confessions of unknowns about the ex-wife

confession: i’ve been socializing for the past week and i wonder at the paradox for those who read the oft-mentioned suicidal contemplations in my blog confessions relative to the bursting lightbeam bebopping around town in a pink tutu who gushes about the lifespan of donkeys (it’s longer than you’re guessing). 23 hours ago i expressed to a wise person who reflects someone i’ll likely become (with luck and resiliency on my side) that i bring my brightest self out to engage with people and i sit with my darkest self alone.

confession: i saw the ex-wife a few nights ago. (for those keeping tabs, this is the fourth meeting since november). our togetherness proceeded exactly as i predicted it would. we were easy with one another, laughed a lot, felt joyful and relieved to be  in each other’s presence. we didn’t talk about big heavy shit from the past but didn’t avoid talking about any subject either…except i didn’t say things i’m holding back because i’m unsure of my motives if i were to say them. am i trying to be right? am i overexplaining? am i pushing her for an admission that may not be true for her…or if it is true that she may not be ready to acknowledge? those questions direct me into thought explorations i can manage solo for now and discuss with her later when i have more clarity. as i’m confessing here i realize that my holding back means i’m breaking the only two rules the ex-wife and i have set for our current relating. rule #1—we tell each other everything, no holding back. rule #2—if we’re gonna break the first rule, acknowledge that we’re breaking it and talk about the thing as soon as possible. i’m breaking rule #1 and the first half of rule #2 with the intention of admitting the rule-breaking as soon as i’m ready to confront her with the recurring theme that caused our original break-up. fuck.

confession: the ex-wife said she loves the unknowns in the life, the unexpected never-saw-it-coming events. she said it with more excitement and enthusiasm than she displayed about any other topic we discussed that evening. in my experience the never-saw-it-coming life events are more often tragic than happy-making. i conscientiously intend all my effort to create as much positivity, helpfulness, and love that i can build each day. the things i most often don’t see coming are the bulldozing situations that flatten me, hurt others, and reflect injustices greater than the ones i’ve normalized for myself to expect and accept. i don’t love or hate the unknowns. i know the unknowns will arise indefinitely. i do my best to prepare for the known variables, to make the good and bad as better as possible, and to keep getting up when i’m struck down, sucked down, or fall. the most never-saw-it-coming unknown in my adult life was the end of my relationship with my ex-wife and the reasons for its end. i wonder what she means when she says she loves the unknowns. i wonder which unknowns-now-known that inspire her excitement and enthusiasm. i’ll ask her next time i see her.

confession: re-establishing a connection with the ex-wife might take a terrible turn. it is currently unknown.

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confessions of t-shirts, tooth whitening, and living easier

confession: there are t-shirts for sale (on the internet, of course, where everything is sold) with the phrase “there is always hope.” internally i respond, “no, there’s not, unless you count suicide as hopeful” and then i feel too dark for other people (but not for myself and my two darkest humored friends) and then i wonder if i have to lighten up to be enlightened and then i figure, yes—lighten up—but dark humor is a lightening of the darkness and enlightenment has room to accept that some people have lost all hope.

confession: why am i internally debating with a t-shirt slogan?

confession: i spend a lotta time alone.

confession: last sunday i felt more alone in my aloneness than usual and i’ve heard sunday is the loneliest day for single people and i’ve never felt lonely on sunday because i was single but i felt lonely last sunday because every time i got out of bed all i could manage was going back to bed (because of pain, sadness, depression, take your pick) and i was reading a book (that wasn’t great; i’m not recommending it) about four people who met (accidentally) on top of a building because they each intended to off themselves. i finished the book to its unsatisfactory conclusion looking for some hopeful wisdom or truth to carry forward. there was none. monday was better because i didn’t ever have to read that book again.

confession: i whiten my teeth sometimes (not often because i’m lazy about putting the whitening gel in my retainer) and i get paranoid the next day about drinking tea because supposedly the whitening agent opens the pores in your teeth (okay, not pores, but whatever the teeth parallel is for pores) to clean and whiten them and the teeth pores are still open the next day so if you drink anything other than water you are at risk for deeply staining your teeth and ugh…worry is the floor and ceiling of vanity.

confession: i’ve been reading more poetry every day, all of it better than mine, and i’d expect that to discourage my writing (at least a little) because mine is shabby by comparison but it doesn’t because good poetry coats my soul with a protective layer of beauty that makes living, writing, and breathing easier on me.

confession: what makes living easier on you?

confession: these questions i ask you aren’t rhetorical. they are presented as “confessions” even though they are questions because i’m confessing to you what i want to know. there are other things i don’t want to know that i never ask. most people won’t ask you about your sex life or toilet habits, i will (not here, but in person, if the topic comes up, meaning if i bring it up), and most people also won’t ask you about your buried fears, your hidden dreams, your secret passions, your darkness and your lightness. i want to know. when i ask you questions here, i’m really asking you. some people email or text me their answers. some people answer in the comments section (at wordpress or facebook). some people answer to themselves which counts just as much. please answer in whatever way feels best to you. after all that mish-mash-talky-talk, i’ll ask you again:  what makes living easier on you?

