7 working hours

until we leave! Whooo....!

I'm excited and stressed out about this trip. What if I forget something? What if I feel atroscious in a swim suit? What if the mother hates me?

What if I have the best time ever? : )

Travelling is a little stressful, to say the least. And the boy tells me I have to be calm so he can be the spaz traveller. : ) I think I can manage that. Generally in most relationships one person will be emotional forcing the other to be calmer, which basically balances it all out.

Anyway...

2 sleeps (1 and a half really, as we get up at 3:30 to be at the airport--ugh)

It's going to be great!

Some number of hours...

until I leave for San Diego/Cabo San Lucas. Yay. : )

Of course, I have to get up at an unGodly hour that morning, but none the less, it'll be worthwhile.

I'm going with the boyfriend, and I have to say, I'm really not used to getting less attention from him. I think he's spoiled me. With us heading on this trip, he seems more distracted (which I interpret as less interested--sigh). Hopefully that's not accurate. After the whole divorce thing, I can be sensitive when it comes to how much attention I'm receiving from my partner (read: how much of a priority I am to him).

That's a real downside to divorce(what a ridulous thing to say, but). I wonder if the baggage ever goes away? I can feel my "hackles rising" in response to less attention, and it feels a little familiar with what I experienced previously. But I also find these particular buttons to be already half pushed, so it can be hard for me to determine how accurate my perception is.

I do find my internal reaction to be somewhat reassuring however, as I've been concerned I would put up with the same amount of shit from a new person that I put up with from the past person. My internal reaction being: "I will never put up with the same shit I did before; I will never chase a man; I will not spend any amount of time waiting for someone to realize how wonderful I am." Sounds like bullshit, but what other choice do I have? It took me 3 years to finally get angry about the whole thing, so I'm more adamant than ever that I not put myself through a similar ordeal.

I'm also surprised I would ever consider remarrying, as I would be a good candidate to be bitter for life. : ) But I'm unwilling to waste anymore of my time on the past, and I'm determined to move forward in all capacities.

So, move forward then.


26 hours until the trip. : )

3 days and counting

As the title indicates, there are only three more days until I'm in San Diego (I can't thank God enough, frankly), and then I'll be on the lovely shores of Mexico. I'm afraid the time will fly by and it'll be over before I know it! What will I look forward to then? Moving out of my parents place, that's what (more on that later). :D

There are only a few downsides to the trip(but they are down). : ) I happened to have insulted my boyfriend's mother (sigh), and I have to appear in a swim suit--which I hardly prepared for (perhaps even prepared against, she says as she eats ketchup flavored potato chips to feed the stress created from an early morning irate parent hell bent on bullying me). Mah. 3 days indeed.

How did I offend the mother? Some little email snafu (use your imagination, it's accurate enough). I suppose though, if those are the least of my concerns, I'm doing alright. But still, in my mind my little mix up virtually guarantees me a hellish relationship with her, and should she ever be anything more than "my boyfriend's mother", that could be really unpleasant. Mmm.

Alas. Back to my parents. I need to move out. With me in the house, all my parent's do is focus on what I am and am not doing (am I turing off the lights, rinsing the tub, cleaning my room...). It's a non-stop exercise in humility. On the weekend my Dad was "tidying" my storage area (being the corner of the basement) and wigged out. He said, "I'm tired of pussy footing around that girl!" Right. Cause if he's not yelling at me 24 hours a day (literally) for not putting the lid on the milk "tight enough", or for some other stupid shit, then clearly I'm either taking them for granted or personally going out of my way to disrepect them. (insert large bolded profanity).

I had decided to stay until next October when my car will be paid off, but man...I really don't know if I can do it. I can't afford to buy a place, so I'll be a permanent renter--another issue which depresses the hell out of me. Did I mention divorce sucks?

Did I mention I have 3 days to vacation?

Happy is as happy does

In looking at past posts, it is clearly time for a happy new one.

And I'm happy. : )

I'm tempted to ask myself if I should be, because I was recently turned down for a job I really thought I wanted to get, but in hindsight I am slightly relieved I didn't. Right now I just want to focus on the job I currently have, and afterwards if it isn't up to par, I'll start a job search then. I do not have the energy--mental or otherwise, for a job search right now. My life has been far too turbulent in the past few years to tolerate much more upheaval.

So, what else is so spectacular then? Well, I'm terribly in love (and that certainly helps), and the man is terribly sweet (which clearly helps), and what else? I don't know. I joined a gym, my spanish class is good, and I really love the people I work with. Those seem like a fair amount of blessings, as far as I'm concerned.

