I went on a walk; a roll, or something in my sleep last night. I woke up in the dark, early-early this a.m. facing, and laying on the opposite side of my bed. As, odd as it might, sound I am a controlled sleeper and don't generally wander off to far, in my sleeping-state. My mind, ever aware even as my eyes are shut tight; And my body supposedly relaxed, and asleep. I was surprised when I awoke. I heard my voice in my head: "Where am I?" Like, I'd gone some where. "What happen? How did I get over here?" I hopped up, straight away this a.m. full of vim and vigor.
I guess, I slept sound last night.
Yesterday, I read the news online, and followed the stories closely. I wondered about the state of the world. I'm sure many folks might be thinking along those lines with two violent, world shaking, building breaking, road cracking earthquakes. I felt, just badly about the Haitians, and Chileans. As, I worry, about my own stupid-feeble financial status; At least, I have a small-minuscule financial status. I wondered, if God was to saying something to the people who live, on and in this world in such violent-awesome actions only, He could do. Maybe, isn't there a different, way he could get our attention? If so, what are the chances we would notice?
One of my sister's gave up her apartment; And, she has a job? One of my nephew's is losing his home, and shirt under his home mortgage. My one saving grace, is I am in college.
I make it a practice to be and feel grateful for every possession I have. My little apartment, and the belongings within which I know must only be of value to me.
TO be grateful, and thankful for my brothers and sisters and friends. Those who've been constant supporters of me, and my wackiness....Stubborness...Melisa-ness. I think, it is important, to say 'Thank you.' joyfully. With heart-felt and moved exuberance. There is nothing, which zaps life so gravely than, not to. To take people, their kindness and goodness for granted. TO think, of it, as something one deserves. For, really-truthfully what is it, we actually deserve on a day to day to basis? Had, I not been moved, to say 'thank you.' I know, I'd think and believe, the world owed me. I was 'entitled.' What if, there was a debt-collector at the end of every day? Some one, or something holding a list in their hands, to meet with us each at the end of the day and tally up what we thought. How we acted toward one another.
Did we thank, that which is greater, grander and more live-living-loving and giving than we?
To say, one or two times in ones head, 'thank you.' is prayer.
It is also polite, It is a kindness to one another. People, just want to be noticed, and to say 'thank you' acknowledges actions, and recognizes behavior. Prayers, to and for each another....Not, just a great-good God. An awareness, of our life, living and those around us...by being grateful...thankful...I think, awareness, seeing, knowing things around us, is love. Because, to be aware is to listen to what is said, What is not said. To answer-respond accordingly.....
True humility, obedience and acceptance I do not have any authority, power or control over even the smallest thing. I do have, live and own something given to me. The very least, I could do is say or think, 'Thank you.' 'Thank you day.' 'Thank you world.' 'Thank you, chance.' 'Thank you fate.' Or just plain,
'Thank you.'
Not because, I could be far off worse than my fellow human beings (Which, is kind of true; And, what a lot of folks do feel and think this way.) But, because, the gifts, graces and riches handed over to me, were given to me freely...There is no expectation of thanksgiving.
I know, when I first started to be grateful, and thankful I didn't feel it right away. I felt like, I was only giving lip service--I was only saying it, and not feeling it. I kept doing it, till I could feel it. Till it was the most natural thing---Like, breathing.
It was the door, to the rest of the world, to be grateful, thankful. To train oneself, in the art of it. Manners, are the mark of quality education; And, once one can thank the world around them. One, sees, realizes and accepts what we have in this world is gift. What we do and are in this world is gift. Where we go, who we know, and how we love is all gift. I am not entitled, to one thing this world holds for me.
I can see a lot, more clearly with the art of being grateful. I can fee a lot more clearly. I think, I want a lot more clearly.
I don't know, What the creator of this fragile world says to us. I imagine, to wake up one day after another; Is, his greatest-grandest-truest 'thank you.'
It is Sunday, back to school tomorrow. Not a thing, interesting going on. Gotta wash and dry laundry; Shop for food; Outline, an attack plan for assignments due this week.
I've registered for a few classes for Spring quarter. I did register, for the Shakespeare literature class. I am excited; How I've loved this Images of Women in Literature class. How, I've enjoyed it. Thank you, lousy-irresponsible creative writing instructor for NOT letting me into your class...I'd not have discovered this deep felt desire for literature had it worked out differently.
Although, at the time I was furious, raging, angry. It worked out for my benefit. I am grateful. I guess sometimes, gratefulness finds us...seeks us and takes care of us.
Nacho's with melted cheddar cheese, hamburger cooked with onion, and sour cream for a comfort food eat. Thank goodness, the results from another mid-term revealed my 100% is in tact. I, impressed, my own damn self. Given, what I was experiencing when I took the doggone tests. I am working, like mad, this new obsession with Vladimir Nabokov has quantified my desire to do my best. I had to meet with the literature instructor today to talk about an essay paper. She asked me a weird question: "Is it Humbert Humbert you are obsessed with?" I almost jumped out of my skin. Vladimir says, "It is me. Me. Me."
It is too funny , since I've been listening to Lolita on Audio book, an 11 CD set narrated by Jeremy Irons.
Now and forward, everything I read sounds like Jeremy Irons in my head. I am so laughing. I truthfully cracked myself up last night when reading a piece by Virginia Woolf.
Whom, I don't, reckon when she wrote it, could dream the voice to go with it would be the same as Humbert Humbert's. Ha ha ha ha. Am, I laughing alone? I hope not. Oh, please, let me keep talking about Vladimir, Lolita and Humbert Humbert.....It'll be over with as soon as I finish the book. Then, it'll just be Vladimir Vladmirovich Nabokov. He's done plenty of work's to choose from. I'd be a fool to not read as many as I can. I would be lying, to say reading the beauty of his writing didn't have a small impact on the awareness of my clumsy, messy and incomplete style. The only time I think, I do any good writing is the type that comes right straight from my heart.
I wrote my daddy's obituary last month. The people loved it. I did not want to be a good writer. I wanted to say how very much I love my daddy. I wanted to say why. How, his living mattered.
I've been writing forever much Like, a lot of writer's I cannot imagine a time I was not scribbling. I have old fashioned journals in various forms. I keep saying to myself and my sister, "I'm going to burn those damned things." I cannot imagine what my brothers, sisters and child might think of the insanity spilling, flowing, dreaming-believing onto those pages. Should they see it upon my death. I was a very good journal keeper; I had, a key at the top of the page. What was the weather like? If, I got to run on that day and how many miles. Plus, a code to tell myself when I broke from the journal and returned to it, LSD=Later Same Day.
Okay, maybe I could be a little OCD (Obsessive-Compulsive Dissorder). I I like to believe I am just a little tiny bit. Not to make, light of a serious condition. I go back, on occasion. I had a wise bestfriend who told me once with his hand the journal he wrote on, "If I can't put it here, Where can I, put it?"
I used to listen.
He also told me, to journal is a way of knowing and being able to look back. Once, in awhile I'll look back at the same day a year before. To check and see if I've grown any. What was I thinking? Did I make a plan, to not encounter, a similar issue?
Vladimir Nabokov's writing is so much more complex, than any of this. He wrote, an introduction and then his voice alone narrated the rest of the story. In the end his voice still had final say. He was the master writer in how he only gave to the reader: What he wanted the reader to have.
