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i love summers in seattle.
5.29.2009
into the thick of SIFF
a longerishish day smearing into the early hours of friday morning.
it began with a broken glass, followed up with a broken mug {one of my favorites of the large soup tureen-sized cups i like to guzzle tea from} and finished off with a cake catastrophe and one lost earring. i don't break things, particularly not two in one day, and i don't lose things. especially not one of my favorite earrings {though recently a whole pair has evaporated along with one of my favorite pairs of underwear--humpf}.
but, i saw my third film at the festival, and the first that i went to see without working some event around it, and i fell in love with yet another filmmaker {the second of the festival, third, if you include the actor from in the loop}.
i'm so alive with the festival, awake in the wee hours of the morning repeatedly. and if it's not because i have some event to attend/work until late it's because i'm in bed but too wired about the previous or next day to go to sleep right away. i'm just happy to go in each day. happy to work. happy to see this inside peek of the film industry on a daily basis.
and i want to write more. want to share the glow of what's going on, write about spike lee passing through, write about this gutsy/beautiful/colorful/alive/quirky/gritty film i just saw tonight. but it's 2am. and i'm beat.
at a few minutes shy of 1am i realized where and when i lost my earring: in front of the movie theater. heading into the restaurant next door to meet up with my classmate who was going to join me something had brushed my foot. i spent a few moments at the time looking at the pavement trying to figure out what had hit my foot but didn't notice anything.
that thing was my earring. one of my favorite earrings to boot. and you can bet your bee's that after the lovely chat we had with carmo, hit the road's director, murilo pasta, i would be too jittery to go to sleep right away, particularly if my mind was obsessing about the whereabouts of my earring, so back i drove and viola! there it was shining in the dim light of queen anne avenue. happy endings all.
well, almost. i still have a cake to doll up tomorrow morning because i burned the outside and had to tear apart the springform pan to get to it {which should be added to the list of the day's casualties}. luckily i've enlisted the help of icing galore and an over sized clam shell of raspberries. the broken tea cup still makes the corners of my mouth turn down, but i'll live. quite happily for now.
it began with a broken glass, followed up with a broken mug {one of my favorites of the large soup tureen-sized cups i like to guzzle tea from} and finished off with a cake catastrophe and one lost earring. i don't break things, particularly not two in one day, and i don't lose things. especially not one of my favorite earrings {though recently a whole pair has evaporated along with one of my favorite pairs of underwear--humpf}.
but, i saw my third film at the festival, and the first that i went to see without working some event around it, and i fell in love with yet another filmmaker {the second of the festival, third, if you include the actor from in the loop}.
i'm so alive with the festival, awake in the wee hours of the morning repeatedly. and if it's not because i have some event to attend/work until late it's because i'm in bed but too wired about the previous or next day to go to sleep right away. i'm just happy to go in each day. happy to work. happy to see this inside peek of the film industry on a daily basis.
and i want to write more. want to share the glow of what's going on, write about spike lee passing through, write about this gutsy/beautiful/colorful/alive/quirky/gritty film i just saw tonight. but it's 2am. and i'm beat.
at a few minutes shy of 1am i realized where and when i lost my earring: in front of the movie theater. heading into the restaurant next door to meet up with my classmate who was going to join me something had brushed my foot. i spent a few moments at the time looking at the pavement trying to figure out what had hit my foot but didn't notice anything.
that thing was my earring. one of my favorite earrings to boot. and you can bet your bee's that after the lovely chat we had with carmo, hit the road's director, murilo pasta, i would be too jittery to go to sleep right away, particularly if my mind was obsessing about the whereabouts of my earring, so back i drove and viola! there it was shining in the dim light of queen anne avenue. happy endings all.
well, almost. i still have a cake to doll up tomorrow morning because i burned the outside and had to tear apart the springform pan to get to it {which should be added to the list of the day's casualties}. luckily i've enlisted the help of icing galore and an over sized clam shell of raspberries. the broken tea cup still makes the corners of my mouth turn down, but i'll live. quite happily for now.
5.25.2009
making progress
meisner. it's done in one month. mark your calendars children because on the 25th of june we showcase our work. we showcase the last nine months of rebirth via meisner we've all survived. we showcase our new selves.
and it's been a long haul. and we've still got a way to go. i'm struggling to bring forward the confidence and discipline i spent two quarters fighting for. the confidence to make choices, find answers and make them come alive. the confidence and will power to say that's not helpful while gently setting aside each new onslaught of my lower self-esteem that would say in some form or another you can't do what you've set out to do.
the scary thing is that up until tonight, that voice had squirmed her way into my final project bringing up brick wall after brick wall of dead ends and you can't find hester smit here. or here. or here. or anywhere. i wasn't giving myself access to myself or to my creative and emotional imagination.
but
movement was made today. finally. and i'd like to write more about who and what i've been finding.discovering.revealing in this character of hester smit, but that won't happen tonight. i've got to head to bed. it's an hour past my bed time. but i just wanted to make a small toast tonight to progress.
currently listening to: arvo part - fur alina, spiegel im spiegel & tabula rasa: silentum.
and it's been a long haul. and we've still got a way to go. i'm struggling to bring forward the confidence and discipline i spent two quarters fighting for. the confidence to make choices, find answers and make them come alive. the confidence and will power to say that's not helpful while gently setting aside each new onslaught of my lower self-esteem that would say in some form or another you can't do what you've set out to do.
the scary thing is that up until tonight, that voice had squirmed her way into my final project bringing up brick wall after brick wall of dead ends and you can't find hester smit here. or here. or here. or anywhere. i wasn't giving myself access to myself or to my creative and emotional imagination.
but
movement was made today. finally. and i'd like to write more about who and what i've been finding.discovering.revealing in this character of hester smit, but that won't happen tonight. i've got to head to bed. it's an hour past my bed time. but i just wanted to make a small toast tonight to progress.
currently listening to: arvo part - fur alina, spiegel im spiegel & tabula rasa: silentum.
5.22.2009
green on red
my first red carpet was friday night.
opening night of the seattle international film festival.
i wore the green dress
vibrant shiny silk swishing around my calves.
and even though my first red carpet wasn't really my own, it was a fun night from start to finish and an auspicious beginning of the film festival.
opening night of the seattle international film festival.
i wore the green dress
vibrant shiny silk swishing around my calves.
and even though my first red carpet wasn't really my own, it was a fun night from start to finish and an auspicious beginning of the film festival.
5.19.2009
not close enough
i had another radiohead dream two nights ago. one in the series of many, particularly in the month and a half since i got the news i would be redundant come april 14th. and i think it was sunday night's dream that finally tuned me in to the very obvious motif present in each dream:
i can never get close enough.
to the band.
to their performance.
and it's always a physical obstacle of some sort combined with having not enough emotional value to them. in sunday's variation on the theme i was going to see them live in this tiny performance space, but my ticket wouldn't let me get anywhere near the stage. i was too late. restricted to lounge seating only which consisted of these diner-esque tables along the side of the space. too far.
and if you know me at all you know i have to be able to see the whites of thom's eyes to make it worthwhile. i have to be closer than close. and my dream was filled with this pressing need to find better tickets or find some way to outsmart the security guards meant to keep folks like me in my place. because i would rather NOT see them perform than be stuck too far away to see the breathtaking magic of man turned conduit.
so where does this get me?
where does this happen in my waking life?
why is it something i fear so much...being unimportant/not enough to someone that is so important to me? being unable to get close to the person who embodies the way i want to live my life and my art?
i'm still trying to construct that into meaning something to me.
and in this very instant, literally, i think of what i have planned to do tonight: make art. paint. and steep in the life of my next big project, hester smit {introductions pending}. and then suddenly i realized how i physically keep myself from my own ability to do what thom yorke does simply by how much i believe i can't actually do this. i can't actually find her. i can't give her life. i can't bring something unique and true to flesh. i can't give my life over to her. i can't be a conduit. i can't do it.
shit. why does it always have to be so simple and so hard at the same time?
so i guess i need a new set of yes-es.
yes, thom yorke is an amazing conduit.
yes, i know what that looks like.
yes, i can give yourself over and become a conduit yourself.
yes, i can find answers.
yes, i can make them alive in me.
yes, i can bring hester smit to life.
yes, i can bring hester smit to life.
yes, i can bring hester smit to life.
yes.
i can never get close enough.
to the band.
to their performance.
