the obligatory declaration of thanks

i'm reading this book, "dies the fire," by...some guy. i can't remember his name right now. i'm pretty dang surprised i remembered the title of the book, actually. but in it, some nameless, unknown Event kills all electricity and tweaks the laws of physics enough that humankind is thrown back into pre-Industrial Revolution technology. it's an awesome piece of survival fiction and filled with SCA-dians, wilderness experts, and witches --my kinds of people.

but reading it makes me very thankful for electricity. i like being able to play oblivion and watch my tri-annual buffy-thon. i like hot water when i turn the tap, cold soymilk when i open the fridge, and driving. so thank you, electricity.

i'm thankful for physics, too, and natural law. it keeps water running downhill, plants growing upward, and makes things predictable in a way that just makes sense, and gives me the luxury to take quite a few things about this world for granted. not that i should, but i can.

i'm eternally grateful for my family. no words could encompass this immense gratitude, so i won't try.

i'm very thankful for my very rewarding career where i hang out with friends and work with animals all day long. i may come home exhausted, unable to walk, and even stressed-out sometimes, but i'm always satisfied and very proud of what i've accomplished that particular day. and that's every day.

i'm grateful for where i live. it's the most beautiful place on earth. i never thought i could be so in love with a place.

and i'm very, very grateful i haven't lost my ability to love, even though it would be completely understandable if i did.


"because i can't bear it"

i finally found a way to get through one day and to the next. it required a lot of mental tweaking and shifting my inner vision. of course, that left all the physical aftermath...but maybe i should start at the beginning.

after i posted my latest haiku, i really started thinking. back on monday, it was a really horrible day. the kind of day that actually made me cry. of course, we're talking the sinuses got full of pressure, and my eyes watered so much i actually had to wipe them. that's as far as it went, but that's way further than i ever like to go. i hate crying, and i've been doing so much of it lately that now i hate it even more and get seriously impatient with myself when i catch myself going there. of course, i was still emotionally exhausted after my last struggle with *m*. it always takes me a while to unwind from one of those things.

i got home and headed straight for bed, just wanting to curl into the fetal and recover. he came to sit next to me on the bed. i curled around him wanting nothing more than to feel his hand on my back until i came back up from the abyss into which i'd been sinking all day. these mental and emotional shifts actually take quite a bit of time, and i know that he doesn't have the stomach to give me the kind of physical presence i actually need. so i kept up a chatty monologue about my day, trying to keep him there as long as possible. but i couldn't relax because i knew the minute i did, and just enjoyed his presence around me, he'd get up to leave. so i kept talking even though every word was a serious struggle.

finally, unable to stand his fidgeting any longer, i said, "i bet you're bored now and want to get up to do better things." this was his cue, if he'd wanted to take it, that he could leave since that's most likely what he wanted to do anyway. before i relaxed, before i trusted, before i let myself just disappear in him for a while, before i let myself count on him, i was giving him an out because i now know he hates this sort of thing. but he declined and said he could sit there. so i closed my eyes and finally let myself recharge -- his closeness and touch being the things that finally began to ground me back into myself.

and after i finally let go, that's when he got up. after i trusted, after i let myself count on him. he was getting a blanket, preparing to tuck me in so he could go back to his videogaming, and i just hopped off the bed without a word and went to take a shower.

it's like starving for weeks, being led to a sumptuous meal, and you don't pick up a fork until you've made absolutely sure that you're allowed to eat. and the minute you grab your fork and are assured you can eat anything that's being served, and you taste the wonderful dishes and your stomach growls and twists because your appetite's finally whetted, suddenly the entire table is just whisked away and you're hungrier than ever.

in the shower that evening, i stopped needing him. i thought i stopped wanting him, too, but the next day i was filled with this hostility that completely took me by surprise. that night, coming to bed, *m* put his hand on my shoulder. i snuggled in closer, letting myself enjoy his closeness and wanting that hand on my shoulder to be an arm across my chest. but the closer i snuggled to him, the more he pulled in on himself. that hand on my shoulder became braced on my shoulder, a subtle push to keep me away.

