tug o’ war

I’m wondering what the next step is. Auto feels for me. We all know how I feel about him. So, taking advice, I should tell him. But what if it’s too soon? What if I don’t get a reciprocal response? What if it kills everything? What if…………………….oh jeez.

What if I get what I want? There’s no need to worry about that. Patience has never been a virtue of mine, and neither has been guts. I’m still hoping for a storybook ending hence the neurotic rambling about perfection and ruining what may or may not be developing again, perhaps more tentatively but more intensely with him. I want him to look at me the way he used to. Better. The way he used to look at her. She was his addiction once, and he has always been mine. At least there’s one thing in common–neither one of us forgot each other. Which is why I’m not letting go against better judgement and friends’ advice, warning, hesitation and scolding.

E once told me she thought this would be a sex blog. Looking at my archives, it’s more a hoplessly romantic hanging-by-a-thread ode to him. A love blog. Not as risque sounding as I might have hoped. Ha. Definately doesn’t get as much readership as my racier entries. When I’m all caught up staring at him figuratively atop his pedestal, I don’t include the flashbacks to hot skin touching, warm breath, cold nights, or waking up tired but not alone. Although I’m hoping to rewind and get that back. Maybe, if I’m really a lucky girl, I won’t have to go back to the past, but just fast-forward a little.

the little things

My heart breaks in subtle ways. In a good pain sort of way. He’s sitting at the table with my niece while I’m getting everyone something to drink with dinner. He’s talking to her, asking her about school, and her friends. He’s smiling, he’s doing it without being asked, without anyone noticing really, but me. I’m frozen in the living room like I’m on the outside looking in, watching this man who’s so familiar to me, but who I’m still discovering.

Another little crack when he looks at me, smiling, laughing with me. With my family. There was never a moment of awkwardness. Well, until we’re alone in my room. He’s fighting it. I’m fighting it. Are we actually pulling in the same direction and don’t know it? I know it. We are.

Nearly falling apart as we’re watching a movie, at first I think he wants to avoid any closeness. Then I see the classic shifting, and when I get back from the bathroom, he’s sooo leaning onto my side of the loveseat. Nothing happens. It’s all first-date all over again. I want to wrap my arms around him twice.

He’s getting ready to leave, and I can’t help it. The hug, the smell of soap and Old Spice, and the ‘thank you babe’, well, I cave, and I kiss him. We do a rushed, puckered dry kiss, and I’ve caught him off guard. But it still counts right?

So the night comes to an end and in my excitement it’s stretched into the morning. Alone. Overall, it’s easy to say that overused four letter word. It’s the simple addition of the time I’m with him though that makes it all add up and break me down. It’s as real as his lingering scent in my doorway–who he is and how I feel and what he does is that scary word taken form.

From the first heartbreak months ago, to the healing, to the crazy night, to the daily conversations, to the shaking of my hands, it’s clear I’ve had a bad case of it for awhile.

I love him.

declaration

A block from my house someone carved in the wet cement. I’ve passed it every day since we moved here, but who knows how old it is. It says ‘Tim + Vicki’. I wonder sometimes, when I’m really empty headed, if they’re still together. When they (as everyone eventually will) whisper forever if it’s true. Hmm. Does Vicki sneak out of the house to meet someone with a little more hair, a little less country accent, a little more money, a little less attachment? Does Tim sit at home staring at her, thirty pounds heavier than when he met her, wondering if she’s really it?

Not really my business I guess. But it makes you think…what if they didn’t say ‘no’ or ‘I can’t’ and just went with it?

dinner service

What’s for dessert? No, honestly, I’m very much the girl I never thought I’d be: I can’t wait to get home from work today to start cooking. I’ve had all these silly thoughts swirling around in my head since Monday night when I asked Auto to dinner…will he cancel at the last minute or is this really something he wants to do? Does this mean anything? What’ll happen after dinner? Will he just split, or hang out, help me wash dishes (unlikely, hmm-hmm), or expect dessert…if you know what I mean…

Two years ago I never would have guessed I’d be contemplating after-dinner sex with someone who can’t decide whether to push me away or never let me go. Maddening as I’ve made a simple meal invitation, I’m happy in this place I’ve made. Then again,  maybe I’m just so far gone I’ve no option but to make the best of it. Not a bad choice if I may say so……………………..

revelation

There are low points, yes. There are times I think I’ve hit rock bottom when it’s really just the slippery slope down to the bottom. I will cry. I will yell. I will want to walk out and never look back. But that is my life. It’s moving on, changing, slipping by whether I go along for the ride or scream that I want off. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Through all the haze and storm clouds that rain on my parade are the times of my life. There are people I cannot do without and chances I cannot afford to miss.

every day

Don’t get your hopes up. There are some people who should carry a surgeon’s general warning. Seriously. Don’t we all willingly consume what is most harmful to us? But it feels so good.

sincerely…no, love…sincerely…no…

I want to yell it from the rooftops. Because my hands are shaking. If I said I could take him or leave him, I’d be lying. This is what a week feels like. They twang it out in country songs, but I really did dream about you last night. And the night before. Yeah, I’m in a bad way.

Stop fighting me.

I moved my room around last month. My mirror is on the radiator table now. Which means it’s (surprisingly) too low for me to see my face. Logical I know. I have to bend forward to see myself now.

The angle and the light show the bags under my eyes. The pit in my stomach when you mention another girl is terrible. It’s like a shock wave without the shock. Spreads all over my body. It’s nothing I say. But…..

I’m a chicken for not barging in and demanding it. Don’t fight me, dammit. I don’t even care if I sound like a crazy person. Only two months? So what. I need you. And the climax: I love you. [then I'll turn around to go, praying you'll stop me before I get to the door]

search engine quotations

I’ve compiled the contents of search engine hits to get to my blog.

“Sometimes we need to stop analyzing all the voices you don’t know, and the emotional lonliness of men.”

Ta-da. It is, ironically, quite fitting.

re-bearing

This is mine. It was my photographic moment, my emotional snapshot. It was everything that was in my head, captured. It was six fifteen in the morning, alone and still awake and wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life.

Who’s with me? A show of hands for anyone who’s just tugging at their hair and wondering where the ____ the time went. Where that person you woke up beside went. Where your free time went. Where your motivation, your passion, your inspiration went.

Hell, maybe I’ll teach myself photography. I’ve always thought I’ve got a lot to learn.

Memo

I, the Penis, hereby request a raise in salary for the following reasons:

• I do physical labor
• I work at great depths
• I plunge headfirst into everything I do
• I do not get weekends or holidays off
• I work in a damp environment
• I work in a dark workplace that has poor ventilation
• I work in high temperatures

Sincerely, the Penis

Dear Penis,

After assessing your request and considering the arguments you have raised, the administration rejects your request for the following reasons:

• You do not work eight hours straight
• You fall asleep after brief work periods
• You do not always follow the orders of the management team
• You do not stay in your designated area and are often seen visiting other locations
• You do not take initiative
• You need to be pressured and stimulated in order to start working
• You leave the workplace messy at the end of your shift
• You don’t always observe necessary safety regulations, such as wearing correct protective clothing
• You will retire well before you are 65
• You are unable to work double shifts
• You sometimes leave your designated work area before you have completed the assigned task
• You are constantly seen entering and exiting the workplace carrying two suspicious looking bags