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confessions of naughtiness

confession: wizard is the youngest of three kids…which means his natural playful set point is acting naughty. i’m an oldest child responsible in all the textbook stereotypical ways oldest children are…except the circumstances of my childhood were such that i didn’t get to play and if i played, i was punished, therefore in order to play, i was acting “naughty” and now that i’m grown-up and halfway healed (i’m betting halfway healed is about as healed as i’m gonna get in this life) i am naughty as often as i can get away with in order to do-over the playful part of childhood i missed as a kid. at day’s end wizard and i compare “naughty notes” and assign point values to see who won that day’s round for the most naughtiness. with naughtiness, we always both win.

confession: usually on the lowest moody days i keep to myself. i go back to bed. i walk for hours among silent trees. i eat too much sugar and not enough protein or vegetables. yesterday was a low-low day but my back ached when i went to bed and the rain prevented me from walking for hours and i’ve cleansed the apartment of the best sugar and so i did what i usually don’t—i reached out for support. i wrote two emails expressing the mood and the known reasons and tried to write my way into the unknown reasons. one recipient wrote a reply that made me laugh. the other recipient wrote a reply that burst my heart open with happy-sad-grateful tears. both responses helped. please reach out when the nihilistic pain of living isolates your heart. people love you. people want to ease, share, lift your pain.

confession: i was in d.c. last weekend to see the cherry blossoms, climb trees, and go to free museums because i’m a fan of nature’s beauty and free stuff. the funner folks in town crossed the street in front of my hotel wearing costumes to attend awesome con (a comic-con focusing on comic books, collectibles, toys, and games). i stood at my hotel window watching the costumed characters with face paint and props heading to their destination. i’m pretty sure they had more fun than all the other tourists in town because geeks generally have more fun geeking out with other geeks than anyone else on the planet. i asked wizard if he wanted to try to score last-minute tickets to attend the convention and he said he’d be satisfied people-watching from the sidelines and showing off his geekiness by answering my recurring question of “who is that person dressed as?” over and over again.

confession: the toys R us theme song has been playing in my head since i woke up this morning. i hesitate to mention it because i don’t want you to start singing it, too, so stoppit and quick-quick sing the hokey pokey instead.

confession: last time i was in austin i accidentally encountered every ex i never wanted to see again, beginning with the most-not-wanting-to-see ex who was seated two rows behind me on the second leg of my flight into town. i know that seeing five exes in four days that i would have preferred not seeing means something but since i’m responsible for assigning meaning, i’ve assigned none other than a shock wave at each sighting and relief for avoiding an interaction. each time another ex appeared, i checked in with myself to see if i had anything left unsaid to that person because i was given an opportunity to speak or hold my peace. i held my peace in all five instances.

confession: holding peace feels damn close to enlightenment.

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hairy confessions

confession: having had most of my body hair removed via lasers over the past decade, i’m enticed by the advertisement “win a free year of laser hair removal” because the thing about hair removal is that more hair pops out of new hair follicles of mammals all the time which makes body-hairlessness an unattainable goal. hair reduction is the realistic hair removal goal but the tricky-trick nobody advertises is lasers hurt, y’all. it ain’t a painless process…and because the procedures are expensive and require months/years of repeating, the pain feels worse for having to pay for it because other than a sadism and masochism kink (which i’ve experimented with and decided isn’t for me; i’m seeking to reduce the suffering i endure and inflict, not intentionally increase it), our instincts urge us to avoid pain. still, if i won a year of free laser hair removal, i’d be stoked. instead, i have an appointment this afternoon using a groupon.

confession: the above confession is the kind of rambling i usually delete but included today because the more often i type the word “lasers,” the more i happy wiggle on the inside. in spite of the pain, laser technology feels like an instant transport to the future. i imagine myself living in the future when lying on a table with lasers removing hair, reducing wrinkles, or fading age spots anywhere on my body.