I'm working on giving God all the credit that is due, as really, that's where it all starts and ends for me. And though I never feel as though I'm doing enough, I'll keep trying. On that note, I'm reminded of a song recently debuted by Martina Mcbride, Anyway:

You can spend your whole life building something from nothing
One storm can come and blow it away
Build it anyway

You can chase a dream that seems so out of reach and you know it might not ever come your way, but dream it anyway

God is great, but sometimes life ain’t good, and when I pray..it don’t always turn out like I think it should…but I do it anyway, I do it anyway

This world’s gone crazy and it’s hard to believe that tomorrow will be better than today, believe it anyway

You can love someone with all your heart, for all the right reasons, and in a moment they can choose to walk away, love ‘em anyway

You can pour your soul out singing a song you believe in, that tomorrow they’ll forget you ever sang, sing it anyway….yeah sing it anyway…..yeah yeah I’ll sing, I’ll dream, I’ll love…anyway

I almost felt as though God were singing to me, it was that amazing and touching.

Thank you, God.

Thanks

I am incommunicado right now. I'm housesitting my brother's place because they took off to visit Vicki's parents in Yellowgrass, Saskatchewan. I turned my cell phone off and my ipod on, and effectively eliminated the only person who could have contacted me--my Mom. Sigh. The best thing about being incommunicado? No one is actually trying to get a hold of me. : ) I realize that sounds slightly self pitying. Alas.

I don't have to be anywhere right now, and there is no one I have to talk to. I am in the middle of making my magnificent lemon cake for our Thanksgiving dinner, though. It's a rather linear, laborious process requiring a fair bit of time and preparation (at least four hours, and 24 more for the cake to "set"). It's worth it though, as it's a damn good cake. : )

Tonight I'm headed out for drinks with a couple of friends and my sweet man. We're heading to East Side Mario's to watch a bit of the Flames game. It's the regular season home opener, and everyone in the city has been looking forward to hockey starting, so the place should have a good energy. After that, we'll head back to Warren and Amanda's to play poker or Monopoly. Rob laughed when I mentioned Monopoly, but I warned him the future of our relationship hinged on him liking Monopoly (kidding). But I am the owner of four versions of Monopoly, so I think I'm fond of the game. : )

Ahhhh... Day one of the long weekend. I can feel each of my joints sink a little lower into my chair. In this position I can feel a slight pain in the middle of my back and a headache teasing at my temples. I just finished watching a circuit tour of the World Series of Poker held in New Orleans. Two schlubs were heads up, and I was startled by how unsophisticated the players were. After watching Phil Ivey take on a couple of Brit's in Monte Carlo, watching this circuit episode was like watching a bunch of security guys play for a hundred bucks in a dimly lit basement. Mmph.

Tomorrow we're doing Thanksgiving dinner and playing poker at my Mom's, then the weekend will be capped off with Rob taking me to a Flames game. How delightful. Sounds like a pretty damn good Thanksgiving to me. : )

Thank God.

Right on cue, Jeremy Camp, All I need, has come on my ipod.

"And you fill my life
You're everything to me
There's nothing else I need anymore."

Argh

I feel weary. I feel as though the battle can never be won and it will be a long time before the struggle ends. But feelings aren't facts (sigh). If only the thought made the feeling go away. This is the sort of thinking which causes my therapist to try and medicate me. Nice, (big sigh).

I want to start on a, "What's it all for?" rant, but I don't have the energy. : ) It's fun being dramatic. Still...

I'm haunted from words spoken by a woman at work whose partner died in a car accident a few years ago. Weeks before it happened she told a co-worker, "I feel as though we're turning a corner."

How do you turn your thoughts away from the reality of that? It makes me numb.

How about the wife who lost her second husband in a car accident, very close to the same location where her first husband crashed his car and died. Absolutely staggering. That is tragedy.

And I have the nerve to feel sorry for myself because I'm not a natural born Pollyanna?

It would be much easier not to give a shit.


What's the likelihood of that?

"But there's a secret garden she hides..." ~ Bruce Springsteen, Secret Garden

Perception

It's reassuring and alarming how everything in life changes according to perception. There is no truth. Historians determine facts based on written accounts of observations. Yet, how many people debate the truth of the bible, or the existence of Jesus?

Another part of the definition of fact is: "something believed to be true or real." Well, your perception is based on what you believe to be true. If you believe you're no good, at any given moment your perception of yourself is colored by this belief. Not to mention how this perception alters your view of events and affects all social interaction.

If you can't trust your perception because it's not based on fact or truth, what can you trust? Who can you trust? Who's perception matters the most? If you're religious, you might say God or Jesus. If you're married, you might say your wife or children. Hell, you might even think your parent's perception makes a difference.

The older I get, the more I wonder and question what my perceptions are based on. What skewed "take" do I have on things? Who's opinions have I accepted as my own, unquestioned? There are clearly times I've made my mind up where no set of facts compel me to change my perception. This makes self sabotage easy. I've shared my perception and talked people into believing my view of things. When you're dogged by negative thinking, these are dangerous conversations to lure people into.

