I don't know if anyone reads my blog anymore, and I wouldn't blame you if you stumbled across this and though, Well, here's that old thing I used to read... I doubt it will be kept up.
The most important audience, to me, will read it. Gabe's icicle blue eyes will read it, devouring a little piece of home. Colton will read it and have something to say, every time. Alexis and I share a brain, so I bet we will talk at length about certain entries. Berea will bring logic to each post, and mom will have a joke to fit the topic. Jen might even pop in occasionally. And there are several freinds I know who may 'like' some writings on my Facebook link.
I used to guage the sucess of my blog on the sheer number of viewers I had each day. For a while, it swelled up into the thousands, with chat rooms and bogs commenting raucously on the details of our recent broken home. Complete strangers berated each individual in our family, while some gave undying support. It became too much when I realized how bitter I had become and how sickening it felt to log on each morning.
Now, my success will be the beauty of each piece I create. The motivation will come from the sense of accomplishment, of making something beautiful in a way that I find I can. And all judgements will be checked at the door, filtered for the sake of those I love, and uniquely addressed from time to time.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Routine
There is something like comfort
In this derelict routine
Savoring the familiar
And breathing in the sensations
As I walk these barren halls
Past the morgue, the cafeteria
That screams out aromas
To tantalize my malnourished body
Others also follow the worn tracks
We all murmur "good morning"
And plaster our smiles on
With all the bravery of a masquerade
I unlock the door to my office
Bite into a crisp Gala apple
Feel it's skin scrubbing my teeth
And let the flavor linger on my lips
We attend muster, same as any day
Dressed in the same tired blues
Listen to the announcements we all know by heart Then branch off to our well known seats
The only new thing I can brag of
Is a new background on my screen
A new song on the radio
A fresh ache in my bones
The delicate warmth of caramel
Whispers through my senses
As I think of how I miss you
And it's the best part of this routine
Missing you
It's what I do
Every day.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
...Of the Year
Wow... I think my blog may feel a little neglected. I haven't written in months! Like an old friend, it will settle comfortably back into my life. This will soon be the best way to let my deployed man see a little more into my life while he is away. When I send emails, they tend to be short and sporadic. Hopefully, by being more proactive in writing out my thoughts and days, communication will come easier throughout this trying time.
My year has gone very well. I remember waking up in San Antonio, Texas, on New Years morning. I reflected on the rough year I was leaving behind. That day, I received a call from my command, telling me that I was beginning my tour at a new command within the week. I had just started texting a really cute guy, and I had a good, hopeful feeling about it. Overall, I had a very positive feeling about the year to come. And so far, it's lived up to and exceeded my expectations.
Some bad things have come about, as is to be expected in any given year. I've had some health problems, a significant surgery, and emotional struggles. There have been several deaths, including two Navy shipmates who were slaughtered in senseless acts, and a few teachers and mentors. Overshadowing the entire span of the year has been the impending dread of Gabe's deployment.
All of those issues are minor when I see how far I have come, both as an individual, and in my relationship. With my lover by my side, I don't care how hard life gets, it will be incredibly wonderful. And even when he is halfway around the world, I know that the promise of a lifetime together will give me the strength to not just 'make it', but to embrace this time and find joy in being me.
Yup... That's all for now! I'll get to posting the good stuff soon. Mm, I've missed the blog! I'm excited to write again.
My year has gone very well. I remember waking up in San Antonio, Texas, on New Years morning. I reflected on the rough year I was leaving behind. That day, I received a call from my command, telling me that I was beginning my tour at a new command within the week. I had just started texting a really cute guy, and I had a good, hopeful feeling about it. Overall, I had a very positive feeling about the year to come. And so far, it's lived up to and exceeded my expectations.
Some bad things have come about, as is to be expected in any given year. I've had some health problems, a significant surgery, and emotional struggles. There have been several deaths, including two Navy shipmates who were slaughtered in senseless acts, and a few teachers and mentors. Overshadowing the entire span of the year has been the impending dread of Gabe's deployment.
All of those issues are minor when I see how far I have come, both as an individual, and in my relationship. With my lover by my side, I don't care how hard life gets, it will be incredibly wonderful. And even when he is halfway around the world, I know that the promise of a lifetime together will give me the strength to not just 'make it', but to embrace this time and find joy in being me.