and it's always a physical obstacle of some sort combined with having not enough emotional value to them. in sunday's variation on the theme i was going to see them live in this tiny performance space, but my ticket wouldn't let me get anywhere near the stage. i was too late. restricted to lounge seating only which consisted of these diner-esque tables along the side of the space. too far.
and if you know me at all you know i have to be able to see the whites of thom's eyes to make it worthwhile. i have to be closer than close. and my dream was filled with this pressing need to find better tickets or find some way to outsmart the security guards meant to keep folks like me in my place. because i would rather NOT see them perform than be stuck too far away to see the breathtaking magic of man turned conduit.
so where does this get me?
where does this happen in my waking life?
why is it something i fear so much...being unimportant/not enough to someone that is so important to me? being unable to get close to the person who embodies the way i want to live my life and my art?
i'm still trying to construct that into meaning something to me.
and in this very instant, literally, i think of what i have planned to do tonight: make art. paint. and steep in the life of my next big project, hester smit {introductions pending}. and then suddenly i realized how i physically keep myself from my own ability to do what thom yorke does simply by how much i believe i can't actually do this. i can't actually find her. i can't give her life. i can't bring something unique and true to flesh. i can't give my life over to her. i can't be a conduit. i can't do it.
shit. why does it always have to be so simple and so hard at the same time?
so i guess i need a new set of yes-es.
yes, thom yorke is an amazing conduit.
yes, i know what that looks like.
yes, i can give yourself over and become a conduit yourself.
yes, i can find answers.
yes, i can make them alive in me.
yes, i can bring hester smit to life.
yes, i can bring hester smit to life.
yes, i can bring hester smit to life.
yes.
the first thunder of the season.
it's here. freshly arrived tonight on the heels of biting rain.
now it's gone. a few flashes later. a disappointing display of prowess.
i'm ready for summer storms.
now it's gone. a few flashes later. a disappointing display of prowess.
i'm ready for summer storms.
5.15.2009
it's official!!!
i get to stay.
in my apartment. my lovely perch.
as long as i want.
thank you obama, for my little share in the stimulus package.
an extra $45 a week goes a long way for someone unemployed.
thank you, nathania, for listening to the little voice in your head that suggested you call the financial aid department at washington university instead of just submitting the forbearance requests for your loans. thank you, nice lady on the phone, for correcting my assumption and telling me to fill out the unemployment deferment forms instead. this means they can be deferred for up to three years with zero interest. yes, you read right. no interest will be accrued and capitalized on either of the two largish loans i have because of my fancy schooling.
all this means there is now enough extra money each month to go towards things like food and gas and other random necessities {like zone 21 parking permits i will now need since i'm staying past the current expiration date of may 31st}.
thank you, world, for all these little perks.
thank you for letting me leave my studio on my own terms
{whenever they may come up}
rather than having it wrenched away and replaced with something temporary or less exquisite.
thank you.
thank you.
thank you.
now i'm off to go grocery shop and workout {and you betcha' i'm going to buy a few fancy non-necessities i've tried my darndest to pretend didn't exist this past month or so like goat cheese and breakfast sausage}.
in my apartment. my lovely perch.
as long as i want.
thank you obama, for my little share in the stimulus package.
an extra $45 a week goes a long way for someone unemployed.
thank you, nathania, for listening to the little voice in your head that suggested you call the financial aid department at washington university instead of just submitting the forbearance requests for your loans. thank you, nice lady on the phone, for correcting my assumption and telling me to fill out the unemployment deferment forms instead. this means they can be deferred for up to three years with zero interest. yes, you read right. no interest will be accrued and capitalized on either of the two largish loans i have because of my fancy schooling.
all this means there is now enough extra money each month to go towards things like food and gas and other random necessities {like zone 21 parking permits i will now need since i'm staying past the current expiration date of may 31st}.
thank you, world, for all these little perks.
thank you for letting me leave my studio on my own terms
{whenever they may come up}
rather than having it wrenched away and replaced with something temporary or less exquisite.
thank you.
thank you.
thank you.
now i'm off to go grocery shop and workout {and you betcha' i'm going to buy a few fancy non-necessities i've tried my darndest to pretend didn't exist this past month or so like goat cheese and breakfast sausage}.
5.12.2009
my life via radiohead songs
a fun facebook time waster.
the instructions: using only song titles from one artist, answer these questions. do not repeat a song title (or else, what's the point?). could be harder than you think.
pick your artist: radiohead {and i'm including thom yorke's solo album too and you can't do anything about it}
are you male or female: nude
describe yourself: optimistic
how do you feel about yourself: in limbo
what are you looking forward to: climbing up the walls {or} where i end and you begin
describe where you currently live: up on a ladder
if you could go anywhere: there there {or} sail to the moon
your favorite way to travel: punch up at a wedding
your best friend is: pearly
your favorite color is: permanent daylight
what's the weather like: high and dry
favorite time of day: the gloaming
if your life were a tv show, what would it be called: life in a glass house
what is life to you: everything in its right place
what is the best advice you have to give: true love waits {and} down is the new up
if you could change your name, what would it be: cymbal rush
your favorite food is: lozenge of love
thought for the day: you and whose army?
how i would like to die: like spinning plates
my soul's present condition: fitter happier
on a random note, it's been several months (yes, months) since i've listened to radiohead. it's a deliberate fast so that when i listen to the npr recording of the final concert from last summer {the one i flew to california for} it will be such a vivid reawakening back into that radiohead space that i will resurrect enough of the experience of watching them last summer that i will finally be able to write about it.
currently listening to: lots of other stuff besides radiohead.
the instructions: using only song titles from one artist, answer these questions. do not repeat a song title (or else, what's the point?). could be harder than you think.
pick your artist: radiohead {and i'm including thom yorke's solo album too and you can't do anything about it}
are you male or female: nude
describe yourself: optimistic
how do you feel about yourself: in limbo
what are you looking forward to: climbing up the walls {or} where i end and you begin
describe where you currently live: up on a ladder
if you could go anywhere: there there {or} sail to the moon
your favorite way to travel: punch up at a wedding
your best friend is: pearly
your favorite color is: permanent daylight
what's the weather like: high and dry
favorite time of day: the gloaming
if your life were a tv show, what would it be called: life in a glass house
what is life to you: everything in its right place
what is the best advice you have to give: true love waits {and} down is the new up
if you could change your name, what would it be: cymbal rush
your favorite food is: lozenge of love
thought for the day: you and whose army?
how i would like to die: like spinning plates
my soul's present condition: fitter happier
on a random note, it's been several months (yes, months) since i've listened to radiohead. it's a deliberate fast so that when i listen to the npr recording of the final concert from last summer {the one i flew to california for} it will be such a vivid reawakening back into that radiohead space that i will resurrect enough of the experience of watching them last summer that i will finally be able to write about it.
currently listening to: lots of other stuff besides radiohead.
portland aquisitions
the other fun bits of portland--the things i brought home again:
clockwise from top left: a} housekeeping by marilynne robinson b} the perks of being a wallflower by stephen chobsky--both purchased from powell's. c} the dragon who liked to spit fire by susan varga {which has a marginal story but a fun, 1960's color pallate and a silly dragon with ears???} d} everyday miracle by i don't really care. i am going to use the cover for a journal binding because i liked the image of the birds so much--these were both purchased from the goodwill outlet center that sea-oh and i scavanged for some lovely finds.
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another goodwill find. a suitcase owned by someone who went to whitman college in walla walla, washington once upon a time ago. now it is suitcase-turned-bedside-table. it fits nicely in the space between my bed and the wall and will hold many a teacup and book on its surface.
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a fun bit of fabric, also compliments of the goodwill bins.
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an even funner bit of fabric because it already has its second life as a handmade tapestry by sea-oh. they handed it to me during the middle of my first melt-down after i admired it and requested they make a tapestry for me at some point. lesson: crying does get you things {joke}. it now lives on the back of my front door so every time i leave the apt {or go to my closet or my bathroom or walk into the kitchen--benefits of a one room studio :} i get to see the girl flying away to the sun/moon.
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currently listening to: a housecleaning jumble of beirut, andrew bird and belle & sebastian.
clockwise from top left: a} housekeeping by marilynne robinson b} the perks of being a wallflower by stephen chobsky--both purchased from powell's. c} the dragon who liked to spit fire by susan varga {which has a marginal story but a fun, 1960's color pallate and a silly dragon with ears???} d} everyday miracle by i don't really care. i am going to use the cover for a journal binding because i liked the image of the birds so much--these were both purchased from the goodwill outlet center that sea-oh and i scavanged for some lovely finds.