I am trapped by my perception, which influences how I'm perceived.

What's really driving this rant...? Will my perception of the man I'm dating end up being just as fucked as my perception was of my ex husband?

Kapow.

It's kind of reassuring and alarming to get to the root of a issue.

An issue with no resolve.

An issue with no truth.

Fantastic.

Or this could be a simple pile of psycho-babble crap

(depending on your perception).

Isn't love grand?

"God, it makes me feel so blue
Everytime I think about you
All of the heat of my desire
Smokin' like some crazy fire
Come on here, look at me where I stand
Can't you see my heart burnin' in my hands?
Do you want me?
Do you not?
Does it feel cold, baby?
Does it feel hot?"

Annie Lennox, Wonderful


"All I can do is love you to pieces
Give you a shoulder to cry when you need it
When the day is long and the night is coming down on you
All I can do
All I can do"

Chantal Kreviazuk, All I can do


And finally...


"When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth.

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you"

Coldplay, Fix you

Am I lacking...

...in compassion?

Seriously. Do I not have the appropriate amount of empathy for people? Because I thought I did.

Scenario: Student A comes to our front counter and wants to register. Student has no id, photo or otherwise (wallet was stolen), does not know her student id, and her registration form has no courses listed. When asked which courses she would like, she mentions her advisor knows and has emailed the Assistant Registrar. Right. Can I call her Advisor, she asks me. Uh, no. I advise the student she needs to either drop a course, or get additional course approval from the Asst Registrar (which I assume is why the advisor was contacting the AR to begin with). If you aren't dropping a course, I tell her, you'll have to wait to hear back from the AR. Simple.

Student A: "Can you call my advisor?" (again).

Me: "Uh, no. You need to either drop the extra course, or get the approval. Do you want to drop the extra course and add the new course?"

Student A: "Sure."

Me: "What course do you want to add?"

SA: "I don't know, can you call my advisor?"

M: "Uh, no."

SA: "What day is it?"

M: "Wednesday."

SA: "What's the date?"

M: "The 23rd."

SA: "If it's Wednesday, how can it be the 24th?"

M: (internally) If you don't get the hell out of here, I'm going to snap.
M: "It's the 23rd."

Then she intently stares at my nametag while writing down my name and position, which takes her an inordinate amount of time.

Fantastic.

If I'm in need of more compassion, it should have been posted in the job description. Perhaps it was. I should have mentioned my compassion depletes in direct relation to the amount of money I make less than $70,000 (seems like a fair number, as far as measuring compassion goes). : )

Mah.

What motivates you?

I often wonder how others are motivated. My thinking that precipitates this sort of wondering comes from me writing only when I'm in a bad mood. Rarely do I write when things are going well, or I've had a good day. The danger with this kind of pattern is the perception it leaves. Yeah, yeah, I should not be concerned with what others think, but I've been dogged my whole life with the label of "negative", to the point where my ex referred to me as Negatiffany. Fucker. : ) And while I have undergone some distinct changes, this label still follows me in new relationships and old.

Some of the people I've dated have asked me outright, "Are you negative?" Well, what if I'm more of a realist, as opposed to a fatalist? Therapists have told me they think it's partly an environmental influence, coupled with past events, and perhaps even a natural disposition. Fantastic. So, if I were like some people, I'd use that as a disclaimer: "I come by it naturally; you've been warned--deal with it." But I'm not. I prefer to look at my behavior in terms of modification, as opposed to acceptance, or even a cure. (But God, if there are cures, please, please send them down to me).

The odd time He listens.

Oh...well, what has he cured? I don't friggin know. I just know I'm not as ridiculously bitter as I'm entitled to be. Yes, entitled. When enough bad shit happens to you, you are entitled to be bitter, as far as I'm concerned. There's a line from King of Sorrow by Sade, "I've already paid for all my future sins". That sums it up. But I still choose not to be bitter (some people may argue that, screw you, I say). : ) I just wish I got more credit for those choices. There I go again, seeking some sort of outward approval. Forget you people, how about that? I'm good just the way I am.

Ahhhh, the temptation to put a question mark at the end of that sentence... Alas.

But, thank God for Ipods, how about that? The ability to carry your own "soundtrack" around with you--how utterly delightful.

"Catch a Dylan song or some eclipse of the moon.
Let an angel swing and make you swoon, then you will see...
You will see."

The Riddle - Five for Fighting

Tripe

It's all tripe, dammit! I was re-reading my past posts and it really is a good thing no one reads this shit, as I may be embarassed if they did.

Regardless.

