I can't begin to describe the flurry and fury with which my emotions rumble through me these past few weeks, days, hours. One minute, I am reeling from blueberries and yogurt. The next I am doubled over in pain set on by the anxiety of life. I can be cool as a cucumber and stroll hand in hand down a street, or fret and stew at the great unknown of the city and the nights that don't belong to me.
I feel so vulnerable these days, which can either manifest itself as abounding confidence or overwhelming sensitivity. My body will ache with desire for things I have never felt. My heart will mourn and scorn the loss of something I don't even have yet. I can cry only by myself. In circles I can only laugh too wholeheartedly. I miss people that I know have not gone away. I take for granted the ones who are available to me most.
I hate vulnerability. It feels like walking a tight rope. Or better yet, it feels like waiting in line for the newest most dangerous rollercoaster. One second you are excited the next your stomach tightens. One minute your thinking about jumping the line and taking the chicken exit the next you can't wait to throw your hands up with reckless abandon.
ARRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Scribbles
A therapist looks me in the eye and says, "your parents have made you who you are today. the good the bad and the ugly. you should be thanking them. not resenting them."
mom...
dad...
sorry.
she is wrong. I don't resent you. I love you.
But, I will not thank you for teaching me some of the things you did about love, sex, my body, intimacy, or the lack there of all of the above.
I am running away faster than either of you ever could have imagined. I am plotting with more detail and precision than you ever did. I am sabotaging with a force that can only come from the power of two. The two of you.
Thank you.
mom...
dad...
sorry.
she is wrong. I don't resent you. I love you.
But, I will not thank you for teaching me some of the things you did about love, sex, my body, intimacy, or the lack there of all of the above.
I am running away faster than either of you ever could have imagined. I am plotting with more detail and precision than you ever did. I am sabotaging with a force that can only come from the power of two. The two of you.
Thank you.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Sugary-Sweet Gestures
I was running around prepping the space with crumpled papers and keys a jingle. Up two flights of stairs then down three. "Put those over there and hand me that! Where is he? What time is it? Hello, can I help you?"
I saw him. He must be the model. He was late. Somebody told me the model had a arrived and was wearing a polo shirt. He was wearing a polo shirt and definitely could pass for a model. Besides, he was also walking around alone as if he was looking for someone.
With assumptions and authority raging, I grabbed him by the arm and began leading him to the changing station while mumbling something about how long he would have to be here and whether or not the company that sent him had explained all that was needed to explain. He stopped me by placing his free hand over mine which was holding his arm at the wrist. I felt something and everything came to a halt. I stopped dead in my tracks, looked him in the eye and saw such sweetness. In an instant I knew I had the wrong person. We shook hands. I apologized by tripping over my words that needed altered and brushing myself off with smiles and batted lashes. His eyes were deep and living in a warm soul, as if his tears may be made of simple syrup. He looked at me with a sense of understanding and intrigue. He was flattered to be presumed a model. He was intrigued to know (quickly) who I was. He most certainly looked at me with desiring eyes and inquiring minds. For lack of a better statement, there was a "moment" between us. It was clear. If not to him, well, then to me. But, in truth, I think it would have been clear to anyone standing in on this first exchange. If we had been a cartoon on Sesame Street little thought bubbles with hearts and music notes would have appeared above our heads. After collecting names and a few other quick facts, I marched away hoping I looked dashing, smart, authoritative and put together in the 8 paces I had left in his view. Hoping by pace 5, 6, 7 and 8 he might have smiled that unnoticeable smile that only his closest friends could have seen through his eyes.
I grabbed a business card, scribbled my personal phone number on the back and placed it in the back left of my Lucky's. How apropos!
I then proceeded to maintain visibility in his sight lines roughly every 8-10 minutes. I felt this was enough time to appear busy enough to continue passing by and short enough intervals for him to also think, perhaps, I wanted him to see me. Also, I just didn't want him to forget about me. He didn't. He too maintained a position among his crew that allowed small intense bolts of eye contact.
