Freedom and the Gates

The heels of my flip-flops are softly keeping time at 4:30 a.m. on a moonlit morning. More softly, the clicking of her amber-colored claws, keeping pace alongside me, her fox-colored fur rubbing against the floral fabric hanging down to my ankle. We walk along, jarred momentarily by a sudden cat duel in the street, walking together towards the first light of day, the crazy echoes of a morning bird's first repetitive cry ricocheting between houses, pinging against glass. She sidles alongside me, needing this walk, needing to exorcise the dark confusion of 4:00 a.m., a half hour ago, when she lay on her side, kicking and snapping, her attention nowhere, with a strange scent emanating from some strange gland or another.

When it was over, and she was helped to her feet, she paced blindly, aimlessly, furiously, at times burying her slender snout into a burrow of clothes, or papers, or furniture angles. After carrying her downstairs amidst kicks and whimpers, she was hitched to her leash and brought outdoors, becoming silently focused on simply moving forward and staying by my side. We quietly click-clacked and flip-flopped along, alone together in the last breath of evening, shadows revealing their bare simplicity, the truth of everyday objects becoming harder, less mysterious, plain.

At 5:30 we could see the colors of the flowers, nothing hidden anymore, and she and I set foot back indoors, where she ate hungrily and took her medicine. Still she bumbled, the normal bumbling. I stopped her long enough to hold her, and kiss her, and call her Little Girl, and Bumblebee, and Honeybear. Then I left her to her circling, her countenance turned in as it usually is.

Yesterday at this same time she was circling wildly and joyfully at the end of a retractable leash, so in love with the broad, free movement, taken for awhile by the spirit and essence of being a dog, and of sensing the safety on the other end of the leash, a guide to rein her in before careening down a bank or off a wall. Pure joy, to the extent that we were both laughing, and feeling it was ok to be a part of this world, in spite of it.

New York

I've been away for a few days, beating the hell out of my feet, legs, hips, everything - on the concrete, a little on the dance floor, a little when I got back in... all of it was lovely, and I've got a heat pack on my lower back now, but slightly enjoying some of the soreness that I feel. Means I've been busy, and away from work, and focusing for awhile on other stuff.

Saturday night was our big night out. Walked around the city all day long, got back to the place around 8:00, scarfed some yummy Thai food, took a nap, got up, showered, and headed out the door around 11:30. Went to a giant dance club that had about - I dunno - 6 different DJs on different floors/rooms. It was hellza expensive, but I was with a friend that had never been to NYC in her life, so we figured we'd do it up.

We ended up mostly hanging where the music was non-wedding sounding (think I Will Survive, Disco Inferno) non-80's (Sweet Dreams, Tainted Love - c'mon, I was there once) non-thumping house music (I just don't find it particularly danceable) and ended up largely hanging out in the basement where it was beat and groove heavy reggae-hip-hop. Also very fucking hot and sweaty. But for a time we danced our asses off, and had lots of fun and funny dance partners, also some not so fun and funny wanna-be dance partners.

As soon as we walked into the room I was approached by a not-bad-looking, but extremely forward man of an indiscernable ethnic descent. He tried to immediately pull me onto the dance floor, I explained I needed a drink first, which would've been the perfect opportunity for him to become marginally less annoying, by buying me a drink, that is, but no. I told him honestly that my back wasn't feeling well enough to dance yet, he responds by starting to masssage my back, proclaiming several times that he is the one to fix it. He was way the hell too touchy. I squirmed to the side, said, "No, that's ok. We have to go find a friend upstairs."

Hopefully those moves worked out for him by the end of the night, but I doubt it. He was quite sincere in his attempts, and backed off appropriately, but Jesus Christ. The night continued with more drinking - though not too much, at $8 a beer - lots more grabbing and being felt up, which became less irritating with more beer - lots more dancing and people watching etc.

Took the subway home and watched a cute lil' rat that was scurrying around on the platform freak a bunch of people out. We made it to bed by around 4:00, not too shabby, and no hangover to speak of, just physically worked over with veerrry sore feet. After coffee took my friend to the Promenade to take a gander across the river at the Statue of Liberty and the hole in the sky where the World Trade Center used to be.

Made it home not too late, checked in w/ my family and the dog (she lives with my parents, but I am considered her mom), found out my niece had an emergency appendectomy while I was gone, and then spent a really lovely and wonderful evening at home...

I'm thinking a little of quitting my job, but not before finding something else, of course. Today at work I stayed quiet, and focused. It wasn't that easy, I had a bit of a fuzzed-out back from 3 days off fade-in going on. Right now I'm fading out, I can only hope that means I will manage actual sleep tonight...

I've said it before, but this guy is heavy.