.jpg)
another goodwill find. a suitcase owned by someone who went to whitman college in walla walla, washington once upon a time ago. now it is suitcase-turned-bedside-table. it fits nicely in the space between my bed and the wall and will hold many a teacup and book on its surface.
.jpg)
a fun bit of fabric, also compliments of the goodwill bins.
.jpg)
an even funner bit of fabric because it already has its second life as a handmade tapestry by sea-oh. they handed it to me during the middle of my first melt-down after i admired it and requested they make a tapestry for me at some point. lesson: crying does get you things {joke}. it now lives on the back of my front door so every time i leave the apt {or go to my closet or my bathroom or walk into the kitchen--benefits of a one room studio :} i get to see the girl flying away to the sun/moon.
.jpg)
currently listening to: a housecleaning jumble of beirut, andrew bird and belle & sebastian.
5.11.2009
the answer is still no.
i had to ask again today.
i had questioned my memory of his no too many times in the past day and a half.
did you sleep with her?
he calmly repeated his no.
we briefly went back to the first time he answered me.
he said that when i dissolved into near hysterics he wasn't sure i had heard the answer correctly. but no, i had heard and understood the no. it was just a huge release of so much. so much more than the denial on saturday warranted. but for some reason i needed this particular story at this particular moment to evoke all the others.
we moved on to some gentle jokes where i asked him if he'd slept with various people of our mutual acquaintance {and even a few he's never met} so i could practice exercising my right to ask. my questions got more and more ludicrous so we could laugh together over the growing facetiousness in my requests and his silly retorts.
it was good.
i had questioned my memory of his no too many times in the past day and a half.
did you sleep with her?
he calmly repeated his no.
we briefly went back to the first time he answered me.
he said that when i dissolved into near hysterics he wasn't sure i had heard the answer correctly. but no, i had heard and understood the no. it was just a huge release of so much. so much more than the denial on saturday warranted. but for some reason i needed this particular story at this particular moment to evoke all the others.
we moved on to some gentle jokes where i asked him if he'd slept with various people of our mutual acquaintance {and even a few he's never met} so i could practice exercising my right to ask. my questions got more and more ludicrous so we could laugh together over the growing facetiousness in my requests and his silly retorts.
it was good.
proof my trip wasn't all emotional overload:
most prominently: the loveliness of my friend, sea-oh's house.
{which should not outdo their own loveliness that was detailed in previous posts :}
there is always something simple, unselfconscious and visually enticing about the spaces sea-oh inhabits. and on top of it all is a sense that likens one to tree-houses and hidden nooks in the woods filled with the unique magic and glamour of imagination and childhood haunts.
the kitchen:
the dining room:
the crowing glory on the top floor,
sea-oh's bedroom:
{which should not outdo their own loveliness that was detailed in previous posts :}
there is always something simple, unselfconscious and visually enticing about the spaces sea-oh inhabits. and on top of it all is a sense that likens one to tree-houses and hidden nooks in the woods filled with the unique magic and glamour of imagination and childhood haunts.
the living room:
the kitchen:
the dining room:
the crowing glory on the top floor,
sea-oh's bedroom:
the image on the top right is a set of dice
above the door. it's brilliant.
and there's a single domino on the
other side of the doorway {not pictured}.
above the door. it's brilliant.
and there's a single domino on the
other side of the doorway {not pictured}.
notice the boxes attached to the walls for hanging shelves
and a little white dog book end on the desk.
and a little white dog book end on the desk.
a chain with a key hanging from it for the light switch
and fabric over the windows.
and fabric over the windows.
and the gloriously monochromatic bed.
5.09.2009
the other side, with him {pt 4 - a conclusion for now}
we left portland early, made it home and promptly collapsed onto my bed.
the emotional tether ball of the past day coupled with a night of nominal sleep left me with no reserves, no last defenses and nothing to hide behind.
and for the second time in twenty-four hours i had a melt down.
but this time,
he was here.
this time,
i could ask my questions and name my experiences point for point, hurt for hurt and spread them out before us. but even though there was not a scrap of blame in sight from either of us, it took a long time to unfold. layer after grudging layer of my story revealed itself--each crease slowly releasing itself from the death-grip of my well disciplined defenses, cautiously allowing one muscle after another to relax but only after long ensuring it was safe to be open and vulnerable again. because in the span between twelve and three on friday i had decided it was no longer safe with him. even though he thinks in terms of it would be nice to end up with her someday or something of that non-immediate non-threatening to me nature, even though he had always been open and honest about her and what she meant to him, simply by harboring any desire to be with this other person, he rendered me worthless.
but let me explain that leap:
we arrived at something revelatory tonight curled up and soggy on my bed. though it parades around as being something simple, camouflaged well under the guise of it's simplicity, the red flags have appeared all over me pointing toward this bizarre and unhealthy mindset i've been inhabiting for decades. i've been aware of it on some levels, but it's a mindset i've been mostly blind to in terms of how pervasive it's been in my life revealing itself in my personality, my decisions, and particularly my knee-jerk reactions. but until it faced the ultimate threat which forced it to surface, i was never able to put together enough of the pieces to construct the whole.
and this is it.
i live in a dichotomy:
i am either everything or nothing.
to this man, i am not the first, the best, the most important to him {none of which are his words, but how i perceived his position}. and even though i do not want to be these things to him, since i am undeniably no longer everything to him i can now only be one thing: nothing.
though i didn't understand what was making me completely unravel on friday, i had unconsciously arrived at this conclusion of nothingness and was grieving profusely for the loss of a friendship/lover space that has come to mean so much. not only was i grieving for the loss of this space, but for the loss of my value, which i now realize i had surrendered completely to him. the only value that meant anything in that moment was the value he was able to find in me, or, more accurately, the lack of value i gave to myself on his behalf.
in the safety of my own space, my own apartment, and far from the threat of this other woman, with him beside me i could finally ask why this is all so. and the obvious came to me: my father is capable of great generosity, great kindness and great beauty. i have a few treasured memories where he was able to transcend himself and be the wonderful and supportive person he is capable of being. but a mentor of mine pointed out that the memories we treasure are the ones we don't take for granted and i can't take these moments of my father's glory for granted because but he is ill. and his illness rendered him unable to reflect a healthy and consistent love/mirror to me as a child. in it's place was most often some variety of violence--not of physical force, but emotional, which leaves its own marks. all that was left for me was to make some sense of my universe so i taught myself these lessons from the tumultuous climate of my upbringing:
if i receive something, then i deserve it, even if it's the violence of a rage-filled temper tantrum or the pulsating black hole of depression. conversely, the opposite must be true, so if i don't receive something, then i don't deserve it.
if what i received was good, like a playful roughhousing with my daddy as a kid or a supportive hug after my car accident as a teenager, then i deserved it and it meant i was good. if what i received was an illogical tirade at full volume or i witnessed yet another in a series of suicide threats, then i also deserved that and i must be worth nothing.
it becomes quite simple, really, when i look at it this way.
the next lesson: men are not to be trusted. if one moment i'm deserving and wonderful and the next moment i'm less than dirt, there is no consistency and nothing is to be relied upon.
as an aside: i realize i'm simplifying a lot in terms of details about my childhood, but coupled with the fact that i was recently diagnosed with chronic adrenal fatigue dating from early childhood, it doesn't take a genius to imagine what kind of environment would cause a child to be in 'fight or flight' mode so much that their adrenal gland would max out and not be able to right itself. yes, to a child i was scared often enough to have to be on my guard all the time. fight or flight. life or death. all here in my daily universe.
so it has been a long journey to trust men. to trust that i would have any value to them. throughout the years i've demonized some attribute or another depending on the circumstances: i am too tall. i am not pretty enough. my skin is not perfect. i am too emotional {which is actually one of the symptoms of adrenal fatigue} or not sexy or somethingelse enough. you get the point. and as another aside: now it's not so strange that my first boyfriend was a little past 20 and 9 years my senior. a flighty early 20's guy would never have been able to approach me cautiously enough for me to let me guard down. not that anyone was ever interested in you <-- ack, the negative thoughts are so automatic...
anyway, here i am today, with someone who i looked square in the eyes this afternoon and honestly said you are the most trustworthy person i have ever met.
and yet
yet
yet
littered throughout my time with him, and particularly this past weekend, i have only revealed how little i do allow myself to trust him, and how much what trust i have bestowed on him has cost me. and trust me, the price has been exorbitant.