I think there might have been an exchange when he left. Something along the lines of saying each other's names before saying good-bye. Kinda pointed at each other with toy guns--"Clem!?" He was right. "James!?" I shot back. But, the timing wasn't right to hand over my lucky card. Alas, maybe next time. He did say there would be a next time.
Over the course of the next month or so, there was a next time and a next time and a next time. After visit two and three, I still had not handed off my doodled business card that I had been carrying around with me since our first meeting. There had, however, been the eye contact each visit, smaller talk grew bigger, and the guns came out each time we said each other's names. I think there even may have been a hug or half hug or maybe just that "awkward one arm slightly around the waist thing." But, by the fourth next time, he was only with one person. I knew this person. It made it so much easier for both of us. We now shared something or someone rather. It instantly pulled us closer together in a safe and trusting way. I made him laugh, he asked lots of questions, and it was easy. It was fun. It was clear. I learned about his quest to keep parents and children interested in sugary, sweet morning cereals. He was torn. He made a great living marketing and advertising the profound chocolatey-ness of Cocoa Pebbles but was fully aware he played a role in child obesity. I explained my waving craving of sugar cereals. I talked about how Cocoa Pebbles and Lucky Charms are my favorite cereals to indulge my craving with. I actually had just finished a box of Cocoa Pebbles days before this conversation. When the other person turned away for something, I reached into my wallet and pulled out the crumpled and faded business card with my number on it.
He didn't take it. He had circumstances. I respected that. He would have been too tempted. He didn't want to lead me on or himself for that matter. But, it didn't change us. We still smiled, laughed, gave piercing glances during pass-bys, and the like.
The next Next Time came a few weeks later. My office speaker phone screamed feedback as a co-worker explained that a person by the name of James needed to speak with me. On my way up the first staircase, I hoped it wasn't a complaint. On my way up the second staircase, I hoped it would be quick and easy. I was looking down at my feet as I was trotting up the stairs and suddenly someone grabbed me by the wrist. I felt something and everything halted. I stopped dead in my tracks and looked him in the eye and saw such sweetness. The simple syrup his large eyes swam in sparkled, like moonshine was in perfect alignment with his iris. We hugged as if we were very close friends from college or as if we hadn't seen each other in months. It had really only been a couple of weeks. We stopped traffic on the staircase. I feel like saying he was beaming, but that might be too presumptuous. Or, I might be projecting. :-)
He said he had something for me. (what could he possibly have for me?)
Then he lifted his left arm up and in his hand was a large 13oz. box of Cocoa Pebbles. "Tastes More Chocolatey" was printed largely on the box. I was dumbfounded. Not only was this a very thoughtful gesture, but it was charming, silly, flattering, romantic, crazy, specific, and it's importance in my life in that moment swelled to epic proportions. It was this kind of joy and kindness that was missing in my life.
No, his "circumstances" hadn't changed. No he had not intended to use chocolate as a wooing tactic. No, this didn't mean sex would come soon. But, it did mean he thought of me. He thought of me very specifically. He thought of me and followed through with this gesture. He thought of me, followed through with this silly, sweet, chocolatey gesture, and never needed anything in return, besides maybe to see the look on my face.
I hugged him again and maybe even again. It might have been awkward. I can't remember. I remember blushing, beaming, giggling. I whispered in his ear..."you aren't allowed to do this." But, I didn't mean it. What I meant between those words was..."you (mister smart and funny man) aren't (are charming) allowed (and I respect you) to do (and your pride and your willingness and eagerness) this (to present such a gift with little to no expectations).
Needless to say, I brought the Cocoa Pebbles home after two days of it prominently displayed on my desk, got into my P.J.'s and have never enjoyed a bowl of sugary, sweet nothingness more.
And, I am writing a letter to the company to congratulate them on excellent one on one customer service and that, indeed, these Cocoa Pebbles taste more Chocolatey than ever!
I saw him. He must be the model. He was late. Somebody told me the model had a arrived and was wearing a polo shirt. He was wearing a polo shirt and definitely could pass for a model. Besides, he was also walking around alone as if he was looking for someone.