Swimming

He picks me up just like that, and we lock onto each other effortlessly. It has never been this easy. I have never felt so secure. We both smile at the simple beauty of this act. He holds me like this. Our faces draw back to regard each other, and we talk, my legs wrapped snug around him, balanced on each other's hips. Balanced. That's the feeling, as I look into his young old eyes.

The other night I saw his eyes twenty, thirty years from now, saw this span of time flash through, but I still don't know what it means. I've learned to doubt myself, even when confronted with such a specific feeling. The force of projection is strong, but it doesn't mean it's accurate.

Emotional risk-taking. I go there. When it comes to matters of the heart, I'm no pragmatist. Looking into the future, I can see many paths. Looking into the past, I sympathetically view the crooked, winding, searching road that my soul has carried me along. It comes down to your soul. It comes down to the connections your soul needs, the food your soul feeds and thrives upon.

And so, it's not so simple. Because the soul is not simple. It demands so much the closer you get to it. To expand and not contract. To open and not close. To accept that the only way to invite love is to invite the possibility of pain. Love and pain, those organic, messy things. I refuse to become one of those sad, hard people that spend most of their time building fences, defenses, constructing very-good-reasons for living as they do, with doors closed and actions controlled.

There are options somewhere between swimming naked with the sharks and being locked in a cage. I need to believe there are.

This is a pic that I posted on my old blog once. This was literally taken at a moment when I needed to be with her so badly, in my brother's car after he picked me up following a horrendous weekend in NYC last summer. This look of love and recognition is not one that registers on her face these days as her cognition has changed. But the trust remains. Click on her photo to really see her beauty.

Oh Crap. I'm Drunk.

And I came to that determination when I leaned over just now to tell my cat he was very cute and was suddenly stricken w/a headspin. Sigh. This is the kind of thing about 5 OJ/Potato Vodka/Midori drinx will do to you. And yet, I guarantee I will not have any typos in this post. That's how scary it is when I'm drunk. Yes, I intentionally spelled drinx that way. Goddamn me.

Earlier I occupied myself w/ typical behavior of someone who decides that drinking several vodka drinks on a Tuesday night is a good idea. I listened to music. Sad music. Well, plaintive music. Music that made me think long and hard of someone I should not be thinking long and hard of. Dangerous music. Beautiful music. Oh fuck, what a joke.

Finally I am bleeding (told you I was drunk) so I can finally put to rest some of the unrest of recent days, my inspiration identified, targeted, and marked. Not that I wasn't aware of that being the case, I was, but it's fucking scary the role that hormones play in one's perceptions of what's going on w/ oneself and the world. I can sit there and say "OK. You are all fucked up and over because your body is fucking with you" but still say 'The world is ending" and mean both.

I have not talked about this. But basically, my dog is dying. She likely has a brain tumor. Her physical and cognitive abilities have become severely impaired. She has had seizures. Is now on meds to address that, which seem to be working, though they make her clumsier yet. She walks into everything, and stumbles easily. She messes in the house, and walks all through it, not knowing.

Why did I start talking about this, after 5 Vodka drinks. I want to, and will, talk about her more carefully, and fully, soon. She is my darling. She was my savior and hope, so many times. My love. My Dixie.

Actual Information

It is a gorgeous night, and though I'm guessing it's about 90 degrees in my bedroom, it's ok. I'm naked in front of the fan, feeling a little ouchy from waxing earlier, thinking about another beer but sipping water instead. A surprising array of night-flying creatures have made their way into the house, randomly bumbling along the ceilings and walls towards light sources, like my bedside lamp and my computer screen. I just blew a slender brown beetle off the keyboard and onto the floor. Now he's made his way onto the bedside table and is climbing over a barrette, a lipstick, a pincushion. Last night I got out of bed four times to escort bugs out the door. Not bothering tonight. They won't bite. Besides, when even the cat isn't bothering...

So anyway, yeah, lately I've been hinting about stuff in my life on this blog, but keeping most of the specifics veiled. I guess that's mostly what I do here, when it comes to talking about relationships. And I'm talking about relationships. And the strange ways people come into your life. And the unexpected ways they can affect you. I mean, utterly and totally unexpected. To the point where it's difficult to explain, really, without getting too far out there.

I have let someone into my life that I think is wonderful. The depth and quality of connection has left me speechless at times. The potential we have to learn from each other seems like... it seems like all four seasons of the year. And he has to go away. He is going away. Not tomorrow. Not next month. Maybe not even for a year. But definitely away. I told him I have moved twice this year, everything. I can't do it again. Can't is a strong word, but I can't. And until I know more and trust more about the situation... I won't move anywhere for anybody, not now. Been there and done that too recently for it to feel even a little safe. And I've come to accept that safety - and by safety I mean a sense that I can feel free and open and trusting and whole with a person - is extremely important to me right now.

