worth fighting for

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

Learning to love with an open hand

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

our prologue

long have I known fairy tales rely on
witches
ogres
thorns

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

fallacious princes clamored sonnets
promised wings to fly
to the sun

sealed still
the pages
secure between solid bindings

enter the man
claiming no royalty
vowed no magic

dismissed upon first glance
then cover wrenched wide
leaves laid bare

the man lavished red upon each sheet through
actions
words
touch

ramparts crumbled
moats traversed
dragons slain

fantasy proven dull and flat
beside
reality with the man

eternity
both in hope and
authenticity

plot of witch
bellow of ogre
pierce of thorn

no shining armor
lacking white steed
and yet a fall

try as they may the covers shall not
close
bind
slam

lowly dirt embraces the tumble
cover and coat
humble and choke

through trepidation
pain and gash
hands extended and grasped

heroes of a quest
unrequested
stand on trembling limbs

villains encircle
waiting to seize
devour

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

filled by destiny’s scarlet scrawl
strength
wings
love

knitting wounds

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

sick reading

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

BookTalkSigning

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

perfection

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

dice the slice

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

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

slice

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

booktalking

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

Sweat, Hopes, and Praise

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

800

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

love over pumpkin spice

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

Bibles, Instruction Manuals, and Book Burnings

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

the twists and turns

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

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

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

my shit

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

4

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

concerns of a distant planet

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

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

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