How, is that, for control, directing and acting? I reckon, I too, am a puppet master. In what I want people to know, see and believe about me. The beauty of that statement is: I cannot lie to myself nor, another person. The humor of it is, I could lie to myself all I want to. But, who would believe the lies? I am sure, this is the number one reason, Velma is my bestfriend. Many , lady-like, hoity toity, proper ladies were 'Oh, so polite and sweet.' (Yeah, w-h-a-t-e-v-e-r.) They would say to my bestfriend, "Now, be nice Velma. What about being nice." My BFF didn't skip a beat, as she replied within seconds, "What about being honest?!" We've been friends for several years. We've been BFF's for about six years. Velma is 93.
LSD~~
Friends don't let friends drink and blog.
Or as HH would say, "She seduced me."
I don't think, I have a 'type' of men which I prefer? I used to have the type that was a bum, degenerate who didn't care any for me. Who'd mentally or emotionally abuse me. Well, then they were just my type. I also had, a type that was 'married.' You know, the unavailable type? I've been thinking about this, Because in our lit. class we've been discussing the latest read, Lolita. I find it kind of funny, how it hasn't come up what type of women, Men are most prone to be attracted to. I've come to think, and we've said in class how HH isn't in love with Lo as much as he is in love with the 'idea' of her.
I don't know how to be an 'idea' of myself. How do you even do that? I've done some high profile work, IN my lifetime. I've come to believe that a lot of men, do love a woman who is in touch with her girlhoood innocence. Especially, powerful men. I've not ever thought of myself, as attractive. I am often surprised when men take a step toward me. I do know some men; Who've loved me, and could not, would not and were always with me, and by me. I had an old boyfriend, we both worked at a live theatre. We lost our age of innocence, together...NO, not our virginity but we met at 18 years old, worked together for 4 years, till we were over age of drinking...Ah, yes, it was innocent for us. We smoked lots of cigarettes, watched a lot of concerts, Broadway shows....
He used to come to work hours before he had to; To see me. He used, to sleep in my office. Covered up, and curled up on the chair in my office. I don't know why I was so distracted, And did not realize at the time. He came to be near me. We've remained friends for several years afterward. For a long time, I had a catholic type. It is where I plan, to spend the rest of my entire life. I've known too many, ladies at the catholic church who go to the Holy Mass alone. I do not want to be one of those ladies. There was a sweet couple who sat behind me at the Queen of Angels, Whenever the priest finished consecrating the Host, the sweet little old couple behind me would look at each other, hold each other and give each other a big kiss....Muah. It was incredibly sweet and endearing to see. What a closeness and bond to share. I did meet, a very nice handsome man at our home church. We even, served on the altar together. He would sit, where ever it was I sat. The whole church knew we were attracted to each other, and were stalling. He'd come from a rather large family of 11 brothers and sisters. Each, of his siblings had grown to have, at least 3 or 4 children of their own. Yes, a large catholic family. His father, was so sweet, whenever his mother would get pregnant with one of the 12 kids, he would buy her a diamond. It started because; We all sat in the same general area.
He and I'd become comfortable; With the buffer of his family and maybe some friends around. One Sunday a.m. I showed up, and took my usual seat. My daughter had stayed with a friend so she was excused from Mass that day. He showed up, to take his seat next to me. We generally sat on the left side of the church, about four pews back from the Sacristy. Now, usually what happens next, is someone in his family shows up to sit next to him. The nice couple who generally sit next to me, show up and take their seats. The pews in front of us, are usually filled. No problem.
Uh, well, this Sunday no one sat next to him. No one sat next to me. No one sat in front of us. I looked over at the right side of the church, Their whole side of the church was filled? On our side, it was him and me, in our pew by ourselves. The 20 rows behind, us were filled, but we were on our own? It was too funny, and crazy. I didn't know what to think; To feel nor do. We went, through the rise and fall and wave of the Mass. And, every once in awhile I'd glance at him through the corner of my eye. I could sense he felt nervous, and kind of baffled also. He died a few months after that; A heart attack while coaching a boys basketball team. I was heartbroken; And, before I could be anything I felt like I was a widow. I still buy poinsettias, and Easter Lilies in his name at our home church. He's been dead for five years now. Well, this was a big fat bunch of nothing; I haven't learned anything about my type of men? But, that alive, Is a pretty good type.
Ignorant people, to me, are the most dangerous people in the world. I had to take a break, to eat something on campus this afternoon. I was sitting in the cafeteria, it was getting to be dark outside. I was tucked quietly, safely into the book about Vladimir Nabokov's work's of literature. Nice, and neatly minding my own business, contented. This loud voice, grating like fingers on a chalkboard reverberated into my ears....Forcing itself into my mind. "The Constitution, is outdated and needs to be revised." was how the horrid noise went. Because, I study law, I know this woman is obviously ill-informed, and Well, ignorant. What an idiot? I, am quite sure I even flashed her an ugly-distasteful-disgusted look and shook my head. The Constitution is the supreme law of the land; It is at the very tip-top of the pyramid.
Luckily, some other poor student was sitting closer to where she was And, heard her yammering on, about something she obviously knows nothing about. The other student, just nicely asked her, "Do you know the law? The Constitution?" TO which the dolt replied, unwittingly "NO. I don't." One would think, this would stop her in her tracks. Move her to know more about what she spouting off about. It didn't, If anything it fueled her fire to burn...to speak more. Poor girl. I reckon, she might have some kind of point, About something or other. Whatever it is; I don't think I want to know, Nor do I care in the least. She's an idiot. When she becomes informed, I will be more than happy and joyful to hear about whatever it is, that has her nose bent out of joint. (Humbert-ish arrogance?)
My night class was canceled on account of teacher sickness. It is nice, I sighed relief when reading the email from the professor. I am doing good in that class; So, am not so worried about it. It gives me time to get some late assignments completed. I can eat, and get some rest. That young man, with the hazel eyes, Alas, may have moved on to another girl. I felt a little let down. But, it is okay to be disappointed, and feel rejected. It is part of living; Everyone, must go through it and feel it. I think, anyway? Generally, I would immediately dismiss him; And, not ever look back. It is my way; It, is how I've survived. However, It hasn't done me, a lot of good. I am going to take, this opportunity to learn about myself; And, what it is I really want to be. What it is I might truly want? Who it is I feel I should be. I want to add a positivity to life; To, where ever it is I fit into it. How I can affect a change in my life? I think, I will choose a different behavior. As it is, I am focused, and driven in my higher-education goals. Because, I can take care of myself.
I can do it myself.
All by myself.
Well, I want to take a catnap; And, then finish up a few things. Plus, I am hungry...Got some goulash left I can heat up. Back to Lolita...and Vladimir. Plus, my history text...a case brief to finish....Maybe, A late night cup of coffee...I am in perilous danger of falling behind...I'VE GOT FOLLOWERS, Yay! Welcome, to my boring, odd, strange, sometimes interesting world...Feel free, to disagree with me. It keeps me on my toes. Feel free....Free free free feel feel feel free free......