Yup... That's all for now! I'll get to posting the good stuff soon. Mm, I've missed the blog! I'm excited to write again.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Lemur Oscar Victor Echo
I've addressed this topic before, but it seems to be constantly evolvinig, at least within me it is. The past several months I've been wondering what makes my current relationship so different, so different from any other experience I've had. And today, my close friend told me he was tired of love. Now, I think he's talking about the love that has yet to be defined by another term, but I don't think it's love. I don't know what it is.
When I was young, love was simple. I didn't love boys, unless they were cousins or brothers; I adored my voice teacher, and I couldn't imagine living without my mother. Love was selfish then. I loved my mom because she stood up for me and offered safety from my tyrant father. I loved my cousins because they kept me company. My sisters were loved on a day-to-day basis, whoever was nicer I loved. But that was a superficial thing, and I hesitate to call that true love.
My friend and I have shared a rough experience with relationships. That may be why love seems to be so tiring. If he's talking about what I think he's talking about, it's the emotion that overwhelmes and consumes your everyday life. And he's right. That kind of 'love' is really exhausting. It can be good! But it also causes you to focus a lot more on one part of your life than you really should. It also involves you behaiving and thinking a certain way all the time, and it's definitely confining. Love should feel freeing, in my opinion.
I'm not sure that's really love either. I think the problem with defining love is that it can't really be explained. It's like faith. You have your own experience with it that no one else can, and if you try and share it, it becomes tainted. But you can look into the eyes of someone else who has matured in their own experience, and know that they understand. That's what makes it so mysterious and great.
I've tried the consumer version of love. It wasn't for me. For a while I rejected the whole idea of love. That's the point my friend is coming to, and while I hurt for him, I'm also a little excited because I have this vision of his revelation in the near future. He's highly intelligent and in tune to himself, so I know he'll pick up on it very quickly, like I did, once he's ready. He's in the last stages of being bound to his coccoon (stupid analogy, I know, but it's the image I have) and the butterfly is emerging. And I know it will be a grand, beautiful thing that he will experience.
For me, that moment came over the course of about a week. I had found someone that I liked, found very attractive, was compatible with in nearly every way, and was spending time with and getting to know better. And in a very short time span, I realized that this truly was a man I could gladly trust the rest of my life with. The big realization came for me when I saw myself having a family with him. Never have I ever actually envisioned making such a big commitment to any man. This trust I have enables me to love him, without obsessing. It's got some of the same features as what I've experienced before, but in cinimax. I love to be with him, but while I don't think about him the whole time I'm away, I get excited when it's time to go home. We talk about our future, and I don't see life as being trapped in a comitment, but rather I'm truly only interested in being with him. This mature love is growing by the day, but it's not taking over my emotions.
Lemur Oscar Victor Echo. A love that promises to last.
When I was young, love was simple. I didn't love boys, unless they were cousins or brothers; I adored my voice teacher, and I couldn't imagine living without my mother. Love was selfish then. I loved my mom because she stood up for me and offered safety from my tyrant father. I loved my cousins because they kept me company. My sisters were loved on a day-to-day basis, whoever was nicer I loved. But that was a superficial thing, and I hesitate to call that true love.
My friend and I have shared a rough experience with relationships. That may be why love seems to be so tiring. If he's talking about what I think he's talking about, it's the emotion that overwhelmes and consumes your everyday life. And he's right. That kind of 'love' is really exhausting. It can be good! But it also causes you to focus a lot more on one part of your life than you really should. It also involves you behaiving and thinking a certain way all the time, and it's definitely confining. Love should feel freeing, in my opinion.
I'm not sure that's really love either. I think the problem with defining love is that it can't really be explained. It's like faith. You have your own experience with it that no one else can, and if you try and share it, it becomes tainted. But you can look into the eyes of someone else who has matured in their own experience, and know that they understand. That's what makes it so mysterious and great.
I've tried the consumer version of love. It wasn't for me. For a while I rejected the whole idea of love. That's the point my friend is coming to, and while I hurt for him, I'm also a little excited because I have this vision of his revelation in the near future. He's highly intelligent and in tune to himself, so I know he'll pick up on it very quickly, like I did, once he's ready. He's in the last stages of being bound to his coccoon (stupid analogy, I know, but it's the image I have) and the butterfly is emerging. And I know it will be a grand, beautiful thing that he will experience.