I've invested myself too heavily, too recently in some situations that tore me apart, fucking annihilated me. I've got jitters about moving ahead with anything right now, and it feels like a mass of tangled, heavy wire I'm trying to sort through. I'm the queen of ending up in complicated situations, and I swear it's not by choice. But I have to decide now if I'm brave enough to not choose complications - and there are plenty here that I didn't mention (no cheating, though, on either side) - or brave enough (foolish enough?) to choose them after all.

Narrow Escape

I spent the evening running from sadness. Which of course involves running towards it. Or walking. Walking to and fro. A beer followed closely by a nap was a bad idea. I arose after 40 minutes, having dreamt about...something, feeling like I had spent an insomniac's night in bed. I walk downstairs and there's just enough crap scattered around, plus enough dirty dishes, to continue exerting that pressing feeling on my chest. I sit on the couch and stare.

A shower. Must take a shower. A full routine shower - wash hair, shave, exfoliate. New beige tanktop with a built-in bra, purchased today. Looks pretty nice on, honestly. Short faded denim skirt. It's hot outside. Ok. Sit down again. Stare. The extent of my planning ability: walk to the corner store to buy a Red Bull. I head out.

There are lots of motorcycles in my neighborhood. I eye them jealously as they sit parked or fly past me, with the bitch on the back. Not too many crotch rockets. Mostly classic bikes that go from a purr to a roar, with lots of chrome. I walk along, my hair hanging wet down my back, feeling cool and comforting and slightly cloaking...

A father and son are rearranging the statues in the front yard. The statues are mostly angels and other saintly looking or graceful figures. There are a few animals. They had been lined up along the front of the house somewhat artlessly, and were likely destined to return to their original positions - the father was busily installing a little metal border fence to protect their designated area.

I walk towards the old pharmacy, but between it and the next building there is a scrubby little area leading to someone's apartment door. It is very narrow. Tonight, a very slight black man with a moustache is sitting in a lawn chair, nearly obscured by a weedy, gangly sapling. We exchange nods.

Walking past the pharmacy, I stop to stare in the windows. Though one half has been empty, now for years, the other half still houses a full wrap-around display of greeting cards. Puns and well-wishes and thank-yous and condolences insulated in this sealed tomb, greeting only the occasional stranger who bothers to look. Though I have stared into these windows before, tonight the effect was profoundly depressing.

I purchase my super-size Red Bull. As I walk past the pharmacy again, again I stop and stare. Snoopy lays oblivious atop his doghouse, as bouquets of roses and smiling children sit perfectly still in the last afternoon light. In the other half of the store, lemon-colored counters curve and stop to meet shallow, empty boxes stacked high along the wall. Don't cry.

A man and his woman roll up on one of those classic bikes and pull into a driveway. As I walk past he revs the engine impressively. A yellow ball in the grass punctuates with more sadness somehow. The father and son have made progress. Trying to be friendly, I say "Doing a little rearranging?" He smiles and mumbles something incoherent but I got the feeling he was indicating nothing much was going to change.

I stop to look at a spray of tiny purple flowers. Bending down, I touch them. They look a bit like thistle but much smaller, and very silky. As I walk onto my porch I crack open the Red Bull. My cats greet me through the window. Leaning on the railing, I stare out across the lawns, taking in every odd shrub and out-building.

As I open the door, the pressure in my chest moves up to my throat. I stand outside just long enough to tell myself this, too, shall pass. I enter, shutting out the world for the night.

Electric

thunder mumbles distantly
echoing deep in my ribcage
a dead match
in the darkness,
the whites of the leaves
flutter shyly as a skirt hem
in preparation
for the center strikes, yes
Be Prepared
for the swell and crash
for the bolt that shatters
and fastens you
Be Prepared?
for the force that cleaves
and unifies
every atom singing your song
shocking you
with their accuracy.

God I Love My Computer

I know that sounds... um, well, really pathetic but this is the first chance I've had to be on it since my last post, 'cause for some reason my internet connection decided to shit the bed right after that, and I didn't get it back 'til today. So maybe it would be more accurate to say God I Love My Internets, but whatever. You understand, I bet.

Worked 'til midnight tonight, but I need at least an hour to wind down before I can begin to consider sleep. So I'm drinking a glass of wine, checking in on my favorite blogs, feeling concerned about this bird that I hear singing, fairly regularly, at this odd hour. Speaking of wine, today at the multi-birthday celebration at my parent's house I received two bottles of wine and a gift certificate to the package store. Hey, I guess they know at least one thing about me.

Right now I love and hate my life. And I'm sure I'll keep 'splainin that in the weeks to come...

Happy July!