serious plans to move there at some point. He was all for it. I can’t really see that city the way I used to. I miss it, but it’s not my city anymore. Seattle, however, feels like it. I can already taste that homemade cheese, those roasted pecans, Wild Ginger’s Noodle Bowl. Yeah. Gonna go to Seattle. Which means, I need to loose some weight. I know I won’t be anywhere near where I was when I was the satyr four or five years ago—wish I’d held onto that gorgeous body, but still, I need to trim down. If you’re gonna go to another city for Halloween, you need to be able to do it dressed somewhat slutty. Or a wholelotta, depending on how much weight I can actually shed. Still, a goal never hurts. What hurts is that Pumpkin Cookie Dough Blizzards are right around the corner!

someone else's words, my emotions

My love affair with Maroon 5 continues.
When this song first started, I thought I'd found my moving on anthem.
Not so much. It's rather annoying when someone else outside my head and write my own feelings better than myself.

I Can't Lie
Maroon 5
Hand All Over

I must have been a fool
To love you so hard for so long
So much stronger than before
But so much harder to move on
And now the bitter chill of the winter
Still blows through me like a plague
Only to wake up with an empty bed
On a perfect summer day

My world just feels so cold
And you find yourself walking down the wrong side of the road

I can't lie you're my mind stuck inside my head
I wanna feel your heart beat for me instead
I just die so much inside now that you're not there
I wanna feel your heart beat like yesterday

I never did my best to express how I really felt
And now that I know exactly what I want
(These two lines aren't accurate for me)
You found somebody else

My world just feels so cold
And you find yourself walking on the wrong side of the road

I can't lie on my mind stuck inside my head
I wanna feel your heart beat for me instead, yeah
I just die so much inside now that you're not there
I wanna feel your heart beat like yesterday

seattle babies

After twelve hours of sleep last night, I almost feel back to normal after OutDoorLab. I went to sleep at 9:30. On a Friday. (I couldn’t help think of HWMNBN and realize his night wasn’t going to even start for another two hours. No wonder he left.) If I can get one more night of similar, I may be back to normal. It’s ridiculous how one week in the mountains with a bunch of crazy children can wipe me out for so long.
Ever brilliant with my money, I am hoping that I can take enough massages to pay all my bills this month (what a concept) and have enough left over for a quick trip to Seattle for Halloween. I still can’t manage to go when there’s a chance to run into HWMNBN, and that night would be certain. I can’t make myself stay home on Halloween, and Gavin’s not old enough to take out trick-or-treating. Therefore, I need to get out of town. Even if it weren’t Halloween, I need to get the hell outta Dodge for a bit. ODL was great, but I need to be where I don’t know anyone or have the chance of running into anyone. Somewhere I feel at peace. Somewhere where I can shut my brain off, eat good food, be crazy on a Halloween night. We’ll see how my plan works out. I get to baby sit half of next weekend, which is wonderful, but also means I have to not earn massage money that weekend.
I got to baby sit a friend’s baby for nearly an hour the other night. We were headed back to his house when he got a dramatic phone call and had to talk forever. He sent me up to his apartment with his ten-month-old son, who is so sweet and cute. I’ve never really seen him misbehave. Having me and not his daddy scared him, as makes sense. He cried and cried and cried. We walked and bounced and walked. Cooed, sung, changed diapers, etc. Nothing worked. Finally, I sat down in the rocking chair, my back was killing me, and said, ‘tough kid, you’ll just have to cry,” and rocked and sang till he fell asleep. The poor kid did nothing wrong, he was just scared and missed his daddy. Still, I was ready to shake the little guy (not really, but I was very frustrated with him). Inside, I told myself, ‘I was wrong. I so don’t want a baby. This sucks.” Then, I took a few mental steps back and realized that I’d had Gavin at times where he just was upset and could not be consoled. Not once did I feel impatient with him or inconvenienced. I was just sad he was upset and it almost hurt me to have him crying. While I care about this other baby, very much. I don’t know how you couldn’t care for any baby, but I was surprised at myself that it made such a difference when it wasn’t Gavin. It highlighted how much I love Gavin and how much difference being family makes.

hidden dimes

Just like love (you keep paying for it long after it’s over), one of my stupid dating sites just won’t die. Sure enough, when I woke this morning, there was an email thanking me for continuing my $60 a month plan to find my soul mate. Lovely how I spent all the time canceling it last month before the trial period was over and it would auto-renew. I hopped out of bed and called the phone number (that was no where to be found BEFORE the trial period ended). I swear it was received by the answering machine of a seventeen year old who lives in his parent’s basement. No wonder that didn’t work… We’ll see how much of a battle I have to conjure in order to get the money back to pay part of a bill elsewhere. Can’t win for losin’. But, man, if you could—I’d have a gold medal.
Speaking of, the delightfully loved and adored Fire Chief, who was supposed to come rape and besmirch my gorgeous classroom two days ago, stood us up. (It seems my romantic life is now oozing into other areas. Even straight men screw me.) He has yet to call to apologize, reschedule, or send flowers. This means that my car will continue to be the hidden attic apparent for all of my illegal paraphernalia—indefinitely. My luck, he will come unbidden, park beside my car, use my window to check for stains on his lips (…) and notice the refuges hidden there. With a quick call to the Fuhrer, I will be teaching in a governmentally approved sterile concentration camp. Heil!

me, myself, I, and then me all over again

I’ve spoken of this before, but it always strikes me as funny how people have their own views of me—often that are very wrong. People that have known me, sometimes for years, and then see me in a different situation and have their mind blown. Sometimes, I find it funny, often though, I find it rather stupid—as if I’m allowed to only have one-dimension to my personality. It’s also rather funny that depending on how they know me, the flat views of my personality are so varied. Most common are those who simply know me from my online profiles/pictures, or have seen me out and about (the gym, around town, etc.). Apparently, in such areas, I am most often perceived as a cocky party boy. One who likes to drink and do drugs and pretty much thinks he’s the shit. From what I gather (from what people have said and from my own inspection of myself), this most likely comes from the tattoos, the every changing hair which frequently takes the shape of a Mohawk, and that I have good posture—I walk with my shoulders back and chest out (this is due to my mother always getting onto me for slouching—which is now a pet peeve of my own). This perception of me is always my favorite, because it is so far from who I actually am. I rarely drink and have never smoked a cigarette in my life. And as far as cocky. . . I wish.
Then, there is the other extreme. People that have only seen the insecure, quite, sweet, easy-going, nice aspect of me. It always shocks them when I get angry. When I get vehement about an issue. When I get stubborn and bulldoggish. When they discover that I’m rather ferocious and tender in alternations sexually. When I get furious or adamant about a certain belief or situation. These things seem to throw such people off the most. They’ve narrowed me down to a wallflower who is only sweet and a doormat. This seems to be the revelation that some people aren’t able to accept from, to let meld with what they believed about me before.
The reason this is on my mind, other than avoiding the normal thoughts which we are ALL sick of, is how much this has happened at work lately—at district meetings, outdoor lab, etc. People that have known me for a long time but have never spent a long stretch of time with me or seen me in certain situations. For instance, at ODL, there was another teacher there (who will get his own blog entry later when I won’t be quite as vile with his description) who was a gargantuan lump of fat who refused to move to help his disturbed children because his disgusting body couldn’t support its own weight and he didn’t want to put down his novel. Who praised his kids and gave them rewards in order to get them to calm down, after the child would curse out staff and other kids alike. Let’s just say, I had no issue voicing my opinion of this ‘man’ and treating his para with the respect and deferment I would typically give to the teacher. One of my co-teacher, after hearing me speak and watching my interactions with him simply said, “Wow, and here I’ve always thought you were just this little, sweet thing…” She didn’t disagree with my assessment, but was rather thrown off by my fury. Similar happened at a district meeting yesterday when I voiced my assertions that I was sick of the district wasting our time on trainings that neither directly apply to what we do or are things that each of us know like the back of our hands—trainings in which the speaker stands up and says, “I’ve never worked with the kinds of kids you do, but here is this tool. I don’t know if it will help or not, but here it is.” Really? Again? Once more, another teacher looked at me and said, “Wow, I’ve never seen this side of you before. I’m not sure what to do.”