Here I sit in Signal Hill Library. My guy is late coming back from work (traffic) and I came here to update my resume, only to discover I forgot my portable usb key back at the office. Mah. So, with nothing to do and all email checked, I shall write some sort of crap on my so-called blog.

What's the latest scoop? Well, I'm more than on the way to falling in love with the guy, but it occurs to me, does he even want my love? I think many women make the mistake of giving our hearts away to men who never asked for them.

Now, clearly some guy is not going to literally ask for my heart or love (yes, I'm aware just how cheesy that sounds), so how does one measure such a thing? How indeed.

My main problem is the damage done to me by my past relationship has me anazying the shit out of the latest relationship--to my detriment of course. While I should be able to rationalize a certain amount of my anixety away, I can't stop myself from doing my own creative "relationship math". As in, one plus one for me equals some really random fraction. I'm constantly trying to figure out what "adds up". If guy does a) than b) = 33 1/3

I'm aware that my mathematical metaphor is crap, but humor me. If the guy cancels one day (due to whatever), what exactly does that mean? Many would say, well, he just cancelled, so what... Whereas, I say why not head off some perceived imminent danger while you can? I'm always "adding" everything up to figure out what it means in the long run.

It's rather tiring, I have to say. What I can say is, I'm really not very good at living on the surface. Even my therapist tells me I need to bring it back up to the superficial--stop looking so intently into everything.

Well, I guess I'll have to think about that. : )

Look heart, no hands...

Falling in love is scary as hell. Especially when you've been wrong before. Not just a case of bad taste, but you chose wrong. Yet another sobering thought.

My therapist thinks I started dating too soon. I can't entirely argue with that, but by the same token, we get hurt and healed in relationship. I'm sure that's a quote from a book, but I can't remember which one. Regardless, I believe I've mentioned before I'm a fan of this concept.

Tracey Lawrence's, Alibi's, just came on on my ipod.

"She knows every move that a man could make
She knows every trick in the book
She knows how to give, she knows how to take
Cause so many times she's been taken and fooled."

This song clearly captures emotion from me. Does that seem bitter, especially considering how I started this post off?

Realistically, a new relationship is bound to bring up the shit from the previous one. Of course I wish that weren't so. I also wish I were 6 feet tall and naturally prone to thinness. : )

Whenever I listen to music, I feel close to God. For me, music is proof God exists.

From love to God. This is a natural progression of thought for me.

But it really should begin and end with God.


p.s

As I was publishing the post, Rascall Flatts, He ain't the leaving kind, came on on my ipod:

"He ain't the leaving kind. He'd never walk away, even from those who don’t believe and wanna leave him behind. He ain't the leaving kind."

I don't believe things like this are coincidence. When I was searching for lyrics to the song, I came across this site: http://www.st-dennis.org/youth/dh060406.asp

Think what you will.

Saturday Night

The urge to add, "and I ain't got nobody" is a knee jerk reaction, but would not be accurate. : ) I do have someone, and while a relationship is certainly not the end all be all, it can be quite nice.

When I'm not stressed out, that is.

"I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind
There was something so pleasant about that phase.
Even your emotions have an echo
in so much space..

And when you're out there
Without care,
Yeah, I was out of touch
But it wasn't because I didn't know enough
I just knew too much...

Does that make me crazy?"


Lyrics from the song, Crazy, by Gnarles Barkley. They strike a distinct chord in me.

I'm house sitting for a some close friends, and it's been quite the thing to have a place all to myself again. I enjoy putting away groceries, making breakfast, singing outloud,...it's been a delightful day. I even worked out! The only problem is, I can't find the base to the blender so I can make my breakfast protein shake. Yikes! Perhaps we should start using comic book adjectives again! Gadzooks!

I've been living in my parents basement for the past year while going through a divorce. POW! What a cliche. It's sobering looking around myself and letting my reality sink in.

The hardest thing for me to keep a handle on in this new relationship is my anxiety. It's only been three months, and you simply can't have high expectations after three months! And yet, if you expect nothing, you get nothing...what an interesting line to walk.

He says he's a simple guy who doesn't put much thought into what he says or does. Really? I find that somewhat disconcerting. The luxury of not putting much thought into something--anything, is too staggering for me to take in. I did reiterate to him I was not a simple woman--not by any means. I want to say, "There's so much about me you need to know in order to understand what I do and say." It's all connected.

Truthfully, I don't even know if he's the type of guy who actually wants to talk about shit. Maybe he's all surface. What the hell do I know? Look at my track record! : )

Getting to know someone is a bit of a mind trip.

Indeed.

To write write write

I see a keyboard, feel the pen in my hand, look down at the paper before me...excitement stirs in my chest, but before I can type, or scrawl, I must know, what am I writing?

People have said, just write. To a linear person such as myself, that's like saying start in the middle, or worse, at the end.

