I love being a writer

I don't spend enough time, or give enough credit, to the idea of my written words. I love writing. I love being a writer. I love the idea of canvassing the dictionary to find the right words to exactly express how I am feeling. I love the fact that feelings can flow through my fingers onto the written page and heal themselves. I love that I can look back months and remember what I have already figured out or years and remember who I was that made me who I am. I love who and whom and words that resonate in all of the recesses of my mouth. 

I love that I can feel something, then I can think it, then I can crystalize it in black and white. I love being a writer. It is who I am. It is what I am. 

Perhaps it is words that are the love of my life. The men give fodder to my real passion. That of speaking my truth and speaking my feelings and knowing that somewhere somehow there is someone for whom these words will reverberate. I never know how my words will end. They think and birth themselves without conscience thought from me. I read them as I write them and I am as surprised as you when they appear on the screen. A locked room in my heart the key to which is a keyboard and the path to which is a blog. All I know is that when I sit down to write I am hurting and tight. When I am finished I can breathe. 

I am usually unaware that I have a demon on my chest when I start writing. The words suffocate it. Every single time.

Things I know to be true:

Spencer still sucks

But my kids like him

My kids have no taste

God is love

God loves me

Jehovah listens

He is trying to teach me something

It is JUST beyond my grasp

I will know it when I see it

Life is better when you focus on love

focus on love

Love-

A

The truth of the matter

It has been one of the worst years on record. I would name it as number 3 out of the top 5 but only because I want to leave space for a number 2 that I may have forgotten or blocked. It's been hell. And I have a lot to say. Let the story commence.

Like all roads led to Rome, all the twisty, winding paths of nonsense lead to Spencer. I would like to blame the women or the idea that he is so broken he just "Doesn't know better" but that doesn't resonate. At some point you have to call a spade a spade and stop making excuses. 

Long story short- I have never met someone who took rejection so hard and acted like such an entitled piece of brass. I've never met someone whose sole goal was to degrade and undermine my spirituality. Never. And I've never seen a group of puppets for whom it worked so well.  It's interesting- the ... I'm just not. Not in my blog. Not in my mind- I am unwilling to give you the power of my energy.

Kill it swiftly. Move on. 

Here is what sucked in 2023- In no particular order (except for the first 3)

Spencer 

Raiza

Elders whose ears are blind

Annie

Dumb kids who make dumb kid decisions then blame everyone else

Maria

But especially Randy

My dad getting sick

Southern Colorado

Page

inTerEsting... When I put my mind to it that's all I can come up with.

Yet here was what was good-

My all you can fly pass

George and Karen

Lucy

Leslie

Australia

The Sydney Opera House

Ada

Angie

Ada cooking me dinners

Angie showing me respect

Shaunta

Shaunta some more

Mari

Selling my house

Pretend retirement

Iris and Jeremy

The beach

The jungle

The preaching campaign

The bible studies- even if they start and stop

Having enough money

The parties, all of them

Workout partners

My kids being ok

The expansion of my family

Making peace with not having ideal sibling relationships

The ability to fly places

The ability to fix things

Cook outs

Family worship projects

Mondays with God

Good works

Elsie

Love- all kinds of love

Travel

61 Flights

My dad 

Lucas Ranch

A new car

Zarainy's visit/move

Not being an asshole sheep

Joli

Francie

When I put pen to paper it was, in fact, a good year. Malachi 3:10. Still. Some more. You see what you focus on. I need to be mindful of my focus. 

2024-

No more man friends

Cultivate the studies

Get the need greater list

Visit the places

Pick one

Move

In the meantime ensure that the letter that follows me is a glowing report

Call out defecation kindly

Take care of my body

Be a good witness

I got this.

A

To be authentic to ones self

 It is first imperative to revert back to published what had been reverted back to draft. I can not erase my year. It is inauthentic to attempt to pretend so in my Blog. It is simply not who I am. It is not who I wish to be.

A

Anthony

 Since we're talking in song...

A

Belly to Belly

I won't do this through satellites, fiber optics and binary. 

You know where to find me.

A

Can We Just Talk?

6 Month Man

 I have dated 4 men in 24 months. 

This is an interesting fact in the world in which I reside. A world where we do not date for "recreation" only for preparation of marriage. Most women I know marry the first man that they date and consider themselves lucky to be chosen. I date all the hot men I know and consider myself lucky to walk away single. 

I date a lot. 

Run it back:

Calvin- Official boyfriend, 35ish (??), Mechanical Engineer, MS. Liked all the things I liked and had the unique ability to get me drunk over the phone. Lots of fun. Willing to go dancing. 

I broke up with him because- he lived with is mom, he wanted roots and I wanted wings, he was cheap, he didn't like to work. And he slept a lot. But mostly because he lived with his mom.