It is that time, of the week, when I will spend all day on campus. I am over half through the audio book, Lolita. I've been reading a separate book, about Vladimir Nabokov, in which he says we mispronounce 'Lo-lee-tah'...It should me more like a 'LOllipop' LO....and the lee, Plus a Latin, Spanish accent of tah. Interesting, how one little wrong accent and it carries on forever. To be said wrong for generations. Huh...Okay, lost in that seemingly profound thought.
I have what has become my favorite class, Intellectual Property Law tonight. I did so well, on my midterm it surprised even me, 100%! The instructor has a higher-degree in engineering and is a Patent Law Attorney. One cannot be a Patent attorney, unless they have a higher degree in engineering. It is a rare work that people do. It is very detail oriented work; And, you have to really concentrate on every step. I credit the success, to how, my life seems like it is falling apart. I get lost, in the IP Law work.
These next couple of looooong days, Is why I make a big meal to eat throughout the week. It will be time, to register Spring quarter soon. I've been dying, to take an economics class. But, I have to take a math test, to make sure I've got the braincells for it? Oh, the horrors. My daughter, phoned me last night. We had a nice long conversation. I had strange dreams last night; The Dixie Chicks, riding a bus, Seattle and my old work place, The Paramount Theatre on 9th and Pine Streets...An old boyfriend, and his sister. Hmmmmpphhh, strange? I wonder what it means? I'm going to return two of these other books, I have. I've got a few Vladimir Nabokov books, I want to take a look at. There has been, a great many papers, and articles and poems, and even books on just his one book, Lolita. Interesting. Well, I am off to see the wizard, The wonderful wizard of Oz. Of Oz. Of Oz. Of OZ....Off to see
the
wizard.....Peace out. Have fun. Have a good day.
I have a pot of tomato-spaghetti-hamburger sauce simmering on low; Put, on my jammies and am going to have a cup of late night coffee. I felt badly for lying to my friend; But, there isn't anything wrong with alone time, if I have to have it. Gawd, what is wrong with me? I am making the best sauce, it always tastes good; But, I never feel like I put in enough garlic, or onion. I am a chicken and coward, I should be able to say to friends, "Now, isn't a good time to visit. I need to be alone." That'd be fine, if she'd asked to visit. Come to think of it she told me she was going to be here and we would visit. I was put into a position to lie and say I was busy. I should be mad; Instead, of feeling guilty! I should be angry; Instead, of feeling like I have to apologize. I should be raging, furious; Instead, of repentant! Okay, that's a bit much. You get the point. I learned something, hummmppphh grunt to self.
My very best-friend in the world called me this afternoon. How, I was so glad to hear her voice. I'd not been able to speak to her for over a month's time. She sent me a card at the beginning of the month of two kitties in a wagon. Me and my BFF. She and I've been friend's for about 8 to 9 years. She is 93 years old; And, tough as nails. She is of a certain generation you know. As long, as we've been friends and I've stayed at her home, when I traveled home to visit she always made sure I was a guest. One of those people of a certain generation. I acted as a lector, this a.m.
Which was kinda odd, and funny. The bulletin comes out with a list of who is going to do what for what Mass. I was listed, as being a lector, I was sure I didn't sign up. I was sure I didn't but, there my name was. I went in to the church early, to check it out, and look at the schedule. Sure enough I didn't sign up. But, someone was nice enough, to appoint, nominate and elect me to read today. So, I did.
When, you come from a big family and there's a meeting, and you are absent~~You are most likely to be elected and appointed, because you aren't there.
It was alright; And, I've met a lot more people. Which, I've actually shied away from forever. But, they are compelled to tell me, they love to hear me do the reading? And, to introduce themselves. I shy away from it as much and as often as I could. To just try and keep to myself; And, mind my own bees wax. This a.m. was kind of crazy; I couldn't hide and bury myself if I wanted to. The final procession had processed, and I was clapping for how good the choir was...and, my ring on my right hand ring-finger flew off of my finger....The ladies in front of me, and those coming toward me, Were like, "What was that?" I raised my eye brows, and said, "That was my ring, it just flew off of my hand." We all went toward the front rows in the direction it went, to bend down and look under the pews.....I gathered more people to me; Because, I'd been pulled out of my seat. Where, I generally like to sit and avoid eye contact till everyone is gone. So, I can just kind of wind down.
I was out in the open, and forced to see and talk to people. Oh, the horrors.
My plans for my sauce, is Goulash. For the first night, I usually like the sauce with Angel Hair pasta...but, I feel like a Goulash tonight.....I am on the third disc of Lolita being narrated by Jeremy Irons and I've come to enjoy his voice filling my little apartment. Almost, like having another person around? I think, I'll find better recorded-voice-people the next time I get an audio book? Who wants, wacky insane old Humbert Humbert in their apartment going on and rambling on about nymphets? Not to mention his haughty, hoity-toity French language arrogance? Ah, Vladimir Nabokov the master character creator. Master storyteller; Weaver of make-believer...that Vladimir Nabokov.
Well, I am showered, and all fresh and clean...getting ready to put on my girly Sunday dress to head on out to the Holy Mass across the way. I've got a few things on my chest I have to speak to the big guy upstairs about; A friend, tried and wanted to come to see me, this weekend. In order, to avoid seeing her, I lied and said I was busy. I am mourning a great loss; And, not much into seeing anyone while I tuck away in my grief, and sorrow.
I have been afraid, and some doubts have been preying upon my mind. Small thoughts of uncertainty. I know, it must have hurt my friend, to rebuff her like that; But, she must know by now. We've been friends for several years, how I am. I've not pretended to be any different than I am. When, I am hurt and suffering I have to be alone, to think and figure out what is wrong and how to attack it...to get through it. I know her well, enough to know I have to tell her to leave me alone. I truly have to accomplish something today! IT is sunny, blue skies in NE Portland. This is just a quick good morning hullo blog. Of thoughts not completely formed...I think I'll write a second blog later....
The sound, of Jeremy Irons as Humbert Humbert is filling my little apartment this fine Saturday morning. It is blues skies, and sunny in Portland today; The weather's been like this the last few days. It has made the people, giddy and lighthearted. Happier, and more willing to laugh for nothing. We are sunshine drunk; I can say 'we' because, I am just as excited, standing out in it, I can't stop myself from fidgeting, because of the energy bristling, crazy like through me. I have become, obsessed, insane like gotta know everything I possibly could about Vladimir Nabokov. It is rough, getting through Lolita. HH's unnatural desire, for a girl. Is creepy, especially since I have a daughter. My only child and I are so tight, and close knit. No one could come between us. I realized this one Saturday afternoon several years ago. When me and my only child were treated to a Mexican lunch with my longtime best friend, Rick. He was a constant part of our life; HE used to call me, when I think he should have been calling or talking to his wife.