I must know, but I must also simply begin.

Begin at the beginning then.

A cute coffee mug with the word "begin" etched in the front sits on top of my bookshelf. My friend Suzy gave it to me as a baptism present. Up until that point, I'd held on to my emotions pretty well, but when I read that word--it settled into me, and then the tears came. I didn't cry much, a few choked up words, a quick thank you hug, but even now I feel moved when I look across the room and "begin" catches my eye.

I used to think I was only good at beginnings. Like a lot of people, I like to start many projects, but have a hard time deciding which ones to finish, nevermind feeling motivated to finish them all (the thought is staggering and makes me shake my head in disbelief--does anyone really think they are going to finish everything they start?)

Really, it's more about me being very bad at goodbyes. When a relationship ends, invariably one or the other person says, "It's not like our love with die, or cease to exist...I'll always love you."

Well, who really gives a shit if the end result is the same and the relationship is over? The love does die. The person you were in that relationship truly ceases to exist, for both of you.

"Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay awhile and leave footprints on our hearts and we are never, ever, the same", Flavia.

I will never be the same. And the more time that passes, the more I forget what any of those feelings were ever like. I saw my ex at a baseball game recently and I felt nothing more than a sense of, "I wish you well." There was no longing, no sadness, not even a sense of wanting to reminisce (although not enough time may have passed for that one).

And yet, in the past few days my emotions have been stirred up over some trigger dates and the guy I'm dating. Relationships are complicated. No one can possibly convince me otherwise.

I was at a retreat and the pastor told us, "We are hurt in relationship, but we are also healed. And we are healed so that we can be a safe place for someone else." I thought this was extremely profound. But does anyone else? Is the magic I feel from time to time, or the stirring of my heart, a figment of my imagination, or a creation born out of an intrinsic longing that is familiar to everone?

Why would God fill me with so many questions? What purpose could all of these questions possibly serve? And I rarely wait to hear the answers. God is speaking to me, but there doesn't seem to be enough silence to listen.

What now?

When I was in college, I thought the emptiness I felt inside would be filled with purpose (then I was fired from my first Broadcasting job).

When I got married, I thought my emptiness would be filled by a love shared with my husband (then we were divorced).

When I started down the God road, I thought He would fill the emptiness forever (then day to day life set in).

The thought of the emptiness not going away is starting to scare me just a bit. And being in my early 30's with my clock ticking in more ways than one, I'm afraid somewhere along the way I'll get the idea that a family will fill the void. And I haven't made up my mind if I even want a family (nevermind filling the emptiness with one).

By the time I get hooked up for the second time, it may simply be too late. Do I find reassurance perhaps there's another plan for me, much better than anything I could imagine? Of course not. The hardest thing for me is to trust, have faith and simply let things unfold as they will. Right, that's everyone else's problem as well.

Let things unfold as they will... what kind of ridiculous notion is this? Who exactly has this ability and where can I get it? On the other hand, "taking the bull by the horns" clearly seems like a bad idea.

So, what then?

Is there such a thing as personal fulfillment?

While the hysteria of my twenties has faded with an exclamation point beyond my early thirties, I'm supposed to be embracing a self love and awareness that is apparently my natural born right (or so the self help books would have me believe). And although I'm clearly more confident and calm, by no means have my anxious tendencies released their grip on me.

Is life really a continuous circle with no destination and no conclusion? God would have us believe that heaven is the destination. While this certainly seems fine from a big picture point of view, He's hardly created us to sit idly by, content to simply be filled with peace and love.

Even this rambling... I want to write but have nothing to say. From where do I draw my inspiration?

Where indeed. Back in time for the beginning of the circle. How utterly reassuring.

Point of origin

Kernels of tension and uneasiness sputter uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach. Shifting and frothing, they explode into a popcorn of anxiety. Despite an overriding sense of calm and knowing, a mental battle ensues until they grab hold, burning into my tender peace.

If I close my eyes against these feelings, a deep breath is drawn and once again I know. Knowing without knowing. Interesting. The temptation to sit back and relax is overwhelming, but entirely against my nature. I'd much rather hold a stamped ticket firmly in hand.

Turning blind corners isn't as exciting as some might think.

...

Calm

Sun filters down onto bare feet over pale pink toes not yet chipped.
Concrete infinity. As much as anything changes it remains the same.
Uncertain steps follow a hand rail of faith towards a subtle shift over time.
Profoundly simple. Decidedly difficult.
There are few answers to questions that cease to matter.
I am compelled.

Drawn

Moved

Motioned towards

Knowing and recognition collide and peace takes up residence.

I am

calm.