For me, that moment came over the course of about a week. I had found someone that I liked, found very attractive, was compatible with in nearly every way, and was spending time with and getting to know better. And in a very short time span, I realized that this truly was a man I could gladly trust the rest of my life with. The big realization came for me when I saw myself having a family with him. Never have I ever actually envisioned making such a big commitment to any man. This trust I have enables me to love him, without obsessing. It's got some of the same features as what I've experienced before, but in cinimax. I love to be with him, but while I don't think about him the whole time I'm away, I get excited when it's time to go home. We talk about our future, and I don't see life as being trapped in a comitment, but rather I'm truly only interested in being with him. This mature love is growing by the day, but it's not taking over my emotions.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Countdown
Ten.
Ten days, until the man they loved was dead. Even now, life drained from his body, at the same pace as the IV fluids tried to drip life back into his swollen limbs. His gorged face bulged over into his neck. Morphine was slowly injected into his tired veins by one of
Nine.
Nine tubes linked him to this world, suctioned his soul from a peaceful end. With each tortured breath, he sank deeper into a miry wallow of his muddled mind. His glazed vision shifted, and he could make out
Eight.
Eight young pairs of eyes peered back into the blurry focus, the window to his spirit. Four brown pairs. Three hazel sets. And one blue pair of eyes, like his own, only alert, wide, innocent. He struggled to reach a hand out, to give comfort to his grandchildren, but all he could offer was a weak sigh. His hand was grasped anyway.
Seven.
Seven years he had known this child, fair-haired like his mother, and just as bright. Worried fingers twined around his own, gripping, promising to hold tight as long as possible. A sweet, clear voice piped, "I love you, Poppi!" Other little voices chimed, "Me too!!"
Six.
Those six words set into motion what sheer wishing could not, a spurt of energy. It coursed from his warmed heart, through slowed arteries, briskly to his brain. He found the strength to squeeze the boy's hand and say, "I love you, son. All of you... you are always with me, and I'll be there for you..." And the strength passed. He fought to stay awake. A nurse entered the room, quietly.
Five.
Five milligrams. That's all it took. Five milligrams of a calming substance, given intraveinously, and he let go, as his heart settled into a faint, steady beat. His memories drowned him, and now it was 1974. Sherry sat beside him, her upturned gaze so full of love, he thought his heart would burst. He held her to his chest. Tears flowed freely down his wrinkled cheeks, unable to contain his joy. He thought he'd never hug his bride again.
Four.
Four minutes to rouse him. That was a bad sign, thought the young man, as he tried softly to wake the sleeping father. Like swimming through honey, it took a while to rise to the surface of unconsciousness. At last, his tears dried, his arms let go, and his Love vanished. He opened his eyes to the harsh glare of the hospital reality.
Three.
Three children were his greatest treasures, and they stood around him now. A little refreshed, he opened his arms and they gladly accepted his embrace. His daughter tearfully kissed him, clinging to his ragged body. The two younger boys-no, men now-stood near and held his hands.
Two.
Two hands now held by his sons. These hands, now aged and shivering with cold, weren't always so fragile. They had tossed grandbabies above his head, and had gently wriggled loose teeth. They had held weeping children when they lost their mother, but also tickled excited babies. They placed a ring on the hand of the woman he swore to love always, and had worn a matching band to this day. They had rescued a man from a burning barn, and even now, they sent quiet assurance to hands desperately in need.
One.
One life, nobly lived. And unsung hero, he came, lived, and he will go, but he has made a difference. He is good, and he will live on in the hearts of many. But he cannot yet go, because he has one more message for his children. His last words are,
"Don't Forget to Live"
For Grandpa Bennett.
Ten days, until the man they loved was dead. Even now, life drained from his body, at the same pace as the IV fluids tried to drip life back into his swollen limbs. His gorged face bulged over into his neck. Morphine was slowly injected into his tired veins by one of
Nine.
Nine tubes linked him to this world, suctioned his soul from a peaceful end. With each tortured breath, he sank deeper into a miry wallow of his muddled mind. His glazed vision shifted, and he could make out
Eight.
Eight young pairs of eyes peered back into the blurry focus, the window to his spirit. Four brown pairs. Three hazel sets. And one blue pair of eyes, like his own, only alert, wide, innocent. He struggled to reach a hand out, to give comfort to his grandchildren, but all he could offer was a weak sigh. His hand was grasped anyway.
Seven.
Seven years he had known this child, fair-haired like his mother, and just as bright. Worried fingers twined around his own, gripping, promising to hold tight as long as possible. A sweet, clear voice piped, "I love you, Poppi!" Other little voices chimed, "Me too!!"
