Lost In The Moment

At Panera, which was normally our routine after rehearsals, sitting at a high-top table we over-worked, tired, broke, stressed-out college grown-ups trying to release the dull-drum schedule of work, school, and very little sleep – not necessarily in that order – talking and bull-shitting, would one-off each other.

Somehow the topic became a question of whether or not there could possibly be a limit to the size of a man’s junk.  Is there such a thing as too big?  Certainly there is such a thing as too small, right.  But, too big?!  Is there such a thing?

While the table started to discuss the very worthy question of how big is too big, I recalled I time a man got me drunk on red wine.

My wingman, a girl from work who had been hooking-up (do people still say hooking-up?) with a guy from Turkey (can anyone say Green Card – not to sound bitter, I just found it an unequal match) said, we’ll all go out and have a good time.  Meeting them at his apartment I waited on his sofa while he took a phone call when I arrived.  Most of the conversation took place with him staring at me while speaking Italian on the phone.

Let’s have a drink first, he said when he hung up his phone call.

Sure, what do you have?

He poured me a glass of red wine so sweet from the fruit that was soaking in it, I finished the glass rather quickly.

And then I finished another and another.

Oh, it was so good.

We never made it out that night.

Lying on his bed, tipsy, and wanting more…when I got to unzip his pants – Whoo, Lord have mercy!

It was a beautiful sight to behold.  That man was hung like a baby elephant.  Holy shit!  That was a beautiful creation God made between his legs!

I still recall that moment with stammering wonderment.  It’s a story to tell your grandchildren.  Embarrassing them with the life you lived before them.

So, well equipped with that memory, I blurted out matter-of-factly, yes there can be such a thing as too big because my jaw does not come unhinged!

There was great laughter all around the table, but one person fell back with such laughter he fell to the floor.  It took me a second to realize he was not only laughing so hard he wasn’t making any noise, but he was completely flat on the floor.

Almost immediately I started crying tears of laughter from the beautiful sight of him laughing.  And in that moment an overpowering need took root.  I just wanted to be next to him.  Close to him.  Just to be near him.

In the past I have used laughter as a weapon as a means to unarm people, so I can see people as they really are perhaps even as God meant them to be.

When a person is so gone in the moment from laughing they could pee themselves and not even care, or notice just to have one more breath, so they could laugh again – it is the most beautiful sight to me.  There is a boundless wonder of the human soul and spirit to behold a much greater story to be told in that single moment.

California Calls

Just when my mind is full and over-flowing bursting with writing, stories, and life – California calls as if it is the center of the entire world more important than anything else in that moment.  Blocking my path, my energy, and stopping all creativity in me like a mind-fucking-ruiner-of-all-things as though I am a something to be controlled rather than the someONE that I am.

Adding labels on me, placing judgements upon me, stealing my stories and replacing it with their own rather than letting me tell and show the story of me and watch the beauty of it as it unfolds.

You know, a good leader, a good management style, a good man does not shove you from behind to watch you stumble as you go.  It does not push you to the edge to watch you fall into the abyss.  It does not steal, debase, or manipulate you into something that isn’t real.

A good man supports,  learns from his mistakes rectifies and apologizes for them.

A few years ago while I was at work, a co-worker asked to see the ring I was wearing.  As I handed it to her I explained how I was trying to keep the time I took care of my mother close to me by wearing her ring.  What I did not explain is that everything in my life had turned into chaos, destruction, juevinille-stupid-games as if the illusions from which I had been living were entirely striped away from my eyes, and I saw everyone playing their part wearing their disguises.  I saw them past the colored contacts, fake bellies, and colored skins.  I played my part as I saw I was cast in a role I didn’t ask for or want, but I knew of no other way to be sane than to continue their charade.

Yet, it was SO destructive to me – understanding I was in a false reality, a charade of stars and unknowns that I was trying to cling to the last memory I had of when I had a positive outlook on the future, saw possibility, and wanted me to share the greatness of me, and the gifts I have.  More than anything else, I wanted to return to the time when I wanted a man to love for the rest of my life who wanted to love me for the rest of his life.  Because once I had the love of a good man who wanted me and to keep me as his for the rest of his life than everything else would fall into place as it should be.

Taking control of my mental state I determined that remembrances such as a ring would help me to return and stay in the moment.

When she handed my ring back to me, it was not the same.  It was a fake and a counterfeit.  Since, I was playing along with this fake store reality I had no idea how to demand she return what was mine back to me.

By the way, Rachmaninoff is so sexual to me.  I find him so passionate, consuming, makes me want to devoure the man flesh.

Away I go.

Over Puzzles

People change.  It can happen.

Of course, people are hard-wired from birth, however people can change.

I used to believe I wanted to act, or direct, or anything in the industry – it is just something I’ve done for many years now.  After, working at a store that viewpoint seems to have change permanently.

Being taught the degradation and abuse I would have to endure in order to participate or be involved with a movie, or television, or a role has proven too much for me.  It has crossed a line I cannot follow.  Proving to me it is not for me.  I mean, if you are more interested in killing yourself than being creative there is something wrong with the picture.

I had one of the worst days today at work.  Unable to continue the way my life has been controlled or manipulated since working for that store.

I feel I am stuck in a maze I can’t escape.

Who would want to continue playing that game?!

Not an actress – got it.

 

You Need To Let Me Go

Both of you need to let me go.

It feels as if teams are trying to tear me apart.  Asking me to choose sides.

I am asking that both men let me go.

Yes, you both have your own life.  Please let me go.

No longer can I live this way.  If you ever thought I could you were mistaken.

Let me go.

Let me live.