La

A breeze was pushing the hair back from my face. I squinted against the sun, but didn't have the luxury of feeling warm because of the damn wind. There hadn't been snow on the ground for some time now, but I started to shiver as I looked down at my pale feet. I hoped the sun would color them even slightly, but they looked as white as ever. At least the pale pink nail polish hadn't yet chipped.

I was sitting on the steps of my brother's house down near the curb, and could hear the sounds of the party going on inside. It was our Easter celebration. Emma's voice carried out to me, "Where's Aunty Lou?" I smiled, but was reluctant to draw attention to myself, not yet ready to give up my moment of peace.

There are many moments like this. I feel strangely at peace and quietly unsettled simultaneously. Like many, I'm sure on some level I think I'm an incredibly complex person as a result, but the truth is my life is much more luxurious than I give credit for, and I probably need to just get a few more passionate hobbies. I believe the problem is I'm looking for something external to fill the void, but that simply doesn't work, and if I'm to draw on some sort of inner inspiration or peace, where the hell do I get that from?

Where the hell indeed.

What what what...

I want to write something incredibly profound. Yet, here I am with nothing to say. The words sit in my mind floating on little clouds waiting to fall like rain, but nothing comes. This draught has gone on long enough.

Writers block. I've been told the only way to get through it is to write. Is that a joke? Well, here goes.

"Breaking free from the past" was listed in bold on the agenda for that morning. It should have been my clue as to what would follow, but I just thought, I could stand to break free from the past--I hope it's that simple. Tiny sheets of paper were already on our tables and we were told to write down something we'd like to let go of today. Anything at all. Were we mad at God? Did we blame God for anything in our past? Whatever we'd like.

I looked down at my blank piece of paper and toyed with my orange pen as I thought of my past. Did I blame God for my childhood? I thought about that carefully. No, I really didn't. Was I angry over my divorce? Not at the moment, and I'd already processed that to death. There was nothing left to do regarding my marriage except let it die, and the divorce was almost final.

Everyone around me was frantically writing. Some were already crying, but I felt calm. Did I even need to do this? I didn't want the pressure of participating to back me into a cheesy psycho babble exercise, but if I truly had anything left to let go of, now was yet another time to try.

Everyone was instructed to crumple their papers into a ball and squeeze them tightly. "You see," said the Pastor, his fist in the air, "when you're holding onto something like this, you obviously can't pick anything else up and you're not open to receive." Good point. People around me already had their clenched fists in the air. Many of the faces were red and tear streaked as they looked at the pastor intently, waiting for his next instruction.

My paper was still blank. I knew the exercise would be over quickly. Was there anything I was refusing to let go of? It's always my childhood, I thought. My face got warm and my vision began to blur. Everything always came back to my childhood. A few tears slipped out, but I didn't have time to wipe them away as I quickly wrote. The sound of me balling up my paper felt loud, but I had little time to waste.

"Whenever you're ready, let the paper go."

Once woman said quietly, "it's not going to work."

The pastor looked over to her and said, "This doesn't have to be a big transformative moment, but it can be the start of letting it go over time."

I held my fist tight until small shoots of pain started pulsing along my forearm. If I was going to do this, it had to be as symbolic as possible. I felt nothing when I finally let the paper drop to the table, but the tears kept coming. I'd dealt with this so many times, I was surprised with my reaction, but I couldn't seem to stop the tears.

The facilitator's hand was comforting on my shoulder, but I felt ashamed of my open display of emotion. The idea of me drawing this kind of attention to myself made me shift uncomfortably in my chair. Where was this shit coming from? How many times did I need to process this?

I finally had to excuse myself from the room and the women from my group followed me outside into the fresh air. Still the tears would not stop. Two of them had their hands on my shoulders and Rianne asked, "What is upsetting you the most?" I shook my head, willing the tears away to no avail. I exhaled deeply and tried to still my emotions. My voice was raw and broken when I finally spoke. "Children should never be hurt." I could barely continue on. "When I think of my niece Emma...there's nothing I can do to protect her. How can anyone have children when they can't protect them?"

"Are the tears not for yourself then?" Rianne asked softly.

"Well, they must be." I answered, "When you're hurt as a child...it alters everything. I was ripped off of so many things..." I closed my eyes tightly against the brightness of the snow around me, and breathed in and out deeply--desperately trying to calm myself down. None of this was new and my reaction was frustrating. I also felt guilty, as though I was stealing time and healing away from someone else.

"Do you see that snow melting there?" Rianne asked, pointing to a tiny patch of water dripping onto the concrete sidewalk. "It's melting, slowly, but over time the new growth will appear from underneath."

"Yes," I almost shrieked, "but do you see all the friggin snow everywhere else?"

Rianne sighed and smiled at me, always patient. "All that growth underneath is raw and tender. If you were to come along with a blow torch and melt all the snow away at once, you'd torch the growth underneath."

