Thursday, April 05, 2018

20 days

I've been on the ground for 20 days.

For 20 days I have been asleep in my own bed.

For 20 days I didn't board a plane.

For 20 days I saw the dogs.

For 20 days I ate what I wanted to cook.

For 20 days I saw the people I cared about.

Around day 9 I felt the itch. The "what am I doing here".

The ground confusion.

The stable confusion.

The why am I not going confusion.

Love the dogs, take a shower, workout, eat the food, see the people. Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Is this what it is always like this like. The day in and day out, the one place, the one thing, the one time, the ground, the ground the ground.

Feelings around me and I look at myself in the mirror and I feel most exhausted and most offput and mostly on the ground and I want to

The dogs are so cute, in bed snuggles and warmth and I fall down around them all snuggles and warmth and I look out the windows all chill outside making the snuggles and warmth more snuggly and warmly and I


2 days.

It is 2 more days and I am gone again.

2 more days and up and down.

2 more days and movement.

2 more days and it is coming.

And no dogs.
and no bed.
and.
and

Tuesday, April 03, 2018

Strong Emotions

The one thing that has become more challenging for me as I've gotten older is strong emotions.

Mastery of bottling my feeling, level 100.

There is no emotion here. I am nothing.

An unfeeling creature.

Logic and reason. These are things I can fully embody. I feel nothing. For this. For that. For me. For you.

For you.

For you.

All of this is a lie of course. The reality is that I feel so intensely that there are times when it is absolutely overwhelming. I cry alone in a bathroom and hope you don't notice a slight swelling to my eyes or the rasppiness to my voice from choking back tears. All of this is contained in all moments, but contained. Contained.

The world is a tidal wave of strong emotions and I am cresting on the surface, riding, sometimes riding with, sometimes crushed beneath.

My outward appearance is nothing.

When you say you love me, I die inside and I want to bury my head and deny it. I want to grab your clothes and pull you against me and make mad, fierce love. I want to hold you in my body and in my arms, pull your hair, pull your lips between my teeth, pull your tongue into my mouth, pull your arms around me. When I come I want to roll away and cry and lose myself and forget my name until you grab me and whisper my name in my ear and tell it will be okay and hold me until the shaking has passed and I know you are not leaving.

You will not run away because I am broken.

And I will not be any less worthy of your love because I am broken.

I am broken.

And brokenness is worthy of affection.

The world was dark and grey today and full of wanting, and missing, and fretting and dark emotion, and the tendrils of love riding on the tips of the wind slapping the trees and in the fullness of the raindrops that crash against the window pain making a spattering sound that makes me think of what it must be like to hit my heart when it is breaking.

Broken hearts are real, and yet I do not shy away.

And I love you, and I feel the strong emotions, and I don't bend, or break, or run away in the face of them.

I don't know who that makes me.

Sunday, April 01, 2018

Moonlight

The loud-quiet sounds of panting are filling the room as we pull apart from each other, sweat cooling suddenly in the room; the space between us seems suddenly so vast and the light in the room so bright.


Cord dangling from my hand and I pull and pull, lifting up the blind that blocks out the night sky, an evening free of obfuscation and clouds, an evening full of talk, laughter and embrace. 

"Here come hold me, look."

Arms wrapped around bodies, back to front, front to back, and the moonlight in the window shining down on both of us, throwing blue light that combines with the candles to suddenly make the bed feel bright. There is no darkness here now. 

Warm breath against my neck. 

"A full moon."

"Yes, making love under the full moon, surely there is lunacy in that," I respond and snuggle into a warm arm. 

A small laugh. 

"Have you ever wondered why the moon gets such a bad rap. Lunacy and lunatics and the madness of the full moon. Beware the full moon, for it brings out the crazies." 

"Because it changes. We don't like change."

"That's true."

"You can see it changing, going and coming back, and going again. Predictable but changing. Never quite the same."

"I suppose that is true. The sun is constant."

"The sun never changes, never leaves us. Maybe that's why the sun doesn't go hand in hand with madness. We are used to seeing it float there all the time. Always watching, never letting us get away with anything."

"Which explains why there is so much madness when the sun does change."

"Yes."

Lips against the back of my neck, and arms around me. Eyes closed and the milky white moonlight presses against the thin membrane, making shadows that dance against the pressure of my closed eyes. 

"Yes."

And here, in this evening I am changing again, and it is lunacy, and it is madness, and it is terrifying and full of the ever oppressive fear and risk of change. And the hands around me, and the quiet conversation, and the laughter, make it all the more interesting to embrace the change.