on friday, all my cautiously bestowed trust was washed away in the space of three hours, {really, in the space of three minutes when it was confirmed he would see her} and as i sit and try to make sense of everything i finally see how high a price i have paid on a daily basis.
now we're sprawled on my bed, a tangle of limbs and cuddles, and i have brought him along on the above. we sorted through things, he asked me a few pointed questions: do you honestly want me to be madly in love with you? no. the answer i keep getting is no, he's not the one. but am i just being really dishonest to myself? i don't think so.....and: can you put this in terms of what feels threatened/threatening to you or what it is that is missing or that you are lacking? i want someone to just love me. so i can count on them hmm....{this led to the realization i don't believe he's trustworthy any more and that i have a long history of not being loved steadily}.
and i had just one question for him, but i couldn't couldn't ask it. i confessed my shame to him at even thinking this unvoiced question, i squirmed around the topic, hid my eyes from him and tried to ignore the desperate curiosity that defied the reasoning part of me that already knew the answer. but he asked me to ask and even said you deserve to ask. and those four little words set off something massive inside me. my breathing immediately changed and i felt a heat wave of despair course through me. my body jumped ahead of myself in response to its assumption that he was obtusely answering yes to the question that was silently staring us both in the face: did you sleep with her on friday?
but i still couldn't ask it yet. still. so i sat and spoke aloud my assumption and a description of my physical response and tried to hold on to my breathing until i hit the tipping point and finally tore out of myself the words:
just tell me, it can even be yes, i just need to know and i need to know the truth, did you sleep with her?
and he looked me square in the eye and said no.
and even though that was the answer i wanted to hear, even though that was the answer my body knew was true all along, i threw myself away from him and buried my head under pillows and cried as hard as i have ever cried for myself. for being hurt now. for being hurt the time a year ago when the answer had also been no, but fed through the filter of someone i couldn't trust. someone who fed me a lie. and while i question whether this other man really did cheat on me, the lie came in the delivery, through the way he made it shameful i was asking for the commitment to me he had so freely offered. and his lied bred more lies that i have told myself for a year that i didn't deserve the fidelity he offered and that he only changed his mind when he realized i wasn't worth it. i was nothing to him.
but i'm not there any more. i am here, with the most trustworthy person i have even met who is still holding me and now crying for me. but why are you crying? i asked. because you are sad. he replied so gently.
no man has ever cried for me. for my grief. for seeing me cry and hurting. for me and with me. and he furthered his gentle lesson by adding: and as long as we are together and you want to know, you deserve to ask your question and you deserve a straight and honest answer. and if anyone can't give that to you, you should tell them to fuck off.
yes. yes, you are right.
and for now, thanks for gently guiding me there, for asking me to ask, and for thanking me for asking you in the hope that later, i can stand on my own to ask. so that later, i won't put up with the loooong pause before the quiet no that i received a year ago. that i will build for myself the honest, consistent and trustworthy relationship that i was denied when i was young. and that i will no longer thwart this desire in choosing the wrong people, or, when choosing trustworthy people, denying myself by unconsciously behaving as though they are untrustworthy.
and as i work and rework through the parts of our story from this weekend and slowly put each piece of trust back where it belongs their price and worth stand out all the more and i hold everything and the two of us just that much more gently.
yes, you may be affectionate with me in front of others.
yes, you may hold me when i'm hurting.
yes, you may hold me when i'm laughing.
yes, i can look you in the eyes without hiding.
yes, you can say i love you.
yes, i can tell you that i love you back.
yes...
the emotional tether ball of the past day coupled with a night of nominal sleep left me with no reserves, no last defenses and nothing to hide behind.
and for the second time in twenty-four hours i had a melt down.
but this time,
he was here.
this time,
i could ask my questions and name my experiences point for point, hurt for hurt and spread them out before us. but even though there was not a scrap of blame in sight from either of us, it took a long time to unfold. layer after grudging layer of my story revealed itself--each crease slowly releasing itself from the death-grip of my well disciplined defenses, cautiously allowing one muscle after another to relax but only after long ensuring it was safe to be open and vulnerable again. because in the span between twelve and three on friday i had decided it was no longer safe with him. even though he thinks in terms of it would be nice to end up with her someday or something of that non-immediate non-threatening to me nature, even though he had always been open and honest about her and what she meant to him, simply by harboring any desire to be with this other person, he rendered me worthless.
but let me explain that leap:
we arrived at something revelatory tonight curled up and soggy on my bed. though it parades around as being something simple, camouflaged well under the guise of it's simplicity, the red flags have appeared all over me pointing toward this bizarre and unhealthy mindset i've been inhabiting for decades. i've been aware of it on some levels, but it's a mindset i've been mostly blind to in terms of how pervasive it's been in my life revealing itself in my personality, my decisions, and particularly my knee-jerk reactions. but until it faced the ultimate threat which forced it to surface, i was never able to put together enough of the pieces to construct the whole.
and this is it.
i live in a dichotomy:
i am either everything or nothing.
to this man, i am not the first, the best, the most important to him {none of which are his words, but how i perceived his position}. and even though i do not want to be these things to him, since i am undeniably no longer everything to him i can now only be one thing: nothing.
though i didn't understand what was making me completely unravel on friday, i had unconsciously arrived at this conclusion of nothingness and was grieving profusely for the loss of a friendship/lover space that has come to mean so much. not only was i grieving for the loss of this space, but for the loss of my value, which i now realize i had surrendered completely to him. the only value that meant anything in that moment was the value he was able to find in me, or, more accurately, the lack of value i gave to myself on his behalf.
in the safety of my own space, my own apartment, and far from the threat of this other woman, with him beside me i could finally ask why this is all so. and the obvious came to me: my father is capable of great generosity, great kindness and great beauty. i have a few treasured memories where he was able to transcend himself and be the wonderful and supportive person he is capable of being. but a mentor of mine pointed out that the memories we treasure are the ones we don't take for granted and i can't take these moments of my father's glory for granted because but he is ill. and his illness rendered him unable to reflect a healthy and consistent love/mirror to me as a child. in it's place was most often some variety of violence--not of physical force, but emotional, which leaves its own marks. all that was left for me was to make some sense of my universe so i taught myself these lessons from the tumultuous climate of my upbringing:
if i receive something, then i deserve it, even if it's the violence of a rage-filled temper tantrum or the pulsating black hole of depression. conversely, the opposite must be true, so if i don't receive something, then i don't deserve it.
if what i received was good, like a playful roughhousing with my daddy as a kid or a supportive hug after my car accident as a teenager, then i deserved it and it meant i was good. if what i received was an illogical tirade at full volume or i witnessed yet another in a series of suicide threats, then i also deserved that and i must be worth nothing.
it becomes quite simple, really, when i look at it this way.
the next lesson: men are not to be trusted. if one moment i'm deserving and wonderful and the next moment i'm less than dirt, there is no consistency and nothing is to be relied upon.
as an aside: i realize i'm simplifying a lot in terms of details about my childhood, but coupled with the fact that i was recently diagnosed with chronic adrenal fatigue dating from early childhood, it doesn't take a genius to imagine what kind of environment would cause a child to be in 'fight or flight' mode so much that their adrenal gland would max out and not be able to right itself. yes, to a child i was scared often enough to have to be on my guard all the time. fight or flight. life or death. all here in my daily universe.
so it has been a long journey to trust men. to trust that i would have any value to them. throughout the years i've demonized some attribute or another depending on the circumstances: i am too tall. i am not pretty enough. my skin is not perfect. i am too emotional {which is actually one of the symptoms of adrenal fatigue} or not sexy or somethingelse enough. you get the point. and as another aside: now it's not so strange that my first boyfriend was a little past 20 and 9 years my senior. a flighty early 20's guy would never have been able to approach me cautiously enough for me to let me guard down. not that anyone was ever interested in you <-- ack, the negative thoughts are so automatic...
anyway, here i am today, with someone who i looked square in the eyes this afternoon and honestly said you are the most trustworthy person i have ever met.
and yet
yet
yet
littered throughout my time with him, and particularly this past weekend, i have only revealed how little i do allow myself to trust him, and how much what trust i have bestowed on him has cost me. and trust me, the price has been exorbitant.
on friday, all my cautiously bestowed trust was washed away in the space of three hours, {really, in the space of three minutes when it was confirmed he would see her} and as i sit and try to make sense of everything i finally see how high a price i have paid on a daily basis.