I guess. But as I looked more closely, I could see tiny green sprigs of grass here and there, contrasting brightly against the mud and backdrop of the snow.

It had already begun.

On a day like today

Okay, so today's a good dating day. Talk to me on the days when some dumbass guy has stood me up, or been a jackass, and of course I'm jaded and want to tell them all to go to hell, but today...today men are good.

It began with a simple smile. When I saw his picture, I felt something immediately. I couldn't say what for sure, but there was something different right from the start. Of course, you're not supposed to read into anything this early on, but there is something to be said for instinct.

After I smiled back at him, he sent me an email. He was articulate as hell, which is extremely sexy to me, being a writer and all. When we talked on the phone for the first time, I was attracted to his voice and how he expressed himself, and the night we met, afterwards in my car I felt a little odd. I didn't go into my house right away, but let the music play on while I stared out the car window.

When you look back on things, it's easy to see how each moment adds up, but as these moments actually occur I wonder--"is this significant, or simply random?"

Where is the off switch on my thinking anyway?

Sigh

I was going to write I was through with dating, but when you're single and you want to end up with someone, you're going to have to date. It's just that every time one of these little flings end, I am reminded why I'm in this place to begin with. This "place" being I'm going through a divorce. I'm not even 33 and somehow it seems very wrong to be going through a divorce.

There's the sigh.

This one ended over...what? He wasn't that into me (truthfully, I was only partially into him and it wasn't worth it if both of us were only half ass). It's trite. It's true. He didn't have a good reaction when I called him on it, and between that and my subsequent reaction, it's kaput. It wasn't even at kapow, so it's a little surprising it's already kaput.

Right now my life feels like a bazooka joe comic. And I never got the punchlines to those either.

But, you can't give up hope. What would life be like with no hope?

Today in church the pastor encouraged the congregation to read the church "bulletin" because I had written my story about being baptised. My name was even mentioned. I admit it was a bit thrilling. Afterwards a woman came up to my friend and I, and she had an incredible energy emanating from her and was oddly peaceful. During the conversation she mentioned how relaxed I looked, which was surprising (to me and anyone who knows me).

There are few people you can speak frankly with about God. When an opportunity presents itself, I'm more in the habit of taking it. This woman told me it was "nice to meet a celebrity". Right. The pastor told me he quoted me a few times earlier in the week. Nice. Before I left this morning, I made a point of touching his arm. I don't know why.

Today was a day when I needed God. I suppose the point is to rely solely on him, but that can be a bit hard to swallow at times. None the less, God is everywhere and is trying to woo me. Really. To paraphrase John Eldridge, "Captivating", God created this desire in us--in me it's to be a priority to a partner, which is exactly what God wants from me.

I can see God at work in my life and it can be unsettling, although a little exciting as well. Today I felt like my experience at church was a gift. I cried in my car afterwards. This was all before the fling was flung.

In the parking lot after the celebration was over, the last thing my friend Jill said to me was, "don't settle."

I hadn't given her any details regarding the guy situation, and still God found a way to get His message across.

The dunk

“I am the way and truth and the light.” John 14:6

The words flashed up on an overhead screen beneath my name. We each picked out a bible passage that held meaning for us. It was perfect from the moment I came across it in a little notebook I kept in my purse. I’d written it down it while listening to a Christian radio broadcast. It captured everything I knew Jesus to be so far.

I’m not far along into my walk with God. Two weeks ago baptism was the last thing on my mind. I’m new to Westside, having attended only the last four or five months, and like many people felt I wasn’t in the “right” place spiritually to even consider a thing such as baptism. Also like many others, I’d been baptised as a baby and figured I was good to go as far as God was concerned.

How I ended up on stage, hot tub ready, lights shining down, camera’s rolling and flashing, and hundreds of Christians looking on, is a bit of mystery to me. To say God works in mysterious ways is trite, but none the less true.

Pastor Tom looked excited as he motioned me into the water. It was warm, and I took a few calming breaths before kneeling down in front. My best friend Jorge was on my left, and Pastor Tom murmured, “I hope all of your questions get answered today.”

I didn’t expect an immediate transformation. More than anything I wanted to take a step closer to God.
I wanted to express my faith.

His hands were reassuring on my arm and after answering Pastor Tom’s questions, I let myself fall back gently into the water. The moment of me immersed is an image now etched in Jorge’s mind. He told me afterwards my face was filled with peace. I couldn’t stop smiling then, even now, and the answer in my heart is yes.

Yes, God.

Yes.

Monday

Seriously, does anyone read this crap? No--which is why I can write to my heart's desire, regardless of content.

Alas.

There's more tension in my shoulders than... than what? I couldn't possibly find a comparison worth mentioning at the moment.