so i rolled over, gave him my back, and decided i would never show my want again. i started going to the gym instead, pushing myself as hard as i could until every muscle quivered with exhaustion. i run for miles every day now, lift weights until i burn, and my pilates are an exercise in physical punishment. food and alcohol are mere numbing agents to be used when i can't be physically active. my favorite videogame --elder scrolls: oblivion-- is an avenue to siphon some of this hostility into killing things that won't get me arrested.

last night he wanted to go to bed when i was, but i told him not to. i told him i couldn't bear it anymore. and his tone when he said, "you can't bear it anymore...okaaayyy..." told me he didn't understand. but instead of asking for any sort of clarification, he walked away. and he stayed away until five this morning, when he finally crawled into bed. whenever he doesn't understand something about me, he says that infuriating, "okaaayyyy..." and walks away.

he never strives for understanding. he doesn't even really give a shit where i'm coming from.

it's easier to look at him and train myself to just see a roomate who just so happens to take up most of the space in my bed. it's easier, because the alternative is to look at someone who supposedly loved me enough to move here to be with me, and know that he rejects me on a daily basis. he went to kiss me as i left for work yesterday and i pulled away. i was honestly, and very seriously, taken by surprise and very wary. i hadn't been expecting it, not to mention he hadn't so much as touched more than my shoulder in over a week, and he wanted a kiss?

so i pulled away from him and didn't kiss him. i told him it was just weird. why would my roomate want to kiss me? of course, the alternative way to look at it would be that my lover can reject my desire for kisses whenever he wanted --to include pushing me away and saying "okay, enough,"-- and yet when he wanted a kiss, i had to thank my lucky stars and give him what he wants.

we sit on the couch and either watch each other play oblivion with very little conversation, or we watch what he wants to watch on television. i rarely have an opinion because i don't watch that much fucking t.v. (i have better things to do with my brain, thanks), and we sit there like strangers. or, worse yet, like my bio-parents who vegged out at the end of the day and refused to interact together. we're just roomates.

and i can't bear it. *t* --and everyone in the salon-- says that he just needs to find a job and he'll feel like a man again and relax. great, thanks. everyone's first response is that i need to respect his manhood. and yet here he is, every day, rejecting and ignoring my womanhood and making me feel less like a woman every day. i've been through this before with big *c*. pretty soon there'll be no woman left, and it'll be my humanity i begin to lose touch with.

but don't worry. i've lived through this before and i know how. i stopped needing him, i don't count on him for anything, and i funnel my wanting into things that exhaust me to the point where i can't even think. because i can't bear it.


delena haiku

i want a partner
a real, working partnership--
not just a roomate.


when the baking's done

no more cookie dough. you wouldn't believe the shitload of cookies i have now. and i'm pounding it out here because there's nowhere else i can put it. no one else who will hear it.

i want to tell him this:

The Twisted Kingdom

"He stood at the edge of the resting place for a long time, studying the details, absorbing the message and the warning. Unlike the other resting places she'd provided for him, this one disturbed him.

It was an altar, a slab of black stone laid over two others. At its center was a crystal chalice that once had been shattered. Even from where he stood, his eyes could trace every fracture line, could see where the pieces had been carefully fitted back together. There were sharp-edged chips around the rim where small pieces had been lost, chips that could cut a man badly. Inside the chalice, lightening and black mist performed a slow, swirling dance. Fitted around the chalice's stem was a gold ring with a faceted ruby. A man's ring.

A Consort's ring.

He finally stepped closer.

If he read the message correctly, she had healed but was soul-scarred and not completely whole. By claiming the Consort's ring, he would have the privelege of savoring what the chalice held, but the sharp edges could wound any man who tried.

However, a careful man...

Yes, he decided as he studied the sharp-edged chips, a careful man who knew those edges existed and was willing to risk the wounds would be able to drink from that cup.