Naive, and ridiculously stupid as I was, I always believed we were just best friends. He knew me, from the time I was 18 for crying outloud?! But, now as I look back, We were intimate. Not physically; But, definitely emotionally and mentally we loved one another. Rick come over to our house to pick us up. And, out we went to eat a pleasant lunch. He, myself and my only child. Me and my daughter, sat on one side of the table. He sat on the other side, by hisself. I don't even remember what I ate, or what they had either. We were chatting, visiting, enjoying one another's company and Rick reached over the table with his scary-nasty looking fork and stabbed some poor Mexican delight off of my plate and took it to his mouth! I almost protested, and cried out in horror. I could feel the words take a physical form in my mouth, and had started to form nice-polite-kindly words to say in that tone of voice people who know me, GROW to dislike, detest and have a bitter hatred to hear....And, my daughter, my only child looked at Rick grew her own snotty, cold, dismissive and frightening tone of voice and said to him, "My mom doesn't like it when people do that, or try to take food off of her plate." Poor Rick, he was an outsider for as close as he was. NO one could come between me and my child, like Humbert Humbert comes between Lolita and her mother. Not even Rick, although me and Rick were incredibly close, always talked and emailed. He had practically watched my daughter grow up, too. I am so obsessed with Vladimir Nabokov the next pet I get I am gonna name it Lolita. Or, Humbert.....After this book came out, no one would name their child Lolita. I've not ever known a girl with the name come to think of it? I get teh feeling the literature professor thinks I am an idiot; And, not very intelligent in literature. She'd be right in some ways I am not cultured, I'm uptight and Conservative in my beliefs. We read, a wonderful poem on Thursday Goblin Market, by Christina Rosetti. We read a little, and she stops to ask us what we think, "What do we think, So far? How do we feel?" she says. We'd just gotten past, the description of the ugly-dark perverted goblins.
I just said in a little girl's voice, 'They are bad. Bad. Bad.' She laughed at me, and moved on. She doesn't think very much of me. It sort of bothers me; And, I don't know why. I've not really cared what people thought of me. But, it is stifling, in a way. She has a powerful personality; And, that she would look down her nose at me, all but makes me kind of wince. But, I am loving the class for more than the reading, talking and listening. Oh, that handsome man and his hazel eyes. His bright smile, broad shoulders, he pierces into me and burns me up flaming when he is near or looking at me. I've grown to be protective, And notice when all of the other girls look at him...And, they do-those harlots. He surprised me and we got to meet and talk to each other, Class got over with, I headed out the door, taking the stairway. I was out the stairway door, and on the second step...and, someone was behind me all of a sudden. No one was there before? Where in the hell did they come from? What in the hell were they doing standing so close, as to all but step on the back of my feet? I turned to look, and it was him. I relaxed, and wound up with an excitement, desire and felt my heartbeat racing in my chest....thump thump thumpity thumpity thump thump. I had to say something, It was time to break down the wall, build up bridges and become friends. Boy Meets Girl. Friends, whom one day might see the other naked. I wanted to kiss him, on the cheek. He was invading my comfort zone, and space and it was the most natural thing. He'd come so close to my body; And, I didn't even barely notice right away.
The electricity was hot, and striking. I slowed my steps in hopes he would walk by me as we headed down the stairway. Instead his body almost bumped into mine from behind. We talked, he smiled, touched his chest and then as we got to the second floor, went on our different ways.....No nakedness to be seen today; But, he was burned into my brain.
Well, I am into my second cup of coffee. I need to make more coffee, It is going to be one of those kind of days? I've got work to do, laundry to wash, and to go to the supermarket for food. I want to start running, again. The weather is right for it. But, I cannot find my walkman? Yes, I wrote, walkman. I've been wanting to buy an iPod; But, then the world fell into a deep-dark-empty recession. It's been awhile I'd even think, consider or hope to buy something for pleasure! I can't run, without music. I need, the rhythm and beat. I need to get lost in my thoughts, and notions when I am running. It is my way of being in Melisaland....Melisaworld.... Melisaplace.....Where no one looks down their nose at me. Where eveyone likes me, and I am brilliant! Maybe I'll find it as I straighten up here and there.
Yesterday, the beginning of the lent season; I went to mass across the way at St. Therese Catholic Church. I met up with an old group of friends, who I used to go to Bible study with. I was a lector; And, read the second reading. I love Easter and Christmastime, it is when Catholics come out of the woodwork to go to mass. I used, to get snobby and irritated they'd come 'Muss up the church, On their one day a year of services.' But, now at my old age, I am glad they just come to the Holy Mass at all! It is also a day of fasting; And, believe me I found the hunger. What a greedy, and ungrateful person I felt like I was. I have a home, I have food to eat and a nice little bed to sleep in. I was humbled. Greatly humbled as I thought of many peoples situations. I take the bus to campus and go by plenty of soup kitchens; ON my way home at nighttime I go by storefront doorways where men sleep. What am I to complain? I had to delay eating for 12 hours? I was having a faith crisis; Seriously. I am a Native American woman, and I abide in the traditions of my people. I was always very anti-Christian because it is in 'The name of Christ.' we would lose all of our lands, be declared heathen savages and be oppressed for hundreds of years. I grew to hate the Christian churches, especially since in Forks when I did bother to go to a church service with a friend, out of respect for her. Not one of those white people spoke to me. My friend, who is white, they all looked at her and smiled and shook her hand and welcomed her and talked to her. But, not one of them barely saw anything more than my skin was brown; And, I was to 'not be bothered with.' ???? Whattheheck!? I had not had good experiences with Christianity. Okay, well, people who had laid a false claim to be Christ-like people.
There are several life lessons one learns in the traditional ways of the people. The lessons, are not just taught, and not expected to be used again. The lessons are lifetime lessons taught to be used all throughout our lifetime. The first one is obedience, to ourselves, to each other and more importantly to the Spirit of God when it moves us, to speak, or pray or to be moved to somewhere. One never questions it, and wonders and waits. I learned humility, before the group, and the willingness to find and fill the place within the people. Always regarding one more important than the other; As, we know all alone a man is nothing and no where. It is when we are all together as one, that we could be someone. We learn to trust in God. At our potlatches we sing, eat and dance to celebrate life, for that day~~that moment~~that time. We smile, and laugh and forgive one another and allow for each one to come together. When, this happens and we make it together, God comes into our midst.
One day, many years ago when I was out running for exercise something touched my heart, my spirit. I didn't pay attention but notice it...right away. Then, another day, the same thing happen. I could feel it in my heart, in my spirit. I stopped running, looked around to see what it was that touched me. I was next to the Queen of Angels Catholic Church. I looked at it awhile; And, then went into the building to see what I could see. The moment I walked through the foyer, into the church a peace settled on my heart such as I've not ever known. A comfort and peace that told me I wouldn't ever have to run again; I wouldn't ever have to hide again. I was safe. Later on, I called the elders and asked them if it was alright, To go look into this church.
One elder told me, 'The Catholic Church does not conflict with anything we believe.' I joined RCIA and converted to Catholicism. I joined, right away; But, I took years to go over the many beliefs and canon laws the Catholic Church holds. I went over every one of the Ten Commandments and let the power of believing in the law soak into me. It's been difficult at times. Like, any where one goes, there are nuisance people who make life difficult. For the most part, the biggest part...I am a catholic convert and I love everything about being catholic.
Till I started to look deeply into the tortured history of my Native American indigenous peoples. I knew, but it still cuts into my heart. I was thinking about it last night; And, considered bailing on Ash Wednesday services. It occurred to me, God didn't do what had been done to my people. He wasn't a part of the stealing, lying and greed which had lead to the rape, killing and destruction of whole generations of my people. I had to separate, what people thought and did in his name, From him.
I couldn't blame God and take it out on God the horrors done to my Native people in the name of Christianity; He, simply didn't do it. My brother called me early this a.m. to check in and make sure I was doing okay. He filled me in on the latest family gossip and people fighting over my daddy's will. My poor dad. Why families and people do this I don't even know?
