He’s just too much. It’s like I’m living with a teenager. And it’s really ethereal; he gets on your nerves in this really subtle, papercut way. Tiny actions that add up.
He doesn’t pick up after himself, he leaves the water filter empty, he puts his dirty runners on the couch, he never washes the dishes, he comes home past 2am drunk every night – you can hear him staggering into bed, reeking of cigarettes.
That part? I can tolerate that.
Hard to believe, but it’s true.
I can tolerate all of it.
It’s the subtle shit that makes me want to blow my brains out.
He never asks me how I’m doing, he never asks how my day went. He walks into a room, interrupts a conversation and starts talking about the failed connection he just had with this woman and that.
But get this.
He doesn’t see it as a failure; there’s a kind of delusions of grandeur happening. Time and time again, women have shown in their very mercurial, catlike, non-confrontational ways: they’re not interested.
So, why don’t you get it?
They don’t write back. They don’t call back. They ignore you. Broken promises. They say thanks but no thanks by not saying it.
That part would make me wanna blow my brains out too.
Women suck at communicating with the opposite sex. Period. Continue reading “you’re not alone”
I found this writing on stillness within my journal notes from 2011. To think I’ve been on this train since then…
Stillness is the ground of being from which all else emerges.
It is within and behind every breath, every thought, every action.
It is my starting point, my resting place, the home base to which I can return again, and again.
In stillness I notice how time and space disappear.
All there is is the present moment and my willingness to listen …
To allow the stillness to speak.
The stillness takes me into a realm of conscious awareness
that transcends my identity as body or mind.
Stillness offers an experience of being
and a recognition that my being …
my essence …
is a part of all Being, all Essence.
– Meditation and Rituals of Conscious Living
Nancy J. Napier & Carolyn Tricomi
I hold a cup of black tea in a Starbucks vintage mug; the tea is not their’s and tastes way better. There’s a chip on the cup. I should dispose of it but I chose not to.
I’m feeling a joyful glee in my heart cuz my partner returns home tomorrow. How four weeks has fast forward and slowed down all at once. I recall his warm soft lips and how they just fit mine.
I sit still as the sun beams down on my skin. It’s warm with a cool breeze reminding us winter is around the corner. The critical mind tells me to pull away (wrinkles, remember), but I don’t. Fly kisses from the sun reach the smile spreading across my cheeks.
I’m wondering if this is what they mean by “bliss”. This moment. On my own.
That hop-skip-and-a-jump feeling, that “skip to my lou my darling” pep to the step.
I try not to choke it; surrendering is a joy ride.
Fly kisses to the sun and back.