Satisfied, he returned to the trail and continued climbing. "

--Anne Bishop, Heir to the Shadows, Book II of the Black Jewels Trilogy, pg. 752

i've been reading this monster of a book for the past few weeks. i'm finally on book iii, even though it's taken me forever to plow through it. sometimes i'll go days without wanting to pick the thing up and read. others, i'll have spent an hour reading the same page without absorbing a single line.

that's not to say the books aren't quite excellent. in fact, it's very different from anything else i've read in quite a long time...and very dark. and, somehow, that fits my mood.

however, the further into the book i get, the less i want to read it. this society is matriarchal, except there's a very delicate balance between male and female, and in the Shadow Realm, these things are understood...and even honored.

every time i open this book, i'm exposed to males who are attuned to and sensitive to the moods of their females. and not just in the mated sense, but in the sense of a pride, of a coven. of a society that understands and appreciates this balance as necessary for life.

for Life.

and between the protagonists, there is even that balance and bond in sex. true, this book was written by a woman and therefore all the males seem to know exactly what a woman needs, and is able to provide it.

...but i've met men like that before, and sometimes i just get so angry that i want to throw the book across the room. at work, all us girls share our lives and the dramas that make up being human. we've got one girl who's pregnant and getting married and is very happy about the whole situation. there's one girl who has found the strength and selflove to leave her controlling husband and find love for herself with someone who can recognize her needs. there's someone else who finally declared an end to a years-long relationship because she wasn't getting what she needed. there's another girl who recently ironed out a few things with her own significant other, because he was more the touchy-feely type and she still hadn't warmed up enough to recognize that's what she was looking for. another girl has been with her man for ten years and they have this understanding of each other, and an independence, that's simply beautiful. and then i watch my brother and sister *ds* and *ks*, and i see how they fit together.

i'm no longer accustomed to holding my tongue and dealing without. i haven't had to starve in so very long. i was cosmic stardust once upon a time, and i know my right to blissful Funk at all times. i recognize my revolutionary freedom fighter duty to bring Heaven down to Earth and rock myself into Oneness with the Funky Jive.

sometimes i think my Soultrain derailed the moment i declared myself in a relationship. i was doing so well...

i've gotten my tokens that tell me he at least heard me and is making an effort. and my tokens are enough to keep me going...kind of like putting in three bucks of gas into an otherwise empty car, just to keep it running for one more day. but it sputters on startup, and you're always looking at the gas gauge, hoping that you don't run out of fuel on the highway.

anger is bubbling up and has nowhere to go. confusion is making it really, really bad, too. am i doing the right thing? what else can i do? will more talking help? probably not. i just sound like a whining bitch. i should be happy with what i'm getting. this helpless impotence is driving me to the cutting edge.

mine is the voice of Goddess, except i don't know what She would say. i keep asking myself what some goddess of compassion would do or say in this situation, but all i can come up with is the knowledge that she would have already moved beyond these sorts of silly little human dramas and wouldn't even have this problem.

i want him to know me and balance me. i want him to want me, to burn for me. i want that visceral desire for connection on ALL levels to be mutual, mirrored, a duet. i wanted a passion to equal mine. what i have is someone who can't enjoy the full power of delena passion like he said he could when he was at a distance. the reality of it has left him angry and confused and threatened and hurt...when there was never any intent for anything other than full sharing and openness to let him see all that i am.

like i've never done with anyone.

now i keep my passion, all that everything, so tightly leashed i'm choking. he doesn't want it, and in retrospect, i can only think of two men who could face all of me. my dad, the father i love, and richard. and richard, bless him, in his love for me only wanted to harness that passion into something constructive becuase it was killing me in its corrupted state.

i can see that now.

every other male in my life hasn't liked it, and has asked or demanded i bottle it up, or punished me in some way if i unleashed it, or just showed his displeasure at it until, out of fear and hurt and some measure of courtesy, i squashed it.

he says there are things i have to "get over." why can't he see or know or hear or feel that sometimes scars are forever, and they shape part of the person? why can't he be like the man in the book, who can recognize that sometimes those edges are there to stay, but if a man is careful, those sharp edges make the wine in the chalice so much the sweeter?

heh. probably because it's fiction. but gods damn it all to hell, i want him to make love to me.