confession: papi cracked me up last night when he announced, “sometimes i think to myself, ‘i wonder what caitlyn jenner is up to today?’”  i’ve never wondered about caitlyn jenner’s goings-on, but papi has a different generational/relational aspect with the former incarnation of caitlyn and papi is a sensitive soul who watches too much “the voice” and “pitbulls & parolees” on tv but never keeps up with the kardashians and i love that his activated compassion extends to caitlyn jenner…so caitlyn, if this blogpost ever pops up on your screen after googling your own name, papi sends his positive thoughts.

confession: there are envelopes addressed to me in my friends’ handwriting strewn all over the bar in my kitchen because seeing my name in my friends’ handwriting gives me a sweet rush of feeling loved. thank you to all who write me letters.

confession: i’ve learned how to appreciate the wholeness of my life. i’ve learned to love my problems because they provide me with puzzles to solve in order to boost my joy, surrender to more love, release resistance and float into the flow. i love the ease in my life i’ve created by simplifying what, how much, and with whom i choose to work and relate. i love the abundance i experience in the forms of beauty outside, beauty inside, and beautiful art in my new city. i love letting go. i let go of expectations, old hurts, former preferences and judgments. letting go lifts me high because there’s nothing left holding me down.

confession: if i could give you anything this week, i’d give you three extra hours—one for a nap, one to express your creativity, and one to walk outside and let the weather (whatever the weather) kiss your face. if you can find them, please give these three hours to yourself.

 

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confessions of wet cement and pussy power

confession: i’m a love bandit belonging to a gang of unknown others who can’t pass wet cement without finding a rock or stick to carve an offering. if you see a heart symbol or the word “love” or “you are love” or “you are loved” or “love you” then you’ve seen our work.

confession: membership to our love bandit gang is always open. we welcome all new members to claim allegiance by carving love into new cement.

confession: i’ve found lots of new cement in the past few weeks.

confession: there are people i begin missing as soon as i’ve hugged them goodbye and they drive away from the airport drop-off curb.

confession: i’ve been playing games in my head about death. i imagine situations involving who dies when and how and why and what happens next for those left alive. these games begin spontaneously and require effort to end. i don’t mind playing through a game when it highlights who and what matters to me. i don’t like playing the versions of this game when they involve suicide scenarios. yesterday while innocently driving papi home from a dentist appointment, i accidentally imagined my suicide and its preparations, all the stuff i’d need to give away and letters written to loved ones to explain, the gun i’d have to acquire (because hanging ain’t my bag and pills aren’t reliable and i’m not a public spectacle bridge jumper and razor blades along forearms might be something i’d enjoy and suicide isn’t something i want for pleasure), and the take-aways from that round of the game were two-fold—i have too much stuff and it is a wise choice for me not to own a gun.

confession: i’m not suicidal, only anniversary-related ptsd-fueled depressed. march is my darkest month. death is a friend that keeps me choosing life.

confession: on the outside everything seems calm. on the inside i feel pressurized, carbonated, and shaken. if you could pop open the top of my head, the shadow thoughts and feelings would blast from a geyser spraying demon fire and vampire ash.

confession: i went to a women-only workshop this past weekend and was archetypally reminded that hetero women at women-only workshops think their vaginas are powerful and mysterious. i’ve been inside, around, beside, and within too many vaginas to find them mysterious. fascinating, beautiful, sensual—absolutely. mysterious–no.  powerful—maybe, depending on how you use yours. my pussy is most powerful in the service of my heart, mind, and voice.

confession: i want to hear your voice. i want to listen to your heart. i want your thoughts in my ears. tell me. write to me. whisper. telepath. text me. visit my dreams. whichever feels best, easiest, most honest for you.

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confessions about my favorite jeans

confession: in my household mocking loved ones is a show of affection. here’s an example from last night that begins with what i initially misperceived as a compliment…
him: you’re a bad-ass.
me: thanks.
him: do you wanna know how i can tell?
me: how?
him: you’re wearing acid-washed jeans.

confession: i’d like to explain the acid-washed jeans. not defend because i know they’re ridiculous, but explain. my favorite pair of jeans i’ve ever worn i purchased while i was in middle school with money i had earned babysitting for the lecherous neighbor guy’s kids (creepy dude who would call me on the phone at night asking me irrelevant questions meant to keep me talking while i heard him whacking off in the background). oh, those jeans. they were guess’ brand acid-washed jeans that were faded in a pattern that looked like lightning had struck all over them. at the time i imagined george michael and the other guy from wham! owning similar boy-version pairs of the same jeans. i loved those jeans. no pair of jeans i’ve purchased in the 32 years since have matched my love for that pair of perfectly fitting acid-washed glory. presently (and for the past decade) i buy all my clothes from thrift stores (yay for recycling and reducing my carbon footprint!) and from one thrift store in particular in philadelphia that has a $1 sale (every item for a buck) the first saturday of each month. a few months ago while digging through the jeans bin (clothes are divided by type into huge bins that thrifters sort through and often offer up sifted items to other thrifters around them in appropriate sizes, meaning thick and thin women tend to bin-dive together since they won’t be looking for the same size), i found a pair of jeans in my size (which doesn’t happen most months). i knew they’d snug my curves with flattering almost-tightness-that’s-also-comfortable. i was thrilled with my find. i didn’t care that i never would’ve bought those jeans in a retail situation because it has been so many years since i’ve bought retail clothes i can’t imagine what i’d buy. honestly, i barely noticed that the jeans were acid-washed because they fit, they cost a dollar, and those two qualities qualify them as a win. plus, somewhere sunk deeply in my subconscious there’s a magical notion that these jeans could be my favorite jeans from middle school reincarnated.

