Over It

What Yossi wrote in the comments of my last posts kind of hit home and helped a lot. I spoke to Mr. Rose tonight. I was calm and quiet and told him what hurt me and instead of saying the negative of not doing it in the future, I asked him to do the positive of what I want. What I need from him.

He responded like the wonderful, amazing man he is and apologized and said that he would do it in the future. Then I mentioned that I knew that he knew that something had been bothering me and I asked him why he hadn't brought it up. He answered that he knew I would talk to him about it when I was ready. He was right. Ugh!! He's right an awful lot.

So things are fine now... but I just didn't realize how hurt or angry he could make me. Whoa!!! It freaks me out a little to feel those things so strongly, but I guess that goes along with how strongly I care for and about him.

I love him so I'll keep going and learn along the way. I'm so glad I have this blog as a release and for the support and advice y'all give me. It helps!!! so so so much!!! Thank you!!

Furious

I will not be taken for granted. I feel like I am taken for granted. I am not in a good mood. I might be pms'ing but that's not really the point.

The point is that I just asked him something last night that he not do in the future, and then he goes and does something similar again tonight. Well, guess what! I'm not just here when he remembers me. It's freakin past 10 p.m. and I had to call you. Well, I'm not going to do that again! Maybe I make it too easy in certain respects that I'm almost always available. Well, I'm not going to be anymore.

I'm so angry.

I'm so hurt. I'm not angry. I'm disappointed... disappointed to know that it's not really important and it doesn't really matter if he calls. It hurts... it hurts so bad. There are tears running down my face right now.

I don't need to worry if he's going to read this. He doesn't read the blog... especially if I don't tell him a new post is up. I feel like I'm being taken for granted more and more. I don't understand. I just talked to him about it last night. I was calm... no tears, no hysterics, just asking him for the future, and then he goes and does something similar tonight. I know I'm repeating myself. It hurts. I want him to go away. I don't want to hurt like this. I don't want to allow myself to hurt like this. I don't know how to do this. Maybe I'm just messed up. Maybe I just don't deserve this or maybe I just don't know how to be in a relationship.

I'm angry, hurt, disappointed, let down. It seems like it's a pattern. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm pushing him away. I wouldn't be surprised. Maybe it would just be easier for him if he only had to worry about his kids and himself.

It hurts. I thought I was supposed to be happy now.

The funny thing about this is that he has absolutely no clue how I feel right now. He has no idea how much he has hurt me and how I feel like I'm not part of his life... I'm tired.

I don't want to have to break down in tears to get my point across about how much something means to me, but I don't know what to do.

Don't know if I'll post this. Actually I will. It makes me feel as if someone is really listening to me when I post.

Happy Purim! (yeah, right)

Still A Dream

I figured that after almost a year and a half of blogging I can bring out an old post or two...

Dreams

Please Hold...

PMSing

Friends Don't Let Friends Write Sleepy (I mean "while sleepy" Just another reason why.)

When it's late at night I get more emotional not to mention the fact that this increases with the amount of sleep that I have gone without. It's not like I'm drunk just a helluva lot more emotional. In case y'all didn't notice, I'm an emotional person to begin with.

I got back to Oz yesterday evening, but I couldn't sleep because of the caffeine that I had earlier in the day. The night before I was up late doing laundry otherwise I never would've had the caffeine to begin with. So even though I was wired, I was also exhausted. It's kind of difficult to think straight like that, and of course, I felt the need to write out my emotions.

Actually, what I think I need to do is wait a day before I post, talk to someone or get emotional when I'm tired. Now I understand the sayings; Let me sleep on it, and Things will look different in the morning.

btw-last week I didn't get too much sleep... not an excuse, just an explanation

Needless to say, I shouldn't even be posting this.

Writing

Do you get scared before posting an intimate story, poem, or intense and questioning feelings? Do you feel compelled to share them anyway... to open your soul so that the world can embrace it or trample it at will?

I find it easier to expose myself to many people at once than to just one person privately. Maybe it's because there's a lower chance of rejection, ridicule, anger, disgust or even shame. Because there must be someone out there who has experienced even the tiniest bit of what I write.

I'm thinking about why I write. Yes, it's expression and I use it as a release, to clarify and then try to look more objectively at my thoughts and feelings. But I think I write for understanding, interaction, feedback and accomplishment.

My writing voice is much different from my speaking voice. The tones and word rhythms I hear in my head are more formal. Isn't that funny? You would think they would be more casual. But maybe its because I view my thoughts and emotions with such intensity that is deserving of a more serious and formal tone/voice to express them. I love to write and forgot how much I loved it... how it flows from my head to my fingers.

There was a time when I refused to write on my computer. I was used to a more visceral experience... of my pen pressing down hard on paper leaving marks of the letters on the pages underneath. Crossing sentences and words out because I disliked the way they fit was always down with numerous strokes which then used to annoy me when I felt that I needed that phrase or word in another part of what I was writing. I would have to stare at the paper to find the shapes of the letters hidden under the marks.