CAPRICORN (Dec 22-Jan 19): A marathon séance took place at the Burning Man festival last August. Top psychics managed to channel floods of data from dead celebrities. Among the fascinating revelations they retrieved: Princess Diana would like Gwyneth Paltrow to play her in a movie about her life; John Lennon would have preferred it if the Beatles' song "All You Need is Love" was not used in TV commercials for diapers; Ronald Reagan regrets having invaded the tiny nation of Grenada in 1983; and Nostradamus neglected to mention in his quatrains that in mid-November of 2007, Capricorns will enter a phase when they're likely to get a lot of useful information from what's seemingly dead and gone and past.

sometimes it's annoying how often mr. brezsny actually hits the mark in these little weekly newsletters. there's been so much looking backwards in my life lately that i'm beginning to get an actual crick in my metaphysical neck.

it's annoying.

last week i had actually called *t* to talk about something else a little closer to the heart than astrology. i wasn't in tears when we began our conversation, but i was most definitely bawling by the time we were done. if there's anyone i trust to give me a fair assessment of myself, it's my little sister. i know i've mentioned before that she's the wisest person i've ever had the privelege of knowing, and it's as true now as it ever was.

sometimes she sees me in ways that hurt, but they're always accurate. sometimes i wish i knew better how she saw me, how she looks at me, and what she sees when she thinks of me. sometimes i wish i knew what others saw when they looked at me, what they thought about me...and how well they actually know me. what pictures and impressions form inside their heads, and how would they explain me to someone who didn't quite know me as well as they do?

however, in our conversation, we actually began talking about our bio-mother. *t* was absolutely convinced that our mother didn't remember anything about our childhoods, and had lived completely ignorant of the abuse we all endured. if that were true, i wouldn't have memories of my bio-mother screaming at my bio-father to stop it, stop it, stop it as he hit me. i wouldn't remember watching her pound the kitchen window with the palm of her hand trying to get his attention as he whacked at me on the backyard patio. i wouldn't remember her coming into my room later, after i'd cried myself out, leaning on my bed with my legs splayed up --like in stirrups at the gyn's office-- because even soft blankets hurt my calves.

she knew. she just didn't want to face it and blocked it out of her mind so she could continue in her little world with all its illusions and doctrines and social mores.

for most of this year of secrets and truths, revolution and transformation, one thing i've been somewhat driven to do is write my bio-mother a letter expressing how much she hurt me that night across the dinner table, telling me that some people were never meant to be mothers, and that li'l *c* was better off without me in his life. and that, all that, coming from the woman who not only failed to protect me from events that shattered my Self, but pretended they didn't happen in order to protect herself.

she put herself before her children. and more, she used them as a shield when it should have been the other way around.

and sometimes i'll even sit inside my head and try to compose this letter. i know she's tried to reach out to me, but it wasn't good enough for me. it's easier to forgive my abusive father than it is my failure of a mother. perhaps i'm as guilty of self-righteousness as my bio-father ever was.

not that i enjoy having to admit that.

and i've gone around in circles about this. i've tried to compose something diplomatic, compassionate, fair-sounding. but the throat-clenching, soul-rending, Funk-killing rage engulfs me and there's nothing but the child's pure rage. rage...that's not even a strong enough word for what this is.

this is black, blood-craving fury. this is the rage and fury and hatred and despair that wants nothing more than to break and destroy and kill and devour. the feel of her blood drenching me wouldn't be enough to assuage this roiling vortex of vile rage.

i want to break her.

and there's no room for compassion where hate and rage and vengeance live, and it's so deep inside me that most of the time i'm able to keep it locked down there, nearly unreachable, and go about my life of Funk and compassion and friendship and dog grooming. but knowing it's there makes my life nothing more than a parody and a portrait of hypocrisy that i just can't shake.

and i know that.

but i try to sit down and write this letter and nothing comes out except the hatred. and so sometimes i try to just get it out, the anger, and it does nothing but foster more anger and hatred. it feeds upon itself and grows exponentially until it shatters and everyone around me is as responsible as she is and i just want to rip them to shreds and call them collateral damage.

i don't know where to put it or how to get rid of it. *m* says that maybe i just need to write the letter and say exactly what i want to say, with no editing whatsoever. but what he doesn't understand it that it just feeds on itself. it's been there for so long it has a mind and will of its own. most of the time i'm able to keep it down, but lately it's been fighting its way out and i just don't know how to deal with it.

don't know where to put it.

don't know how to kill it...or even if there's a way to kill it...

compassion demands i take care of this. it's a pocket of infection the size of eternity in my soul. who can i talk to that i haven't already talked to? what can i say that hasn't already been said? where can i go that will make a difference?

