My Personality Type: The Sensitive Doer

My Personality Type: The Sensitive Doer

Worry post

Okay. So you know it's been a hellacious couple of weeks...finally, the past day has felt much better.
Work is going well, daughter doing better, other daughter working on things...feeling better physically as well, although I'm in losing mode. Taking vitamins to help.
A dear friend is getting married later today, I'm helping with parts of it. They all pushed me to move past feeling awkward and invite a someone to the after party. I finally did, feeling awkward the whole time. I worry. I don't want for him to feel pushed. I tried to tell them that I wasn't sure if it would be a welcome invitation but they all threatened to circumvent me entirely, go online and invite him themselves.
Sigh.
It's not that I don't want him there. It'd be a blast. It's the actual "inviting a boy somewhere without getting the 'omg she wants to marry me' " worry flag raised..
.which I can't do anything about since I wouldn't be the one thinking.
:/
Well, the invite was sent. And I'm not sure. About anything. 49 yrs old, I'm still as awkward as I ever was.

At least I'm kinda excited to wear my  short, blue lace dress. :) And to dance. And play pool.
Gnite

And then.

***to draft or not to draft...how about, an edit?

always the question on my mind.

I almost drafted that piece. I've been misunderstood so often, I worry about but covering every space of thought it idea. People generally don't take the time, or even seem to realize that perhaps there is a need to clarify something, they take it as they understand life and the beautiful, precious thought is lost. Unappreciated. Gone.

So I typically struggle with these shares. Here is why.
I go back and reread, with someone else's eyes and mindset, and I see the dark places. Then I worry. And I decide that it's better to just pull the thought and keep it silent. But I get tired of that. I treasure this particular thought. So I'll go the route and clarify a few things that could have popped up.

When I talk about the things that I love to do, I don't mean that I have to do those alone. Company is almost always welcome...almost always, because there are times when the day has been difficult or I'm hormonal and I need a moment or 12 to debrief myself. The people I care about are always welcome in my world, without exception. They, however, may choose to not be while I decompress. I understand that it isn't always fun to be in a room with someone who has headphones in. I don't mind, and it doesn't bother me to be on that other end either. Hello's are said, acknowledgment given. Better understood?

Never a lack of regard or concern on my part. Because the biggest keys to any relationship are consideration and communication, trust and honesty, kindness and humor...add, acceptance and forgiveness when those other items fall through.

Am I closed to the idea? No. I guess what I really meant to say is that "it" was never my focus. And it still isn't.

Questions? Ask!
But there won't be. Blogbots don't ask, don't care.
Gnite. There's a book waiting for me.

another ramble of random things...that are all of one subject this time. For my girls...

With a friend's wedding close at hand, the topic of marriage has been tossed about quite a bit in my circle lately.

I find it interesting that there are often 2 assumptions made...

1: that I don't have any idea about marriage and it's complexities.

or

2: that I am opposed to it in all forms and functions.

Well.

Neither of those are even remotely true.

Not even remotely.

My girls and I have had many talks over the past couple of years re: marriage, and in my desire to answer their questions honestly, I made many discoveries about myself. Those, I notice, have changed little in the time since I was a girl myself.

So. Here are some of my thoughts regarding this institution that we call marriage.

1: I never thought that I would get married. Not that I wouldn't be asked, or that I wouldn't want to...just that I wouldn't. I didn't mind the whole kitchen and apron thing, totally wanted to do the kid thing although it scared me spitless, but i wanted the nature, work, creative thing also. I didn't know how to be married, I didn't have close examples of being married that were working well. I saw, and still do see, people who must have loved each other fighting and squabbling over every little thing with an absolute lack of respect or even just base kindness...and it troubles me still. Why can't they find it possible to feel happy? 