Is any of this important? Nope. Is it really what is weighing heavily on my mind? Nope. Will anyone’s reactions to any of this change me? Nope. Does it provide my fingers the chance to move and my mind to vomit forth words that relieve some of the pressure? Yep. Thanks for that.

neurotic mayo

I believe I brought this up once before—but it’s getting worse. For the past couple months, I’ve been growing more and more neurotic about locked doors. Namely, my car and my house. There’s only been one time that I’ve found it to be unlocked. I’m not sure what’s going on in my brain. I will remember locking the door. I’ll be positive I locked it. However, I will get several feet away—sometimes quite a long ways away—and I will have to go back and check. If I don’t, I eats at my brain, wondering if I locked the door, even if I remember locking it. Thus far, I have gone ahead and given into the neurosis. It’s not going to hurt anything by continuing to check to make sure I’ve locked the door, so why not? However, it feels like this strangeness is coming from somewhere other than just being worried about the actual locking of doors. Not really sure what it means, or if it matters. All I know is, as I walk back to my house or back to my car my brain is screaming, “freak! freak!”
On other notes, to all you who think we Missouri cooks don’t know what we are talking about when we say that low-fat stuff isn’t the same and tastes like shit: You suck! I, once again, gave into your guilt laden words this week as I prepared one of my favorite meals. It’s one of the least fancy things I do. I’ve not made it for one person here in Colorado that likes it. However, it’s what I get hungry for the most. Ms. Wells made it form my family when one of my grandparents died. It’s a casserole. Chicken, carrots, broccoli, tons of mayo and cream of chicken soup, topped with cheese and crunched up potato chips, served over brown rice. One of the least healthy things you could ever eat. Fat and cholesterol city. As I was buying the huge vats of mayonnaise, I begin to feel the pressure of living in what was recently named the healthiest state and my desire to be sexier (although, just found out yesterday, two of my married teachers [women] have been discussing what they think my body would look like naked—and apparently, they’ve decided they’d really like it----things you never dreamed your elementary teachers talked about])—so half of the mayo I bought was the kind made with Olive Oil. I decided that wouldn’t be too bad since I love olive oil. It was horrible! So not good. Slimier and hardly any taste—and somehow greasier. As I made to two 9X13 pans (I always do bulk cooking for my frozen leftover meals), one with normal, one with olive oil mayo, I have sooooo much that sucks. I decided to mix them together in an effort to increase damage control. Now I have nearly twenty frozen meals that suck ass—and not in the fun, family-friendly way. Screw you, skinny people!

Flamer

Today, I break the law.
Smart to blog about it, I know. It’s been a quite awhile since I’ve claimed to be smart.
For the first time in awhile, I actually feel a bit guilty about it. It’s strange. I was so straight laced and by-the-book all the way into my early twenties. Ridiculously so. Annoyingly so. Now, I don’t think much about ‘civil disobedience.’ Part of it is that I no longer respect our government, or at least those who run it. In addition the amount of taxes and the inane and minuscule laws they come up with truly infringe on our freedoms—maybe not in the huge, enslaved way, but still.
My reason for guilt this time is that I have to admit it to my children. They know what is going on, and they realize why I am doing what I am doing. Granted, I am not the only teacher who is doing it, but I was the first to start. The first to rebel openly and loudly.
The fire chief is coming to inspect our school tomorrow.
As you know, I am rather proud of my classroom. I have taken a classroom that got me depressed the minute I entered it when I was volunteering and interviewing at this school. I honestly considered not taking the job just due to the classroom. There are no windows and only florescent overhead lighting. Both things that affect my mood and depression greatly. Both things that are documented to also have a negative effect on students—especially those like mine.
I took this classroom and molded it to the classroom everyone wants to be in. People come in and let out their breath and say how they would love to come in here and just sit, just be. Come in here to escape. It’s gorgeous. The paint, the paper lamps, the cozy bookroom with a glider, pillow chairs, beanbags, and pillows. In every aspect, sans windows, it is my perfect classroom. There’s nothing I would change (except paint one more wall).
Mr. Fire Chief says you are not allowed to have ANY lamps, no pillows or stuffed animals that don’t have certain fire safety tag from the vendor (even if the things I had came with those, the first thin I would have done is cut them off—who wants tags all over everything?). No extension cords. (Without the extension cords [that my school provided] I would have no power for my computers—not kidding.) The list goes on and on.
I am taking all my lamps down and hiding all my bookroom items (most, anyway).
I am going to put them all back up after the inspection.
It seems the fire chief we are getting likes to pop back in randomly after the inspection.
Great.
My kids know what I am doing. My principal knows what I am doing. Other teachers know what I am doing. The head facility manager (who is responsible) knows what I am doing. You know what I am doing. And, the fire chief, should he be a blog-follower (yeah, right) now knows what I am doing.
I hope I don’t forget to put away the fire pit that we use to make smores during math class….

oh, to be a pack mule

The week at OutDoorLab was pretty great. I was so tired when I returned home. However, I need another week or two away from it all. I’d go back in a heartbeat if I had the chance right now.
All I had to do was use muscle (you try pushing a kid in a wheelchair up mountains, while everyone else who is simply walking is trying to breathe). It was strangely comforting. In some ways, I was a only good for my strength, in other ways a tiny bit of a hero (not really) as there was no way this child could have done any of the mountain classes without me there. I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to look at my life too much. There were few connections to the past there, some, but not many.
Now, I have to think again. Have to remember again. Have to look at reality again. Ugh.

assembly required

I’ve tried to not blog all day. I really do get tired of complaining. However, hopefully, getting it out will help me not dwell. Help me turn off my brain.
We leave tomorrow for OutDoorLab for the week. I am crazy excited about being away from here for a few days, away from the phone, away from all things Brandon’s life (except for work—which is the least confusing part of life, most of the time). I get to turn off my brain for the week. Or at least try.
Hwmnbn keeps coming up. And not because of me. Things people say, things I hear—even when I’m actively trying to avoid any news of him. How ‘disgustingly sweet and gushy he and his boyfriend are on facebook.’ Etc. Blah. Blah. Blah. Really? The reason I deleted him from facebook is so that I wouldn’t have him thrown in my face constantly. These are things I don’t need or want to hear or know about. Maybe it’s good to hear. I just know it hurts. More than it should still. That fact alone hurts too. I don’t want to be the pathetic one still in love with him anymore. The one wondering how he made all those promises and now shouts his love to the world for someone else. I’m the castoff. The castoff that can’t remember it was dropped off at the thrift store for someone else to paw over.
In the midst of this is the whole going on dates thing. I have crushes on people. I have hopeful feelings about some. Wonderings if maybe that part of my life isn’t over, that maybe it is really only beginning. Thoughts that maybe I’m ready. Then some bitch slap across the face/heart that screams I’m not. But I have to, right? To move on, to stop living in the mire I’ve been wallowing in, I have to.
I need an instruction manual so, so badly.

rushed

One of those days when I have soooo much I want/need to talk about. Things of the normal variety (for me) that have been bouncing inside my head since yesterday. Things about work and frustrations with our system, both how we ‘protect’ kids and the ridiculous laws around ‘safety’ (you can’t do anything when a parent is continuously emotionally abusive to a crippling degree, but God forbid you have a stuffed animal in your room that doesn’t have a fire safety tag on it). Things of fear, addiction, and hope. Things of life. Unfortunately, life calls and my fingers won’t have the opportunity to relieve the soul.

airpowered

Let me start by saying, I’m not in tears right now. In fact, as today marks the first day in several that I don’t want to take a nail gun to my forehead to relieve the sinus pressure, I’m doing pretty good.
Let me say this as well. The events of yesterday have made me accept something that I think I’ve been too scared or guilty to say—but that probably everyone else knew. I think I’m ready to give being in a relationship a try again. Even saying that brings up such a torrent of emotions (guilty, as if I’m cheating on him, fear that I’m give up too soon, etc). It also makes me realize that maybe I simply am not feeling it with the very few who have expressed interest in a relationship, but I wasn’t able to go there with them.
Warning: If you choose to read between the lines of the following, you may experience TMI.
After talking to a cute guy for the past week (someone I’ve known for years, but only in a peripheral sense) we decided to meet yesterday to spend some time getting to know each other better and make out and such. We met at a restaurant, which wasn’t what I’d had in mind. It was our first time to ever spend time one on one. I was shocked. I felt at ease immediately. I was myself, not nervous, not self-conscious, etc. After half an hour or so, my thoughts went beyond kissing to the remote possibility of there being a possible chance for more. And no, I swear that didn’t come across to him.
When it came time for a transition to kissing, he began to speak differently. By the second word, I knew where he was going. I know it by heart. Before he was done, I interrupted. ‘You’re giving me the friends speech already aren’t you?’
‘No. No not at all. For one, I think you’re smoking hot. However, right now, I really just need friends.’
FYI, no matter the context, if the words just and friends are in the same sentence, it’s the friends speech.
At this point, my poker face, ala Lady Gaga, apparently broke.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah,’ not looking at him, ‘you’re kinda triggering something things in me that you don’t mean to, and I know that. Not a big deal.’

“You’re gorgeous, and perfect. I’m just not ready.” They hang up the phone.
“I loved you for years. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved. I just don’t know if I can ever be in a relationship.” They call the day after the reconciliation began.
“I’ll never leave…….If I could ever marry someone it’s you. I hope I can come back to you some day. I’ll never love anyone like you.” They say, as you watch two and half years of your life crumble, then watch them date someone else.
“You’re smoking hot. I need friends right now.” They say before you want a nail gun for other reasons than allergies.

humanity behind glass

The concern I brought up about six weeks ago is now half way through and so far, it seems like a miracle is genuine. I am very, very grateful. I am holding onto faith as much as I can, and look forward to being able to have faith realized.