now we're sprawled on my bed, a tangle of limbs and cuddles, and i have brought him along on the above. we sorted through things, he asked me a few pointed questions: do you honestly want me to be madly in love with you? no. the answer i keep getting is no, he's not the one. but am i just being really dishonest to myself? i don't think so.....and: can you put this in terms of what feels threatened/threatening to you or what it is that is missing or that you are lacking? i want someone to just love me. so i can count on them hmm....{this led to the realization i don't believe he's trustworthy any more and that i have a long history of not being loved steadily}.
and i had just one question for him, but i couldn't couldn't ask it. i confessed my shame to him at even thinking this unvoiced question, i squirmed around the topic, hid my eyes from him and tried to ignore the desperate curiosity that defied the reasoning part of me that already knew the answer. but he asked me to ask and even said you deserve to ask. and those four little words set off something massive inside me. my breathing immediately changed and i felt a heat wave of despair course through me. my body jumped ahead of myself in response to its assumption that he was obtusely answering yes to the question that was silently staring us both in the face: did you sleep with her on friday?
but i still couldn't ask it yet. still. so i sat and spoke aloud my assumption and a description of my physical response and tried to hold on to my breathing until i hit the tipping point and finally tore out of myself the words:
just tell me, it can even be yes, i just need to know and i need to know the truth, did you sleep with her?
and he looked me square in the eye and said no.
and even though that was the answer i wanted to hear, even though that was the answer my body knew was true all along, i threw myself away from him and buried my head under pillows and cried as hard as i have ever cried for myself. for being hurt now. for being hurt the time a year ago when the answer had also been no, but fed through the filter of someone i couldn't trust. someone who fed me a lie. and while i question whether this other man really did cheat on me, the lie came in the delivery, through the way he made it shameful i was asking for the commitment to me he had so freely offered. and his lied bred more lies that i have told myself for a year that i didn't deserve the fidelity he offered and that he only changed his mind when he realized i wasn't worth it. i was nothing to him.
but i'm not there any more. i am here, with the most trustworthy person i have even met who is still holding me and now crying for me. but why are you crying? i asked. because you are sad. he replied so gently.
no man has ever cried for me. for my grief. for seeing me cry and hurting. for me and with me. and he furthered his gentle lesson by adding: and as long as we are together and you want to know, you deserve to ask your question and you deserve a straight and honest answer. and if anyone can't give that to you, you should tell them to fuck off.
yes. yes, you are right.
and for now, thanks for gently guiding me there, for asking me to ask, and for thanking me for asking you in the hope that later, i can stand on my own to ask. so that later, i won't put up with the loooong pause before the quiet no that i received a year ago. that i will build for myself the honest, consistent and trustworthy relationship that i was denied when i was young. and that i will no longer thwart this desire in choosing the wrong people, or, when choosing trustworthy people, denying myself by unconsciously behaving as though they are untrustworthy.
and as i work and rework through the parts of our story from this weekend and slowly put each piece of trust back where it belongs their price and worth stand out all the more and i hold everything and the two of us just that much more gently.
yes, you may be affectionate with me in front of others.
yes, you may hold me when i'm hurting.
yes, you may hold me when i'm laughing.
yes, i can look you in the eyes without hiding.
yes, you can say i love you.
yes, i can tell you that i love you back.
yes...
my own tabby aslan
and wiley has turned into a far better bed partner than i possibly could have imagined at 1am.
the nocturnal roof residents of this house have been skittering loudly in front of my windows all morning {the ostensible reason for being awake}. they have been so noisome, in fact, that i have even sat up several times to make sure they haven't pushed open the unlatched window in the process of making some daring, nihm-like burglary for a power-cord, the flesh on my slightly exposed toes or perhaps my newly dyed hair. but every time i became certain the noises were actually in the room, as opposed to safely above or outside it, wiley has loyally started purring away, reminding me i'm not alone and even giving the impression she'd defend the sanctity of my bed {and dangerously exposed scalp and toes} with a well timed hiss or two if we were indeed invaded.
and as 15 minutes of early morning wakefulness have become 45, and 45 in turn deferred to 90, my mind has wandered back several times to a conversation i had with my dearling friend, sheree, a few weekends ago. we were taking an urban hike from my house to the lake {and, no, hike is not casually used here--do you know how many hills are between my place and lake washington?}. along the vein of live and let live that was the theme of that part of our day's conversation, she recalled a section from c.s. lewis's the horse and his boy. she only needed to say a word or two, not even a complete sentence, before i knew exactly what portion she was referring to in this novel i haven't read in probably 15 years.
it was the part of the story where the boy, shasta, meets up with aslan at last. they are walking down a long road shasta had to travel alone and {i think} at a crucial part of the book's events. the image i have maintained is that it was so dark that shasta could barely make out the form of the lion walking along beside him, or perhaps it was so dark he couldn't actually see aslan, but only sensed and intuited that it was him. sheree particularly pointed out the moment where shasta asked a question about his friend, aravis, and aslan gently told him that wasn't part of his story so he needn't be concerned. live and let live.
but the other part we also spoke of that is significant to my own story this night was when shasta asked why aslan hadn't come to him before. aslan gently corrected shasta and said he had traveled with the boy many times in different forms. he was present somehow in guiding shasta to his terrible foster parents, and again while shasta was purchased from them to be a slave for the cruel person who was in the end responsible for jump starting the boy's fate. and finally, aslan was the small cat who spent one long, dark night with shasta out in the dessert when the boy felt the most lonely. my memory also delivers up the image of a lion's roar in the distance that shasta had been afraid of at the time not knowing it was alsan or his gracious minions fending off the desert predators while the aslan-cat also stayed near the boy providing comfort and companionship.
so i've had my own aslan this night in the form of one-eyed wiley watching out for me while asleep, reminding me i'm not alone when i'm awake, and now keeping vigil with me perched precariously on my left shoulder as i write and witness the greys of my room disappear into reds, creams, tabby stripes and blues.
today is going to be pretty rough on three and a half hours of sleep. but it's here and fresh and i really can't argue with it's clear-skied beauty.
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the other side for now
i got to my friends house about an hour and a half later,
but 45 minutes of that 90 was spent in the car with him,
trying to keep myself together
trying to let myself loosen the reins just enough
to let him in on what was going on for me.
it took us a long stretch of city streets and silences
while i kept myself to myself only feeding him tidbits of the story
as much as i could deliver without going into hysterics right there in front of him.
but it got to the point where he cautiously ventured into the lion's den and offered his hand to me across the emergency break and gear shift on my car. and later, i slowly offered mine in return. he was gentle, affectionate, tender, caring. and while i like to tell myself it's only because he couldn't get more elsewhere from someone he really wanted it from, iknowiknowiknow i am not a consolation prize to this man. he respects me and himself too much for that. but i dropped him off at his friend's house and drove away crying some more and trying to hold myself in until my own friend's house where the water works could begin.
so, yes, i got my melt down.
where it was safe.
far away from him.
and far away from the judgment i conjure on his behalf.
i was offered the emotional safety that the title 'friends since high school' and all that shared history entitles us in our friendship space.
and my friend talked me through my tears,
handed me a cloth hankie with a tree stitched on it {their favorite} to empty my nose into
and look at this, you even get to clear your sinuses out!
and made me laugh
and nathania, i have a nice bathtub with claw feet and i will clean it for you so you can take a bath.
and
you can melt down as many times as you need to
what better place to be yourself through this than here?
and cry some more.
i felt human again on the other side.
mostly.
and shop therapy came through for me in the end with a successful trip to the goodwill outlet.
for $17 and change {but minus $2.50 which i found in a random pants pocket while there} i bought:
four t-shirts
{one of which i'm super duper stoked about and the other of which was too soft and silky to pass up}
one skirt
one quilted cream blanket currently at the end of a bleach cleaning
a vintage suitcase to be cleaned out and turned into a side table to be wedged between my bed and the wall on his side of the bed when he stays over
{the woman who owned it decades ago went to school in walla walla, washington}
two books, one of which will be taken apart and made into a journal. it has some owls on the cover.
and i think that's it.
oh, but i also bought earrings and hair dye at fred meyer tonight and now have hair that is flirting with black. a shade darker than ideal, but it will fade in a few days and anyway, it makes my skin look creamy and matches my eyebrows.
ooooh, and we had thai food tonight too. and more leisurely hanging out with my friend, sea-oh.
now i'm procrastinating on going to bed.
yet again.
it's almost 1am.
i think i just want to cuddle with him, taking in that silent reassurance that only gentle physical contact can achieve so effortlessly. and kind of wishing i hadn't insisted on sleeping alone and at my friend's house, despite how much i've valued the last hour or two which i wouldn't have shared with them otherwise if i stayed with him at his friend's house.
