2009

2009 has been the year of letting go, of loss, of rediscovery, and finally of self-acceptance. This year has seen the loss of my only grandmother, my job, and my shame.  I have discovered myself to be both a dancer and a flirt. I found that sass has sex appeal. I have found love. I have learned that trying to be anyone else than who I am is not worth the price of admission. If I can’t get in as myself I am not going.

 Until now I have never been haunted by regret but I think I will always regret not being in the room when my grandmother died. She didn’t want to die alone but no once could sit with her every minute, so family settled for checking in on her every hour.  For my part, I was at work when my grandmother died. Much as she had been for most of my life, my grandmother provided me with an excellent example of how not to do something. In this case, she showed me how not to die. My grandmother’s death was painful, humiliating, and in the end lonely. I pray that this is not my fate. 

I lost my job. So do lots of people. I found a new job. It’s not as good as the old one but it’s better than the alternative.  Bitching about ones job may be an American pastime but I think I’ll pass.

Dancing allows me to surrender my mind and my body to the needs of another.  When I dance I submit to the commands of my lead and the rhythm of the music. In those moments between the beats when all the possibilities of the floor open up to me, I become a space of empty acceptance. It is only through compliance that I am liberated. I suspect that this not the reason that most people dance.

Everybody flirts and so it follows that flirting is fun for all involved. It is certainly a silly endeavor if nothing else. When I flirt I have no other purpose or thoughts than to laugh and play. A little sass and smart mouth makes the game more interesting. Everyone looks good with a little sass on them.

If I can’t get in as myself I am not going. I am striving everyday for self-acceptance but I know this much is true. There is nothing wrong with sarcasm and if you can’t handle that then you need grow up enough to realize that world doesn’t care about your feelings.  If I say that I am cute that doesn’t make me vain, it makes me right, if you disagree than your taste is all in your mouth. I can’t try to be calmer or sweeter than I already am. I acknowledge that I am neither particularly sweet nor calm.

Finally, love has many faces and facets. I choose to love many people for as many reasons as their sands in the hourglass.  Even as time passes I make a choice everyday to love. I love you if you are my friend, my rock, or my soul mate. If you have seen me through crazy and through calm, through the pouting and through peace then I love you. Your love guides me, keeps me, and saves me. Without you I am lost.

If I let you in my insides might fall out. Some people build their walls with humor, deflecting and side stepping the intimate with jokes and humor. Others simply stay quite, choosing instead to keep their thoughts and emotions locked inside their hearts. Still others feign openness and fooling others who do not know that their walls are made of glass.

She knew her power lay not in the way men looked at her but in the way she looked at men. It was the reflection of themselves in her eyes that attracted them. It wasn't that they liked her face or her body although she knew they did. It was that they liked who they became when they were with her. She was like a creation of the brother's Grimm, a magic mirror that reflected only the best parts.  She told them they were attractive and desirable, she laughed at their jokes, and she deferred to their masculinity whenever possible. She did all this without relying on the cheap tricks that most women employed. She never waited for them to open doors, get the check, or send flowers. In fact, she seemed not to truly need a man at all. It made her affection all the more valuable since she seemed not to want anything in return. Her allure lay in her ability to make the men in her life feel like men. 

And it was for this reason that she often preferred the company of men to women. Men could be built up and she could bask in the adoration and affection. Women tended to cut themselves down. It was difficult to build up women, their foundations always seemed to be built upon the sand. Even as she built them up waves of uncertainty, doubt, and negativity would wash away all her hard work. 

playing with fire

You say that you are not trying to manipulate me and that you are doing the right thing. However, you cannot argue that you have been playing me like a violin, so don’t be surprised when the strings break. In the interest of our friendship, I spoke up when you (and I) crossed a line. Yes, I was having fun. There is a certain delicious pain in being made to feel that frustrated. That’s my kink and I am comfortable with that. However, I know that we can’t play with fire not get burned. What surprised me was your reaction. Frankly, I did not expect you to become upset. After all, it was you who declared that there would never be anything romantic between us. So if you knew the boundary was there why become upset when I point out that our behavior was inappropriate. You were just as aware of that fact as I was. So why become upset? 
I understand that you have been lonely for sometime and this saddens me, for as far as I can tell you are an amazing person. Yet your situation does not excuse your behavior towards me. 