I have found much enjoyment (and annoyance) from our classroom terrarium. The salamander seems to be just decoration. All he does is lay there under the moss. It is fun to watch him eat, but that’s about it. And, his frog face is pretty adorable. I’ve decided he is a mythical creature. Face of frog, body of lizard, tail of snake. Pretty cool. In theory. Apparently, mythical creatures are really dull and boring. (Says the man who went to bed at 9:30 and had to struggle to wake up—damned allergies.)
The coolest part of the terrarium, besides how pretty it is (humble, humble), is the crickets. I’ve always loved crickets, and never understood how people could be freaked out by them. Well, I’m starting to. I will sit and watch them and completely loose track of time. Before I know it, twenty minutes has gone by and I’m sitting watching bugs. They really are alienish; yet have such human characteristics at times.
You dump a bunch of them in this new (gorgeous) environment, complete with waterfalls, different levels connected with natural bridges of stone and moss, a stream and a pond filled with fish. The crickets immediately do one of two things. About half them start out on their trek and explore their world, seemingly relishing their newly found faux freedom. The other half gather and begin cleaning one another and conversing. Yes, crickets converse. It is really cool to watch. You’d be a fool to not recognize their conversations. (It is rather fun to have an ongoing dialogue in my mind, but I won’t swear that I’m accurately interpreting their meaning. I’m not yet the cricket whisperer. That’s right boys. Who wants to be the first to get naked with the cricket whisperer? Expect a flyer coupon in the mail shortly.) It’s fascinating to take in their interactions. In both of these actions, they really do seem like these gross little people. Each with their roles—both possibly vital for the community they plan on having.
Enter Salamander. Here is where their seemingly intelligence ends. They will be in a little group. Discussing cricket politics and sexual revolution. Salamander will creep beside them and devour one of their peers. I swear to you—I swear—they look over at him, at the empty space where their comrade stood, and continue their conversation, or at times, relocate to the top of Salamander’s head as he finishes swallowing. I can’t help but think how stupid and shallow they are at that moment. But, how human as well. As we see our friends give up their lives to alcohol and drugs and [fill in your own blank], look over, mourn momentarily, and then snort another line.
I really think if I spend enough time watching the terrarium world, I may stumble upon some hidden human reality.

priorities

Editing two books at the same time (while trying to work, work out, do massage, and keep in some contact with family and friends) is proving challenging. I’m excited to have a couple hours to devote to it at the moment.
I’ve been a little emotional today. Lonely—specifically lonely, which is so much harder than just an overall loneliness. I just got a little teary as I was watering down what was left of my green iced tea. I looked out on the patio at the coffee shop, and saw two you guys (remember my age—young is becoming relative) with two small boys, one probably three, the other pushing two or so. I don’t know that they are a gay little family, but chances are good, since they’re here. Given that I barely have time to devote to my craft (pompous, no?), the last thing I should want is marriage and kids. Of course, we all know I want that even more than my craft (maybe it sounds more witchish than pompous…).
Seeing how I’m bitching about time, I suppose I should cease on the planned blog. You’ve heard it all before, and my whining doesn’t change anything. Onto the books…

humbled

It seems I have not been very good as seeing the hand of God in my life in the past year or so. I know that doesn’t mean that it’s not there, just that I don’t see it. (However, I’d like to actually see it more—just saying.) Yesterday, I did see. As we all know, money has been an issue for quite awhile—but so has my ability to stay on top of things and I’ve developed quite the habit of not opening bills and such. Why see things if I can’t change them? Well, I found out.
I’d seen a couple letters from my insurance company, but I didn’t even worry about those, if figured they were just those stupid mass flyers. The bill is paid automatically at the first of the month, so nothing to worry about. Only, I’d forgotten that I hadn’t changed it when I switched banks. Come to find out, I’ve been driving without insurance for over a month. That has quickly been rectified. The payments are now automatic once again. It was rather like getting out of a murky pool and finding out you were swimming with piranhas at the bottom. They either didn’t notice you or just didn’t find you appealing. It could have been horrible. And, I could have lost everything. Everything.
I have to give all credit to God. In a world where it seems like things are waiting for the worst possible minute to go wrong, where it seems like thing after thing is designed to see how much stress or pain or grief can be educed, I was surrounded in a shield of protection. One that sheltered me from my own naivety, ignorance, and incompetence. I am thoroughly grateful.

hell is pastel

I have been moving so fast over the past many days that I honestly haven’t had time to think, at all. I’ve gone from one thing to another to another. I don’t even have the time or the energy to watch a show as I fall asleep with Dunkyn. I tried last night, couldn’t even make it. Part of this is really nice. I’m not thinking about things, I don’t have time to really feel much. It’s a nice relief. However, I’m accustom to being more grounded(?) than I am right now—more aware. It’s a little like vertigo inducing or something. One distraction to the next. Not sure how much longer this can last (as I don’t have anything unscheduled in the next several days, I guess awhile longer), but I suppose I should just enjoy it while I can get a break from reality.
One of the ways I distracted myself was painting pottery with my brother this weekend. Huh, just realized something. The search for the gift certificate and all I found on that quest is when the distraction tirade started. Should have realized that before. No wonder. Well, I hope the distractions last for quite a bit longer. I don’t wanna have to relook at that again. Anyway, pottery.
He got a certificate to a place we’d never been before. We both love doing these together, actually, there’s not much we don’t enjoy doing together. This place was like entering the Twilight Zone. It was Precious Moments meets Sunday School meets Stepford meets The Hills Have Eyes.
It was one of those places where the absence of music or background noise is creepy. Complete silence except for the owners and their cheerfully creepy assistant’s voices. The husband wasn’t too bad, but he was partially blind and used a walking stick. Lucky bastard. The wife, at first glance, was semi-normal looking. Just another fifty-sixtyish church lady. However, her falsely cheerful laughter and encouraging words about every stroke of paint everybody made did nothing to hide the cannibalistic hunger barely caged inside of her.
The assistant, who I believe was formed from mitosis from the church lady, was quickly learning her craft. At one point, another customer (adult) had an exacto-knife that she was using on her piece. When she set it down beside her, the assistant rushed over, scooping it up, and breathless asked if she were done using it. The lady said that she wasn’t. In a stressed voice, the girl expressed concern over the safety of having a blade lying around. She was worried a child might pick it up and harm themselves. (There were no children in the damn place). After the church lady had already looked at my piece and commented that I must be in a dark place in my life or mood or something, I was already seething. This preposterousness over the blade put me over the edge. I looked over and said, “You have a point. I’ve been known to go around cutting things when I see sharp objects lying around.” She didn’t quite know how to respond. The other customer seemed to appreciate knowing she wasn’t alone in this alternate universe. To my dismay my comment didn’t have the desired affect of making assistant girl keep her distance. As I went back to the sink to wash some of my materials, she followed. There she proceeded to guess every place she might have run into me. I’d never heard of anyplace she inquired about. It was bizarre, and rather like a feline in heat trying to rub her musk over me without my noticing. It was if she were debating whether to mount me while eating my face as she mated or quote Bible verses to save my soul.
Every piece I’d done previous had a mermaid or ocean theme. Shocking, right? The piece I chose this time was the largest I’d ever done. A big platter. I hope to use it at a cake plate. For some reason, when I saw it, it was like the design was already on the plate. Of course, I used my typical Earth tone pallet, but painted tree branches jutting in from the side of the piece with a bird silhouette against the background. Hardly original, but it looked gorgeous (although you never know until it’s fired). This is the piece that showed the darkness of my soul. Of course, ever piece church lady had done was in not-so-varying pastel tones. There are few things I hate worse than pastel colors, even more than primary colors. She actually had a bit of Professor Umbridge in her. She’d stand over my shoulder making false complimentary comments, all the while making strange, guttural noises from her throat. Each comment she made to children in the store the next day when we came in sounded as if she were speaking to retarded piglets. All the while picturing them roasting in a pain, their skins hung up to tan.
A few minutes after we left, church lady called my brother’s phone. For me. Great. He handed me the phone. She inquired, in a quite concerned apologetic tone, if I realized I’d painted my bird upside down. Incredulous, I had her repeat her inquiry. Yep, upside down. Now, granted, I don’t remember if I centered the scene with the handles or not. To be honest, I don’t care. I kind of like it when things are at an angle. However, my branches that were jutting out from the side of the piece, church lady turned to be coming out of the bottom so that they were trees, making the bird’s situation on the branch very precarious. Not bothering to try to explain that not all things have to completely literal or pastel, I told her to go with it and fire the damn thing. Both of us felt the need to rinse of the crazy in boiling water. Maybe it’s time for the exorcism that people have offered me.