Then I started to use computers and saw that the words could flow more freely, quicker than with my right hand and the callus on my middle finger, that bump from gripping the pencil and carving my words. It has started to get smaller and not as noticeable. Believe it or not my brain still works faster than my fingers and when I have a thought of another line to follow if I don't write it down it's possible to lose it as I get involved in the thoughts I am writing at that moment.

It can get distracting sometimes. I prefer to finish the thought I'm in the middle of rather than to write down a reminder word or phrase afraid of losing the flow. And now I have done just that and am racking my brain trying to concentrate on these words hoping that the idea will decide to come out of hiding, as if it's punishing me for ignoring it.

I even reread all the above to see if it would kick start it, but it seems that it's gone. But instead I go back to how I used to shuffle the papers around. And I've just remembered that I wanted to write about how I would agonize over first sentences, how I would write and re-write them. Or even start with the second sentence knowing that something a certain rhythm, cadence of words naturally belonged in front of it. I used to place the papers with different sentences and switch them around till I felt they fit together.

Do you write with a rhythm in your head knowing that a certain word comes next with two syllables and the emphasis on the first one? I do. If I can't remember the word I want I don't usually fill it in with a synonym instead I leave it blank and come back to it later. Re-reading and drumming out the beats of the word in my head until it comes to me or until I use a thesaurus. I do this when I write prose as well as poetry.

I just read an essay on poetry and on the rhythm of syllables. I need to read it again so that I understand it better and can actually use it and the terms describing it that were written there. When I read different authors the words on paper set a rhythm in my head. I like the way it feels, different than my own thoughts.

I guess people would call it a style of writing but when I hear that word it reminds me of the characters and descriptions a writer uses not their____. I also find that writing late at night or very early morning the words flow easier. Is it less barriers because my mind is tired after a long day and thoughts and feelings come out??? Don't know. I'm getting a little too tired to write now it's about four in the morning, and I've been listening to the slight click of my fingers on the keyboard.

What a difference from the sounds of typewriters or even older keyboards. Maybe it's easier for me to write with a computer now because the sound is less distracting to the rhythms in my head. But I remembered one more point about how I also write using an informal voice. That's when I hear my talking voice in my head. It's when I feel as if I'm having a conversation, maybe a more relaxed or joking conversation with the reader. And that made me think that maybe my formal voice I also use my formal voice my writing voice when I speak. Hmmmm.

Too tired to continue and the thoughts are not fighting for attention in my head anymore. My eyes are closing so I'll end this post. I'll read it later to edit it for spelling etc., but this one just wouldn't leave me alone until it was done. Good night or should I say good morning the birds have been singing for over a half hour now. That makes sense considering that its now 6:30. I thought I started writing a little earlier. Guess not. G'morning to you guys I'm off to get some much needed eye rest.


After reading this over again before I posted, I remembered another thought that I lost while I was writing. It's that I don't listen to music when I write. I like quiet. That way I can hear the rhythms more clearly... so maybe that's another reason why I like to write late at night or early in the morning the world and my life is less noisy.

I Have Been Writing

...just not posting. But tonight I decided to ramble.

I'm happy. Yes, I am. I know I recently wrote about a relationship I didn't think was going to work out. So, let me explain. I wrote that when I was upset...obviously. I was hurt about something that Cowboy said to me. Instead of acting like an adult and just telling him this, I felt the need to pull away and I also think I was trying to hurt him back. Yeah, yeah, I know. Not the most mature way to handle things. But who said I was mature anyway?

I did end up talking to him, and of course I felt so much better afterwards. Yes, it's another lesson learned, and one I thought I already knew.

Now, it's time to gush for a bit. Yes, I know you're reading this and laughing to yourself that deep chuckle that makes me smile (directed at Cowboy). I like him. I've started to feel more relaxed in our "relationship" or whatever you want to call it. The phone calls last for hours, and I wish they took place more often. That's kind of silly to say considering that we talk about between 4-7 times a day.

This is the thing. I guess what has made me feel more secure or relaxed or whatever, is that I just found out last night that he told a friend about me. Now it's possible that he's told people about me before this point in time, but he didn't let on to me that he's done so.

And then there's the fact that he calls me all different names. Most of my good friends have special names that they call me, and that I call them. I wrote about this before, and I believe that these names connect me to the people who have given them to me. The more names someone calls me the stronger the tie I feel to them. It doesn't have to make sense to you. It's just the way it is for me.

I remember the first time Cowboy did this it was in an e-mail after we had been talking for a couple of weeks. No one had ever called me that name before, and I've been called lots of things. Stop laughing! I'm not talking about those kinds of names.

Wait a minute! I just remembered that even before we ever spoke on the phone, and I think from the first time that we ever corresponded, he called me a name that had to do with my blog. It wasn't Come Running or a diminutive of it, but it showed that he actually read and remembered what I wrote. This was while we were just friends, and neither one of us was interested in a relationship with the other.