I am so full that I can't find the words to express all my thoughts. I have been writing and erasing in this space for over an hour. Perhaps there are somethings that I should not publish publicly.

I learned some interesting things about myself this evening. Thanks to the advice of a friend I resolve to fear embarrassment less and respect my needs more.

2am

2am and too much tequila. It all has me thinking about kink. After much reflection I have come to understand something about myself. I'm kinky, perhaps not terribly so, but enough. I read the graphic novel version of "The Story of O" a few weeks ago, damn sexy. And though I found "The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty" to be boring, I can attribute it to bad writing (sorry Anne) rather than content. Although I am not against tender romantic sex, I don't crave it. My sex fantasies usually involve either some level of violence or coercion. Even when I reflect back to my earliest sex fantasies they involve either coercion or violence. The porn I enjoy is all pretty kinky. So here I am kinky girl in the straight and normal world. I know it's not unusual but I am not sure where I will go from here.

Is it wrong?

Is it wrong to be exited that I am a whole size smaller than I thought? I mean sure its New York and Company and their clothes run big, but still... I fit into (and purchased) a size 4 today. I am reasonably sure that there is no reason to be happy about this but the three magazines I got in the mail today tell me differently. The cover of SELF is offering me secrets to lose 8 pounds and reach my "dream weight". If I lost another 8 pounds I might fit into a size 2 (again only at NY and Co) would that actually make me happier? I don't think so. Still I can't deny that I feel more confident since I lost the weight that I gained earlier this year. Weight that I gained as a response to the death of my grandmother and the stress of losing my job. I have spent the summer resurrecting clothes from the back of my closet. It's been like getting a whole new wardrobe, which has been kind of cool. Even better, has been how I have felt in my clothes. I feel confident and sexy. I am by no means skinny. Nor would I really want to be even though it would mean that I might look better in photographs. I like being curvy. I love my breasts and that my waist though not as defined as I would like still creates a look that tricks the eye into believing that I have hips. I don't really have hips or an ass but thats okay, because I have boobs. Everybody likes boobs. Even people who say that they don't, really do. So here I am fitting into a size 4 pair of pants and feeling pretty good about it, but still not really knowing why. Except that I like it when I look good in clothes that I own and I like feeling sexy and attractive. So that's it, and to be fair I also bought a pair of pants in size 6 and feel cute in those too.

Who am I when I am not myself?

Spring 1992?

Standing in your sunroom, the Freddy Mercury tribute on the television, I twirled slowly for your examination. My desire for your approval was like a bitter taste in my throat. No matter how hard I swallowed, I couldn’t drive it back down.

Summer 1992?

On my knees in front of you too stoned to realize that you have left the door open for your friends’ enjoyment. Every moment with you is a failed attempt to regain the control I lost to your brother. You never did believe me about what he did or maybe it just didn’t matter.

Fall 1992

Standing with you in the elevator, your opinions become mine before the 2^nd floor. Little do I realize that by the end I won’t even recognize my own face in the mirror.

Fall 1996

Its 3 am and I am giving you permission to break my heart. You never had to hit me to cut me down.

Spring 1997

The way you look at me makes me feel new. Basking in the glow of your love I am transformed, healed, and made whole once more. When you touch me, the warmth stays with me for days. The reflection of our bodies together lights me up and my path is made visible once more.

Summer 2009

Imagine my surprise to learn that I am the same girl from the sunroom, wanting only to be loved and desired. But now everything is dark. There is no more heat and no more light. If I am always childlike how can you desire me as a woman? Who am I when I am not completely myself? Always asking for approval while waiting for rejection. There is nothing I wouldn't do to feel whole again.