poor choices

A second grade teacher approached me last week and said that she had two salamanders that she couldn’t handle taking care of any more—would I like them? Absolutely!
Ten seconds later.
What the hell did I say yes for? Just what I need. More animals. More food to buy. More stuff to transport between home and school. More stuff to worry about when I’m gone…
In addition to painting the room multiple times last week, I also spent quite a bit of time researching salamanders and searching for and setting up a terrarium.
After much effort and a $40 waterfall, I now have a gorgeous terrarium in my classroom. All the moss a fairy queen could ever want (which is what I read that salamanders like. Turns out, they love it, and simply want to burry beneath it all day and come out at night—perfect choice for a classroom pet [groan]). A gorgeous waterfall to add tranquility and help avoid water stagnation and unpleasant smells (turns out, I have Tiger Salamanders; they don’t need or particularly want water—mine are gonna have water, damn it, since I can’t find the waterfall’s receipt…and they’re gonna like it). Actually, I should say salamander, singular. The little one refused to eat and died this weekend. Thank goodness I came in Saturday. He was already fuzzy and gross. Two more days and we would have had to condemn the classroom. I read that if their environment wasn’t ideal, that this could be the case. He’d spent a couple months before (as a waterdog) in a Tupperware cake top. I’m citing cause of death as over excitement from being moved into an Eden of sorts (ungrateful little shit—not to speak ill of the dead).
I bought some rather pretty feeder fish to keep in the ‘lake’ part of the terrarium—both to serve as a snack alternative for my now single salamander (maybe I should name it Mr. Witt) and to provide some actual movement while our brilliantly chosen pet hides under moss all damn day. When my favorite student I’ve ever had (don’t believe that—teachers don’t have favorites) asked me Friday while I was concerned the about the fish, I told him that I wanted the fish to have a good life while they were in our classroom.
He responded, “A good life!?! They’re in an enclosed environment with a giant creature stalking them. Wouldn’t you be horrified?”
I love that kid! I think I peed my pants laughing. Then was proud of his verbiage and descriptive skills.
Maybe I should name the fish Mr. Witt instead…

dangers of digging

I know people think I bring it on myself. That I choose to not let go. Sometimes, I wonder if they are right. However, today has been so great! I actually had a real work out, worked on editing the book and posted more to the blog for potential feedback, sang and sang to Glee with the windows down. All in all I realized that I was pretty happy and content. I called my brother and asked if he wanted to get together before we meet for sushi tonight to redeem the pottery painting certificate he gave me for my birthday or Christmas, I don’t remember. I was in such a good mood, I wanted to paint. Since I’m so very organized, I had to dig through three or four different drawers to find it. It took so many that I’d decided I’d lost it (not something I wanted to tell my brother). In my search, through my underwear drawer (I throw bills and such any place except where I can see them), I found two different letters from hwmnbn. I don’t even remember getting them, let alone saving them. They were from two completely different times. I thought I’d gotten rid of all the things he’d written me. Both of them talked explicitly about how he wanted to spend his life with me. How he planned on marrying me. How he knew we’d have our ups and down, and how we’d fall in and out of love. How he was in it for the long run. How he’d never before loved anyone like he loved me, never knew he could feel so safe with someone as he did in my arms. How he promised he never leave. Of course, I was in tears by the end. It hurt so much to see those letters. All the broken promises. However, it was validating. I’d begun to wonder if I’d made it all up. Misconstrued things he’d said, pushing my own meaning onto his actions. That’d I’d just been too blind to see that he never really loved me, never really wanted me. That he’d never really promised forever, that I’d just heard what I wanted to hear. I didn’t. He really did say those things, and I guess, meant them. At the time. These letters weren’t from early on when he would have been speaking out of rose-colored glasses either. I’m glad to know I wasn’t as crazy as I’d begun to think and that I didn’t imagine his love. However, I really don’t understand. I don’t know how you choose to love and commit to someone and then choose not to. I know it’s common, and I wish I that I had it in me honestly, life would be easier. I just don’t know how to do it.

isn't that special?

I was talking to my mom on the phone as I drove home from the gym yesterday. She asked if I wanted to come to dinner. I said I couldn’t; I was going out to dinner with a friend.
After a few moments of silence, in a sorta forced friendly voice, she asked, “Do you have a special friend?”
My brain did one of those misfiring things. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you have a new special friend.”
“That’s what I thought you said!” I burst out laughing.
In a nearly hurt voice, “What? I thought that was what I was supposed to say. I thought I was doing good. I’m kinda old-fashioned you know. What do you want me to call it?”
At this, I completely lost it. It was probably a miracle I didn’t plow into the median.
After a few minutes, when I still couldn’t get myself under control, she simply changed tactics. “I think you do.”
“I don’t mom, really.”
Laughing herself now, “I think you’re lying. You do.”
“Trust me, I really don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, mom, my feelings for [hwmnbn] haven’t changed at all.”
“Oh. Have you seen him lately?”
“No.” Laughter quickly gave way to tears. “Not since he started dating someone else.” I guess I should have said ‘not since he acquired a new special friend.’

I honestly haven’t been able to stop smiling about this conversation, at least the first part. It was so strange to hear those words from my mother. Strange to think that my relationship with [hwmnbn] could possibly be summed up as a special friend.

I truly love my mother. She is the most wonderful and strongest woman in the world. While awkward and hilarious, her question took so much of both (love and strength) from her.

on with the show

I feel like I have moved into my classroom this week. I have repainted, repapered, re-everything. It is gorgeous, just how I wanted it. And I ended up doing one small chocolate wall. I’m exhausted (between endless hours here and then doing massage), but it was so worth it!
Maybe it’s because I’ve been too busy to even breathe, but my mind has been able to be pretty blank this week. Which is relief. The past few had been non-stop. I needed a break (more than a break). I hope it lasts, at least a lot longer this time. I’m hoping to have some time to spend on editing the first book this weekend and posting some of it, but who knows. I have a full weekend lined up with a few of my most favorite people. Followed by Monday off work at the zoo with my nephew (his first time). Perfection.

600

I have decided—despite the nearly ten hours I have put into painting my classroom—to paint again! Besides the added work, the biggest conceding point is that I didn’t choose correctly from the beginning. I pride myself in the ability to choose daring, yet classic, color choices. Man, did I bomb. One color is great. The other has turned into this peach disaster. I hate the color peach. So, I now have a large part of my weekend planned.
In continuing with bad decisions. I have also decided to cancel my two gay relationship websites. I’ve been matched with a total of seven men (the sum of both sites) and with only one who I’d consider. And, of course, he won’t write me back. I guess I’m glad I took that step, it was an effort to move on. We all know how well that worked!
In other news, water is wet.

critique

I went to church again this morning. TB was teaching of course. This song service was particularly painful (in a ‘I can’t believe I have to listen to this garbage kind of way’)—and I was really, really wanting a wonderful worship time. By the third song, I would have paid someone to smash a brick through my skull, hoping to have actual intelligent thought return to my brain. Then, out of the blue, this song began. I’d never heard it before. It’s not the prettiest song ever, or the most eloquent. Maybe it was waste that came before it, but the words spoke to me. They meant something. They acknowledge some of the world we live in and has an action tied to it. This song, I could sing. This song I could mean. This song, I think God actually respects.

The Power of Your Name
Lincoln Brewster

“Surely children weren’t made for the streets
And fathers were not made to leave
Surely this isn’t how it should be
Let Your kingdom come

Surely nations were not made for war
Or the broken meant to be ignored
Surely this just can’t be what You saw
Let your kingdom come here in my heart

And I will live to carry Your compassion, to love a world that’s broken
To be Your hands and feet
And I will give with the life that I’ve been given
And go beyond religion to see the world be changed
(I LOVE these four lines.)

Surely life wasn’t made to regret
And the lost were not made to forget
Surely faith without action is dead
Let Your kingdom come, Lord, break this heart
(I used to pray that prayer constantly. I’ve learned my lesson—never again. It’s the only like I refused to sing).
Jesus, Your name is a shelter for the hurting
Your name is a refuge for the weak
Only Your name can redeem the undeserving
Jesus, Your name holds everything I need”
(These last four lines are a bit cliché and over simplified for my liking, but given the rest of the song, I can deal with them.)

perspective

I went with a friend to do some errands a couple days ago. On one of these errands, we stopped at one of her friend’s houses and he wanted to give us a tour. I’ve never seen so many fish tanks in one house. I think I counted twelve (maybe more). Most of them salt water. Most of them needing cleaned badly. The guy’s girlfriend was working on her new Apple computer. The one with the screen as big a small car. Not that I’m jealous or anything... Her screen shoot was this gorgeous photo of earth. It showed this swirling mass of white. It looked like a fantasy movie or something. When she saw me inspecting it, she said that it was the view of earth from space of a hurricane and casually commented on how something so destructive can be so beautiful. Being cynical, depressive me, my brain instantly made the connection to God. Maybe in some fashion, our pain (okay, let’s be honestly, MY pain—all about me) is this stunning cacophony of colors, swirls, and brilliance from God’s vantage. I don’t really think so, I certainly hope not, however, it would explain a lot.
In a different, yet connected topic, I was sort of accused of choosing to moon over hwmnbn and refusing to move on and live life. To a point, I can see this. For instance, for the past week or so, I have had to make a constant effort to not write him. Just to see how he is, just to ‘hear’ his voice. I miss my best friend. My lover. To have no contact for months is awful. However, I don’t want to hear from him either. I don’t want him to talk to me when he loves someone else. I can see how someone would say I’m choosing to moon over him. However, I actively try to not. Every effort I give is to not. What am I expected to do?

hues

In a true testament to my indulgent nature, I had a big piece of cheese pizza, followed by spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. With a huge diet Coke. The regular Coke was broken. Now I hate myself. Actually, not yet. I will tomorrow.
My logic? Well, I didn’t have time to work out.
That, and I spent four extra hours at work tonight painting my classroom. I’m halfway done. Therefore, I had to celebrate. See, food works as a filler for love and as a reward! So multi-functional.
I am really liking how my classroom is turning out. I’m disappointed in one thing. I forgot my promise to myself. I’ve told myself for a long time that the next time I design a room and pick out colors, I was going to have a chocolate brown wall. Somehow, I completely forgot until the paints were purchased and I had the first coat on the wall. Instead, I have two different shades of warm, more orangish, browns. So far, it looks pretty fantastic. I will have to wait for my chocolate brown wall. Which really, I guess is good, as I find it an extremely sexy color. I guess I should save it for my bedroom and not waste it on a classroom.
I also realized how bad many of the musical lyrics are that I listen to. You try having your headphones on, signing Lady GaGa and Christina Aguleria in an elementary school and not notice how much ‘penis’ is referenced in a wide variety of ways. No wonder I love that music. I’d be painting and dancing and signing along just as I realized the words that were about to come out of my mouth. I probably sounded like someone with Turrets. Or, the opposite of that—where you’re supposed to cuss but can’t…
Yep, you just read an entire blog about wall color. More enjoyable than what I’ve been making you read lately, huh?