With assumptions and authority raging, I grabbed him by the arm and began leading him to the changing station while mumbling something about how long he would have to be here and whether or not the company that sent him had explained all that was needed to explain. He stopped me by placing his free hand over mine which was holding his arm at the wrist. I felt something and everything came to a halt. I stopped dead in my tracks, looked him in the eye and saw such sweetness. In an instant I knew I had the wrong person. We shook hands. I apologized by tripping over my words that needed altered and brushing myself off with smiles and batted lashes. His eyes were deep and living in a warm soul, as if his tears may be made of simple syrup. He looked at me with a sense of understanding and intrigue. He was flattered to be presumed a model. He was intrigued to know (quickly) who I was. He most certainly looked at me with desiring eyes and inquiring minds. For lack of a better statement, there was a "moment" between us. It was clear. If not to him, well, then to me. But, in truth, I think it would have been clear to anyone standing in on this first exchange. If we had been a cartoon on Sesame Street little thought bubbles with hearts and music notes would have appeared above our heads. After collecting names and a few other quick facts, I marched away hoping I looked dashing, smart, authoritative and put together in the 8 paces I had left in his view. Hoping by pace 5, 6, 7 and 8 he might have smiled that unnoticeable smile that only his closest friends could have seen through his eyes.
I grabbed a business card, scribbled my personal phone number on the back and placed it in the back left of my Lucky's. How apropos!
I then proceeded to maintain visibility in his sight lines roughly every 8-10 minutes. I felt this was enough time to appear busy enough to continue passing by and short enough intervals for him to also think, perhaps, I wanted him to see me. Also, I just didn't want him to forget about me. He didn't. He too maintained a position among his crew that allowed small intense bolts of eye contact.
I think there might have been an exchange when he left. Something along the lines of saying each other's names before saying good-bye. Kinda pointed at each other with toy guns--"Clem!?" He was right. "James!?" I shot back. But, the timing wasn't right to hand over my lucky card. Alas, maybe next time. He did say there would be a next time.
Over the course of the next month or so, there was a next time and a next time and a next time. After visit two and three, I still had not handed off my doodled business card that I had been carrying around with me since our first meeting. There had, however, been the eye contact each visit, smaller talk grew bigger, and the guns came out each time we said each other's names. I think there even may have been a hug or half hug or maybe just that "awkward one arm slightly around the waist thing." But, by the fourth next time, he was only with one person. I knew this person. It made it so much easier for both of us. We now shared something or someone rather. It instantly pulled us closer together in a safe and trusting way. I made him laugh, he asked lots of questions, and it was easy. It was fun. It was clear. I learned about his quest to keep parents and children interested in sugary, sweet morning cereals. He was torn. He made a great living marketing and advertising the profound chocolatey-ness of Cocoa Pebbles but was fully aware he played a role in child obesity. I explained my waving craving of sugar cereals. I talked about how Cocoa Pebbles and Lucky Charms are my favorite cereals to indulge my craving with. I actually had just finished a box of Cocoa Pebbles days before this conversation. When the other person turned away for something, I reached into my wallet and pulled out the crumpled and faded business card with my number on it.
He didn't take it. He had circumstances. I respected that. He would have been too tempted. He didn't want to lead me on or himself for that matter. But, it didn't change us. We still smiled, laughed, gave piercing glances during pass-bys, and the like.
The next Next Time came a few weeks later. My office speaker phone screamed feedback as a co-worker explained that a person by the name of James needed to speak with me. On my way up the first staircase, I hoped it wasn't a complaint. On my way up the second staircase, I hoped it would be quick and easy. I was looking down at my feet as I was trotting up the stairs and suddenly someone grabbed me by the wrist. I felt something and everything halted. I stopped dead in my tracks and looked him in the eye and saw such sweetness. The simple syrup his large eyes swam in sparkled, like moonshine was in perfect alignment with his iris. We hugged as if we were very close friends from college or as if we hadn't seen each other in months. It had really only been a couple of weeks. We stopped traffic on the staircase. I feel like saying he was beaming, but that might be too presumptuous. Or, I might be projecting. :-)
He said he had something for me. (what could he possibly have for me?)