2: That said, I do believe in marriage. At the same time as I see the above, I see people married who stuck it out through the uglies, with the determination to make it work, now sitting back years later, happy together. Loving each other. Full of friendship and kindness, humor, contentment. I like that, it's what I had hoped mine would be. So, it IS possible. And I do know that. And I honor every marriage in my circle of life. Because, unlike that first assumption, I DO know about marriage and how complex it is. I DO understand the sacrifices, the forgiveness, the struggles, the tears, the laughter, the pain, the letting go and...the giving up. I learned so much about myself and life, people, relationships...pain...and growth, from my almost 25 years of being married. 

3: While I never expected, or worried, about being married, I did enjoy it for the most part, and I really wanted to succeed at something that I had no idea how to do. When my former spouse proposed, I was stunned. I hadn't even thought about being married. I was thinking relationship, that we had, but at that moment I realized it did not automatically go to marriage in my mind...and a part of me began to worry if I was normal... We were building a relationship. And when he declared his love for me, in an Arby's down by The Tacoma Mall, as I sat scarfing down a baked potato and glass of milk, I thought that maybe I wasn't so odd that someone couldn't love me. Then he asked me to marry him...albeit in another language, which almost made me laugh potato out my nose...and I just sat there and stared at him. Was he serious?? I even asked him that, milk carton in hand...

4: I do believe that children should be raised in a family with married parents, if possible. I'm not sure why I do feel so strongly about this. Because it seems right. Because I wasn't and that felt wrong. Because a child should feel that legal security and not wonder. Do they? I'm not sure. I was certainly not the poster child for "normal" family style upbringing, so I have no frame of reference on that. 

5: Why did I say yes? Why did I say yes. Most likely because it was expected and I couldn't really see a good reason not to. My worries were multifold. Had my upbringing prepared me for marriage? I wondered. Was I going to be like my much loved mum and just find fault at every turn? I didn't think so, that's not been my way, ever. Was I normal enough to be married? I say that, normal enough, because I have always felt that people shouldn't have to be connected at the hip to be together. People are individuals. They have their own dreams, desires, hopes and heartaches, their own goals and temperments. I knew that I needed quiet time to myself, being right on the cusp of introvert/extrovert, and I knew that I liked to star gaze and listen to the trees, talk with my pets and watch the clouds make shapes in the summer sky. I wanted to put headphones on and dance like a silly girl through the house while I cleaned or worked and have it still be okay. I wanted to eat my banana with peanut butter and make a meal out of green beans, pickles and cheese if that's what sounded good. And I wanted it to be okay. I wanted to still hop in the car and go for long drives to nowhere in particular, visit the beach in the winter, wear underwear if I felt like it and not if I didn't. I wanted to still dress pretty and do my hair, feel sexy, wear lingerie and not be questioned about why...because men, we do it for ourselves. I wear my corsets or my lace, wear my heels and my fishnet and wear it for myself. Not for anyone else except maybe the person i'm involved with if they want to enjoy. I wanted to do my frivolous mall walk and watch the people interact with each other, wonder about their stories and their lives. Not in an intrusive way. In a curious, character collecting type of way. Studying people and their choices of action/reaction has been an incredible learning thing for me in my life. I wanted to be allowed to still be me...

So why did I say yes? 

In my young foolishness, i could see my image of what was, to me, a solid happy healthy relationship, with two people loving each other but not owning or consuming each other, being real. Why not? I thought. I'd pictured it as a wonderful thing for as long as I could remember...And so, I said yes.

I talked with my mum and I told her that I'd do it once. I know she was hurt, feeling judged, but it wasn't that...we'd all said the same thing. We'd do it once, this marriage thing. 2 of the 5 have stayed married for several decades and are now in the golden payoff years. Another has been married to his 2nd wife twice as long as his first marriage...I was at 25 yrs. Anyway. 

She drove me to the courthouse and at a block away I panicked. Stop. Stop stop stop. She did. I asked her what she was doing and she said she was doing exactly what I said. I wasn't even aware that I'd said anything. My mind was running a million miles an hour. What was I doing? Was I sure? Was I positive this was right? Of course not. Who ever is? Why me? Why me? Why me???? I knew then that I was fairly sure that he didn't love me. But how could I not go through with it? I still had that dream, that image...And so. On the drive we went. 