a house is not a home

I watched a video this morning of a church group in Toronto (which I read as Tornado every time I see it, fyi…) that has been meeting in front of a gay couple’s home for the past seven years. They preach and pray (and I think sing, but I could be making that part up, probably am), and talk about how they don’t want the gays there—how they have freedom of speech. The video showed the rest of the neighbors finally having enough and confronting them. I was a little nervous starting the video. It always kills me to see people respond to these church groups with such hate and crudeness of their own. To me, it makes it look like the perpetrators are in the right. However, these neighbors were really cool and responded with much more class and common sense than I would have been able to manage. The spoke calmly and clearly about how this church group who was shouting and preaching about love and morals kept disturbing their neighborhood (which was very cute, btw). Only at the end did they talk about how they didn’t believe the group even knew what love was or knew how to show it. I was impressed. I can’t imagine having a group of people meeting outside my house for seven years, preaching and praying and such. Hmmm. Maybe I’m not gay enough. I should try harder.

morning

I woke up in the same mood that was upon me when I went to bed. I sat in the shower, praying (as every morning), the ache never wavering.
In a counterintuitive occurrence, as I left my house, the crickets were singing, the sky was dreary and overcast, the rain fell in a Seattle like mist. I drove west, the sky growing darker, the wipers squeaking, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo finally interesting, and my coffee warming my hands. I felt safe and content and protectively surrounded for several minutes.
I can get through the day. It was a very sweet, unexpected gift.

to be dreamless

The first day of school as come and gone. At least the first day with kids. I was nearly as nervous as the very first day of teaching I ever had. I get that way every year. I’ll stop being nervous by Wednesday. It was good to be with the kids again, they are such a great distraction. That’s probably horrible to say, but they are. They are so consuming, that I rarely have time to let my mind wander—and when it does, one of them quickly brings it back to them. I dreamed about him all last night, again. I hate that! I work so hard to keep him from me during the day and then screw it all up when I’m sleeping. The constant empty hole in my chest turns into this twisting, digging, cavern. The numb, apathetic normalcy I typically have is much preferable to this. I hope I dream about anything else tonight. Even girls would be preferable.

tired. whiny and tired.

Had one of my favorite people in the world in town this weekend—one of my cousins. She, her husband, and two boys were here from Friday to today. She used to visit me when I was a kid. She’d come down and spend two to three days with me. She always made me feel like I was the most important thing in the world to her. Many of my favorite memories involve her. Every time she’d leave, I would cry and cry the rest of the day.
While I haven’t cried and cried since she left, I am bummed out. And so, so tired. I actually lay down and took a ‘nap’ late this afternoon. I always hate it when I let myself do that. This time was no different. I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t fall into as deep of sleep or what it is, but I always, always regret it. The dreams are always there when I do. Every time, and they seem more real when I take naps. I guess because most of the time, they aren’t really dreams, more memories. As ever, from the minute I closed my eyes, he was there. I miss my life. I miss the life I had. I miss him so much. I miss our Sundays. I miss planning our lives together. I miss simply being content to be with him, no matter where we were or what we were doing.
I’m tired of people moving away. Tired of people changing. Tired of people killing themselves. Tired of people falling out of love with me. Tired of people breaking their promise. Tired of people leaving. Tired of being replaced.

dear jon

I found out today, from a friend who read my blog, that the friend I found out last week had died, actually committed suicide. I was prepared for people to die. I’m even getting used to people choosing to leave me. This, however, just not prepared for. I really don’t have a framework to even begin to comprehend it. In some ways, I do. In my line of work, I’ve dealt a lot with suicide—both with people wanting to and dealing with their family committing suicide. However, personally, I can’t wrap my brain around it. One second I am so sad that I wasn’t there for him in that finally decision making moment. So sad to think he could have stayed with me that night and maybe not have been so desperate. The next, I am so furious with him. Way to choose to leave me. And everyone else.
jon, I love you, I will miss you, and I am so, so, so mad and hurt by you.

special ed

Tonight is one of those nights when I’m not going to write about how I’m feeling. No reason too. Nothing new to say. Nothing insightful.
However, I did wanna share two things:
One.) I decided to begin posting the other novel on Refiner, the book blog. I’m not as confident in this book, and am not sure if there is even an audience for it. I’m also not really sure what the point of posting it on the blog is. I have gotten feedback from two people on the blog, which I appreciate. Even with the lack of response, however, people are still reading it every day, which is strange… This book, The Shattered Door, is very important to me as it is based from where I grew up and people I love have shadows in the characters—which I think weakened my ability to write freely, but whatever. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated on this endeavor as well.
Two.) Funny/Stupid story. We all have these moments. Even me. Or at least moments that are close to this, kinda. The special education team had a stupid district meeting today. One of my co-workers kept texting me because she couldn’t find her way. Even though I texted her the address and verbally gave her directions. Here’s the text path:
The first of the series arrived thirty-seven minutes into the meeting.
1:37 Co-worker: I’m so lost
1:44 Me: I’m sorry. (What did she want me to say? Stop the meeting and have every search for her?)
1:45 Co-worker: I’m here but you aren’t. (There were two meeting rooms. One dealing with our department, one not. Each room small enough to see everyone in it. And, there were three other people from our school that she knew in the room with me. You know, the room where I’d been for nearly an hour.)
1:46 Me: LOL. Yes. I am. (That LOL was a lie. I wasn’t laughing. I was ready to strangle. . . someone. Really? You’re gonna be so late and then tell me that you’re in the right place and I’m not?
1:46 Co-worker: Do u see me?
(Yes, the three other people you know and I all hid under the tables. We can see you, but you can see us.)
1:47 Me: She just said she was here but that she couldn’t see me……. (I was responding to another co-worker in the room who had texted to ask where this woman was. I accidentally sent this response back to the woman who was lost. Opps…)
1:48 Co-worker: Huh?
(I chose not to respond to that.)
1:50 Co-worker: Where are u?
(At this point, I was ready to smash the phone into my brain. Obviously, I had on my invisibility cloak.)
1:51 Me: In the class. You’re in the wrong room. Try another. It says the name of our program on it. (Don’t forget to breath, suck in, exhale out. Move your feet when you try to walk. Don’t chew on your tongue, it might fall off.)
1:51 Co-worker: Ha Ha

At this point I saw an iron rod sticking out of a desk and I impaled it through my jaw and out my skull. It was a relief.
Not a good sign for how things are gonna go in my classroom this year…

the companion that won't stay away

I texted a good friend of mine yesterday. The last time I’d heard from him was July 12th, when he asked if he could spend the night with me on the 14th. He’s a 40-something (looks 30) teacher friend from Longmont. He stays with me from time to time when he plans on going out with friends and doesn’t wanna risk driving home after drinking. For this instance, I told him I couldn’t have him that night. It was the night before my surgery if I recall correctly, maybe right after... He told me it wasn’t a big deal and he just wouldn’t drink much and he’d be calm. I didn’t hear from him again. Not a big deal. I am very flaky with communication with people. However, I realized yesterday I hadn’t heard from him in a while. So, I texted. I got a text back this morning. It was his mom, asking me to call her. I so did not wanna make that call. She told me he died on the 14th of July. The night he’d wanted to spend with me. She told me he died suddenly. She didn’t tell me how, and I didn’t feel like I could ask. She doesn’t know me, and it seemed like prying. I did ask after his dogs though. They took them.
I am so very used to death. So much of my family has died—either health or accidentally. This is my first friend to die. I haven’t cried, which makes me feel guilty, I cry at everything. However, unless you’re really, really, really close to me, I am kinda numb about death anymore. (Make it all about me—not that I would have preferred death—not at all—but someone dying is in some ways easier than them leaving me. I don’t think I could recover if the men I loved weren’t still on the planet with me, even if not with me. However, at least death means they didn’t choose to leave. Sick, huh. I know. I don’t like that part of me either. But, there it is. My ugly truth.)
I really do wish I knew how he died. I hope it was something quick and sudden—aneurism, heart attack, something. I’m afraid, and willing to bet, he drank too much and then tried to drive back home to Longmont. I know it’s not my fault or anything, but I can’t help but think if I’d had said yes to him staying (no matter the reason why I said no) that he would still be alive and part of my life. Part of his family’s life. Part of his students’ lives. I so wish I’d had said yes. He was such a sweet and gentle man. Full of life, full of humor, and full of God, actually. He was very adamant about his faith. (In this instance, I am so glad I don’t believe in the god I used to believe in.)
I don’t think this will go anywhere with me. Unless you’re immediate family or family-by-choice to me, death just seems like one more shitty part of life anymore. However, between financial drama, my constant struggle with depression the past year or so, thinking the boy was returning and then not, and now a dear friend’s passing, my mind has kinda just shut down. I kinda feel like a walking zombie.
Please say a prayer for my friend and his family. I don’t know them and can’t really be a comfort to them, but their pain must be unreal.

