my blogs tend to have their own cycle, as with every thing in the multiverse.
first i'm honest. then i'm too honest. then i wonder if i should tone it down a bit. then i start to hold back. then i get frustrated (or disgusted) with myself and return to plain honesty, damn the torpedoes.
fuck the torpedoes.
quite honestly, the last post in which you were able to read the pure, unadulterated, completely honest delena was back on august 9th with the post venus envy. that's, um...that's kinda sad. but *m* read it and got all hurt and insulted, so to spare his feelings i began to hold back. i also began to do the "cup is half full" thing, hoping to cheer him up and show him, "see? delena's positive about this fucking move thing."
but since i'm getting tired of this pansy-ass beating around the bush, saying-it-without-really-saying-it, trying to put the best face on everything bullshit, and since *m* doesn't even read this fucking blog anymore anyway, i'm going back to saying what i want to say, when i want to say it, and how i fucking want to say it, godsfuckingdammitall.
the Funk is still MIA in my life, but i realize now it's because i've forgotten how to be alone with myself, how to meditate and really focus on listening to the multiverse. i used to be able to listen to the breeze and laugh at the sacred puns it whispered to the grass, or breathe the sunshine, see happiness in each maple leaf, and fuck gravity. i used to go to the gym every morning and while my body was running four miles on the elliptical machine, my consciousness was a pearlescent white dragon riding the thermals out to the coast and beyond, to the place where lilith had built D'hainu.
the Funk is MIA because i've forgotten how to be honest with myself. i've been thinking all these thoughts, feeling all these feelings, and i've been choking them down the way you choke down godawful roast beef at your mother-in-law's house so you don't hurt anybody's feelings. i've been choking on only the gods know how much, just so i don't hurt, or annoy, or piss off *m*. or anyone else, for that matter.
and in the meantime i've been dying for a shot of antifreeze with an arsenic chaser.
the last time we talked on the phone was this past saturday night, just about a full week ago. i finally told him i didn't want to talk to him until i'd had a chance to bury a lot of things, and bury them deep. he obviously doesn't want to hear about them because all he does is get defensive and start attacking me, going on about how he's got all this stress too and basically i have no right to feel the way i do.
like he's uprooting his fucking perfect life to move five hundred miles away? like hell.
but this past week, i've sent him text messages when *i* felt like it, and haven't spoken to him when i didn't feel like it. and this past week has probably been the least stressful, least nightmarish that i've had probably since the beginning of august. i've actually laughed out loud.
i've been singing in the car again. i find i crack myself up with my old, random delena thoughts that i used to have all the time. i find i'm once again capable of simply enjoying the beauty of a gorgeous portland day. and yes, while all my dogs for the past two weeks have all been absolute shits on my table --biting me, growling, making it virtually impossible to groom them-- i find i still love my job. i've been chatty and witty, joking and friendly at work again. i went out the other night to celebrate the 21st birthday of one of the girls at my salon. and downtown? i was getting off the MAX and complimented a perfect stranger simply because i totally loved her skirt.
it's, like, i've been the old me. you remember her? Delena of the Funkywild? i'd so totally forgotten about her.
and yesterday my weird cravings for all-things-bad-for-me disappeared, like, instantly. i'm eating healthily again. yes, i now need to break my new caffeine habit (bad chemical dependency, bad!), but that's easily done. my dreams have returned, too. i really missed dreaming.
however, i still love *m*. actually, i think i might actually love him more now than i've had a chance to thus far. he's human, ergo a fucktard. we're all fucktards when stupid emotions drive us to do stupid things. i know i have a great, long list of instances when i was guilty of being a fucktard. hell, i've even done time as Queen of the Fucktards. doesn't mean i love *m* any less. actually, now that my mind has had a bit of time to quiet down, i can hear the song my love has still been singing all this time, it's just been too quiet to be heard above the din of my crazy, stressed-out howling. with big *c*, my love song was completely drowned out by the din of my hatred, contempt, and rat-crazy human deprivation. i've taken the time to let my inside quiet down, and i can still hear my love, singing away.
i've been able to sit down and admit that yes, i now have no good reason to move at all, other than the simple fact i want to demonstrate i still support his decision to resign from the police force. if i were to say, "nope, not movin'. you can come to portland instead," that would just make him feel like a total failure, which isn't my objective. and that, simply put, is now my only reason for moving. it isn't a strong reason, or even a good reason, but it's my reason. would i love it if he just volunteered to move instead of me? yes, absolutely. do i hope he would? stupidly, i do. i wish he could be so selfless. but i will never ask him to do that, because i know how much uprooting your whole life just sucks ass. but he hasn't volunteered, and i know he won't. he's going to wait for me to ask, which he knows i will never do, so he's kind of safe and i know he knows it. and so...i'm moving.
i've worked this whole week on burying my resentment. he asked me to move, and i said i would. but then so many things changed, things that seriously were the foundation of my agreement to move...like the fact he used to be a cop, and he used to be part of their S.W.A.T. team. and now he's not. but a good woman stands by her man and supports him, so i'm going to fuck myself and move anyway. yeah, i'm resentful as hell. it doesn't help that when i'm angry, or stressed-out, or panicking again, or afraid, i can't come to *m* with it because he gets all defensive and wishes i'd just drop it and change the subject, pretend i'm all happy and everything's okay. last time i was in that kind of relationship, i bore the guy a child, almost died from it, then dumped his ass and have been spending the rest of my life feeling contempt for the pussy little fuckwit.
i don't know what to do here anymore. it's stupid, i know, but i'm actually hoping things improve after i move and we're actually, y'know, together. it's a stupid hope, i know, but it's all i have. *m*'s behavior doesn't exactly fill my heart with invincible joy. i'm burying things that should be freely breathing beneath the golden sun and growing silver in the moon. but instead i'm planting the seed of a festering disease and i know it. but *m* doesn't want to hear it. the man who said he loved to listen to anything i had to say, who said he loved my strong independence and ability to tell it like it is...doesn't want to hear it. what else am i supposed to do with it?