so i guess the one-eyed feline resident of sea-oh's house will have to suffice for tonight's bed buddy.
her name is wiley.
but 45 minutes of that 90 was spent in the car with him,
trying to keep myself together
trying to let myself loosen the reins just enough
to let him in on what was going on for me.
it took us a long stretch of city streets and silences
while i kept myself to myself only feeding him tidbits of the story
as much as i could deliver without going into hysterics right there in front of him.
but it got to the point where he cautiously ventured into the lion's den and offered his hand to me across the emergency break and gear shift on my car. and later, i slowly offered mine in return. he was gentle, affectionate, tender, caring. and while i like to tell myself it's only because he couldn't get more elsewhere from someone he really wanted it from, iknowiknowiknow i am not a consolation prize to this man. he respects me and himself too much for that. but i dropped him off at his friend's house and drove away crying some more and trying to hold myself in until my own friend's house where the water works could begin.
so, yes, i got my melt down.
where it was safe.
far away from him.
and far away from the judgment i conjure on his behalf.
i was offered the emotional safety that the title 'friends since high school' and all that shared history entitles us in our friendship space.
and my friend talked me through my tears,
handed me a cloth hankie with a tree stitched on it {their favorite} to empty my nose into
and look at this, you even get to clear your sinuses out!
and made me laugh
and nathania, i have a nice bathtub with claw feet and i will clean it for you so you can take a bath.
and
you can melt down as many times as you need to
what better place to be yourself through this than here?
and cry some more.
i felt human again on the other side.
mostly.
and shop therapy came through for me in the end with a successful trip to the goodwill outlet.
for $17 and change {but minus $2.50 which i found in a random pants pocket while there} i bought:
four t-shirts
{one of which i'm super duper stoked about and the other of which was too soft and silky to pass up}
one skirt
one quilted cream blanket currently at the end of a bleach cleaning
a vintage suitcase to be cleaned out and turned into a side table to be wedged between my bed and the wall on his side of the bed when he stays over
{the woman who owned it decades ago went to school in walla walla, washington}
two books, one of which will be taken apart and made into a journal. it has some owls on the cover.
and i think that's it.
oh, but i also bought earrings and hair dye at fred meyer tonight and now have hair that is flirting with black. a shade darker than ideal, but it will fade in a few days and anyway, it makes my skin look creamy and matches my eyebrows.
ooooh, and we had thai food tonight too. and more leisurely hanging out with my friend, sea-oh.
now i'm procrastinating on going to bed.
yet again.
it's almost 1am.
i think i just want to cuddle with him, taking in that silent reassurance that only gentle physical contact can achieve so effortlessly. and kind of wishing i hadn't insisted on sleeping alone and at my friend's house, despite how much i've valued the last hour or two which i wouldn't have shared with them otherwise if i stayed with him at his friend's house.
so i guess the one-eyed feline resident of sea-oh's house will have to suffice for tonight's bed buddy.
her name is wiley.
5.08.2009
keep on keeping on.
i know i'm overreacting. i know it rationally but i still can't help it. i'm caught in this purgatory of emotional responses, vaguely aware of a painful and gruesome hell behind one door and really hoping if i ignore its sounds and smells it will disappear and let me go quietly into a blissful heaven of a well-integrated, well-balanced and mature human being.
but it's not that easy.
i've been at the edge of falling apart since about 11:45 this morning and it's now 3:28 in the afternoon. even after buying 5 fun postcards and 2 good books* at the small portland powell's i am not any farther away from my place where i'm toeing the darker doorway. damn. shop therapy fails yet again.
so, i'm here. blogging at the cafe next door and realizing that the illusion that i'm on the safe side of the hell door is just that: an illusion. whatever is going on is going on full speed ahead to some unknown destination whether or not i decide to look at it, take it apart, make some sense of it and hopefully/eventually move on at my own pace and direction.
so i will defer to winston churchill, who wisely said if you're going through hell, keep going.
here i go to keep going:
there are two things happening right now that on the outside look pretty dissimilar, but at the end of the day are really two sides to the same thing. i'll start with the most pressing.
i've been seeing someone for just a shade over 4 months. we've kept it quiet. we've called it casual, but it really hasn't been. not from the get go. but while we haven't been casual, this person isn't the father of my children. he isn't someone i see myself being 75 years old and sitting on a porch swing holding hands with. we're on the same page there. we are great friends, we have a lot of fun together, and there is a lot of gentleness, playfulness, personal growth {on my part at least--he's a quite a bit older and not changing as rapidly} and spirit to our time together and it will last as long as it lasts.
so you ask: but what is the problem then, nathania?
and i answer you this: right now he's meeting with his ex. and not just an ex, ex, but someone who he earlier {months ago} said he would propose to next time he saw her. one of those big loves that didn't work out and has all that frustrating not-together-despite-how-much-we-care openendedness about it. at least on his part.
and this is devastating to me.
completely devastating.
i'm holding myself together with the glitter of two new books and the propriety of sitting in a public space. that's it.
but it's not devastating in the way you're probably imagining. it's not because i want to be what she is to him. it's not because i want to live the rest of my life with this man or be married to him or that i'm afraid he'll ditch me tomorrow. well, i would be sad if our relationship ended tomorrow, but i also know it will end at some point, so if that 'some point' becomes tomorrow, i can still deal with it.
it isn't any of these things that made me scarf my meal down as fast as i could and get out of the restaurant she would be walking into at any moment and flee. i know it's completely illogical, but also completely true that i didn't even want to see her because what if she is skinnier than me? what if she is prettier? i know for certain she'll be shorter than me {i'm significantly taller than this man}. all these things i will save for future ammunition any time i need an excuse or aid in devaluing myself or something i will use as the excuse for why someone didn't like me or why i didn't get something i wanted.
but at the end of the day, it doesn't matter what she looks like, or how she moves or sounds, because she is better than me in his eyes. and it doesn't matter that it probably won't work out or that i actually want it to work out for him, with this woman or some other woman. all that matters right now is that i'm lesser to this man. i am lesser. i am lesser. i am not enough. i am not enough. i am not enough. i am not good enough.
fin.
breathe, nathania. breathe.
i'm stuck here. i don't know how to move out of this place. i'm not here because i've reasoned myself here, i'm here because of my human being story. i'm here as a result of a complex system of cause and effect. action and reaction. father and daughter. spaced-out mother and daughter. older kids+unreasonable father against me. and my words can't talk me out of this space right now. so i'm stuck. and desperately ashamed of what's going on. ashamed of being too clingy. of being too needy. of being too sensitive. of crying too easily.
shame.
lots of shame.
and then a little more shame for good measure.
shame both for not being enough and for feeling too much.
and then shame for being immature and young and un-integrated enough to deal with my shame in a properly detached and mature manner.
i don't want to melt down in front of him.
i want him to be free.
i want to be free.
but i don't know how to take care of myself here
and i don't know how to ask for care from him and still hold on to my self.
i'm a mess and he's been sick for a while now and exhausted in his own way.
so i'm talking myself out of bringing him in on this story, even though he knows me well enough to see the evidence of it spinning itself out beneath my skin and behind the wall i've tried to build in my eyes.
and this is only the first part of what's going on, but he just called and i need to go and pick him up so the second part, which really deserves it's own space, will have to wait a little longer.
thanks for listening.