6: As my girls were asking me about my feelings regarding marriage, I had to ask them...see, when the divorce was happening, those damn words..."who knows. maybe you'll even find someone who can get along with you"...those words haunt me. He's since taken those words back and apologized, telling me that I was easy to live with had he only understood, but they still haunt me. Because, with him, it wasn't okay to dream. To hope. To have goals. To hop in the car and go for a long drive. To watch the clouds, to write, to work, sing, to dance like a silly girl through the house, to play the piano, to try new recipes, to eat my banana with peanut butter, to star gaze or listen to the world...so maybe that means that I am hard to live with or to understand. It terrifies me that I'll take that chance again and my different ness will mess things up again. I don't understand how they did, but they did. My acceptance and support was viewed with suspicion and my motives questioned always. I simply love. With my love comes acceptance. Support. Encouragement. Freedom to be who you are. Space to yourself when you want it, need it. I can't handle cheating in a relationship...that's my big thing. But I'll not doubt you until you prove that I should and then I'll still choose to trust until you prove me a fool. And i want the same in return. That IS my expectation. Let me be who I am as I let you. I don't lie. I honor trust. 

So, I asked my daughters...can you see me married? Honestly? When you see me, as I am, can you see me married?

They both said, to the right man, to the man who is like you are in this, then yes. BUT, they added, just as I was going to say, IF he's like you are, then is marriage even necessary?  

And I say, no. 

Marriage, for me, is not necessary. It isn't proof of love. Of loyalty. Of interest. It isn't necessary for a relationship to result in marriage in order to be real. Not to love. Not to support. Not to give, to encourage, to sustain. Not for friendship. or loving or laughter. Not for loyalty. 

This is what I know about me and this thing of love.

It is a verb. It is a noun. It is a beautiful thing. I give it freely to the one that I love. I give it without guile. It flows from me and to me. It isn't hippy dippy shit. It's real. Healthy. The journey together is the point. How that journey is conducted is individual. Why analyze it to death? Just be in what it is and feel it. Is it okay to miss someone? Yes. Is it okay to be alone? Yes. Is it possible to be alone, together? So many have argued this, but I say Yes. Is that even okay? YES! It is. 

Why can't 2 people love each other and continue to grow, both together and as their own people? Those points that they connect on, those fundamental points...if those remain the same, then let things be as they are and encourage each other to be your best selves.

 What makes me happy is that I see both of my daughters growing with this idea in their lives. Older daughter and boyfriend have no plans to marry, but no plans to end their relationship. They are accomplishing what I always thought could be. That's exciting to me.  However, should they choose to marry, I will support them without question, completely. 

So. That's my girlhood dream. It's a nice one. I think it's more than just that. I think it's how it should be, in whatever form the 2 involved choose it to be. 

Just love. 

And let it be. 

And now...goodnight.

Civil Wars. Pressing Flowers.

A hauntingly, beautiful song, as most of theirs are. 

Sorrow and beauty often run hand in hand. 

Loss and discovery are closely bound kin.

Love and heartache cannot exist alone.

And so, 

The Civil Wars

Pressing Flowers

Owen Meany

Such a night, talking with and hearing a young man's heartache and confusion. His family has fallen to bits and he needed a place to be in a fast way...a safe place. I've known him for years and his family as well. I feel sadness for his parents and brother, but more concern for him. We talked and he formulated a few plans, regained some focus and I'm grateful that we could offer him refuge for a day or so. 

Daughter is doing significantly better. 

Working on getting a project furthered somehow for a someone, spoke with a newspaper editor referred by a newspaper editor. It just remains to be seen if someone still wishes to pursue said venture.

Finished reading Owen Meany in the wee hours. 

Unbelievable. 

How incredibly powerful this story is. 

So many hauntingly beautiful and searingly painful parts of this book. 

I'll write more later. 

Now I have to pretend to be a mortal again and attend to the business of running an office.

House making progress, daughter repainted parts of her room, more carpet cleaned, we'll be rehoming the smaller, terrible dachs who should really be living a life as a boob pet. 

