Army of Me

My days blur, sort of cave together without a job to shape them from beneath. My silver lining is particularly shiny though, because I like that I am now the main shaper of my days. I fill them with events I want, not with the empty minutia of a deskjob. I am still job hunting but the interstitial freedom is beautiful in the meantime. Even my crazy, curly hair seems to swing and bounce freer that before.

I keep dreaming of road trips after visiting Trish and Shawn in Merced last week. It takes me around six hours to drive there and another six to return to San Diego. Three hundred ninety miles each way. Last week's visit was the first time I made the trip - or drove anywhere for longer than 1 hour for that matter - alone. I found such a deep peace in the solitude of that drive. I love driving so much and I crave that same peace again. I can see a glimmer of the appeal a big commercial truck driver's life might have.

Also, I miss them already. I wish there was a way to wipe the distance between us away.

I feel a bit calmer now that Jessie and I talked a bit more about us last night. This period in my life seems ruled by these long talks that are long overdue. We did both pretty comfortably weigh the final breaking up stone in our hands less like a hot potato and more like a curious consideration. That metaphorical stone was much smoother in texture than I expected although the weight was about as heavy as I anticipated.

Now, I am as prepared as I can be for either outcome. Without delving too deep, we agreed to give "us" until January 2010, seeing the therapist in the meantime. A lot of our conflict stems from the incompatibility of our perspectives. She is much more black/white thinking than I am and her expectations match. I am more prone to seeing a small request as a demand or ownership claim and I do NOT react well to that "owned" part.  So much more than this though. It's almost overwhelming.

I am cleaning out my room, my personal space. It seems time. I will be throwing away a lot of things and giving others to Goodwill or mayhaps Craigslisters. Sometimes, taking action on the physical level is enough to help clear the way mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I sure hope so because these are the things I can taste, touch, see, feel, hear and therefore control and manipulate with hands.

Strange ghost girl

I seemed bent on not sleeping last night. Too many thoughts racing inside so I channeled the jarring pace to other things.

I just left a message for the therapist one of my best friends used for her and her fiance when they hit a rough patch. The therapist specializes in same sex couples counseling too so that should satisfy Jessie's criteria as well.

A fear bubble is growing inside of me, right in my throat and heart, creeping to encapsulate my head and stomach.  In our 5 year 8 month relationship we have broken up a few times with a complete separation being around 1.5 - 2 years ago. Every break up attempt - both partial and complete - had been initiated by her until a few days ago.  I recanted my words only because she told me she would try counseling. I mean, what else have I got to lose, right?  Now she is treating me like a fragile package, afraid to shatter this teetering tower of us and I now feel like I am living someone else's life, watching from the inside. Shadow parts of me bob to the surface and the old version of Chance once presented to the outside is in hibernate mode. I am not sure she'll ever wake up or if I identify with her because it's hard to let go of the old me. Maybe all that's left of her is a ghost. Ghost girl who was an equal actor in this relationship and now this strange girl taking ghost girl's place has got to determine if she will be able to even pick up where the ghost left off.

I don't know what will become.

Watermelon Chapstick - written in high school

Watermelon tastes nice on

chapped lips, especially when

they’re yours. I’ll soften those sweet

petals with mine, tainted pink,

like fruit-candy on my tongue.

I’ll massage soft, braless flesh

with chipped polish tipped fingers

and warm palms cupped to send waves

pulsing tropic through us both.

Full of your candied kisses,

my feet cannot touch the floor.

Lashes dust your cheeks, and mine.

Watermelon lips on me,

like moths, damp with morning dew

pressed in to whisper words that

don’t actually exist.

I’m in your sea electric.

I will lick salt water from

the valley of nose and cheek,

stroke withering hair weary

of bleach, wisps kissing your face

beneath sun and trees that bare

your diagonal grace.

Heated, watermelon breath

fans over me from below;

a flushed cheek to silken thighs,

tangled in white sheets, writhing.

Please: don’t ever disappear

Distract

Distractions work well but when I'm alone to think on my own like this, the bad things overwhelm me and my heart hurts.

Ready for Goodbye

I am ready for night to fall, for the uncertainty of dreamtime, for the sparkling newness of the unknown. I am ready for the ride to begin, ready for my heart to beat, to make a mistake deep down in it. Ready for the unsteady, ready to rock my own world for a change. Goodbyes are just hellos waiting to be acknowledged.

I told her.

"I told her, don't touch me that way. Don't come at me with that sour-cream smile. Come at me as if I were worth your life.... Take me like a turtle whose shell must be cracked, whose heart is ice, who needs your heat. Love me like a warrior, sweat up to your earlobes and all your hope between your teeth. Love me so I know I am at least as important as anything you have ever wanted."

-Dorothy Allison

Stripped eyes and pantomime

Saltwater layer wraps my eyes, stinging, persistent. Blink and here comes the rain again. Bed sinks beneath a heaviness. Moving seems pantomime and all I can do is listen to sweet voices that are not mine. She is singing through my speakers telling me to run and come and run and come.

It will all be okay.