Then he lifted his left arm up and in his hand was a large 13oz. box of Cocoa Pebbles. "Tastes More Chocolatey" was printed largely on the box. I was dumbfounded. Not only was this a very thoughtful gesture, but it was charming, silly, flattering, romantic, crazy, specific, and it's importance in my life in that moment swelled to epic proportions. It was this kind of joy and kindness that was missing in my life.
No, his "circumstances" hadn't changed. No he had not intended to use chocolate as a wooing tactic. No, this didn't mean sex would come soon. But, it did mean he thought of me. He thought of me very specifically. He thought of me and followed through with this gesture. He thought of me, followed through with this silly, sweet, chocolatey gesture, and never needed anything in return, besides maybe to see the look on my face.
I hugged him again and maybe even again. It might have been awkward. I can't remember. I remember blushing, beaming, giggling. I whispered in his ear..."you aren't allowed to do this." But, I didn't mean it. What I meant between those words was..."you (mister smart and funny man) aren't (are charming) allowed (and I respect you) to do (and your pride and your willingness and eagerness) this (to present such a gift with little to no expectations).
Needless to say, I brought the Cocoa Pebbles home after two days of it prominently displayed on my desk, got into my P.J.'s and have never enjoyed a bowl of sugary, sweet nothingness more.
And, I am writing a letter to the company to congratulate them on excellent one on one customer service and that, indeed, these Cocoa Pebbles taste more Chocolatey than ever!
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Someday He'll Come Along...
Things I would say to him, and him and him and him. All the one hour dates, flirts, chance meetings that keep me hibernating in front of my fan and next to my books and magazines. Surrounded by empty bottles of vitamin water.
Don't put your thumb and forefinger above my hipbones searching for cum gutters.
Don't ask me where I bought my V-Neck and then roll my sleeves down or pull the V up toward my neck.
Don't stop me on the street in the pouring rain to explain why you haven't called in weeks. I didn't even like you that much. I only liked that you liked me. Or so I thought.
You are not allowed to reject me. YOU pursued ME, remember?
Stop quizzing me about my waist size and then lifting your shirt to reveal an 8 pack. (p.s. when did it go from a 6 pack to an 8 pack. Jesus Christ!)
I don't want to see you walking home from the gym. But, more than that, I don't want you to tell me your gym schedule or how many hours you spend there, or what you worked on today.
ARRRGGGHHH!
Sleeveless shirts are for pubs or parks not wine bars and intimate dinners. Plus, you are an adult now...aren't you?
What makes you think it is okay to squeeze my thigh underneath the table and chuckle when I don't flex my thigh bicep? We only knew each other for a total of 52 minutes.
Stop talking about the last guy you dated. You hardly knew each other. You act like he is an ex-boyfriend. This should be eye opening for me.
Why would you proceed to compliment me on my shape only to say that if I worked out more religiously I would be "really hot." Thanks for basically saying I am lukewarm.
Come up with something better than I need to walk my dog. Not too quick are we?
STOP COMING INTO MY PLACE OF WORK AND ACTING LIKE WE NEVER KISSED OR YOU HAVEN'T CALLED, THEN PROCEED TO "MAKE OUT" WITH A DIFFERENT BOY THAN ME. ONE THAT JUST HAPPENS TO BE SOMEONE I ONCE MADE OUT WITH.
I know we all like to look. But, learn how to tilt your head with some sense of subtlety. Sneak a peak when I am slicing into my fillet. Not when I am telling you about my scar on my forehead.
And please, please, please NEVER EVER give me a ride home and proceed to rub your crotch and make whimpering moan-like sounds and say "you're gonna leave me like this?" And point to your crotch.
Oh, and that bite you drunkenly tried to rip off of my shoulder looked like a F'in hickey I had to explain away in yoga class to my fellow yogis. Thanks you big ass drunk!
Don't put your thumb and forefinger above my hipbones searching for cum gutters.
Don't ask me where I bought my V-Neck and then roll my sleeves down or pull the V up toward my neck.