Now, on to taxes.

the moon

A poem. 

From long ago.

Where are you?

Moon?

Oh. There.

Hello. 

Look through the window, see a room, watching all.

A small face in your light. 

Security.

Tonight, the walk. 

A secret walk. 

Again.

Never told - no one knows.

No one cares.

Only you, Moon. 

Stay…?

So tired.

But it will happen.

Through the woods again. 

It’s always the woods.

Paths known, lit by you, Moon.

Always watching. 

Each walk begins the same.

Door opens - 

Quiet.

Footsteps soft…no noise.

Don’t make a sound. 

Step through.

Hand over mouth,

So quiet.

Eyes open wide,

 to see what isn’t there

Except in your light, Moon.

This path, well known.

Every step the same - but different.

So tired.

But it does happen.

Focus now - look.

See the grasses? 

Taller than before.

Strange - 

The tree…where is it?

With low branches to climb, 

To reach for you, Moon.

Show the fairy lights, where are they?

Trying.

Still quiet  - 

Shhhh…

Pain.

A sound…did a branch break?

Afraid - looking - is someone there?

Do they see?

Moon?

Are you here?

Don’t leave. 

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

Time to go.

Stay - light the way. 

Back through woods, grasses…still different, not as strange.

Back to the room. 

Shhhh…

Cold.

Door - open again.

Footsteps through.

Footsteps out.

One day, the walk won’t end.

The woods…

Stay hidden.

Quiet. 

So tired.

But it’s done.

Left in your light, 

Small. 

Never alone, with you, Moon.

Watching.

engines

How many search engines can access such a place as this silly blog?
Oh...before I forget...
"i own all this shit, not you."
Did that work?
No one can steal anything now, right?
;)
Google mexico
            australia
            russia
            vulcan...

interesting. 
Do you translate the pages?
Is it the only resource available for Sag sun/Scorpio moon?
Anyway.
At least the damn vampirestat seems to have calmed down.

and.

Feeling quite small and weak tonight. 

The trauma of the past week has passed and in my usual form, I'm reacting physically, now. A brief respite, a space of true relaxing and enjoyment ended a spot too soon, but daughter put the call out that she needed me home and of course I came right away. I'm very grateful for the advice that helped me remain calm and think through things last week, as those things are no longer in the picture. A small window of calm is here now, and I'm working to get the house finished and listed. There are spaces of painting that need done, and so I'll jump on that myself, I suppose. I'm not sure what happened, but it is what it is. 

I'm working to get back to my place of acceptance. 

My body is reacting oddly, shaking and cold. I'll sleep soon.

I do need to empty this point of major frustration and let it go again. It returns so often, but I'll free it each time and hope for the best.

I've always been adamently opposed to cosmetic surgery...that has changed. 

I want this saggy skin gone.
I want my boobs back. 

It seems so unfair to be constantly reminded in a negative way of an extreme success and accomplishment. Yet that's how it feels. 

And this week I'm frankly weepy over it.
Which I hate. 

I hate the thought that I might be so superficial, so surface oriented in this way. But there it is. Under it all my body is muscled and tight. I work hard at it, for myself. And for such a small space of time in my life, it seems terrible to carry this unrelenting scar of sorts. 

Is this shallow?

It must matter.

Does it really?

Mom, how I wish you were here. To just hear me and not judge, not scoff, not love me less. 

I don't like feeling small and vulnerable. 

I don't like feeling so exposed. 

I wish I could pull the covers back over me, to hide my scars, my confessions, my weakness, my dreams, my heart. 

It's a bit too late for all of that now, all I can hope for is compassion, understanding, kindness. Please, just replace the embarrassment and shock i feel with sweet kindness. 

I know. This is a terrible entry. 

But, I don't like feeling small.

Or vulnerable.
Exposed.

Afraid.

Open.

and yet...there it is. Here I am. 

And I wouldn't change a thing.