Pay, Love, Eat

I felt very grown up today. Not in the old, my life is done, kind of way as of late. I gutted my classroom. Things I either was too nervous to do the first two years I was there (how could I throw the old teacher’s stuff away—pretty easily as it turns out) or too depressed to do last year. I needed it clean, fresh, and mine. Felt pretty good. After, I did battle with the bank over $300 of charges, and won—for once. Also, confronted my student loan people, and then did battle with Credit Card debt. I don’t think there’s an outcome that qualifies for a win on that one. Either way, even though the money stuff was stressful, it always feels good to deal with life head on and not ignore because I’m scared.
I’ve done a pretty good job not obsessing about the romantic confusion over the weekend—good for me at any rate. Of course, I have ungrounded hope that he might reconsider, but I’m doing my best to smash that. Can’t say how grateful I am for him minding me how much I actually love him. You know, loving one man who runs away at a time just isn’t enough!
On a side note, I just finished a pecan, apple chicken salad from Wendy’s. Oh My Ghandi! So, so good. Go get one. Then get a Cookie Jar Blizzard with extra cookie dough from Dairy Queen. Life’s hard. Eat Happy. That’s right folks, food is love. The kind of love that will never leave you. Ever.

stars almost within reach

Last night, I had one of those very few perfect moments. The kind where you realize how wonderful the moment is when you’re in it—almost as if you are watching it happen from outside your body. It was perfect. Unexpected and perfect.
As some of you will remember, I started this blog when the first boy I loved (only loved two) left me and I needed a way to get out my feelings (love how life hasn’t changed in four years). As you may also remember, I truly loved him and was devastated when he left—swearing he would never return.
Last night, after much conversation of the past and present, the unthinkable happened. Nearly three in morning. Somehow the sky was a gleaming blue with dark grey clouds. The wind was nothing more than a calm, caressing breeze. The crickets and locus screaming their song to an almost MidWest volume. His porch light illuminating on one side of us, the street lamp lighting the other. He called me back to him as I left. He pulled me in and kissed me. We held each other in that perfect moment for probably half an hour. His familiar kisses which I missed for so long. His strong hands on my face. His eyes, finally open to me again.
It was a moment I used to dream of. One that I knew wouldn’t happen, as I don’t live in one of my fairy tales. A moment that was better than I imagined. A moment I knew I’d never, ever forget. In that moment, everything leading up made sense. I understood.
It was perfect. I drove home in tears of happiness. I fell asleep with a feeling of completion, as if the answers were finally coming. I had just as many questions and I could see hurdles to come, but they weren’t daunting. It felt so right and made so much sense. I couldn’t believe after all this time, it was really happening. To me!
Then I woke up this morning. Then we spoke this morning. ‘I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to be in a relationship. I don’t want to hurt you later.’ Nearly word for word what he-who-must-not-be-named said. Almost verbatim.
I guess I should feel lucky. The two men I’ve loved in my life are equally invested in not hurting me. And making sure that I know I’m not enough to spend a life with.
I always point out to my kids when they are mad at everyone, how everyone is always picking them, how everyone is out to get them—that they are the common denominator in these relationships. They need to look at themselves. Well, here, I’m the common denominator. The two loves of my life. Two very different men. The exact same response. Somehow, somewhere, for some reason, the problem is me.
Again, I’m hurting. I’m confused. I’m not enough.
I thankful for my perfect fairytale moment last night.
Unbelievably thankful. And I will hold it so dear.
If only I didn’t need to wake up to remember that isn’t how my life is written.

Hodgepodge

Julia only made me cry a little last night. Thankfully. Since we didn’t start the too-long movie until 10:30, I was dying by the time it was half over. I ended up loving the previews of upcoming movies more than the one we came for. Still love her, though.
It was so fun having yesterday be my Monday and my Friday. Makes this weekend sweeter. Every workweek should be like that—go to work, see everyone, rearrange and decorate my classroom, go home. Perfect workday.
This weekend is all about celebrating my bff’s bf’s bday. I’m a little nervous about the kickball extravaganza tomorrow. One, I’m worried my ex-bf (hate that) will be there—if so, I’ll leave. Two, kickball—sports. Ugh. Can’t we just decorate cupcakes or something together? Maybe have a Little Mermaid sing-a-long or something?
The woman wrote me back from the magazine that I submitted the article. She thanked me for my submission and let me know that they will keep it on file for one year to see if it would work in one of their issues. We’ll see. It’s not that big of deal, but it would be fun. Not that I couldn’t really use sixty bucks right now.
Speaking of sixty bucks, I need ideas. I have a prize box in my classroom. I fill it with crap (not really, but pretty much). Really cheap, stupid crap. The kids love it. Love it. I end up spending between three to six hundred a year on that thing. I simply can’t afford it this year. Not that I could before. Anyway, I’m thinking of filling it with coupons and such (like a grab bag). You know, with things like five minute of computer time or take five problems off your homework, that kind of things. I’m really having a creative drought at the moment, so any inspiration would be greatly appreciated. My kids will appreciate it too—I’m hoping I can come up with idea that will make with where they don’t miss the physical prizes but might even enjoy this more.

Ok, Julia, treat me nice!

First day back. On my way to work, I thought, ‘I’m not dreading this.’ To which I thought, ‘Huh! I’m not dreading this.” It’s true that given the option I would write fulltime. However, even though that isn’t an option, I have to say, I love my job. I love my kids. If I felt I was choosing this as a safe route and not attempting to chase what I want most, I probably wouldn’t love it as much, but it’s still a choice. I choose to be a teacher. I could get lots of jobs that pay a lot more (although not as much time off to write), but I don’t want to. I want this. That’s nice to know, and I’m thankful.
Returning to normal schedule land is a trigger, emotionally. I remember that first day back last year, I actually broke and contacted him on my way out of school, just like I always had. Leave work, call him to figure out dinner and see how his day was, go work out, pick him up from his job, live our life. When he left, I told him that I wasn’t going to stalk or drive him crazy. That day was one of the very few times I contacted him first. I still felt like I should today, well, not really ‘should’ I guess—just wanted to. This is the longest it’s been since I’ve heard from him. Which is how it should be I suppose. Why should he think of me when he loves someone else?
All of this has made me over-think telling the guy no about dating him last week. I don’t want endless hook-ups. I don’t want random cuddle nights. I don’t want to be alone. As much as I love them, I don’t wanna fall asleep with the dogs every night (Dolan has finally started to cuddle with Dunkyn and I—Dunkyn at my chest, Dolan at my feet—makes daddy very happy). I need to find a way to make my heart stop waiting for his return that will never happen. I almost called the guy tonight and told him that I acted too fast, that I’ll give it a try. However, that’s a horrible idea. When I make that move with someone, it needs to be all about them, not about me trying to replace what can’t be replaced.
I decided to be a good boy tonight and go with my neighbor (she and I have never seen a movie together, but we’re kinda identical, so it should be fun) and see the new Julia Roberts movie. In pre-hindsight, probably not such a good idea, since I get teary just at the trailers for this film.
On a completely different side note, I just started The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. I am so worried about my drama book being to slow and dry at the beginning. This book is a huge, huge success and it one of the most boring things I’ve ever read so far—I hear it gets great later, but still. If all these people and sludge through this mess, surely my book couldn’t be so daunting!

the end

My final day of summer.
Now that it’s all said and done, I’m okay with it. It’s either time to go back to school or give me several more weeks. I can’t sit still and do nothing. It’s time to start a new writing project, but there is no time, so might as well go back to work.
While we are on the subject of writing, I just submitted a small 420 word essay to EnCompass Magazine. I don’t think it’s really what they are looking for (it was like when I give a writing prompt to my students and have no idea where they were going when they give my their final product), but still. It pays a whole sixty bucks! My friend I had read it last night thought I had to pay them sixty. I would if it would help. You know, anything to see my name in print. Well, as long as it’s in reference to things I’m writing, not things I’m doing…
I’ve also decided to resubmit the original book to another publisher. I’m still not confident in it’s marketability, but I want to try once more. This is prompted by the friend who is reading the fantasy book saying he like the other one more. That doesn’t bode well, considering the publisher didn’t like the first one. However, my friend doesn’t read fantasy, so who knows. I’m in this strange place where I have equal parts of discouragement with my writing and hopeful naivety.
On another note, I was talking to MD this morning and she mentioned she saw the pictures of my BBQ last weekend on facebook. She said it looked rather awkward. She was even able to point out who was nervous and such just through the pictures. She’s rather intuitive, that girl. She made me laugh. Awkward. That’s an understatement for a BBQ where the host is wanting to bash a beer bottle into a guest’s face or simply go hide in his car, and where so many people didn’t know each other that they sat in terror. I often feel like I have Monica Geller’s curse with throwing parties. Ugh. (If you understand that reference, it is no wonder I love you. If you don’t, I think our relationship is in question…)
Now, on my last day, I think I will go home, give a massage (working on my last free day…), walk the dogs, and paint. Oh, and eat. Lots of eating!