The residual impact- moved to PR. Mostly forgot about him. 

Christian- Technically an ex that stayed a friend and a possible, 40, Chemical Engineer, no spiritual title, makes gobs of money, highly intelligent, never needed anything from me, met my fam, 10 years of history.

I broke up with him because- he's kinda a dick, he was married to work, he was always complaining, he threw his phone and broke it in a fit- I didn't like his tantrum, he owes me money. But mostly because he's a dick.

Residual impact- None really. He's dating now, theoretically. I am happy for him. 

Spencer - We were technically dating, My age, Nurse, Bethel, intuitive, healer, makes connections, listener, makes great cookies, green eyes.

I called it because- Emotionally retarded, poor, poor decision making, didn't make me feel good, has issues with black women (resentment), doesn't read, questionable association, gossip, big mouth but poor communicator. But mostly because he is emotionally unstable and I don't want to live at Bethel. 

Residual impact- I see him all the time so sometimes I think I still like him. He got pissed off and ruined my chances for other theocratic activities. It annoys me to watch him with other girls. He annoys me in general because he was in denial the he liked me but that was a lie. I'm still angry at him over the whole stupid thing. 

Page- Officially "dating". My God I love Page. 30's, funny, emotionally intelligent, loves me for me, chef, smart, sexy af, into sci-fi, into all the things I am into, hot hot hot, thoughtful, articulate, healthy communicator, great with his parents, awesome sounding board, family guy, loves kids, has a lot of love to give.

I called it because- Page didn't go to meetings. But really because I liked him SO Much More than he liked me. It felt one-sided and I loved him too much for that. If he would have liked me just a little more there is nothing anyone could have said at all that would have dissuaded me from being down all day, everyday. 

Residual impact- I planted bombs and ruined it at every turn, He, in turn, cut me out. I still dream about him. I miss him a lot. I am hopeful that over isn't over. But I am working on accepting that it is.

Of all of them I probably would have married Spencer or Page. Spencer would have been the smart choice. But I would have loved Page every day with everything that I have. "No matter how hard I try I run away from love at the end of the night."

The Lesson? I don't know. I wish I did. All I have is the story. 

A

Write It

I dreamt you two yesterdays ago. It was an ordinary dream that was no less than perfect. You were standing, leaving, asking me what else I wanted from the store. I was sitting, talking, with a nameless faceless woman. A relation of yours- mother, grandmother. I am unsure. It was an informal interaction. You going to the store, asking if I wanted anything else. The three of us laughing over the patient tolerance in your voice, as if I kept adding to the list. We both had wedding rings on. You kissed me goodbye, cheek kiss. One that bespoke familiarity and future and past and permanence. I smiled. Then I woke up. I hated waking up. The moment where disorientation becomes reality effecting stabbing pains, heart side, every time.

I dream you often. It always sucks. The dreams so real, so good. The wakefulness too abrupt, so painful. I absolutely hate it.

In my mind I have the perfect reconciliation scene. My daughter tells me it's unrealistic because you just "aren't that guy". I am sure she is right. I am also a hopeless romantic who unfortunately will love you for the foreseeable future. So If I Can't Have it In Real Life- I will do what I have always done. I will write it. At least then I can read it and pretend it's true. 

Cue Words-

"Amen"

I pause and take a stabilizing breath, head bowed for a moment longer to compose myself.  After meetings are always hard. I know that I have to talk to people. I know that I have to put on a show. I know that I have to be entertaining and gracious. And I know that all I really want to do is go home and drink expensive Scotch and listen to Etta James. Going home to think about you and cry has become my Thursday night ritual. 

Head up, deep breath, go. I acknowledge the couple in front of me, saying the customary greetings. Asking the appropriate questions. Smile. Nod. Being gracious. The humm of after meeting conversation drops momentarily and curious, I turn around. My heart stops.

You have just walked in the door. Are being greeted by Max, who interrogates every male visitor he deems as a threat. You pause, smile and apply the charm you hold with precision. Recognizing the name. Listening, laughing but eyes sweeping the crowd.

I wait. Wait for the moment when your eyes find mine. In the meantime I am unable to breathe. None of it makes sense to me. I get you're here. I get why you must be here. But why are you here? I wait. You see me. 

Relief, fear, appreciation, affection- they all collide across your face. I am moving, without conscience thought and before I know it I am in front of you. I unapologetically interrupt Max mid sentence.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, annoyed. 

You smile and your dimples flash. 

"You mean Hi."

"That's not what I mean at all." I am at capacity for words and my eyes begin to burn with tears. In moments I will lose it. Eyebrow lifted, palms up, shoulder raised, I silently repeat the question using body language. 

You, understanding my meltdown loading, enfold me in a hug. 

And for the first time in months, I can breathe. Everything will be ok.

And cut.