Ray Bradbury. Edits

It occurred to me tonight how much I like Ray Bradbury. Really like. I like his writing, his outlook. I've posted some of my favorite quotes here, with comments following...if I felt like it. 


I don't talk things, sir. I talk the meaning of things.” 
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

The meaning of things is what interests me the most, about everything. I don't go looking for meanings, that puts a skew on things that removes authenticity. I wait for those feelings to come to me in their time, to show themselves. I love this quote.

“You're not like the others. I've seen a few; I know. When I talk, you look at me. When I said something about the moon, you looked at the moon, last night. The others would never do that. The others would walk off and leave me talking. Or threaten me. No one has time any more for anyone else. You're one of the few who put up with me. That's why I think it's so strange you're a fireman, it just doesn't seem right for you, somehow.” 
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Yes. You are different. You're not like the others. You pay attention. I didn't know how to take that at first, when we began to talk. It's been almost a year...did you know? And that line, "you're one of the few who put up with me". I hope it's not all "putting up with". But I appreciate it for what it is. 

“What are the best things and the worst things in your life, and when are you going to get around to whispering or shouting them?” 
― Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing: Essays on Creativity

Exactly. When? I ask this of myself as well. Here, I shout the worst things...and I allude in whispers to the rest. This quote unsettles me. I like that. I want to think and to let those feelings and meanings come to me. Even though it frightens me a little. 

“She didn't want to know how a thing was done, but why.... Luckily, queer ones like her don't happen often.” 
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Am I queer? I've wondered at times and especially each time I read this book. Is it unusual to want to know the meaning of things? The why, more than the how? The how is obvious, or more easily found. The WHY, the motive, the drive, the desire...that's what I want to see. Show me yourself. Show myself to my own self as well.

“My gosh, if you’re going away, we got a million things to talk about! All the things we would’ve talked about next month, the month after! Praying mantises, zeppelins, acrobats, sword swallowers!” 
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine
“And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn't crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again...” 
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

My biggest sorrow, and fear. People frighten me. I have to be honest and admit that. Because, when I care about them, when I let someone in, I've carved out a space for them to have as their own. Not to control, not to own, just a space to be, inside of me. There are very few people I've done that with...4 that I can think of. Well, 5, but one is gone. 
This thought was what struck me the hardest the night my mum died. As I lay in bed, just staring at the ceiling in the dark, holding my sister as we said nothing because there was nothing that could be said, nothing that words could speak...it hit me, this thought. Mum would never fuss at me about anything anymore. Never cook for me again, pat my bum while I did the dishes in her kitchen, never call me "punkin", hold me, stroke my hand, my head, my hair. I'd never hold her close and smell her own sweet soapy tobacco smell, call her, watch her turn something dull or ordinary into something beautiful and warm, lovely, in two small swipes of her capable, amazing hands. And a part of me began to ache, so deep inside...it's never stopped. It never will. 
When someone leaves my life, I'm always struck immediately at what their leaving means. No more conversations. No more hugs. No more laughter, sharing life, thoughts, hurts, love. No more knowledge of their family, no more visits. To never see their home again, their smile, to share their dreams...it's why it's hard for me to let anyone in like that. But, these 4...they are in. I carefully considered. And I chose.

“He glanced back at the wall. How like a mirror, too, her face. Impossible; for how many people did you know who reflected your own light to you? People were more often--he searched for a simile, found one in his work--torches, blazing away until they whiffed out. How rarely did other people's faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your own innermost trembling thought?” 
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

It is, quite simply, what it is. 

“We have everything we need to be happy but we aren't happy. Something is missing...
It is not books you need, it's some of the things that are in books. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us.” 
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Books. They open our minds, our hearts, our lives. At what point does paper begin to burn? 

“From now on I hope always to stay alert, to educate myself as best I can. But lacking this, in Future I will relaxedly turn back to my secret mind to see what it has observed when I thought I was sitting this one out. We never sit anything out.

We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out. ” 
― Ray Bradbury

Never sit anything out. Even if we choose not to participate, we still are choosing a way through that time. Let the beautiful stuff out. Show it. Share it. 