*housekeeping by robinson & the perks of being a wall flower by chobsky.
but it's not that easy.
i've been at the edge of falling apart since about 11:45 this morning and it's now 3:28 in the afternoon. even after buying 5 fun postcards and 2 good books* at the small portland powell's i am not any farther away from my place where i'm toeing the darker doorway. damn. shop therapy fails yet again.
so, i'm here. blogging at the cafe next door and realizing that the illusion that i'm on the safe side of the hell door is just that: an illusion. whatever is going on is going on full speed ahead to some unknown destination whether or not i decide to look at it, take it apart, make some sense of it and hopefully/eventually move on at my own pace and direction.
so i will defer to winston churchill, who wisely said if you're going through hell, keep going.
here i go to keep going:
there are two things happening right now that on the outside look pretty dissimilar, but at the end of the day are really two sides to the same thing. i'll start with the most pressing.
i've been seeing someone for just a shade over 4 months. we've kept it quiet. we've called it casual, but it really hasn't been. not from the get go. but while we haven't been casual, this person isn't the father of my children. he isn't someone i see myself being 75 years old and sitting on a porch swing holding hands with. we're on the same page there. we are great friends, we have a lot of fun together, and there is a lot of gentleness, playfulness, personal growth {on my part at least--he's a quite a bit older and not changing as rapidly} and spirit to our time together and it will last as long as it lasts.
so you ask: but what is the problem then, nathania?
and i answer you this: right now he's meeting with his ex. and not just an ex, ex, but someone who he earlier {months ago} said he would propose to next time he saw her. one of those big loves that didn't work out and has all that frustrating not-together-despite-how-much-we-care openendedness about it. at least on his part.
and this is devastating to me.
completely devastating.
i'm holding myself together with the glitter of two new books and the propriety of sitting in a public space. that's it.
but it's not devastating in the way you're probably imagining. it's not because i want to be what she is to him. it's not because i want to live the rest of my life with this man or be married to him or that i'm afraid he'll ditch me tomorrow. well, i would be sad if our relationship ended tomorrow, but i also know it will end at some point, so if that 'some point' becomes tomorrow, i can still deal with it.
it isn't any of these things that made me scarf my meal down as fast as i could and get out of the restaurant she would be walking into at any moment and flee. i know it's completely illogical, but also completely true that i didn't even want to see her because what if she is skinnier than me? what if she is prettier? i know for certain she'll be shorter than me {i'm significantly taller than this man}. all these things i will save for future ammunition any time i need an excuse or aid in devaluing myself or something i will use as the excuse for why someone didn't like me or why i didn't get something i wanted.
but at the end of the day, it doesn't matter what she looks like, or how she moves or sounds, because she is better than me in his eyes. and it doesn't matter that it probably won't work out or that i actually want it to work out for him, with this woman or some other woman. all that matters right now is that i'm lesser to this man. i am lesser. i am lesser. i am not enough. i am not enough. i am not enough. i am not good enough.
fin.
breathe, nathania. breathe.
i'm stuck here. i don't know how to move out of this place. i'm not here because i've reasoned myself here, i'm here because of my human being story. i'm here as a result of a complex system of cause and effect. action and reaction. father and daughter. spaced-out mother and daughter. older kids+unreasonable father against me. and my words can't talk me out of this space right now. so i'm stuck. and desperately ashamed of what's going on. ashamed of being too clingy. of being too needy. of being too sensitive. of crying too easily.
shame.
lots of shame.
and then a little more shame for good measure.
shame both for not being enough and for feeling too much.
and then shame for being immature and young and un-integrated enough to deal with my shame in a properly detached and mature manner.
i don't want to melt down in front of him.
i want him to be free.
i want to be free.
but i don't know how to take care of myself here
and i don't know how to ask for care from him and still hold on to my self.
i'm a mess and he's been sick for a while now and exhausted in his own way.
so i'm talking myself out of bringing him in on this story, even though he knows me well enough to see the evidence of it spinning itself out beneath my skin and behind the wall i've tried to build in my eyes.
and this is only the first part of what's going on, but he just called and i need to go and pick him up so the second part, which really deserves it's own space, will have to wait a little longer.
thanks for listening.
*housekeeping by robinson & the perks of being a wall flower by chobsky.
5.06.2009
the elegance of the hedgehog
before this book gets too far away from me {i finished it around 1:30am saturday morning}, i wanted to pass on a few of my favorite quotes written from the point of view of two different characters.
the twelve year old, paloma:
then when the new zealand players began their haka, i got it. in their midst was this very tall maori player, really young. i'd had my eye on him right from the start, probably because of his height to begin with but the because of the way he was moving. a really odd sort of movement, very fluid but above all very focused, i mean very focused within himself. most people, when they move, well they just move depending on whatever's around them. at this very moment, as i am writing, constitution the car is going by her tummy dragging close to the floor. this cat has absolutely nothing constructive to do in life and still she is heading toward something, probably an armchair. and you can tell from the way she's moving: she is headed toward. maman just went by in the direction of the front door, she's going out shopping and in fact she already is out, her movement anticipating itself. i don't really know how to explain it, but when we move, we are in a way de-structured by our movement toward something: we are both here and at the same time not here because we're already in the process of going elsewhere, if you see what i mean. to stop de-structuring yourself, you have to stop moving altogether. either you move and you're no longer whole, or you're whole and you can't move. but that player, when i saw him go out onto the field, i coudl tell there was something different about him. i got the impressing he was moving, yes, but by staying in one place...everyone was enthralled by him but no one seemed to know why. yet it became obvious in the haka: he was moving and making the same gestures as the other players...but while the others' gestures went toward their adversaries and the entire stadium who were watching, this player's gestures stayed inside him, stayed focused upon him, and that gave him an unbelievable presence and intensity.
anna karenina being reneé, the other main character's, favorite novel, she referenced a passage about levin out working with his peasants. she described levin's process about learning to wield a scythe to the point of almost detached effortlessness and then wrote the below:
freed from the demands of decision and intention, adrift on some inner sea, we observe our various movements as if they belong to someone else, and yet we admire their involuntary excellence. what other reason might i have for writing this--ridiculous journal of an aging concierge--if the writing did not have something of the art of scything about it? the lines gradually become their own demiurges and, like some witless yet miraculous participant, i witness the birth on paper of sentences that have eluded my will and appear in spite of me on the sheet, teaching me something that i neither knew nor thought i might want to know. this painless birth, like an unsolicited proof, gives me untold pleasure, and with neither toil nor certainty but the joy of frank astonishment i follow the pen that is guiding and supporting me. in this way, in full proof and texture of my self, i accede to a self-forgetfulness that borders on ecstasy, to savor the blissful calm of my watching consciousness.
and later:
art is life, playing to other rhythms.
and:
those who feel inspired as i do, by the greatness of small things will pursue them to the very heart of the inessential where, cloaked in everyday attire, this greatness will emerge from within a certain ordering of ordinary things and from the certainty that all is as it should be, the conviction that it is fine this way.
and finally, one more profound thought from the twelve-year-old:
so here is my profound thought for the day: this is the first time i have met someone who seeks out people and who sees beyond. that may seem trivial but i think it is profound all the same. we never look beyond our assumptions and, what's worse, we have given up trying to meet others; we just meet ourselves. we don't recognize each other because other people have become our permanent mirrors. if we actually realized this, if we were to become aware of the fact that we are only ever looking at ourselves, we would go crazy. when my mother offers macaroons from chez ladureé to madame de broglie, she is telling herself her own life story and just nibbling at her own flavor; when papa drinks his coffee and reads his paper, he is contemplating his own reflection in the mirror, as if practicing the coué method or something; when colombe talks about marian's lectures, she is ranting about her own reflection; and when people walk by the concierge, all they see is a void, because she is not of their world.
and not to misrepresent, there are also lots of humorous episodes, my favorite including a scene about a slightly misplaced comma, another involving two dogs who almost start humping in the hallway, much to the dismay of their wealthy owners, and several others which i won't spoil. so go buy the book. muriel barbery wrote it and she's a gem.
the twelve year old, paloma:
then when the new zealand players began their haka, i got it. in their midst was this very tall maori player, really young. i'd had my eye on him right from the start, probably because of his height to begin with but the because of the way he was moving. a really odd sort of movement, very fluid but above all very focused, i mean very focused within himself. most people, when they move, well they just move depending on whatever's around them. at this very moment, as i am writing, constitution the car is going by her tummy dragging close to the floor. this cat has absolutely nothing constructive to do in life and still she is heading toward something, probably an armchair. and you can tell from the way she's moving: she is headed toward. maman just went by in the direction of the front door, she's going out shopping and in fact she already is out, her movement anticipating itself. i don't really know how to explain it, but when we move, we are in a way de-structured by our movement toward something: we are both here and at the same time not here because we're already in the process of going elsewhere, if you see what i mean. to stop de-structuring yourself, you have to stop moving altogether. either you move and you're no longer whole, or you're whole and you can't move. but that player, when i saw him go out onto the field, i coudl tell there was something different about him. i got the impressing he was moving, yes, but by staying in one place...everyone was enthralled by him but no one seemed to know why. yet it became obvious in the haka: he was moving and making the same gestures as the other players...but while the others' gestures went toward their adversaries and the entire stadium who were watching, this player's gestures stayed inside him, stayed focused upon him, and that gave him an unbelievable presence and intensity.