I've got a lot of work to do on campus today; I skipped a class to go to services last night. I just felt the need to be close to God. It is blue skies, and sunny in NE Portland today. The thunder and lightning will be passing through for the Springtime, soon. I look forward to it. This weather will make it easier for me to get back into shape too. I can start working out like I used to. I have gained weight since moving to Portland. Mostly, because of the weather. At home, it was always mild and even keeled. Not too hot, nor too cold. Here, Ppppppbbbbbbttt, the weather is erratic. I think, it is truly Mother Nature, a woman. One day, it will be nice, a little bit warm and the next day it's gray, biting cold and windy. You know, what I really want this Springtime? I think, I really want a man in my life. Even if for a little bit of time. Just someone to be with, talk to and trip down the road with.....I think, I really want that this time. I've been reading the book about Vladimir Nabakov, He led a very interesting life. On the cover of the book, there's a picture of him. He is a handsome man.
Yeh, I think it is time, for male companionship. Vladimir Nabokov is handsome? Hummmppphhh, grunt to self.
Have you ever had an otherworldly moment, when you could almost hear the intro. music, to the Twilight Zone and that science-non human Rod Serling voice, 'You are traveling a world....spooky music...spooky music....The Twilight Zone.' Yesterday, after the literature class, I went to the cafeteria and took out my texts and assignments to put it into some kind of order to get something accomplished. I checked out, this 'Cambridge Companion to Nabakov' book from the library, I was dying to know more; It would be stupid, to let someone as great as he pass by without further investigation. When I happen upon someone who is a world famous genius, I want to learn as much as I can about them. It could only benefit me. Who is he? Where was he born? Does he have siblings? What events in his life could have helped him to become the person he was? I delved into the book, and it is amazing how much of a different man he is, than what the class whine, and complain he is. Although, it is odd, and difficult to read and follow along with Humbert Humbert's desire for the 12-year-old 'nymphet' in Lolita. Yesterday, was a long, long day. I wore myself out. I also, impressed the hell right out of myself. I got 100% on my mid-term in Intellectual Property Law. I only, screwed up the memo. It was the final part of the mid-term test, I was so tired by the time I got to it that I just punted. I knew I might do alright, I had no idea I'd do that well. I also checked out the 11 disc audio of Lolita narrated by Jeremy Irons. I came home after 10 p.m., heated up a plate of the pot roast I'd cooked Monday, to last the week long, sat down to eat, popped in the first CD and into Lolita-land I went. Jeremy Iron's voice narrating the opening line of the book is captivating-capturing-fascinating.
Who wouldn't want to be desired like that? I was so tired, and hungry it didn't take much to make me contented. I ate a few bites of my pot roast, with potato, carrot and onion. Chewing the food, disrupted my ability to hear the story, So I didn't each much. I laid down, and surrounded myself with pillows as Jeremy Irons voice filled my apartment in the late dark night hours. I was reminded of the comfort of being a child, in the early grades of school. You know, after lunchtime when the whole kindergarten class sits down, scoots up close to the teacher who takes out a book to read the little kids a story. With animated voices and everything.
I felt content.
It is the simple things, I'd be happy with a man who would read to me at night. I fell asleep listening to the disc. It was nice. I slept sound, and didn't stir once.
The Twilight moment, I had earlier was very weird and strange. I was in the cafeteria reading--Just kind of sitting with my bookbag next to me. On one of the little tables close by there was a group of 3 people gathered around it, with a laptop working on some kind of play, or paper or something....their voices were a little loud I couldn't help but hear them....The title of whatever it was they were working on caught my attention, 'Melissa meets the world.' I looked around, my gutt felt odd and out of place. I listened to everyone else around me. It took me a couple of seconds to shake it off. I had just begun, the Nabakov book, it was exciting for me; And, I did feel like I was meeting a world. A different, removed and foreign world to my own.
I am also reading, a book which is emotionally hard for me to read. It details and tells the true story of the Canadian-British monarch, and the United States Government making it illegal and against the law for my ancestors, to potlatch. It was a law, the Indigenous peoples could not sing, Could not dance, Could not come together as one. I generally shun such books, as for me it can be like being put into a washer....First hot or cold water...in a nice smooth cycle...then, the water drains and it is the COLD rinse...The cycle gets a little bit forceful, as it shakes the detergent from the clothing...then, the water drains...Then, the spin cycle begins...and, it is all but violent as it spins so fast, and hard...to rid the clothing of any water at all....It sounds like a violent process! Sure, the clothes are nice and clean but man, are they roughed up? Okay, how could I know so much about the washer cycle? Ha ha ha, that could be a Twilight Zone moment.
Anyway, to read books of such oppression makes me feel what my ancestors must have felt having to go through such boldfaced, lying, mean spirited cruelty. TO read books like this is an emotional rollercoaster....Up and down..Turn, twist, jerk. Although, with more downs than ups. I've always known my Native American indigenous peoples suffered greatly; It is another thing to read it in black and white printed on paper. The authorities who created and enforced such laws were horrid, awful liars. They actually printed, at our potlatches, we messed with dead bodies? Killed animals? That the men, forced the women into prostitution to have money to buy things to give away?
It is hard for me to read; As much as they persecuted my people, the potlatch still lives. I don't reckon it is any more understood now, than it was then. I have plenty of White, Christian Anglo friends and not one time have I taken any of them with me to a potlatch. It is a holy and sacred gathering of people to acknowledge God, and celebrate life. It is one of the strictest, most conservative environments anyone could ever be in. Our stations, and positions within the community are revealed, Nothing changes who and what we are. The position I hold, no one can lobby for it. I cannot be voted out of it, no one could be elected to do what I do, Be where I am, Sing the songs I sing nor dance the dances I dance. It is because of the blood that courses through my veins from my mother and father...my mother's mother and father...my father's mother and father...and my grandmothers mother and father...and her grandparents and so on and so on...It is a birthright, hereditary position no one could topple me from. Even though none of it is written down, the people know because I've nurtured and cared for and lifted it. My mother didn't have it, because she was a lost generation of the people...in that she couldn't and didn't potlatch....My grandmother knew of it, and took part but she was also of a lost generation....It was when the elders took me in, and led me to my place I would reclaim, renew and bolster the house of our lineage. It is the life force, and blood of our tradition...and, as a part of a larger group I hold a very big piece of it.
Which, I've been handing down little by little to nephews, nieces and my own daughter who outranks me. I gave the first potlatch my family would have in several years...a naming ceremony for my daughter on her first birthday....My relatives from the North met, and decided to hand down a name which belonged to my grandpa's sister. My daughter's great-great aunt.
I shouldn't feel so badly, the potlatch lived. Our traditions and ways of life have lived. I've got lots of work to do; It is Ash Wednesday for us practicing Catholics.
I signed up to lector tonight...Better get onto my first cup of coffee and put things in to order to get something accomplished, today! NO Twilight Zone moments...today, Please, world.