Six.
Those six words set into motion what sheer wishing could not, a spurt of energy. It coursed from his warmed heart, through slowed arteries, briskly to his brain. He found the strength to squeeze the boy's hand and say, "I love you, son. All of you... you are always with me, and I'll be there for you..." And the strength passed. He fought to stay awake. A nurse entered the room, quietly.
Five.
Five milligrams. That's all it took. Five milligrams of a calming substance, given intraveinously, and he let go, as his heart settled into a faint, steady beat. His memories drowned him, and now it was 1974. Sherry sat beside him, her upturned gaze so full of love, he thought his heart would burst. He held her to his chest. Tears flowed freely down his wrinkled cheeks, unable to contain his joy. He thought he'd never hug his bride again.
Four.
Four minutes to rouse him. That was a bad sign, thought the young man, as he tried softly to wake the sleeping father. Like swimming through honey, it took a while to rise to the surface of unconsciousness. At last, his tears dried, his arms let go, and his Love vanished. He opened his eyes to the harsh glare of the hospital reality.
Three.
Three children were his greatest treasures, and they stood around him now. A little refreshed, he opened his arms and they gladly accepted his embrace. His daughter tearfully kissed him, clinging to his ragged body. The two younger boys-no, men now-stood near and held his hands.
Two.
Two hands now held by his sons. These hands, now aged and shivering with cold, weren't always so fragile. They had tossed grandbabies above his head, and had gently wriggled loose teeth. They had held weeping children when they lost their mother, but also tickled excited babies. They placed a ring on the hand of the woman he swore to love always, and had worn a matching band to this day. They had rescued a man from a burning barn, and even now, they sent quiet assurance to hands desperately in need.
One.
One life, nobly lived. And unsung hero, he came, lived, and he will go, but he has made a difference. He is good, and he will live on in the hearts of many. But he cannot yet go, because he has one more message for his children. His last words are,
"Don't Forget to Live"
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Linger
Just a few more minutes, please?
I am so loving the feeling of you here
Pulling me as close as you can get me
Your arms holding me fully
Your lips, telling me you love me
Please don't go.
Stay on
We have the world right now
My hand in yours,
Your heart in mine
We could go on this way forever.
On the beach
We can soak up the sun
In the mountains
Let's take a million pictures
At the best restaraunt
We'll inhale the aromas
On the praries
We'll revel with our families.
Forever is a while
I guess I can bear a separation
It only makes us stronger
But know that I'll be longing
Waiting, hoping, and dreaming
Time may stand still
Or it may soar by
Until the day
I'm with you again,
This time to stay.
I am so loving the feeling of you here
Pulling me as close as you can get me
Your arms holding me fully
Your lips, telling me you love me
Please don't go.
Stay on
We have the world right now
My hand in yours,
Your heart in mine
We could go on this way forever.
On the beach
We can soak up the sun
In the mountains
Let's take a million pictures
At the best restaraunt
We'll inhale the aromas
On the praries
We'll revel with our families.
Forever is a while
I guess I can bear a separation
It only makes us stronger
But know that I'll be longing
Waiting, hoping, and dreaming
Time may stand still
Or it may soar by
Until the day
I'm with you again,
This time to stay.
I Fear I May Have...
Okay, I admit it. I have a few fears. And, they really aren't well founded. I think it's common to have a few fears. These are mine.
I'm very afraid of water. My mind seems to exaggerate the terror the closer I get to a body of water. Many times I've dreamed about jumping into a pool, and whenever I'm about to jump I seize up with fright. The next day, I'll scoff at the nightmare-until I see a pool, then I instantly freeze in panic as that sensation grips me. Honestly, I can't remember anything happening to me, ever, to make my fear a grounded one. But it's gotten better, at least. When I was 3 or 4, I couldn't even look at a shower without screaming about it.
I'm afraid of risk taking. Who isn't? But one good thing about that is there are not a lot of risks that I face, or anything resembling what I would call a risk. Of course, there are the common, jumping-out-of-an-airplane risks, and I think that kind of fear is very healthy. I know one person who isn't afraid of such things, and she has admitted she doesn't feel much emotion of any kind, fear included. But it's not crippling, so I think I can face most of those frightful things.