anna karenina being reneé, the other main character's, favorite novel, she referenced a passage about levin out working with his peasants. she described levin's process about learning to wield a scythe to the point of almost detached effortlessness and then wrote the below:
freed from the demands of decision and intention, adrift on some inner sea, we observe our various movements as if they belong to someone else, and yet we admire their involuntary excellence. what other reason might i have for writing this--ridiculous journal of an aging concierge--if the writing did not have something of the art of scything about it? the lines gradually become their own demiurges and, like some witless yet miraculous participant, i witness the birth on paper of sentences that have eluded my will and appear in spite of me on the sheet, teaching me something that i neither knew nor thought i might want to know. this painless birth, like an unsolicited proof, gives me untold pleasure, and with neither toil nor certainty but the joy of frank astonishment i follow the pen that is guiding and supporting me. in this way, in full proof and texture of my self, i accede to a self-forgetfulness that borders on ecstasy, to savor the blissful calm of my watching consciousness.
and later:
art is life, playing to other rhythms.
and:
those who feel inspired as i do, by the greatness of small things will pursue them to the very heart of the inessential where, cloaked in everyday attire, this greatness will emerge from within a certain ordering of ordinary things and from the certainty that all is as it should be, the conviction that it is fine this way.
and finally, one more profound thought from the twelve-year-old:
so here is my profound thought for the day: this is the first time i have met someone who seeks out people and who sees beyond. that may seem trivial but i think it is profound all the same. we never look beyond our assumptions and, what's worse, we have given up trying to meet others; we just meet ourselves. we don't recognize each other because other people have become our permanent mirrors. if we actually realized this, if we were to become aware of the fact that we are only ever looking at ourselves, we would go crazy. when my mother offers macaroons from chez ladureé to madame de broglie, she is telling herself her own life story and just nibbling at her own flavor; when papa drinks his coffee and reads his paper, he is contemplating his own reflection in the mirror, as if practicing the coué method or something; when colombe talks about marian's lectures, she is ranting about her own reflection; and when people walk by the concierge, all they see is a void, because she is not of their world.
and not to misrepresent, there are also lots of humorous episodes, my favorite including a scene about a slightly misplaced comma, another involving two dogs who almost start humping in the hallway, much to the dismay of their wealthy owners, and several others which i won't spoil. so go buy the book. muriel barbery wrote it and she's a gem.
suspension
this short TED talk reminds me how much i like to see objects suspended in air. i can't really say why they have such an impact on me, but they do and in a visceral way. it's something about potential energy made tangible. it's something about the magic of seeing an object that should be falling, arrested for one to examine and marvel. and it's also something about delight and feeling like a kid again.
see for yourself here or below.
and then here is a blurry image of a postcard of a sculpture i saw in sydney, australia {2001} by ken unsworth. suspended stone circle II {the first attempt didn't attach the wires from each stone to a support beam so it collapsed bringing down part of the ceiling}. it's comprised of 103 river stones each twice the size of my head and wires that connect each stone to three different beams {for the II attempt} in the ceiling above. it's gorgeous and i still think of it so often that i have never sent my little brother the postcard i wrote to him on the back of the postcard.
see for yourself here or below.
and then here is a blurry image of a postcard of a sculpture i saw in sydney, australia {2001} by ken unsworth. suspended stone circle II {the first attempt didn't attach the wires from each stone to a support beam so it collapsed bringing down part of the ceiling}. it's comprised of 103 river stones each twice the size of my head and wires that connect each stone to three different beams {for the II attempt} in the ceiling above. it's gorgeous and i still think of it so often that i have never sent my little brother the postcard i wrote to him on the back of the postcard.
5.05.2009
please.
i made cupcakes this morning and a nice chocolate sauce to drown them in.
my tooth is feeling better{is} though there is still room for improvement.
i love the team i'm working with for the film festival.
we are beginning the swan dive into our final scenes for meisner and we picked a dense one.
i'm meeting my aunt tomorrow for breakfast and my uncle is joining us for a morning walk.
{a nice substitute in lieu of spending time with my actual parents who are across one and a half continents and a large body of water}
and.
and.
and.
i made a budget last night
and
it looks like i might be able to keep my apartment.
at least for a little longer.
currently listening to: hometown glory - adele
my tooth is feeling better{is} though there is still room for improvement.
i love the team i'm working with for the film festival.
we are beginning the swan dive into our final scenes for meisner and we picked a dense one.
i'm meeting my aunt tomorrow for breakfast and my uncle is joining us for a morning walk.
{a nice substitute in lieu of spending time with my actual parents who are across one and a half continents and a large body of water}
and.
and.
and.
i made a budget last night
and
it looks like i might be able to keep my apartment.
at least for a little longer.
currently listening to: hometown glory - adele
5.04.2009
dead weight
it takes a lot to get me going each day.
a lot to keep positive and not completely overwhelmed.
so getting to the point of blogging,
{which means not only living and savoring my life,
but having extra energy to spare
to display and preserve it,
take the experiences apart
and put them back together again with words and colors}
has been a challenge.
and not so frequent these days.
and as before, it's not about the guilt of not producing writing,
but more about what the silence means.
so things are passing through me without a written trace.
and i can only sit here tonight
hoping i didn't get a ticket for accidently going through a red light
{i saw the double flash of the camera but still hope beyond hope it gets mixed up and never finds me.}
and i'm hoping it wasn't a stupid thing to do: passing up a job opportunity i'm fairly certain i could have gotten that paid well but had crappy hours and would have forced me to seriously change/give up on my plans to pursuit acting starting with small plays around the city {that would rehearse and perform during the working hours of this job} to lead me to one day grad school, perhaps.
and the event of the overnight stay my best friend had to weather in the hospital this past weekend: the iv's. the medical tape. the blue mask, the shuddering coughs, the doctor's hint{?} of emphysema {though he's a non-smoker}, the exhaustion.
the end of the elegance of the hedgehog which you haven't heard the last of.
the nightmares.
the struggle to get to sleep early.
make art.
have some time for myself.
why do i always fill my time up to the tippy top?
seattle international film festival is just around the corner and it's going to drink up the last bit of space in my schedule i can already tell.
i think this past week has just been a tough week.
and i'm writing, fighting going off to bed when i know that would be best for my adrenals as well as my emotional well being,
trying to fill the space with something significant to mark that i am here. breathing. writing. and capable of moving and making life in these private art spaces of mine.
ignoring the decision for one more day about whether or not to try to squeek by and stay in my expensive, but darling apartment. just one more month.
and block out the simmering ache in my back tooth that won't let me be.
but tomorrow is a new day. and it will come better and fresher and cleanering and brighter if i go to bed now.
and it's been about two months since i've listened to radiohead. maybe more. hopefully you'll hear more on that later, too.
a lot to keep positive and not completely overwhelmed.
so getting to the point of blogging,
{which means not only living and savoring my life,
but having extra energy to spare
to display and preserve it,
take the experiences apart
and put them back together again with words and colors}
has been a challenge.
and not so frequent these days.
and as before, it's not about the guilt of not producing writing,
but more about what the silence means.
so things are passing through me without a written trace.
and i can only sit here tonight
hoping i didn't get a ticket for accidently going through a red light
{i saw the double flash of the camera but still hope beyond hope it gets mixed up and never finds me.}
and i'm hoping it wasn't a stupid thing to do: passing up a job opportunity i'm fairly certain i could have gotten that paid well but had crappy hours and would have forced me to seriously change/give up on my plans to pursuit acting starting with small plays around the city {that would rehearse and perform during the working hours of this job} to lead me to one day grad school, perhaps.
and the event of the overnight stay my best friend had to weather in the hospital this past weekend: the iv's. the medical tape. the blue mask, the shuddering coughs, the doctor's hint{?} of emphysema {though he's a non-smoker}, the exhaustion.
the end of the elegance of the hedgehog which you haven't heard the last of.
the nightmares.
the struggle to get to sleep early.
make art.
have some time for myself.
why do i always fill my time up to the tippy top?
seattle international film festival is just around the corner and it's going to drink up the last bit of space in my schedule i can already tell.
i think this past week has just been a tough week.
and i'm writing, fighting going off to bed when i know that would be best for my adrenals as well as my emotional well being,
trying to fill the space with something significant to mark that i am here. breathing. writing. and capable of moving and making life in these private art spaces of mine.
ignoring the decision for one more day about whether or not to try to squeek by and stay in my expensive, but darling apartment. just one more month.
and block out the simmering ache in my back tooth that won't let me be.
but tomorrow is a new day. and it will come better and fresher and cleanering and brighter if i go to bed now.
and it's been about two months since i've listened to radiohead. maybe more. hopefully you'll hear more on that later, too.
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