It is blue skies, and a little bit of a warm temperature in NE Portland today. It is heating up, slowly but surely. The Springtime thunder and lightening storms will be showing up soon. I have come to look forward to the thunder and lightening seasons. AT my home state, where I was born, and raised in poe-dunk one horse logging town; We, never, if rarely ever had thunder lightening storms. Now, it's like a drug and I'm an addict. I can't go without it. Of course, when first ever I heard it I was a little bit scared. No one told me, there would be such a change in weather. And, sadly it didn't occur to me? What a silly girl, I am. Just tripping along in life, fumbling and stumbling through without thought to the basics.
I just wanted to get here; Get on with my goal. And, that'd be it. I used, to imagine, the thunder was God's voice talking to me. I do live by mountains. Mt. Hood, which is to the South, and Mt. St. Helen's to the Northeast. The bigger one, is Mt. Hood and it is so beautiful, I can see it when I am on 82nd waiting for a bus, Where all the ho's are at. As, I head on to campus, I get a glimpse of St. Helen's.
At home I could see Mt. Baker on a good day. But, not often. Here, I guess the same rules apply only on clear days much like this, Do the mountains bother to yawn, stretch and be seen. I have one class today; But, am working hard to make up past-due assignments so I will be on campus till late tonight. Later on I have to go to the supermarket to get lunch items for the week. I am in the mood for green salads this week. I've begun to pack a little lunch container...Saves my much needed dineros from the campus cafeteria monster....
I re-read my last post; And, it was agonizing, to feel so close to a married man. It took a lot of work, to keep myself away from him. It was nice, for us to see each other once in awhile, as friends. I did feel awful, about the situation. I did end up being a decent person despite my deepest, strongest desire for him. We would see each other at Blockbuster, or on the street...and, we'd just hold onto each other...hug each other like old friends. It was nice, to be known. And, after having been known, be wanted. After having been known and wanted, to be loved a small wee bit.
Yep, the seasons are changing, I feel humidity on my chest...and, the crooks of arm. I have yet, to adjust to that!
Is it really, truly the final goal of a relationship between a man and a woman to be in bed with one another? Naked, exposing those sensitive body parts each has? Saturday night, while trying to lull myself off to dreamland I let the faces of the many men who I'd had some kind of relations with, In one fashion or another. Some were friends, Some men were just white-hot-animal attraction short lived affairs. A poor sap of a man who wasn't any good at any of the physical parts of the liaison was only around. Because, I couldn't seem to get rid of him! He wouldn't take the hint. As I saw their faces, I began to compile a list of their names......It was like counting sheep! Surely, I am kidding. I am not a Ho. I would venture to say there is one man whom I still adore and he and I are still friends even now. Out of the entire list, there is one man. We'd been friends for about five years, before any notion of being attracted to one another ever came to light. It was hard, and difficult for us to be and remain just friends. He is a married man; And, his wife was very smart. Whenever she knew I was around, although he and I went to great lengths to not be 'open' about what we felt, or knew of how we adored, needed and wanted each other, she would make her brother keep an eye on her husband. I thought, that was very smart. The only way she could have known something as intimate, as what he and I shared was if he talked in his sleep.
As, our circle of friends kept our secret as if life depended on it.
I don't think, it is a physical relationship that keeps two people intertwined, and on each other's mind, and in each other's hearts. There has to be a lot more to it. I am unattached, any more, to any poor man. I fall in and out of love, regularly. It cannot be love, but maybe a quick short burst of like, attraction.....Maybe even, desire. Just a basic, carnal, animal desire. It is funny, how a man and a woman can not even have talked to one another and still there is something electric between them.
I went to the Holy Mass, this a.m., where I was also a lector. There is a very handsome man I noticed right away when beginning to go to this new parish....Over this time, we exchange glances, and looks. He reminds me of my one friend, in that he is handsome, he is an artist and he is sensual...something about him makes me want to touch him. I know, it's mutual. One morning I walked into the church, a lady who sits a row ahead of me, far over to my right side, was sort of standing-watching-listening....the choir was practicing...I walked in, dipped my fingers into the Holy water font, and headed to my usual accustomed seat....Something about it caught his attention; Out of the side of my eye I seen her notice how his face changed to look in my direction....she followed his gaze, till her eyes rested on my face....It sounds like it took a long time. When in all reality it took maybe a minute, or two....I got to my seat...knelt down in the pew...and, she smiled a knowing smile and continued to look at me...because he had looked at me with some kind of certain gaze.....I guess, it is nice, to be wanted. But, could it be nicer
to
want?
Should one just want to touch, feel and be with another in a physically intimate way? Should it be a meeting of the bodies? Or, more of a meeting of minds, of hearts, of soul's and spirits. The body is stupid, it will react to physical stimulation.....it knows nothing different. The heart, the mind and the spirit cannot be fooled so easily I don't think....While in literature last week we began to talk about the author of our newest read, Lolita. I brought up how the HH character doesn't know women. He doesn't have the normal set of wants, and desires for women that a man should have. The professor said something so stupid, and ridiculous I couldn't believe it. She said, 'He was married. He got married.' I responded without even looking at her, 'That doesn't mean anything. Just because a man get's married doesn't mean he knows women?'
My own interactions with men; I know, I am far off from knowing anything about nothing. I wonder how the world would be, how relationships would be if our minds had to relate, Our hearts had to relate more than our bodies? What if the need to know, understand and be there for one another was primary over the dumb old needs of the body? I am grateful for my one manfriend; Our minds, and hearts did know one another before our bodies even knew what was going on. So, it can be done. It is the fact, he and I were friends, who have similar values and outlooks and hungers for life that drew us together...and, the natural progression did not harm us...in the beginning or in the end of the physical part of it.....I know, if I were home, we might still love one another....
Like, we are not supposed to.
Ever, the incurable romantic at heart. Ah, to be kissed, with such fervor. Big sigh.....Uh, the last time, I think I was held onto with such an urgency was at my father's services last month. A handsome, young Native American man, who I've known for-about-ever held me close, held me tightly. He spoke into my ear, "I love you." Uh, Huh...gasp. I was shocked; But, it was nice to be held so closely; Cuddled so closely. I was reminded of my small womanliness. His big-strong arms; As, his head had to bend down quite low to be close to mine. It isn't often, I think of my own stature. Because, in my own head I am 6 foot tall and bulletproof (Add Tequila, and I'll be missile proof too!). In reality, I am 4' 11 3/4" I've just been out in the world constantly on the go, Feeling like I have to be forceful, strong and pushy to get things accomplished in my life.
Where I used, to work at the p.m. hours, in production among large machinery, with men driving a forklift, and roll grabber. I loved it; And, often carried around a paper brick upon which to stand on so I could reach the top surface of the machine I was working on. I still did not think of myself as a little-small or short woman. Some of my co-workers thought it was adorable, and always knew where I was working at, If the paper brick was pushed up against some machine somewhere. Uh, tangent, sorry, reminiscing.
Valentine's Day is tomorrow, yet another year passes where I will be my own Valentine. Love, companionship, friendship sure do move along and have their own twisted ideas and time table. I know, it could be far worse than it is. I could have settled, for the doltish men, I've known. I cannot look back, in all regret, Because there were some incredibly dynamic friends who were men. One of the last men, he and I were injured, wounded and love had-had it's way with us and spit us each out. He and I worked together, and we use to just hug and hold each other all of the time. He was quite handsome; We'd done this with each other for a very long time. It was a friendship, attraction which we nurtured a great deal. He was a fantastic, handsome and charming man. If I smoke cigarettes~~he would. He did injure me once, by stepping out with another girl in front of me, Right in my face. I was so hurt, and angered I wouldn't hold him, speak to him nor look at him. For over a month.