Now that things have changed and he actually knows my real name, he's called me by so many different variations of it... not to mention another name that drives me bonkers. He does it to tease me, and it works. But I just can't get angry at him about it and I end up laughing along with him. Of course, now that I've written this he will probably bug me about it even more.

Reading And Writing

Reading has always made me want to write. Reading books that I love and words that draw the emotions from me make me want to write well. I've always loved to write even when I hated it i.e. reports for school. I knew how to make it fit and blend; the rhythm and cadence of words turning into thoughts, into pictures of the mind or soul. I feel like I'm stretching reaching out with my heart and forcing my brain to explain my reasons or feelings.

Obviously, I am in the middle of reading a wonderful book. The bittersweet kind about love and how even when it's lost there is always more to take its place... to fill the emptiness and hurt with tearful smiles.

But that's not the only kind of book I read. Science fiction is one of my favorites. My mother started me on it when I had finished reading most of what the library had to offer me. I was able to read and understand her books, but she felt that it wasn't appropriate for me. Meaning that there was sex in them there pages. Little did she know that a tremendous amount of Science Fiction is written by horny men. I got an education at an early age. I was only 10.

She started me off on Heinlein and from there I found my own way. Anthony, Asimov, L'Engle, Simak, Silverberg, LeGuin, Wells, Bradbury, Vinge were the ones I read in the beginning. Then I found the anthologies, stories that were Nebula winners, Asimov's Magazine, and I discovered new authors and read whatever I could get a hold of. Needless to say I have quite an extensive library, but I still haven't even read all the books on my list. I haven't finished reading Clarke, Ellison , Dick, Cherryh, but there's still time.

Those stories and books made all beings (people, animals and aliens) equal and everything, and anything seem possible. That anything is attainable if you can just figure out a way to make it work. Maybe that's why I don't give up when things get really rough.

Then I realized that these weren't just dreamers. These writers had created real worlds with sociological, and political implications with result to their dreams of science. My mind expanded again. Reading the classics in high school had so much more meaning to me now. I could also see similar storylines and plots but with different characters and endings.

My fingers itched to get everything down on paper, but as soon as I did I would rip it up and throw it out. I used to write letters to my favorite authors in my mind. Almost ready to send them I would then see that my writing was just a bad imitation of theirs. But how I wanted them to know what their words meant to me.

I actually had the opportunity to personally let an author know and I let it pass me by. I was with a friend (no longer) in Oz shopping for material so that I could be a bridesmaid in her wedding. Somewhere around the W. 30's and most of the stores were closed for the day. Maybe it was past five or on a weekend. It was summer still light out and hot. The block we were walking down was not shadowed by the walls of tall buildings. Just the two of us, and then passing right by... I could have (and should have) reached out my hand to touch him.

I couldn't speak for a few seconds. I stopped, and watched him move farther away. Finally out it came in one breath and a rush of words, "Doyouknowwhothatwas?" It didn't even register with my friend that someone had even passed us. "THAT'S KURT VONNEGUT!" Her response was, "Who?" At that point I should have realized that our friendship wasn't bound to last. Oh, how I wanted to run after him and gush my praises for his writing over his hunched frame suffocating him with my admiration. How many times had I read and re-read his books.

But I didn't. I let the opportunity pass. I was a different person then. Shy, timid, unsure of myself. Yeah, yeah I know, but it took me a very long time and A LOT of hard work to leave that CR behind.


When I discovered blogging it was like I was set free. No one really knew who I was and I could/can write whatever I want, and get feedback. I revel in it. It's freedom. I might just have to say that I've come to crave it... the sound of my fingers on the keys releasing tensions, thoughts, feelings. It comes close, but not as good as sex.

You really didn't think that I would post without mentioning my favorite three letter word.


btw-The Jazz Man invited me (ok, along with a lot of others) to hear him play Sat. night, but I was in Kansas. He's also playing this coming Thurs. night at Small's. Great music. I just wish I could go hear him.

Still Awake And Not Kvetchy

I got it out of my system and feel better now. Don't need to think about what if's with Blondie can just enjoy him for whatever it is.

I wonder how people who read my blog view me. I use my blog to let off steam and to get rid of any emotions holding me down or making me sad. I'm not usually kvetchy and try not to complain in the "real world." It's just not that much fun to do or to be around even if you're the one doing it. I would much rather laugh than cry. I use my blog to help me sort through my feelings, my thoughts (too many of them) and my responsibilities.

I don't think that I'm like what I write all the time. Well, who is? But I do think that I write as I am, not holding back... so you guys get what's going on with me in real time. But I've learned that things are not always as desperate, sad, horrible as they might appear for the first five, ten minutes, hours and rarely days.

Moving on to more laughter and smiles and sex. After all, tomorrow is another day