Cheers by any other name

There are many reasons I love my faggoty little coffee shop. I’m so, so comfortable here. And it’s a great place to get fat. There are people that are here every day. Every day. People that are here every time I come in, no matter what the time. I have no idea what else they do, or how they can be at a coffee shop all day, but wow. A few of the ones that are here every day are the ones that drive me crazy. Constantly on their phones, yelling, screaming, and carrying on like hyenas. (I’m not even talking about the twinks.) At first, I almost stopped coming to this place. If I had to hear the lady yelling about the latest person to piss her off one more time, I was going to kill her. Somewhere along the way, the sound of her screeching has become a security blanket for me (unless I am unlucky enough to get a table behind her when some unknowing shmuck has stolen my seat). The shop is not only home to all of us little geeky queers, but also the socially awkward (or just plain backward) straight community. While it has its challenges and annoyances, it’s pretty cool. Just now, for instance, one of the older ladies who comes in, just started screaming ‘Happy Birthday Ellen!’ She then told us that Ellen’s birthday is coming up in January. (I don’t know when Ellen’s birthday is, but I hope she sends me an invitation. However, I do know now that Prop 8 was overturned, Portia is taking her last name.) This lady is a bit (or quite a bit) on the retarded spectrum. (I know I’m not supposed to say that, however, I am. In grad school, for special education, they told us that it has been decided to go back to the term ‘retarded’ and ‘retardation’—that it’s less insulting than SLIC. It seems the rest of the world doesn’t know that yet…) Anyway, I digress. After this woman’s birthday announcement, everyone pauses, and looks at each other. Awkward. Then, most every one claps and cheers for Ellen’s birthday. The lady was thrilled, and, of course, encouraged to carry on to an even ‘cheerier’ degree. I love that! Most other places, this woman would be avoided, ignored, or shunned altogether. Granted, I doubt anyone here is taking her out to dinner or will send her a birthday card or anything, but still. She is welcome here. She is free to be who she is. So there it is, this place [full of strange fags (twinks, trolls, and geeks, a plenty—many hoping to hook-up), homeless and grungy smelly people, those whose brains don’t function in the same manner as the majority, those who are by all rights rather annoying and socially inept, is a place of safety] is a place of acceptance.
To think, one more day and then I choose to leave this all behind, just so I can go restrain some kids.

seeing the light

My last Monday of Summer. Monday, Monday. I set my alarm to wake up a little early, you know, still trying to gradually get up earlier, so I don’t get sick for the first few weeks of school like I always do. I set my alarm for PM instead of AM. Wonder of much of that was subconsciously intentional…
I ended things with one of the guys I’ve gone on dates with yesterday. The fact that I felt I had to end something was kinda the point of ending things. Unless it slaps me across the head, I don’t think I can move towards dating-dating someone. I felt kinda stupid doing it. He’s such a great guy. Nice, smart, motivated, kinda rich (compared to me), cute, funny, seems to wants a marriage and such. I should grab on and go for it. Yet, something in my gut was saying that I shouldn’t go down that road. You know, cause my gut has been so reliable: planning on marrying someone who left, shopping via credit for so many years, my Sonic diet plan…
On that note. I heard two stories this weekend of stupid men who left their boyfriends in past year or so returning to their ex and begging for them to let them come back.
This is why I never even win $2 at lotto.
On a happy note, I finally installed under cabinet lighting in my kitchen. I’ve only wanted to do it since I moved in six years ago, but was too afraid to. It has changed my world. I now live in a bright, glorious world of food. I had no idea how dirty my kitchen cabinets actually were. My kitchen Siamese Fighting Fish loves it too. I did it all for him, so he thinks.

becoming an issue

I think TB’s sermon last week was just fodder for the fire that I didn’t know was even there. Forgiveness. Grrrrr…..
I had my annual Gay Boy BBQ last night. As always, it stirred up lots of feelings. Shocking. This was not helped by the fact that two of the boys I’ve been going on dates with were both there. They both know that I’m just dating and that I’m nowhere near being datable right now. So, it wasn’t that big of deal. Still, that was a situation I’d never pictured myself in. I don’t think I’m cut out to be this person.
Even more fun, I almost committed murder. There is this person who went on a date with my best friend and was an absolute horrific ass. Before that, he made out with he-who-must-not-be-named. It wasn’t that big of deal, as he told me and felt horrible, and nothing of the such happened before or after. Still, I never wanted to see this person again, and after the breakup, this guy become a symbol of, well, evil, in my mind. I actually planned to confront him when I saw him out and about. By confront, I was planning on breaking my fist for the first time in my life. (See, who is this person typing this?) I was rather looking forward to it. Then I heard he moved away. So, wonder of wonders, he wanders into my home last night. My feelings of this. . . man (?) aren’t really common knowledge, so there was no reason my friend would have known there was only one other person that would have hurt me more to bring.
I went in another room by myself for awhile and paced, debating on leaving my own party or going back and either throwing him from my house or beating his ass. No matter my friend didn’t know the past, the guy did, and the fact that he had the audacity to enter my home, eat my food, visit with my friends was nearly more than I could handle. As always (wimp or not) I turned my anger to tears and fought back what I wanted, still want. After a bit, I returned to the BBQ, bitched to one of my best friends to that I wouldn’t be stupid—or brave.
It all comes back to I don’t know who this guy is that I am anymore. I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone in my life, even in fantasy, let alone, being physically close to it. I never envisioned a function where there would be two men I was dating at the same time. Then again, my life has taken several turns that have been out of my control that I didn’t envision either.

the me from your eyes

The majority of yesterday was an emotional beat down, one that I wasn’t quite able to overcome until yesterday evening. The past was continuously smacking me in the face and taunting. Today is better. No tears today. For that I am very, very grateful.
I have spent a little time this morning reading reactions (not public comments—they tend to be too hate ridden for me to read and keep my head above water) from top governmental leaders across the country in response to Prop 8 being overturned for the time being—hopefully for good. The reactions are exactly what you’d think from exactly whom you’d think they’d be from. The only one that really surprised me was Gov. Schwarzenegger, who was less PC and more affirming of the decision than I thought he’d be. It is still strange to think of him as a governor. I love that he is in a new movie right now too. So funny. I wonder if they had to call me Governor. If so, I hope they did so in a British accent.
You’d think I’d be used to it (especially since I was one of those making such arguments), but I just can’t seem to get there. Even beyond right and wrong, it blows my mind to hear what these public officials are saying. About me. Sure, many would say that they aren’t really saying it about me—that it’s about the gay-agenda. Well, folks, that’s about me. I am the gay agenda. My gay friend and members of my family that are gay are the gay agenda. It amazes me that I am seen as such a danger. Such a disgusting, corruptive force. That men that have been married three or more times see me wanting to marry one man (whether that ever works out or not) as defying the ‘sanctity’ of marriage. I can promise you, if I have that privilege (both legally and romantically), there will not be one ounce of honor, respect, and commitment that I won’t pour into it.
No matter what your views on it, I really can’t see how it is even a question legally. I get morally, I do. As much as anyone could, even if I no longer believe it. It seems so black and white to me, so clear. Even if you don’t agree, how can you argue that there is a group of people who are not treated as equal, not given equal rights? I know you can. Some of my best gay friends aren’t in favor of gay marriage. I can’t discuss it with them for very long. I rarely feel the need to loudly defend my stance on issues, however, this one (along with several child issues) I struggle to stay calm when I discuss. For those that are straight and against it, it seems like it should be enough for me to stand in front of them and for it all to make sense to them. You know me. You love me. You know who I am and what I stand for. How is this a question for you? How can you see me, know me, love me, and say, ‘No, you can’t have what I have. You are less.’ Yes, yes, I know that by denying me that so-called right, you are giving me one more chance to turn from hell-fire. Maybe that answers my question. If I can stand in front of you, after how long you have known me, how much you have loved me and I have loved you. If you can look at my face, in my eyes, and see a human, a person, a man that God is sending to Hell, what else is there to say? I don’t see how you can believe such of God, of the God we love and don’t understand. If I looked in your eyes, loving you, and saw Hell in your future, I don’t see how I could believe or love the god that would send you there. Of course, as we both know, it’s not up to me. So, why am I surprised when government officials who I have no faith or trust in see me as vile, dangerous, and sick, when you, who have known and loved me, grimace and ache for me since we will one day be separated for eternity. Best to say goodbyes now, I suppose.

