blind leading the blind

U2 ‘If God Will Send His Angels’

I’ve been getting masses of advice. Like the tumors that kept budding after chemo…you think you’ve heard the last of it, but sure as the optimism you let slip through the cracks, it’s back in your face.

The latest gem of self help? Birth control and mood adjusters. There are a number of possibilities I’ve generated based on these parameters: I’m depressed because I’m not getting enough sex; I’m worried about pregnancy and it’s making me hostile; having sex is making me anxious.

In the course of writing this I’ve realized my tongue in cheek joke may in fact, be true. We have a winner. A couple hours of love’r and leave’r every three or so weeks seems to do wonders for my nerves and my general sense of…..smiling.

Like any dedicated junkie, I want my fix. I wanted it yesterday, but any split-second last minute suggestion of contact will cure the pain for a week or so. It’s feeding the habit that hurts, but feels so good.

jeal.ous.y

The syllabals are broken in a different place, but there’s lousy in there. Manipulative I am not, nor what I was aiming for. I was being honest. Sharing. A little-words, chilly reception and awkwardness ensued and left me in a mental tailspin. The aforementioned not an arduous task considering the light load of having one thing on my mind at any given moment.

On the other hand, it’d be nice for a few seconds to pick it apart and determine a genuine diagnosis–a shrug…indifference…annoyance…jealousy?

1. mental uneasiness from suspicion or fear of rivalry or unfaithfulness as in love.

2. vigilance in maintaining or guarding something.

Please circle any or all of the above.

selection

I’m going to include a musical selection for the day. Yet have I found when a broad range is not a good thing.

Fall Out Boy ‘I’ve Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth’

mi amor?

Rest in peace Cory. If I had the right, I’d salute you. Instead I leave that honor and privilege to your father, your brother, and your best friend. You told me not to wait, not to leave my heart to be broken. Afraid you’d walk out like everyone had, I questioned your heart and your head. Why? Two years ago today my clouded mind cleared briefly then broke apart with a single phone call. The piano solo should have begun then, a slow, careful tinking of keys in time to my heartbeats, likewise slow, but deafening rush in my head. Why hadn’t I listened to you? Though I claim a misguided, messy love for another, I left something behind. I did everything you asked, though I still wake at night with the thought of you, the taste of you, the cold shiver of your hand on my flesh. The piano keys are slapped now and a crash of cymbals brings me up in my bed, shaken but smiling. You were a good memory always. You are? When is it okay to think of you, or of your skin and bone and blood in the past tense?

You could give me advice, I’m sure of it. Gentle blue eyes smiling down on me, bury my ‘head of red’ you’d say in that favorite gray shirt with black letters. Yes. I’ve always had a soft spot for service men, it’s true. A-R-M-Y at eye level was a swell of pride, and a crushing blow to weak young emotion. I had, for once, found balance and reason. Love? I would never know til I experienced it to find a comparison or contrast. I’m not sure I have that answer yet.

I just wanted to say how much I wish you were here, but how much I know you’re gone for countless, priceless reasons. For me, it’s helped me grown without growing apart, move on without moving away, and remember without reliving every day.

I miss you.

Thank you. For loving me, even when I was too timid to know myself. For saving me from the worst pain I couldn’t escape without help. For believing I was everything you wanted long before either of us really knew. For dedicating your life to everyone else. For being yourself. For giving your life for what you believed in. I will respect all you’ve done until I cannot remember you anymore. One day though, you will float back into my conscious mind and bring a smile when I need it most.

If I’ve faultered since, I stand back on shaking limbs, empowered with the strength I know you had. ‘If only’ I’ll start the day, not realizing that, of the two of us, I am the only one with the chance now to turn that around before it’s too late. Would you tell me to chance it? To lay it all on the line and pray. You’re not here to chuck me on the chin and give a ‘better luck next time’ or an enveloping hug as you see fit. But you did everything you knew I needed, and I could never ask anything more without guilt.

buzz ballads and candlelight

Sounds like I’m setting the mood doesn’t it? If only. No, I’m here typing on the toshiba, bright glow illuminates the tired rings under my eyes, my mascara smeary and eyes watery from yawning.

It’s an evening of scrounging conversation. An evening you should give up and turn in but instead you try desperately to get someone, anyone to talk to you. Thank goodness for a few good friends and some very sound advice.

What is life without taking risks, and a few tightrope walks? All I’m doing now is prolonging inevitable misery or a little piece of fairytale for once. Who am I to interfere with fate and will?

she works hard for her money

Everyone should know the importance of sleep. I feel in constant disarray, always short on sleep and too much to do, but when do I have the time to fit more in? I’ll sleep when I’m dead I always say. Then again, I could name the dark bags under my eyes because I’m sure they’re here to stay. If I could resolve some of my worries, perhaps I’d sleep soundly. I suppose that depends on what the answer is though………

Sunday

What’s to believe in anymore? The sunlight streams in my window and I roll over fighting the inevitable. To no avail, I’m afraid. Someone drifts through my thoughts, the permanence of the mental connection solidifies, the brain waves and electric stream throw sparks at the internal image of him. I am awake. The bright welcome of the day does not translate to a day of worship or rest, and my flesh moves tiredly already as I poke down my eggs, smothered in ketchup, and prepare for another set of hours. It is no longer a day, it is a sum of minutes with one foot in front of the other and a question mark above my head.

I’ve never been one to give up. One to complicate my own, one to settle, one to grin and bear it, one to break, privately, if ever. Repeat. Like the directions on your shampoo.

This is my Sunday. My religious say is indeed mechanics and ketchup. What I tongue-in-cheek remark, when asked, as the two things I may never have enough of.

Heinz 57 doesn’t care about that, but does he?

thinking up

I should admonish myself. Seriously. My defeatist attitude has really gotten the better of me. My positive attitude and forward thinking, my follow-through has seemed to get me somewhere.

Therein lies my problem, though. Where exactly is somewhere?? I’ve initiated, talked, laughed, invited, hugged, kissed, given, wished, mused, smiled, hoped, and shared my way to nightly conversations and reciprocal hugs and kisses…….but I still wonder how much is still a fearful surface fasad.

breaking it down

“lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, and I will try to fix you”

Truth hurts, right? When it becomes illuminated, when you can’t take it anymore and you have to put the pieces back together and they’re not even yours, that’s when you realize I guess.

 ”high up above and down below, when you’re too in love to let it go, but if you never try you’ll never know what you’re worth”

When you realize perhaps you’re just fixated. That you’re just selling yourself short, though you were so used to belittling yourself, so enamoured of someone, they became the focal point and you lost track of your own foolishness.

That’s all. I heard the gentle little tune floating out from the doorway this morning and my 1+1 logic has been bubbling and overflowing past the corners of my mind for hours now.

bewildermentally unsound

In other words, lost and a little confused. Auto’s out of town and not hanging around the computer for me to talk to him. Nothing really feels quite right, I keep waking up and falling back to sleep, waking again. It’s been one of those things lately I can’t exactly put my finger on. I feel spread too thin–sending the letter out to Iraq, getting ready for the Marine Corps ball, being polite to JS…everyone wants a little bit more, little bit more, bit more, more……and all I want is someone who doesn’t want me. Or does he? I wouldn’t know. I am watching my own sound sleep, peace of mind, romantic sanity, reason, ideal, first real thing from the sidelines. The stakes are too high, the toll too high, the magnitude of the loss…dramatics aside, I’d be heartbroken to learn what the devil and damnable pessimist on my shoulder already whispers in my ear: It’s a one way street.

Tell me I’m wrong.