“Every time you take a step, even when you don't want to. . . . When it hurts, when it means you rub chins with death, or even if it means dying, that's good. Anything that moves ahead, wins. No chess game was ever won by the player who sat for a lifetime thinking over his next move.” 
― Ray Bradbury, Farewell Summer

For me, right now. Facing the biggest steps of my life...no, not facing. Taking. The feet are already on the path, the choice is already made and the movement has already begun. 
Movement. It's life.  

“I like to watch people. Sometimes I ride the subway all day and look at them and listen to them. I just want to figure out who they are and what they want and where they're going.” 
― Ray Bradbury

Why I like the mall. People that I am close, so close, to may frighten me, but overall, people fascinate me. Look at the windows...what's behind them? What do they think? What does happy smell like to them? I want to know. 

“I just want someone to hear what I have to say. And maybe if I talk long enough, it’ll make sense.” 
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

The words of my former spouse, so generously given to me the day he left the papers hidden on the counter...Who knows? he said. Maybe some day you'll even find someone who can get along with you, make sense out of you. 
Maybe. Maybe some day, as I pour things out in this blog, maybe i'll begin to make sense to myself. Or anyone. 


The father hesitated only a moment. He felt the vague pain in his chest. If I run, he thought, what will happen? Is Death important? No. Everything that happens before Death is what counts. And we've done fine tonight. Even Death can't spoil it.” 
― Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes

Everything that happens before Death is what counts.


“My stories run up and bite me on the leg—I respond by writing down everything that goes on during the bite. When I finish the idea lets go and runs off.” 
― Ray Bradbury

Oh, God. Yes. Yes yes yes.  

“Quantity produces quality. If you only write a few things, you're doomed.” 
― Ray Bradbury

If you want to write, write. Write everything. Write all the time. Do it. The more you do it, the more it's done. 


“If you enjoy living, it is not difficult to keep the sense of wonder.” 
― Ray Bradbury

Life is incredibly amazing. Beautiful. Wonderful. Painful. Funny. Horrible. 

“A lot will be lost that way, of course.
But you can't make people listen. They have to come round in their own time, wondering what happened and why the world blew up under them.” 
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Word. 

“I want to wake people up and make them care about being alive in this universe.” 
― Ray Bradbury

I want to see it happen. I want to watch it happen, see their face, the look in their eyes, see their body change, hear the hiss of breath as they realize and take one as if it were the first ever. And I want to write about it. 

“If I’d found out that Norman Mailer liked me, I’d have killed myself. I think he was too hung up. I’m glad Kurt Vonnegut didn’t like me either. He had problems, terrible problems. He couldn’t see the world the way I see it. I suppose I’m too much Pollyanna, he was too much Cassandra. Actually I prefer to see myself as the Janus, the two-faced god who is half Pollyanna and half Cassandra, warning of the future and perhaps living too much in the past—a combination of both. But I don’t think I’m too over optimistic.” 
― Ray Bradbury

Why I like Ray Bradbury.


“Life is trying things to see if they work.” 
― Ray Bradbury

Nothing to say. It's true. 

“It shouldn't work. It shouldn't be magic. You shouldn't weep happy and then sad and then happy again.
But you do. And I do. And we all do.” 
― Ray Bradbury

I do. I have today, a few times. I'm struggling with daughter, worried about other daughter, feeling things that I have never felt before, doing things I've never done. I laugh, then cry, shake and jump in excitement. And now, I'm going to go to bed.

fast week in review...because it's been one. no edits. that may change. on the run out the door.

Oh Lord, has it been. The week started off wonderfully. Really. And the poem that is still drafted is from that.