Till one day at work, a mutual friend, looked at him pointed at him with one finger...looked at me pointed at me with the other finger and brought the fingers together....to say, we belonged together. I looked at him, and could not help but smile. I couldn't stop myself, he made me happy. It took some work but we got back to where we were. Although, I was more careful and pronounced my claim. He had injured me, and I was going to let him know if this is what we would do. It was going to be different till I felt safe and comfortable with him, again.
After the episode, with the other girl, and we became friends again. I always questioned who he had talked to on his cellphone; Or who he was texting. In front of everyone.
Me, "Who is that? Who are you talking to?'
him, " NO one."
A second later plus a few steps closer, Me, "No, tell me who you are talking to."
Him dropping his arms, facing me with hurt-confused eyes, "No one, I'm not talking to anyone. Don't worry about it."
Me still closer with urgency and demand in my voice, "NO I am worried about it. Now, tell me who you are talking to."
Talk about drama? He never did tell me who it was. Although, I think it was one of his kids. He had three kids, whom I met one by one...I was not scared, nor worried. They were a part of him, and I had strong feelings for him. It would only be of reason those emotions would extend to his children. I've always wanted ten children of my own; And, if he had three, and I my one daughter....Well, we were part of the way there.
That drama and small-tiny jealous tirade in front of everyone~~Oddly and strange enough made us closer and more careful about what we did when we were apart. Our relationship-friendship and attraction was fragile.
I haven't seen him in years; Since, the night I walked out of that horrid job situation. I do look fondly back at those many times we held onto each other. I wonder, if he does. I'm sure he must.
I have not even half of an idea of a notion, for a dumb old Valentine this year! But, I guess I have to feel alright about it all. I will wake up in the a.m., Make some coffee, shower, change, do my hair, put on make up, Dress up in my Sunday best...and, go to the Holy Mass. Where I will read the first reading from the book of Jeremiah "He will be planted like a tree."
Maybe, someone will love me. Maybe, someone will count me as an imaginary Valentine. I will probably, just revel in the couples around me who are each others Valentines. I guess, it is the best and most I could do! I'll just hug myself...and, love myself.....
Who knows me better, than I? Who understands me better, Than I? Who better to love me, Than I?
More than a need to eat food; And, drink water for the thirst of the body a woman or man in this world needs to be loved. Or, perhaps to love....Cart before the horse, Whichever. In my literature class yesterday, the professor played the first part of 'Lolita' on tape narrated by Jeremy Irons....Oh, it sent shivers up my spine. Loooolita...,To have one's name said in such a way. Never mind, what the story really says. A lot of the students in class were disturbed by it, a full grown man desiring a 12-year old girl. I am super-disturbed at it. As, a mother of a beautiful girl, myself. I would just as soon die, before such a man/boy or whatever has any such designs on her.
It is a beautifully-masterfully written story of desire; OMGosh, is it. It speaks to the most carnal, deepest, most sacred-secret part within us each, Our need and desires and the potential and power of what it could do to a person.
It'll ruin a person; Build, and create a person. It'll lift, and drown all at the same time. At the very beginning of the story; I didn't miss the 'Seraphs' devil and God mention. Is it really so different; That desire, could it be so dangerous? Ah yeh, it is and can be. There is a very clear line drawn in sand one cannot cross to hold onto their own immortal soul: No dating relatives (First cousins, down seven generations.); Carelessness-wastefulness with people's feelings/hearts; Infidelity if there is even a smallest commitment between two.
That is all I could think of now; Which, are pretty big and good clear lines, boundaries and protection for a desiring heart.
I don't own the book Lolita yet; But, I do look forward to reading it. I think, No I'm sure I've read it or portions of it in my life. The image on the cover is a little disturbing, given what the book is about. Those are little girl legs. I know a lot of men, who are fascinated and captivated by the youth of a girl in a woman. I have a favorite outfit that I wore forever, a gray-black-white Catholic girls skirt, with a white undershirt and a black sweater....with long white knee socks and my penny loafers.
I loved it; And, had a boyfriend who always loved it.
I don't know what it is; Nor, why. I am a full grown woman; And, until the day my dad died I always greeted him as 'Daddy.' whenever I called, or sent cards home. He beamed, it brought back memories of an innocent, protected and loving past I reckon. We also had, very grown up, adult and mature interactions. There are few men, I've had relationships with that can pull this off with me. It takes a special type of quality and delicate balance one must have.
I've met some screwed up men, in my life. Some odd-strange men who lean too far, into the older-adult father role...or too far over into the other role...Or, just some ridiculous oafs who only want-What they want.
I know I'm not a picnic myself. I'm pigheaded, stubborn and determined. But, because my dad was balanced with me. I like to think of myself as being able to be balanced with men. Men I desire, which changes a lot. As, I'm focused on what I am doing right now. I came to Portland Oregon with a plan; You can either help me, or get the hell out of my way.
I will admit I'm not interested in the physical part of a relationship as much as I am in a friend, and companion. If sex becomes a part of any type of friendship-relationship-interaction with a man. I lose respect for them, and will not-Do not-Cannot take the poor bloke seriously, Ever. The desires of the body, are the desires which must be fed less.
I think, as people; We've moved far from what true desire is, Is meant to be and fed. The body can be fixed, fed and cared for easily.
It is the desires of the heart, for love, laughter and companionship which are the hardest to attain. This is the desire I think, must be focused on to thrive, survive and blossom in this world. When these desires are tended to, by ourselves and others there is nothing in the world
we
cannot
do
or
be.
Desire, Ah big sigh, as Valentine's Day approaches.
I go through phases, in my moods for TV viewing. I think, I get cravings. Last night I came home from a ten hour day on campus, and felt like watching Memoirs of a Geisha. I remember, I loved it the first time ever I watched it. What a mystery that world is; How poetic, and full of want it can leave a person. And, the ideas of love, and desire and what it can do to a person. OMGosh, there is a very handsome man, with hazel eyes in my Images of Women in Literature class. The poor guy, there are only a few men and when he first came in the ladies went crazy! I was embarrassed, it made me uncomfortable.
When he first got to class, he sat across from me and looked at me with his hazel eyes. HE cut into my soul, into my spirit right through my heart. Even though, I didn't look like I could see him as he watched me. I was aware. Believe me, I felt it. We've been doing the dance, since then, where I pretend to not notice him. He is funny, sweet, and adores the attention but waits till I give him some kind of sign.
Our instructor put us in small groups, for work, And then a larger group...and, he and I would work together. You could feel the excitement, and anticipation when she put our two small groups together. As if, an unheard voice in a loud hush, said, 'Yea, we'll get a chance to know each other. Or, at least sit by each other.' I played it cool, and sat across from him, the other two girls on either side of us. I know men, well enough, to know the phases of the courting game. I came up close, he stood taller, his shoulders became more broad and he seemed to have a golden glow about him...as if he would say, "I'm happy. I live a good life, and have a good home. I'm fun to be around." I noticed right of the bat, he's left handed. Interesting. I noticed, Yet one more time, how the ladies love him...Ughh, it is embarrassing. I was ever the cool customer. I sized up the other women, at the table and this one girl if your inner ears had heard...some where from places unknown~~hidden and tucked into a glance from my deep dark brown eyes...there was a primal growl of a warning.