The only way I know how to live is without either if you.

Both of you think it is ok and acceptable to speak without saying.  To have others speak for you.

I cannot live like that anymore.

It has been too long.

I am too tired.

I am too close to death to believe anymore.

Let me go.

 

Some Things Have Gone On For Too Long

Being led by a carrot, for years now, dangling the possibility of a man who wants me…and it has been too long.

Too much supposed fantasy that I am supposed to believe.

You have both left me alone for too long now.

From the day D left my life to go to FSU my world has never been the same.  I have missed him – everyday.  I am so happy for him.  I am so happy he has love and success in his life.

Who I am is different when I am around him.  He opens up a part of me just being near me.

I walked into a Starbucks one day and as soon as my eyes looked up, I swear I saw him.  It was just as natural as breathing, I started to walk over to him to say hello to an old friend.  But, as soon as I got within feet of him a wall shut down in front of me as I was reminded of the last time we communicated.  He told me I was crazy and delusional for knowing it was him on the street near my home.

See, I just wanted to know if he wanted to talk to me since he was so clearly aware of where I was and trying to see me.  But, when I confronted him he decided to deny it.  So, I went along with it and apologized for intruding on his life.

But, he kept reappearing.  Driving by on his motorcycle or in cars, I saw him all the time.  I knew it was him and I didn’t say anything until it became too much.  Then, I would contact him.  Did you want to talk?

Nothing.  Ever.  So, I stopped.

I learned he didn’t want to talk to me.  See, he could have told me he was happily married, and I would have been surprised but happy for him.  He was a friend before anything else.

I look back at a picture I have of us.  It was a cast photo and D bent down to have his face next to mine, and I instinctively grabbed his face and literally squealed with glee.  The best to me is not only the over-abundant joy and happiness his bending toward me had, but the look on other people’s faces in the picture.  As they are almost relieved with happiness.

D has meant the world to me.  At times when I have felt so absolutely alone, and abandoned it was his name and the thought of him that was whispered to me, comforted me.

But, I am tired of pretending.  I am tired of playing along.

J, I don’t believe you anymore.

You also have left me alone for too long.  Trying to make me believe in you while keeping me alone and unhappy while you got to carry on with your life – free as a bird.

Please, do me a favor and leave me alone.

I am happy for you.  I am happy for all the times I spoken with you and known you.

Go live your life.

I am a million miles away from you.  Our worlds will never align.  I mean it, please go.  Because I cannot continue to live like this.

God bless, please be happy without me.  As I know, you will be.

You see, I have just been left alone for too long now.

Left alone and surrounded by women.  No wonder I am miserable.

 

 

Claustrophobic Surround

Just when I think I can’t possibly have any more loss in my life it happens again.  Everything and everyone I love gets taken or stolen away from me.

The pressure that I have been living with and under is excruciating.  Fighting to survive because of the constant pressure surrounding me.

Feeling beaten up from battling sides each claiming me, yet neither one helping me or there for me.  With no one apologizing or making up to me for the harm they have caused.  Then, on the other hand I don’t know how many times I have to say no to keep people away and out of my life.

I was never fighting.  I was just trying to survive.  And, I am so very tired of being pushed.

This house feels so tiny.  It is really only big enough for one person and barely any furniture.  I feel it smothering me.

It is so depressing here.

I Need Men

The other day I was thinking of what a terrible world this would be if there were no men in it.  Can you imagine?  Looking around would certainly be a lot less enjoyable.

Then, I realized that is my life these last few years.  There is nothing but women to either side of me with no men to be found.

No wonder I am not at home here.  I still feel like I am living in someone else’s house instead of feeling it is mine.

I can’t imagine a world without men.

I certainly would not be able to enjoy a world where there were no men.

 

 

It Was Real Once

I miss my house.

Waking up this morning to the memory of the house I used to have that was mine.  Who am I kidding, I fell asleep remembering my house.

Back when I still believed in the reality of the possible.

Back before the illusions were not entirely stripped away from my mind and eyes and saw the deceptions, costuming, and falseness that I live in and around.

I miss my house.  Where I had space and privacy in my home.  The prying eyes that even existed then were farther away.  Where the birds and wildlife were real and not canned.

It was not much of a house.  It was not grand.  It was mine.

Yesterday I was reminded of a poem I wrote back in college.  My life the last several years people have read too much into it.  People thinking there is more written between the lines.  Instead, of the writing being just what it is – writing.

Back in college I took a Creative Writing class just to try it on for size.  I was working full-time, going to school part-time, trying to have a social-life, trying to live in between the other minutes left in the end of the day.  It was a tough time.

I cheated.

I was writing for an assignment and not for myself.  I was under a deadline, I had other classes that had demands on my time.  So, I did the best that I could.  I was doing homework while on my breaks at work just to get everything accomplished in the day.  At that time every minute of my day was filled.

The assignment was to write a poem.  I’d never written a poem in my life, and I knew very little about poetry.  I’d not read much – at that time – let alone read poetry.

There was a poem in my textbook, I think it was about Spring, so I wrote about Autumn.  The next line was about the wind, so I wrote something about the breeze.  If it was a color I changed the color.  If it was about a person I just changed it slightly.

From what I know of writers and writing now – this is not an uncommon practice.

It accomplished the task.  I received a grade, and it was a good grade.  But, to me the poem is like an artificial sweetener.  It tastes sweet, but there is an after taste.  And, honestly the taste and flavor are all wrong.  Artificial is never as good as the real thing.

In my writing, I know the difference even if others do not.

Plus, just to get this off my chest.  I refuse to be made to feel bad for writing at my desk where there is a desk, etc.