it doesn't help that i know i'm as much a failure as a mother as she ever was. i just kept my promise not to turn into my bio-father.

we always win. we always have, and we always will


in my perfect world...

i had this dream early this morning, and in it i was talking with *m*. it was a face-off, to be perfectly honest. and he was completely fed-up with me, too, only i was so far beyond caring that...well...i didn't care. and he asked me what i wanted in my perfect world.

and i told him.

the dream faded to what my dreams usually are: swirling colors and darkness, thoughts and reflections of my heart spoken aloud by disembodied voices that sound like the textures that have made up my life. i dream of music and the desire to fly. i've never flown in my dreams...except once. something is always tethering me down, or knocking me out of the sky, or gravity suddenly becomes ten thousand times more powerful, or i hit a ceiling that suddenly appears, or...or...or...

...except once. i really flew, and my subconscious was so surprised, the oddity so remarkably odd, that it actually knocked me into a lucid dream. conscious thought entered the picture because i was so shocked to actually be flying. so shocked that, for the first time ever in my life, i wasn't being held down or denied.

which is why i usually dream of colors and darkness, of floating in nothing, of music and voices talking.

and i was hearing my own voice continue to rant, to be so brutally honest my every word was a lash meant to break skin, shatter bone, and cut through to the soul. and i can hear them all, tumbling around inside my head all day long until i thought i would go crazy from it. usually dreams fade with time no matter how hard you try to hold onto them. no, this one was etched into me.

my voice became something other...my voice, only not my voice. different. deeper, richer. not so annoying. there was even a hint of maleness in it, as well, of the deep timbre and quality of a man's voice that i love -- when you can feel a man's voice vibrate your own body if his chest is deep enough, if his voice is rich enough. there's something so sensual and erotic about it, something that touches a primal part of my female sense i really can't deny.

my voice had it, too. and, somehow, i knew my honesty and my hardness were coming from that masculine note in me. the woman in my voice was all the longing and softness, all the yearning and reaching and desire to make One.

"in my perfect world, you touch me," i said. "in my perfect world, you hold me close."

in my perfect world, you want me close.

in my perfect world, i take refuge in you.

in my perfect world, you see my deep, quiet, female strength.

in my perfect world, you see together we complete the ancient song.

in my perfect world, you don't take me for granted.

in my perfect world, you value my needs as much as i value yours.

in my perfect world, you appreciate how we balance each other.

in my perfect world, you see that's how the gods made us.

in my perfect world, you hear my flesh screaming for your love as loudly as i can hear it.

in my perfect world, you care enough to ask me why.

in my perfect world, you care enough to work to understand.

in my perfect world, you do not stand apart from me.

...too bad it's only a dream.


delena haiku

my ovaries hurt
this really fucking sucks ass
someone hug me please?

yes, yes, i know haiku's supposed to be all existential and profound. but c'mon, this is delena haiku.


cookie dough

Buffy: You know, in the midst of all this insanity, a couple of things are actually starting to make sense. And the guy thing… *sigh* I always feared there was something wrong with me. You know, because I couldn’t make it work. But maybe I’m not supposed to.

Angel: Because you’re the Slayer.

Buffy: Because… okay. I’m cookie dough..... *Angel gets a weird look* I’m not done baking. I’m not finished becoming whoever the hell it is I’m going to turn out to be. I make it through this and the next thing and the next thing and maybe one day I turn around and realize I’m ready. I’m cookies. And then, you know, if I want someone to eat m— or enjoy warm, delicious cookie-me, then that’s fine. That’ll be then. When I’m done.

Angel :Any thoughts on who might enjoy… do I have to go with the cookie analogy?

Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 7 episode last: Chosen

now, while i'm not talking about being the Chosen One or anything, here i am at my computer, not enjoying curling up in bed, squeezing every spare minute i can with sleeping *m* (who sleeps way later than i do...), and i thought maybe i should blog while i'm up. y'know, do something useful. and i realized that i really don't have anything to say lately.

now, that's not to say that my head is not absolutely chock-full and swirling around with thought-flotsam, because inside delena's head lately has been so noisy it's drowned out most everything else. and part of me contemplates calling in sick, like, every day simply because i don't want to go outside. and while part of it might be the weather (the whole no-sun-bad-for-solar-powered-delena thing), i know a lot of it is my spirit approaching those vague and ephemeral shores of depression.

yesterday was a wonderful day. i should have been shining, but instead i came home and just wanted to be quiet.

just...lots of thoughts. and they're all swirling around in my head. i could have filled pages and pages with what's been going on upstairs, but for all that...there's not one single thought that's completely formed and ready to be posted yet.

my thoughts are cookie dough. cold, sticky, not-so-good-looking, heavy, gritty, and people always coming up and stealing a pinch to taste no matter how hard i slap their hands with the wooden spoon.


rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the Inner Child Tarot, winkies, and divine madness.

being clothed only in one's own skin never mattered if you were on the grounds of the Menstrual Temple. if anything, there were some rites you could not experience unless you were wearing the full and gloriously free beauty of your own skin.

the magical thing about the Funky Grail was that there was no room in it for modesty, or self-consciousness, or even that hateful, wriggling little worm of self-loathing as it criticized every wrinkle and stretch mark, every saggy spot and jiggling lump and scar. something about the Temple would bear no ill thought against the Self. and admittedly, after eating candy calaveras and talking to clouds, drinking rainbows and holding the laughter of the earth in the crude matter of my body, it was impossible to even remember what those things were i hated about this glorious vehicle i'd chosen this time around.

the grass was soft and cool beneath my feet, which had been softened by an Age i spent in the mud learning to leave myself only to find the most magical destination was...mySelf.

instead of continuing to search for the path through the wood which had led me to the valley, i decided to walk the length of it and see where it took me. the sun was warm on my skin and turning it a beautiful golden brown. i could hear birds singing and talking in the trees. when they weren't chattering about the weather, their eggs, or scrubbing around for grubs and beetles, they were squawking variations of, "hey! hey! HEY!" and somewhere in the deadfall was an absent-minded squirrel muttering as it forgot where it had placed a well-stocked cache of nuts.

"do you like the Valley?"

there she was, the pomegranate priestess. the sight of the blood red robes and red tattoos made the scar on my breastbone itch, the one where a half-moon sickle had laid my breast open to the sky. this particular priestess wore her hair loose to her waist with only one narrow braid behind her ear and tied with golden thread. it was adorned with seashells and glass beads, small semi-precious stones carved into shapes like leaves, stars, spirals, and even the sillhouette of the venus of willendorf. a similar piece of jewelry adorned her ankle, complete with bells so her every other step was music. her tattoos sparkled in the sunlight, as if there were glitter, or ground mica, in the ink.

blood red, with a touch of gold.

her palms and the bottoms of her feet were completely inked, and it traced up her feet and hands in what were now familiar patterns of dots and whorls. only these traced up her legs to disappear beneath her robes, and up her arms to her shoulders, and beyond. i could see narrow tendrils of the gold-glittering red ink at the nape of her neck, at the hollow of her throat. one tattoo fell across her brow and beside her right eye, almost like delicate vinework...only those curves were serrated, and at the tip of each was a teardrop-shaped rhinestone.

like drops of blood glistening at the tips of the cruel sickle of the vulture goddess.

never had i seen such intricate tattooing on a pomegranate priestess before. never had i trembled so in the presence of one of them, though well aware of the mortal dance that was any interaction with them. the presence of a pomegranate priestess was blesséd danger. holy risk.

divine madness.

but for all that, where before i would have bowed with respect before speaking, instead i planted my feet firmly and stood tall. "the valley, Lady?" i asked.

she smiled, and i saw approval in those honey-brown eyes. "Valley-in-the-Glade," she replied. "few know to search for it. fewer still find it. none stumble across it unknowingly. the Valley calls whom it calls."

"then i am a denizen?" my palms were sweating the longer i stood in her presence, and it made my grip on the vial of springwater unsure. i kept twirling it in my hand, working it like a worry stone.

"all are denizens of the Valley," was the reply. "it's a simple matter of acceptance."

"and what is it i have acc--"

"your wounds are healed, then? you choose to use your gifts rather than be nourishment for those who would not waste their talents?" those brown eyes glittered like the rhinestones on her face. it was a challenge, i knew, and a threat if i gave the wrong answer.