Don't stop me on the street in the pouring rain to explain why you haven't called in weeks. I didn't even like you that much. I only liked that you liked me. Or so I thought.
You are not allowed to reject me. YOU pursued ME, remember?
Stop quizzing me about my waist size and then lifting your shirt to reveal an 8 pack. (p.s. when did it go from a 6 pack to an 8 pack. Jesus Christ!)
I don't want to see you walking home from the gym. But, more than that, I don't want you to tell me your gym schedule or how many hours you spend there, or what you worked on today.
ARRRGGGHHH!
Sleeveless shirts are for pubs or parks not wine bars and intimate dinners. Plus, you are an adult now...aren't you?
What makes you think it is okay to squeeze my thigh underneath the table and chuckle when I don't flex my thigh bicep? We only knew each other for a total of 52 minutes.
Stop talking about the last guy you dated. You hardly knew each other. You act like he is an ex-boyfriend. This should be eye opening for me.
Why would you proceed to compliment me on my shape only to say that if I worked out more religiously I would be "really hot." Thanks for basically saying I am lukewarm.
Come up with something better than I need to walk my dog. Not too quick are we?
STOP COMING INTO MY PLACE OF WORK AND ACTING LIKE WE NEVER KISSED OR YOU HAVEN'T CALLED, THEN PROCEED TO "MAKE OUT" WITH A DIFFERENT BOY THAN ME. ONE THAT JUST HAPPENS TO BE SOMEONE I ONCE MADE OUT WITH.
I know we all like to look. But, learn how to tilt your head with some sense of subtlety. Sneak a peak when I am slicing into my fillet. Not when I am telling you about my scar on my forehead.
And please, please, please NEVER EVER give me a ride home and proceed to rub your crotch and make whimpering moan-like sounds and say "you're gonna leave me like this?" And point to your crotch.
Oh, and that bite you drunkenly tried to rip off of my shoulder looked like a F'in hickey I had to explain away in yoga class to my fellow yogis. Thanks you big ass drunk!
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Announcement
The show is over. And all future performances will be cancelled.
It all doesn't seem to matter anymore.
All the things I wished I had said or done.
I have so many ideas, thoughts, proposals, adventures planned in my mind that will never come to fruition.
That's because my external world is a reflection of my internal world. Which I won't elaborate on at this juncture.
That's because if I actually do anything I say I will do, I will be alone. I would leave the comfort of all of us who have so much to say about everything but little to do with anything. I don't want to be alone especially in my thoughts. I don't want to be different. I certainly don't want to feel segregated from other's. But, most of all, I don't want other's to feel that segregation from me.
So we continue to pedal beside each other. Sometimes going up hill just a bit faster than one. Sometimes one is sliding downhill ahead of me.
I drench myself in the camaraderie of others.
Please agree with me. Please believe with me. Please stay here with me. Please be with me.
So, I cancel my shows. I keep them locked inside my dreams. Dreams that can often feel like nightmares. Shows that will only make me a more difficult person. Shows that require too much from me and my audience.
The show is cancelled with no rain date decided.
It all doesn't seem to matter anymore.
All the things I wished I had said or done.
I have so many ideas, thoughts, proposals, adventures planned in my mind that will never come to fruition.
That's because my external world is a reflection of my internal world. Which I won't elaborate on at this juncture.
That's because if I actually do anything I say I will do, I will be alone. I would leave the comfort of all of us who have so much to say about everything but little to do with anything. I don't want to be alone especially in my thoughts. I don't want to be different. I certainly don't want to feel segregated from other's. But, most of all, I don't want other's to feel that segregation from me.
So we continue to pedal beside each other. Sometimes going up hill just a bit faster than one. Sometimes one is sliding downhill ahead of me.
I drench myself in the camaraderie of others.
Please agree with me. Please believe with me. Please stay here with me. Please be with me.
So, I cancel my shows. I keep them locked inside my dreams. Dreams that can often feel like nightmares. Shows that will only make me a more difficult person. Shows that require too much from me and my audience.
The show is cancelled with no rain date decided.
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