He noticed, I could see it through the corner of my eyes, and he distanced himself from her.....Class got over with, we moved on into our different directions, Till another day, I guess.
Later on,
For some strange, weird and odd reason (I am truly shocked. Really! I AM!) I let myself wonder what it might be like to have sex with him. It hit me like a whistling freight train moving down the line. There's a sexual tension, and after time a person gathers into themselves a knowing-ness about what types of adventures could be in store with another in bed, in the most intimate and closest act between a man and a woman.
I got so excited picturing it in my head, imagining it, seeing it, feeling it I almost had an orgasm right where I stood, on the street in SE Portland!
Then, although I was alone on my way to another class, I blushed.
My brother called me this a.m. I was so glad and happy to hear from him. We've all become much closer to one another in my dad's passing. Which, is what my daddy would have wanted. He wanted it, while we were alive, For crying in the soup! I've got lots to do, another test, and a few assignments to do too. Holy Cow, could you believe it is ten days into February? Where did the time go? I'd be satisfied with all of the time having passed by had my life been lived as passionately as I could imagine it had...or did...or was...OR COULD BE. What any of this had to do with Memoirs of Geisha I do not know? Maybe, it is the desire and longing....the passion one could feel for another and the work each does to make their way toward the other. Ah, big sigh, love-romance-attraction...Just what we need as we close in on Valentine's Day.
MY BFF Velma, sent me a card in the mail the other day. It is a very cute card, two kitty's in a wagon! Me and my BFF. She's 93 years old and we've been BFF's for about 8 years, now. I'd not heard from her in forever, which scared me. Because, we talk to each other every day, or every other day. She fell down, and busted up her face and wounded her arm so she couldn't even write. I got a hold of a friend who talked to a friend! One of her daughter's took her in, and won't let her go home. My BFF is of the generation, the Great depression. She used to walk to and from work everyday; Work, eight-hours a day. She would wake up around 5 a.m. to pray on her Holy Rosary beads. I admire her a lot, and am proud to be her friend. So proud. She hasn't been to mass, in a month of Sunday's which is why she wrote to me. I called up friends from church to make a way for my BFF to have her Communion. I know her well enough, to be able to read between the lines when she tells me something. It is the greatest human comfort, To be known. It is no wonder me and Velma are BFF's two pigheaded, determined and stubborn women.
I haven't told her, my dad died. She can't hear, And I'd have to say it a couple of times to get through. And, I just can't bare to talk about it never mind feel the pain of it. The hurt and sorrow of it. Plus, I don't want for her to worry. I took my badself to the Holy mass this a.m. I had to. I'd not gone since, my dad died. I am a different woman, I am since my dad died. I have yet to know how, and what. I just know I am not who I used to be. Although it was odd, it was nice to be at mass, this a.m. I have some friends and people who I've come to adore. I found myself lying about my absence; Because, I just didn't want to talk about it. My closest friends, know I am a private person. That would include the heavenly host who heard me lie, about why I had been gone. Well it isn't like I don't have tons of work to do! I've gotta finish up Madame Bovary and begin to look for the book, Lolita to start reading. A few papers, and take home tests to look at and take. It is chilly in NE Portland. My hands and feeties are cold? I had this grand plan for a big Sunday a.m. breakfast...I may have it, as a brunch of sorts. It is afternoon, now. Rooting for the Indianapolis Colts....I am a devoted David Letterman fan. Who himself is from Indiana.....It swayed my vote.....Guess you gotta root for someone in your life?
I was going to try and not crash in to this blog; Like, a bull into a fine China shop....But, it is who I am. It is what I do. My dad died last month, It's been a tough road to travel without him. Not to mention the lame, sad state of the world and it's economy as it is? I dreamed about my dad the other day. A few nights ago, I dream I am in a room...there is a wake, or service or something...There are a lot of other folks around, It is dark-ish gray like. There on one wall are the ashes for a person, For whom the wake is. Although there are a lot of people, I don't really know them. I must not, 'Cuz I'm generally surrounded with folks. There is a couch, and my dad is sitting on it. I see him, from across the room. I'm wearing a black skirt, high heeled shoes, a black suit jacket...But, more than those mundane details I'm overjoyed in my dream to see my dad.
As if, in my dreams I also know, he is dead. When dreams are a protected place.
I run to him, sitting on the couch in the middle. He is dressed nice, in a suit and tie. I kneel down to take his hand into mine. He falls over. His body falls over. He is dead. I am asking him, over and over "Dad are you okay? Dad?" I touch his face....He's gone.
It is an odd dream, as my dad didn't ever wear a suit. He'd dress up in nice drawers, and a nice shirt. But, because he has been among us Native American peoples for so long; He, loved-treasured and was very proud of his Bolo ties.
Since, I've been at my home in NE Portland Oregon I've been working the end of my course assignments and the beginning to the middle. I am overwhelmed with the life I've chosen. I chose it because I think I dreamed it.
It is official; I am a one woman, blogger. Yeah, I had a good-solid-core group of friends where I blogged at last. However, I am insane right now. There's been a great and grave change in my life; MY dad died Jan. 12. I'm still in college, at least and moving along in life, as one should. Albeit, I am a changed woman, a different person, a stranger unto myself. I bury my head into my school-work as much as I can; And, avoid conversations with people, If I can help it. I've begun to have imaginary conversations with my dad, In my head, Like he is an angel sitting on my shoulder. Which, is actually worse, because at least when he was alive he didn't ALWAYS know what I was up to. Not, that I was dealing drugs, or selling my body for cheap thrills. I just felt an accorded sense of privacy.
Now, since, I think of him as being outside of space and time, and on the highway to heaven...the midnight train to....and, so on and so forth. He knows, and oversees my everyday life. How sad, and boring could that possibly be?
Yeah, my imagination, took off a little with that idea; As, I'm sure, my dad moved heaven and earth in his death to get to our mother. She died 11 years before he did; And, it was the most painful thing for him, Ever. He used to tell me stories, how after our mom died, he would sit up at the edge of the bed, In the nighttime darkness to wait for our mother to come to see him.
I left, this other blogging place I was at for years; I know, you're not supposed to make changes when in mourning stages. But, I had just had it. What kind of world do we live in? That is so disposable? That such an emotion and intimacy with people in reading and writing blogs, Could just be tossed out, hucked out the proverbial window? I had built a need, in that blogging place to have attention, to have my friends read what I wrote; And, to answer me. There were a lot of my wacky friends; Who loved to come by to read and converse with me.
But, I just needed it, too much. Is that possible? The writing and the posting had lost what it I had originally intended it to mean; In them, my audience. I had a set audience and lost my creative notions. In a drunken haze and stupor I just deleted as many posts as I could; And, canceled the account; To never look back. It felt sad at first; And, a little lonely then, kind of freeing. Maybe, it was what we all needed. Ah, I don't reckon, it matters none. It's done and over with. No use in crying over spilled chocolate milk. Maybe this posting place, is the one for me? Maybe, this blogging relationship will last? Maybe, Blogger, is 'The One.'