confession: i don’t know what happened with the lecherous neighbor guy after i told my dad about the phone calls. dad went over to “talk” to the neighbor guy and i never saw or heard from the neighbor again. his wife and kids continued to live in the house down the street, but i never saw the male neighbor or his car on our street after my dad “talked” to him. i wondered at the time (still do) if dad hurt him permanently (permanent like dead). dad was capable and culpable of worse things which is why i had waited to tell dad about the phone calls until the phone calls became increasingly dangerous-feeling with sexual suggestiveness. oh, the irony of my incestuous father protecting his daughter from a neighboring sexual predator through the use of violence. moving from irony to gratitude, thank goodness for the happy fact of acid-washed jeans, then and now…and an extra helping of gratitude for the monsters from childhood who have since died. rest in peace, dad. rest in peace, lecherous neighbor guy (unknown whether dead or alive, but if alive, he’ll be dead soonish since we all die and he’d be old now).

confession: i want more favorite things that feel good to wear, eat, do, share, think about, write about, and wake up to. in order to discover more favorites, daily experiments are required to experience more new things. a full-hearted YES in advance to all the failures encountered while exploring options for new favorites!

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confessions of cat ears and sativa

confession: yesterday i had a perfectly good day. not a perfect day, but good enough and better than most and i like to call the good enough days perfectly good because i’m trying to be more optimistic. not because i am optimistic, but because i’m trying. i try a lot of stuff that doesn’t come naturally. failing is fine. keep trying, keep failing, keep trying; a routine easy enough to follow even when it’s hard.

confession: i had an actual perfect day on monday, no optimism required. i did all my favorite things in one of my favorite places in the world. i planned the trip two months in advance. i aligned the details to guarantee my greatest pleasure. what constitutes your perfect day? where are you, what are you doing, how are you feeling on a perfect day? please plan for your next perfect day. execute that plan.

confession: my next perfect day is planned for the end of this month. my next next perfect day is planned for the end of june. my challenge between now and the end of june is to plan and execute several  more perfect days. this sunday looks wide open for the stay-at-home version of perfection that includes reading, hiking, and napping.

confession: because marijuana is legal in california, i purchased my favorite edibles while i was there. for the first time in my life i experienced the potential hazard of i-feel-so-good-high-i-don’t-want-to-get-off-the-couch-to-do-anything which worked out okay because i was on vacation and by the time i dosed 10mg of sativa in delicious chocolate form it was evening and i’d already accomplished everything i wanted for the day and all that was left to complete the day was getting hiiiiiiiigh, but damn, i get it why i’ve never been the girl who woke up, rolled over, and smoked a bowl first thing in the morning because if i were that girl i’d be a half-lidded loser.

confession: today is the first day this week i’ll be sober for 24 hours. that’s sweet. (self-mocking and serious, both.)

confession: all afternoon i’d been wearing gold glittering cat ears that i had borrowed from my eight-year-old niece. during dinner that evening at a restaurant with my brother’s family, i gently reminded wizard that we needed to use our “grown-up manners” at the table since we are accustomed to eating feral-style at the sink. he gave me a funny look i didn’t understand…until the end of the meal when i went to the restroom and realized i was still wearing the gold glittering cat ears.

confession: wearing gold glittering cat ears is now part of my perfect day itinerary.

confession: wizard and i steal candy from kids. (we get permission from their parents to raid their children’s candy stashes because we are friends with parents who don’t let their kids eat candy.)

confession: i have a landline for business-related reasons, although i use it as frequently to dial my misplaced cell phone as i use it for business purposes. how do people without landlines find their cell phones?

confession: my 28-year-old self would think my 44-year-old self is lame. my 44-year-old self thinks my 28-year-old self was stupidly ignorant and naive. my 82-year-old future self thinks all my younger selves ought to be kinder and more compassionate toward one another.

 

 

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