A Monday morning answering the phone and dealing with Monday morning students. If another person gives me attitude, I swear, I may erase all of his or her marks (there are very few powers I have, but that is one). Alas, I kid (but have thought hard about it).

Sigh.

The weekend was full, full. Friday night out at the theatre (yes, you have to say it with an English accent); Saturday night out at Latin dance lessons (I don't think I understand the true difference between using my hips versus using my abs), followed by a poker tournament at a friend's place. I am happy to report I came in first the first game (although the second is hardly worth mentioning). I was excited to beat out my self-proclaimed pro poker friend (he may say part-time pro--rolling eyes), but he is quick to exclaim, "It's just a friendly game; I wanted to get out. Everyone is sitting around waiting, you know." Right. So, next time just gimme the money and we can save the 1/2 hour of me kicking your ass. : ) (insert friend-love comment here, but he'll never read this, so who cares).

I'd tasted some scotch that night and decided it was like a campfire in a glass (which I'm told is from the "peat", as in "this scotch is quite "peaty"). Hmm. While I'd like to develop a small fancy for the drink, it may require more time and effort than I care to give. The smokey aftertaste of Lagavulin (yes, I had to look it up on google) was almost more than I could bear. That followed by some brandy was enough to throw me off of my next game (so I like to think).

The man I was happy to flirt with for the evening ended the night by shaking my hand and commenting, "When you first came in, I could tell how cold you were." Rather crass. If I had any doubt as to his worthiness of my supposed affection, I assure you, I'm crystal clear--he is in fact a jackass. And he doesn't even deserve a capital J. Hard not to be down on the opposite sex when you're going through a divorce and encountering clown after clown.

My line on the internet dating site is: "If I wanted a clown, i'd hang out at a circus". Some jackass was happy to send me a note, "Of course you're at a circus, that's where we'd find the elephant." Fucker. I really shouldn't even put it in here and somehow glorify him, but whatever.

Anyway, small rant for the day over. Lunchtime calls (only 15 minutes left...sigh).

Monday morning.

Meh.

Crying Game

Not a single smile in a two days. Fucking internet dating. I'd been on lavalife since my husband left, and every day I was on, my self esteem took a shot. With every Wilbur, Gord and Harry hitting on me, I wondered if, how or when I'd ever meet anyone worth dating, let alone worth having sex with. And they all wanted sex. According to my page a day calendar, 'he's just not that into you', a "man isn't into you if he doesn't want to have sex with you".

Frankly, I agree. I want passion. Intimacy (some people actually cringe at the sight or mention of this word).

A private conversation--no one heard her say, sang Lyle Lovett. I'm convinced it's about his marriage to Julia Roberts. Her answer to our collective gasp, "Lyle Lovette? The guy with the hair?!"


...


Three candles is a dimly lit room.
His eyes were blue. He was rustic by candlelight.
Only once did I get to hear his sensitive tone...I always imagined his eyes downcast whenever he spoke that way. I was right.


And this is how it happens.
There are movies; there are great works of fiction--all attempting to capture and give birth to the building of passion.

Genuine dialogue on every level.



Conversation isn't always about words.
Clearly.

The Game (Fiction)

As I looked around at the group of men gathering, I wondered if any of them figured out the main prize . I hadn't bothered to invite any women to the game, not wanting to face any sort of competition, and most of the men I'd invited were single. There were a few married's for appearances sake, but I'd made sure they couldn't hold their own in a game of parchesi, let alone poker.

It wasn't completely out of character for me to host a tournament full of varying degrees of attractive men; most of the people I knew were guys, and I knew very few women who even liked poker, nevermind enough to play in a tourney. All my life I'd made a point of mastering as many male dominated interests as possible. I'd always maintained that men simply had more fun, and for quite some time I really believed that to be my motivation, but the reality was, and is: I just want to be around men--and as often as possible.

A baker's dozen trickled in mostly one by one. I carefully chose a variety of intellects, a few bad boys, and the odd nice guy for good measure. Most of the men I'd met over the years, and one by one exposed them to the game of poker. When I'd started it was quite the challenge to gather enough people for a saturday night game (especially hosted or attended by a woman), but with the recent hockey strike, the popularity of poker rose exponentially and there wasn't enough time in a week to get to all the games. Being a female poker player was no longer a liability, but an asset in the typically male sport. And I was damn good.

Jason had just shown up, followed quickly by Mike and Andre. Warmth spread throughout me as I watched him take note of the other men. It really was an impressive gathering. Most were in their mid 30's, reasonably physically fit, and of course charming as hell (each in their own right). I was rooting for Jason, who smiled when he caught my eye. He was sexy as hell with his crazy black curly hair. When it was shorter, he looked like a typical business man, but with it a little longer he was downright hot.



cont'd