One very terrifying thing for me is supernatural horror movies. In college I saw the Omen, about the child antiChrist, and that gave me horrible nightmares for months. I can watch blood and gore all day, and movies with the jump factor aren't that bad either. But add a little about demons in there, or supernatural occurances (like the Paranormal Activity series) and I'm sufficiently scared straight. Like, I'll wake you up in a dead sleep to make sure you aren't possessed, then make you go to the bathroom with me because I don't want to be alone. After watching the Exorcist, I now check on Gabe every time I get back from going to the bathroom at night, to make sure he's still alive and still himself, and not some horrid killer.
I'm afraid of losing everything. Especially any good luck I may have come across. This stems from a childhood belief that God wants to raise your hopes in your dreams only to tear them from your grasp to teach you...something. Even though I have a whole different mindset now, I still feel very cautious when something wonderful happens to me, like I shouldn't get too excited. Maybe another part of that is because if I was particularly happy as a kid, my dad would feel threatened and make sure I ended up miserable. One example was the time I went to my best friend Amber's house all weeknd, had a superb time. Her dad told my dad this, and when I went home, I was confronted with rage. How could I be so sullen at home all the time, such a discontented attitude every time I was asked to do something, but around other people I was a joy to be with? And that lecture went on until I felt like a total failure and the day went from one of the best of my life to seriously one of the worst.
Last, and perhaps not least, I'm afraid of hurting people's feelings or angering them. It shouldn't be as big a deal as it is. And it's sometimes pathetic. If you can't turn down a pervert's sexual gestures for fear of hurting their feelings, EVEN THOUGH you hate him for acting in such a manner, then it's truly a problem.
Those are my fears. What are yours? Are they heroic? Do they serve any constructive purpose in your life? I don't know if mine do. But for some reason, I have them, and they factor into some of the choices I make.
I'm very afraid of water. My mind seems to exaggerate the terror the closer I get to a body of water. Many times I've dreamed about jumping into a pool, and whenever I'm about to jump I seize up with fright. The next day, I'll scoff at the nightmare-until I see a pool, then I instantly freeze in panic as that sensation grips me. Honestly, I can't remember anything happening to me, ever, to make my fear a grounded one. But it's gotten better, at least. When I was 3 or 4, I couldn't even look at a shower without screaming about it.
I'm afraid of risk taking. Who isn't? But one good thing about that is there are not a lot of risks that I face, or anything resembling what I would call a risk. Of course, there are the common, jumping-out-of-an-airplane risks, and I think that kind of fear is very healthy. I know one person who isn't afraid of such things, and she has admitted she doesn't feel much emotion of any kind, fear included. But it's not crippling, so I think I can face most of those frightful things.
One very terrifying thing for me is supernatural horror movies. In college I saw the Omen, about the child antiChrist, and that gave me horrible nightmares for months. I can watch blood and gore all day, and movies with the jump factor aren't that bad either. But add a little about demons in there, or supernatural occurances (like the Paranormal Activity series) and I'm sufficiently scared straight. Like, I'll wake you up in a dead sleep to make sure you aren't possessed, then make you go to the bathroom with me because I don't want to be alone. After watching the Exorcist, I now check on Gabe every time I get back from going to the bathroom at night, to make sure he's still alive and still himself, and not some horrid killer.
I'm afraid of losing everything. Especially any good luck I may have come across. This stems from a childhood belief that God wants to raise your hopes in your dreams only to tear them from your grasp to teach you...something. Even though I have a whole different mindset now, I still feel very cautious when something wonderful happens to me, like I shouldn't get too excited. Maybe another part of that is because if I was particularly happy as a kid, my dad would feel threatened and make sure I ended up miserable. One example was the time I went to my best friend Amber's house all weeknd, had a superb time. Her dad told my dad this, and when I went home, I was confronted with rage. How could I be so sullen at home all the time, such a discontented attitude every time I was asked to do something, but around other people I was a joy to be with? And that lecture went on until I felt like a total failure and the day went from one of the best of my life to seriously one of the worst.
Last, and perhaps not least, I'm afraid of hurting people's feelings or angering them. It shouldn't be as big a deal as it is. And it's sometimes pathetic. If you can't turn down a pervert's sexual gestures for fear of hurting their feelings, EVEN THOUGH you hate him for acting in such a manner, then it's truly a problem.
Those are my fears. What are yours? Are they heroic? Do they serve any constructive purpose in your life? I don't know if mine do. But for some reason, I have them, and they factor into some of the choices I make.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)