school infections

While it wasn’t wrapped in extravagant paper and lavish ribbons (which is always a plus), I was given a rather great gift yesterday. I got the annual start of school letter in the mail from my principal (this is her final year before she retires—I am so sad). It outlines the calendar for all the bs meeting we have to have before the students arrive (I mean all the meetings that are so vital for a school’s success). Actually, part of the reason I love principal so much (besides her fierce wardrobe and killer shoes) is her no bs approach. The things the district makes her present that are nothing more than PC garbage, she does so without faking the joyous tone she is supposed to have. Low and behold, I don’t have report to school until next Friday, not Thursday!!! At some point, I actually knew this, but somehow convinced myself that Thursday was the day. I have a whole other day of summer!!! Who knows what adventures lie in store for those extra twenty-four hours? Maybe a summer romance. A book publishing deal. Maybe casual (or not so casual) encounter with a merman. Or, maybe, just maybe, time at the coffee shop, working with massage, and cuddling with the puppies on the couch.
I am trying to think of something sweet and happy and cheerful to say, to talk about. I always blabber about my sadness or stress or some other such blech, so today should be different. Hmmmm…..
In-between the last paragraph and this one, I had a couple hour errand to run. I took a friend to and from the hospital to pick up prescriptions. While there, we went through/in the infectious disease section. As in all the sections, there were signs labeling each part of the unit. One of these signs pointed out how to get to the Infection Disease Group Practice. Now, I know it’s not a good thing to laugh in a place where people go to get help with their HIV infection and other such things. I also know it’s not appropriate to make jokes. Still… Infection Disease Group Practice? There are so many places to go with that! Where I come from, we just call that an orgy. You get in a group and ‘practice.’ Do it enough, or maybe just really good the first time, and you might win a lovely infectious disease. Honestly though, I find it sad that people have to practice for that. If it doesn’t come pretty natural, you’re kinda screwed…or not… Although, compared the hours of piano and guitar lessons I had to take (ask me how many songs I can play on either of those), that practice sounds pretty great. All irreverence aside, I have no idea what that means. The practice totally throws me off.
Later, on my way home, I checked my phone. I had a new text. I pulled the car over, put the car in park, and safely checked my texts (………). My heart stopped when I saw a text reading: Infection Disease Group Practice. I wasn’t expecting any test results today. I didn’t even remember having any outstanding test that I was awaiting results on! Then I saw that it was from myself. I’d forgotten I’d sent myself a text of the group name, because I didn’t wanna forget. No chance of that now.

vile

Not watching the news doesn’t seem to help very much. It is invasive.
On Connexion (my gay site), it had a link to a story about Pedro Jones, a twenty-year-old Long Island man. Pedro was taking care of Roy Jones, a seventeen-month-old little boy. On this day, Pedro began to notice little Roy acting more like a girl than boy. Now, one could take this that the new words he was beginning to speak had a valley girl lisp, or maybe he was attempting to coordinate his pacifier color with his diaper band. Who knows… Whatever the telltale sign, it was understandably grotesque for Pedro to witness. As a quality male role model, he did what any man would do. After hitting the boy several times with his closed fist throughout the boy’s body, he finished by grabbing him by the neck. In truly sissy fashion, the little boy died of cardiac arrest. Surely shocked and confused at his arrest, the well-meaning Pedro exclaimed, “I was trying to make him act like a boy instead of a little girl. I never struck that kid that hard before.” (Before!) I feel your pain, Pedro. It’s hard to be misunderstood, huh?
Just in case I wasn’t struggling with hate and forgiveness enough this week. It’s truly hard to believe a creature like this has a soul. Of course, I shouldn’t talk, should I? Gays are constantly lumped in with child molesters, murderers, and morally depraved. Who knew I was kin with Pedro?
In a contrastingly beautiful piece of news, a beautiful man just texted me, letting me know that Proposition 8 (the one banning gay marriage in California) was deemed unconstitutional by federal district judge, Vaughn Walker. (Sexy name. Just sayin’.) Of course, it will now go to the Court of Appeals, or whatnot. Either way, it’s a step in the right direction. I really would like the choice to marry (even if no one wants to marry me-lol!). I would also love to believe (disillusionally) that all my family and friends would support that right as well.
However, I would give that up if that little boy wouldn’t have had to go through the terror he felt before his death—girl or boy, gay or straight. I can’t help but see Gavin in my mind. Can’t wrap my head around it.

holding the shaddow

Sunday, I went to church. Tremble.
I’ve been meaning to blog about this since then, but was too busy playing dad.
TB was teaching, therefore, I was there. I have mixed feelings about hearing him. I love it, but I kinda dread it too. Part of the reason I quit going to church, is it has been years, YEARS, since I’ve heard a sermon/lesson that I couldn’t give in my sleep. I feel no emotion or connection to what is said at all. I know most of it is probably with me as I will look at some of the other parishioner as they cry or raise their hands. I either wonder what is wrong with them or remember when I was similar. It makes me wonder if I used to look similar to them. I feel like I should see them and wish that I could have whatever that was back. I don’t. I want to shake them and scream, “wake up!” Yes, I know that is horrible. The problem with hearing TB preach is the beautiful thing about hearing him. I feel things. I learn things. I get convicted.
Even when I am at services where I dread the preaching, I still look forward to the music. Music allows me to connect to God and be personal with him, where the sermons leave me questioning if God even exists—because if he did, surely he would change how his servants teach about him. I like many of the new choruses. Some of them, I love and can bring me to tears (good and bad) in moments. However, the hymns speak so much more truth to me. They seem more real. More honest about pain, about honor, about brokenness. Not all, but many. So many of the choruses are just blabbering of words that seem self-important and disingenuous. For instance, one of the lines this Sunday in one of the songs was: In your presence I hear angles sing (or angel’s wings—I don’t recall). I had to tell myself not to laugh. Seriously? Even if that was true for the composer, how true is that for the vast majority of people singing this song? People were raising their hands, some had tears. Some weren’t affected. For those who were, I couldn’t suppress my skepticisms. Did they even hear what they were saying? Where they really thinking about what they were singing, meaning it? Rainbows, puppy dogs, and fluff. (Call me Grinch, fine.) The other song that hit me was less arbitrary. The More I Seek You, The More I Find You. That is Biblical I suppose. Seek and Ye shall find and all. So, I can respect the lyrics. However, that line isn’t true for me and I couldn’t make myself sing it. The more I have sought him, the less I feel like I have found him. At least found who I was supposed to find. Maybe that means I really am finding him, maybe not. There was a song about needing him and relying on his strength and mercy and such. That I could sing, and sing with everything in me. With relish.
The sermon, or lesson as TB likes to call it, was on a topic that is as familiar to me as my own body. I guess it was timely, and how it was presented.
Forgiveness.
This historically hasn’t really been an issue for me. I’m pretty quick to let things go. (Although my anger with he-who-must-not-be named is flourishing nicely.) However, that was not my conviction. I have been struggling with hate over the past year or so. I’m not even being dramatic in saying hate. As much as I don’t want to admit it. I have caught myself desiring death (if nothing else, at least in reputation) for this person or financial ruin. At times such thoughts have caused me shame, at others, they feel justified. Now, I don’t feel like killing anyone or the man having a horrible death or anything, but still. As silly as this sounds, I realized this was a problem as TB spoke. Not because of those feelings (they are just feelings), but because I didn’t want to let them go. I didn’t/don’t want to forgive him. That’s a problem. This man has been so unbelievably evil to my family, to my parents. He has hurt them so greatly, emotionally and financially. Not because of any altercation; just because he enjoys it. He has done it to many in the past, and now it is my family’s turn—has been for awhile. The cruelness and internality of it makes it hard for me to want to forgive. Maybe that’s it. I hadn’t really thought of this until this moment as I write. It’s the intentional choice of the matter that makes it hard for me. He is choosing to hurt my family. Enjoying it. Feeling powerful and important in the acts he commits.
So, go to church. Be reminded of all I used to be and ‘guiltily’ experience peace that I am no longer that person. All the while actually feeling conviction of something. Thanks, TB. I am not yet able to forgive, but I am at least aware that I need to and can acknowledge. That’s a step, and I’m willing to work on it. To have the goal of forgiveness and release of ill-will.
It’s funny, I admit so much on here. So much weakness, fear, depression, brokenness, pathetic need, desperation, and angst filled sorrow. This one is harder to admit. At least those other things don’t correspond with evilness, necessarily. This does, and it’s something I don’t want to have in me, something that can corrupt the beauty I do have in me from time to time, and of those around me. Something I never want my nephew to hear in my voice or see in my life.
Through it all, I still seek him, find him or not. Still place my faith and trust in him, even it is because I have no other option besides simply not—which isn’t an option either.

perfection made flesh

It was such a strange sensation to get home late this evening to my empty house. The porch light on. Dogs insanely excited to see me. The house destroyed. Baby toys everywhere.
I immediately went to work picking up all the toys. They are now safely put away in the guest bedroom. I don’t know why I have a guest bedroom, but I do… I almost got teary putting them away. It is going to be strange to sleep in my bed again. After three nearly –consecutive nights of sleeping on the couch next to the pack-and-play where Gavin slept, I’m not sure how I’m going to feel. While I do have a whole new respect for mothers and fathers (both single and joined)—I felt dirty and sweaty the entire weekend and I’m so tired I think I’m getting sick—I discovered that I could do it. I could keep a baby safe and happy. I could make dinner for seven people with a one year old on one hip (only burnt my arm once—gonna be a good scar from the look of it). I could choose not to write, watch tv, go to the coffee shop, etc. etc. etc. so that he could have my attention. He started the weekend walking two or three steps and finished it walking twenty to thirty. Who’s a proud uncle? Granted, I know (I KNOW) that what I experienced this weekend wasn’t even an amuse bouche of parenting, but still. I truly expected I’d come away going, wow, so glad I’m and uncle instead of a father. Instead, I am leaving it feeling a touch like a father who just gave away his child. Who knew I could fall in love with that little boy even more. Shouldn’t even be possible.
I am excited to sleep, be clean, write, and just breathe tomorrow. However, I will miss him waking up so sad in the middle of the night and then sleeping on my chest as we both drift away. How his squeals of laughter washed away my self-consciousness at all the silly noises and actions I made. How his very presence turned off a part of my brain and heart that I never get solace from.