Got home. Doing okay. Doing stuff. Cleaning, getting ready for the week, recalibrating to being in this area that is no longer home and that feels so incredibly foreign...
My foot hit a step at the top of the lower flight of stairs and down I went.
WTH.
At my age, I fricken fell down the stairs. Slid more, really. Landed faster than I could think of what happened, and just sat there.
I mention it because it really tossed me for a loop. I don't know if I had a concussion, i know I hit my neck but I'm not aware of a head hit, or what, but for the next 2 days I was in fuzz land. Thinking was HARD. My focus was not right, in any respect, not just visually. I was in a fog and couldn't seem to remember how to find the door to open and leave. At work, they sent me home early, my eyes didn't look right, they said. Then I told them about the damn fall. Then they saw the bruise on my hand and made me show them my back.
So, home I went. Couldn't sleep.
Because the child, the younger, sends me a message while I'm at work that she wants to quit the program. Which I mentioned.
16 yr old delusional stuff. It's so romantic to get a job, to work, to make your living, to be a "real" human. I've been there. I've had a kid there before. And I don't need to go into how dumb this is. It's almost a rite of passage.
This isn't flowery prose. I'm in a hurry, but there's something that I have to get out before I go. Today, today is a ritual and a step.
I talk to her a bit, careful to navigate the mine field. She is glued to a friend right now, her crutch and security blanket. It's her way. And there's suddenly a new boy in the picture, but after the fact.
I talk to her sister.
I start talking to her father.
I talk with her advisor. Or try, rather. This program is designed to be student run. Period. No parental anything other than a ride there if needed. But he agrees to give her a few more days, if she calls him.
Persuade daughter to call. They have an appt tomorrow.
Try to put together a plan to help her accomplish her goal without adding another quit to her list.
Finally, yesterday, father and I come to an agreement. Well, to be honest, I persuade him to my point of view on the subject. He says we can't force her but we have to make her. I ask what his plan is for that. Not smarmy. I'm open, if he's got a plan worked out. Because I had a detailed plan to offer her. He didn't have one. I understand the dilemma. That's parenting. Persuasion with love through the dilemmas. God. I love them so much. They add a depth to life that nothing else can. What a pain in the ass.
Meanwhile, the move. The job. All on hold and I found myself in this past month, frozen with fear. Unable to move forward, and not knowing why. WHY??? I know it's the right thing. I KNOW it is. KNOW. More than I know how to breathe, because I am consciously aware of the RIGHTNESS of this. But frozen, nonetheless.
And my anxiety over that, over daughters, with the fall and that disruption included, it spilled out into other areas of my life. I tried so so so hard to keep it reined in, to not let it show much. I know it did. My struggling was intensely overwhelming and if it wasn't noticeable, then I am fricken amazing and mail me my damn Oscar/Emmy. Address will follow. I'm serious.
Oh. Add severely cash strapped to the above. No pay day in almost 2 months, savings scraping bottom, credit living to a small extent. Not just the stress of that...but hunger. No pity party. I've been hungry. Period.
So, a hell of a week.
And a realization. A true, not hiding it from myself realization early on in the week.
So, yesterday, at work, dealing with former spouse, texting daughters, working somehow at an incredibly efficient level of ability and even more hours offered(would have loved to, but that'd put me over 40 and they can't do that. I'm solid at 36, which allows for 4 sub hours a week at the main franchise branch when necessary. I hate to say it, I'm a damn good secretary/office manager), while I'm texting another friend in a panic over the frozen move and that other issue...swallowing tears. I tell her, I want to find the seed of this in my psyche and dig the poison out of me. Forever.
She says, Good Luck, honey. I love you. She tells me to throw love at it. And I do.
She's right.
And a phone call that I couldn't take. But that lit up my day to see had happened.
But later, at home, alone, I'm still fighting this thing. We have a plan in place to help daughter. She may not accept it, but that's her choice. Their dad and I are on the same page, not a small undertaking and it always exhausts me.
I contact another friend. Someone who knows me well, who reads my emotions. Who hears what I'm not saying.
Help me. I didn't ask.
Tell me what to do.
Tell me why I do this thing that I am doing.
Everything I want is ready. Everything I want, everything that is what I've dreamed of, well...close...is on the other side of this chasm. It's there. Waiting for me to step through and take it into my hands, to own it. To live it.
Quiet for awhile, then very softly...turn the mirror back to yourself. You know the answer. Speak it.
Oh my God.
That was powerful enough to hit me solid and hard in my chest, knock the air out of me...bring tears pouring from my soul. 
Yes. I do know that answer.
Fear.
It's all that I've wanted. Life is waiting to hand it to me.
My terror lies in the accepting of it...and the potential to lose it, after tasting it and knowing the happiness that has eluded me all of my life, that has called to me from deep inside, pulling and driving me to find it.
So.
Today. I choose. I choose to step through. To step on. To do it.
Whatever comes, comes. 
I'm a survivor. This I know.
I will not borrow trouble, as a most favorite person, a someone, tells me that I do. And he is right. 
Transparency. I am going to step out of these shadows in myself and expose to my soul what it is that I want, to focus and to open myself to it. Fully.
Today, I have a ritual to attend to. 
And after that, a job to apply for. 
One that was sent to me 2 days ago. 
My daughter...she will protest. But I see, at this moment, a clear vision that she is waiting for me to stand up and make this happen. To allow this to happen. 
This I had to put down here. 
And damn it, the tears won't stop. It's an open, flowing thing. It's okay. I can act through tears. Through fear. 
As for my heart.
It's not as tough. It's very soft. Tender. Involved. I try to hide that. I try to hide the deeply romantic person that I am from places like fb and friends, work. Here, it's all open. Not just romantic in the sense of human love, but romantic in the sense of wonder of life and it's beauty and joys and fullness. 
But. My heart. God help me. I accept full responsibility for it and it's own silly self. 
But that...that is another post. For another day.

