I Love Post Secret

Today this made me laugh.
I needed to laugh.
Today, for some reason, this made me proud to be a woman...

we are, after all, the stronger sex.

From: Post Secret

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"Nothing is so strong as gentleness and nothing is so gentle as real strength."
--Reverend Ralph W. Sockman

He Who Must Not Be Named

So out of the blue one day, he IM'ed me.

I wasn't exactly shocked; it was expected actually, just not quite so soon. I suspected that the pain of guilt and absence was suffocating him...

My heart didn't leap nor stop. I merely sat, paused, still and stared. For dramatic effect, I left him hanging, no doubt staring at the window anticipating the "whoever is typing a message" message, while I casually finished the sentence of actual work I was writing.

Finally, I replied, "Wa alaikum salaam."

Another stillness.

We had a brief chat. He was trying to be his cheeky ole British self while I remained cold and distant. He asked about my daughter & I transferred photos so he could see how incredibly gorgeous she was without him. He asked about my health; I told him what I went through last year while he was honeymooning. He asked about people we both know - fine, they're all fine. He asked about Islam & I told him I was dating a Catholic... I didn't mention that it was the same man he was insanely jealous of when he lived with me, but I wanted to.

I asked him nothing about him, nothing about his life, nor his wife... nothing at all which could be translated as care, concern, or God forbid, love. He volunteered that he still wasn't working in the IT industry -- the field in which he had gotten his masters, in which I had written him countless resumes for, and leads I had given him... while living off of thousands of pounds worth of loans in the most expensive city in Europe... I told him I hoped he married into money.

Suddenly, he tells me he misses his old friend... "Which one would that be?" I ask. "You of course." Well that's nice... Yeah 5 years is a lot to throw away isn't it you cowardly hypocrite? Oh whatever. I tell him that there will be a time for a conversation, but the day was yet here.

Yes, I was right. He was searching for solace for his guilt riddled conscience. He wanted to believe that everything was okay now, that we could pick back up our friendship and giggle onward and write it all off as a great big "Opps." He needed to be able to free his heart and make peace with his soul... something that even his trip to Hajj hadn't been able to do for him.

I guess she came home, because he quickly needed to go.

Yeah, take care. Bye.

I was amazingly unaffected by the exchange for a while, but one day, I realized that I had allowed him to slither back into my headspace. It pissed me off.

It was all in the process of rolling off my back when a couple of weeks later, lo & behold, he 'pings' me - on the wrong damn day... "btw," I tell him, "if I somehow managed to help relieve your conscience by responding to you last time, it was purely accidental..."

Then he was gone, again.

And ever so slightly vindicated, I could almost taste it... as the parade of tattered memories flapped about me like an old faded flag.

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"The hottest love has the coldest end."
--Socrates

Pre-nap Mania

3:01 pm After a gluttonous slice of southern heaven (an occasional rendezvous otherwise known as "lunch at Mama Dip's"... chicken 'n' dumplings, corn, fried okra, sweet iced tea, and a piece of Mama's homemade pecan pie... ), I returned to my windowless office, completely and utterly stuffed to near blissful comma and quickly decided that the walls were closing in on me. So I gathered my things, hopped in car, opened sunroof, and cruised off into the perfect spring afternoon soaring on the bare fumes left in my gas tank (not wanting to waste the time to stop) -- I shiverd with anticipation at the delightful prospect of an afternoon nap... Lady luck was on my side today as I coasted into my lover's filthy garage... and that's all I had hoped for.

I dismounted my petroless steed and dashed upstairs... I can hear the melody of the Whippoorwill outside the open window and an occasional dog barks. The curtains flare and fan with the frequent breeze and every so often some asshole cranks up a leaf blower in the distance. Ahh, but it's alright... that's just how tired I am (perhaps it's that diabetic coma kicking in from Mama's pecan pie). Snuggled under the goose down comforter that I made him buy one night, in nothing but my undies, the only thing standing between me and beautiful fluid sleep are my fingers banging away on the keyboard...

I can remedy that.

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"Anyone can escape into sleep, we are all geniuses when we dream, the butcher's the poet's equal there."
--E. M. Cioran, The Tempation to Exist

More Crazy

"Draw a crazy picture,
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-gumble song,
Whistle through your comb.
Do a loony-goony dance
'Cross the kitchen floor,
Put something silly in the world
That ain't been there before."

--Shel Silverstein

Crazy Days are here again...

But did they ever leave?...

There are times when I like to disappear, hide, ignore and be ignored by the world... because, well, I just get fucking tired.

I've been really fuckin' tired lately.

Why?...

In no particular order: Hours of IEP's, new school assignments; inevitable family disappointments, aggravating relatives, and being ever the curiosity in the family gossip... terrible two's temper tantrums and marathon potty-training... Special Olympics and the flu... a long lost brother living on my couch, bills, bills, bils, doctor appointments, physical therapy, holiday crap, new brakes... stressed out trial-lawyer boyfriend spending too much time in the courtroom rolling heads... work, work, work... trip to the mountains again, meeting far-away friends for New Years, on the road again, occational movie that I can stay awake for... lots of heartburn, instant message from "he-who-must-not-be-named," hating the boyfriend's incontenent cat, and playing house to two households... no time for keeping in touch, sporatic, house-hunting, more reading, less writing, more Wellbutrin, and eatting out too much... too many opinions, and after a near overdose of news - enjoying the hell out of watching the bush administration squirm and wallow in the feces of their own quagmire... (horray, Kevo has finally admitted he's ashamed of "his" president after the most recent head-banging, eye-jabbing WTF security contracts... The first step to recovery is admitting the problem after all.)... laziness, fatigue, head up butt, evil thoughts, short temper; my brother is a not-so-fucking-quiet insomiac, and I am sleep deprived... my child is driving me nuts: instant brat - just add mom; I wanna run away... homesick and lots of other crazy soap opera crap that would make a circus freak envious...

But we'll get to that another time.

Cheers.

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"Insane people are always sure that they are fine. It is only the sane people who are willing to admit that they are crazy."
--Nora Ephron