She giveth, and She taketh away.

i let my own eyes glitter. "i am of Those Who Bleed But Do Not Die. i bleed to nourish others, i leave a river of blood as a path to guide others into wisdom. i bleed to remember what it is to be human, to always relate to All That Is. if others wish to devour me for their own ends..." i gave her my best feral smile, "let them come take me."

she raised a brow at me, but there was approval in how she held her head, in the set of her shoulders. "you once allowed all others before you. you sacrificed your Self, your Selflove, and even began to do their work for them. you said it was your place, that you did it out of love. what such Love is so twisted you would throw yourself away and deny yourself happiness? what sort of god allows such precious children to create such misery in their souls in the hope of a later joy? it seems to me a lifetime of sorrow does little to equip a soul to handle the undiluted Joyful Funk that is Oneness with Her."

i laughed at her challenge. "such a soul wouldn't begin to know how. such a soul would shy away from it. only a soul who knows she has a right to such happiness would even be willing to reach out and take hold of it. but such a one must first Know their importance and sacredness as a shining being."

she laughed at me. "and you think you are such a one?"

in one swift move, i snatched her sickle from the loop on her woven belt and cut a length of her robe. her eyes never so much as flickered as i did this, nor did her unreadable expression grow any clearer as i wound that length of blood red, billowing fabric around my head and let the rest of it trail down my back. i handed her back the sickle.

"i know i am," i said.

and then my breath caught in my throat as she bowed to me, palms pressed together, fingertips resting just beneath her chin. "welcome, sister," she purred. then she straightened, took my head in her hands and kissed my forehead, my eyelids, and my lips.

"the journey is now truly begun," she said. "most do not come this far...

...most do not survive it."


some things coming in the @#*! nick of time

it's been a while since i've explored my goals and, funny enough, i've been thinking about them lately. and it is with a slightly tired sigh that i admit it's probably time to update them, too.

1. be in idaho by the first week of october
2. get my field training finished at work
3. get my certification as a commissioned groomer
4. get down to a decent jeans size
5. make a new AMV
6. get back on a regular gym regimen
7. get the Funkmobile's windshield replaced
8. give the Funkmobile a funky new paint job, black with pink airbrushing
9. get the Funkmobile new tires
10. decide on and get a decent haircut from my stylist

most of these happened a couple of months ago, actually. of course, #1 was no longer relevant back in september. #2 happened way back in august. #7 happened quite a while ago, too, after i was completely blinded by glare and almost made an unprotected left turn into a volvo. #10 happened back in august, too, i think, only the day before #7 occurred. my hair is now bra-strap length, with layers, instead of waist-length and morticia adams blah.

but as for #3? i got the news yesterday that it had gone through wednesday. the manager lady sent my portfolio in on monday, and by wednesday corporate had sent an email saying that it was so perfect she didn't have to spend any time on it whatsoever. i thought that was pretty awesome. although, to be quite honest, i can't say i'm surprised. i worked very, very hard on that thing, and i know i'm quite good at my job.

and dear Funky Ya-Ya, for the first time in my LIFE i don't have a bottom-of-the-barrel job. i actually have a career. an honest-to-Funk CAREER. when people ask, "so, delena, what do you do?" there's no more chagrined smile, no more shrug and a self-depricating, "well, y'know, i just work over at such-and-such-minimum-wage-paying-store/call-center. so! some weather we're having, huh?"

nope! i'm a real person, with a real title, and will start making some real money here soon. ...just as soon as business picks up again and tumbleweeds stop blowing through the salon, anyway. but still, i can't begin to express my relief. i was seriously beginning to wonder if i'd ever be anybody or amount to anything. and, i'm sorry, Funk notwithstanding, there's something about being my age and still working at entry level dead-end jobs that just fucks with the self-esteem, y'know?

not that i haven't worked my ass off these last few months, especially with this stupid drama of having to protect my job from this insecure, despotic cunt of a floor manager at work for the last two weeks. thank the Funky Jive i never underestimate the versatility of fucktards, and i had a witness. otherwise, things might have gone a whole new direction.

anyway, looks like i need to update the goals. i suppose that'll just be added to the goal list: update the goals. i'm tired and have much laundry to do first.