...

I took it easy this morning, feeling a little fuzzy still, stiff and sore from a fall. Got many things done, go figure.
Younger daughter finally came clean about her school program. Yes, she's bailing. I wish I could say that I'm surprised, but the sad truth is, I'm not. I AM disappointed. Concerned.
Tired.
God, I wish I knew what the hell to do to help her.
I wish I was someone that she had any respect for. She's so firmly convinced that I just don't know anything.
Anyway.
Hoping for a payday this Friday, I'll get the painting finished, get this place listed and get things done.
And...
There's that.

Well. Edits. Clarifications. Greater ambiguity. Drafted it, more edits, put it back out now.

Finally.

Now sleep can come.

I've had a head full of thoughts
And a body full of...everything, and I couldn't sleep for it all.

I pulled my notebook and just like the old days, words poured out.

A poem, of sorts. It follows no set course of flow or pattern. As with most of what I do, I have to let it live in the shape it has chosen for itself. I'm not worried that others won't like it. It is my delivery of experiences happening, and that it will likely mean little, if anything, to anyone else, matters not a whit to me.

I used to write poems, and songs, constantly. They came faster than I could write, at times, and covered everything happening in my life. All that I saw, thought, felt, learned, let go...

Oddly enough, in my memory, I can't recall a poem of love, not for one that was real, at any rate. Not for anything other than the mtn, life, my horse. Not all that surprising when I hadn't ever tasted what that could be like at that point. Not the sweet, clean true taste of love.

This one has been slowly working to the surface, growing and discovering itself on the pathway up to out.

And I understand more now about myself, for the writing of it. Frightening in ways. Exhilarating in others.
Reaffirming to myself what I had already begun to suspect. What I have refused to run away from, for the first time in my life. 
No labels. 
I have to add...perhaps no labels because of that fear that has always sent me running. But I don't want to run this time. Not at all.
Just grateful acceptance and wide-eyed wonder at the unnamed thing.
The journey journeys on.

In a short space of time it came
Ready to be born
To live
To be known.

There may be definite benefits to fatigue, extreme caffeine and ibuprofen doses and pain.
(I fell down the stairs, pulled out the big guns to fight off the brain fog and fibromyalgia I can feel brewing in response to trauma spots)

It's in draft.
I'm not ready to share it.

But it makes me smile.
It's full of good things.

Maybe someday it will see light.

And now...
I can sleep.