feeling accomplished, but not counting chickens

it's been quite a while since i've posted anything about my current goals. and yes, i'm aware of it, but it's just that i've had more important things to wrestle with, it seems.

but anyway, a few things have changed, so i figured it was a good time to update.

10 things i'm determined to get done, dammit:

1. re-kick the caffeine habit
2. bring home an extra 100$ per paycheck at least 4 weeks in a row
3. get the Funkmobile new brakes
4. get down to a decent jeans size
5. get software required to make a new (decent) AMV
6. get back on a regular gym regimen
7. buy a blender and juicer before early summer produce hits the grocery
8. give the Funkmobile a funky new paint job, black with pink airbrushing
9. get the Funkmobile new tires
10. take necessary steps to acquire rent-to-own house by the end of the year

so mote it be.

yesterday was a fantastic day, actually. i slept in, treated myself to lunch at todai's at pioneer place downtown, where i proceeded to eat at least fifty bucks' worth of sushi for $14.95. talk about killer. then i caught a matinee of sweeney todd, and whoever said eight bucks is a decent matinee price was a fucking liar. i got new tires for the Funkmobile, using the money my bio-dad sent me to do that very thing.

i know.

we were talking on the phone the other day and i mentioned how my tires were so bad, i never knew if my next trip would be my last trip. i had my usual fatalistic, dark sanchez humor about it, but he just offered to send me a check and use it to get new tires. "then we can work on your brakes," he said. i was amazed. i told him that he didn't have to. thank you, but it wasn't necessary. he insisted. the polite thing was to be gracious and accept it, and all the while i was just amazed how drastic the changes are since my bio-parents divorced.

a long, long time ago, willow told me to just take it for what it is, no expectations, and go slowly. let unfold whatever will unfold. and now, so many years later, it's unfolding into amazing things.



remember my kittens? chitterling the minor demon of annoyance, and roulette? well, i've decided i'm giving them up. i could handle them keeping me awake all night, and i could handle them in their teenage phase. i could even handle them tearing up my carpet and costing me the deposit on my apartment.

what i can't handle is that they love *m* and ignore me.

they run to the door when *m* comes home. they meow all night long until he does come home. they flirt and fawn all over him just about every minute he's home. they cuddle and purr and are just the sweetest things with him. they don't even get up when they see i'm around.

i got those fucking cats because i wanted something that was going to live with me and love me. when i got them, *m* was still living in idaho and he was already being an ass. i knew if i wanted anything affectionate, i'd have to get some sort of pet because i wasn't going to get much from *m*. and he had his own cats already, to fawn on him, and cuddle, and love. i wanted something of my own.

he gave those damn cats more attention in a single day than he'd give me in two weeks. he talked more to them, and knew their moods and customs and habits better than he tried to learn mine. and if it sounds childish that i resented it, then fuck it. perhaps i'm childish. perhaps it's childish to want to come home to some sort of godsdamned love.

when i got home today, roulette was nowhere to be found, and chitterling looked up --from where she was curled up on *m*'s fucking jacket-- and immediately went back to sleep.

i've fucking had it, and i'm tired of being so ignored and taken for granted in my own godsdamned apartment that i found and paid for. the cats are gone. *m*'s gone as soon as he can afford it, but the way his expenses are, i know the lease is going to be up before that happens.

i can't express how much it pisses me off that, after all he's already taken from me, now he's taken my fucking cats.


speaking of dreams...

so my bio-dad called me while i was at work the other day and left a voicemail. he mentioned that he'd had a dream about me the other night and wanted to share it with me. when i called him back, we talked a bit, and then he told me his dream.

he dreamt that he was with me somewhere, and i was both three years old and fourteen at the same time. like there were two of me, but not. but there were. ...but not, in the strange fashion of dreams. and the three year-old was mad at him for some reason.

"i'd have thought the teenager would be mad at me," he said, laughing, "but it wasn't. it was the three year-old. so i turned to the fourteen year-old and asked her to tell your three year-old self that it would be okay, that it would pass."

"hmm," i said. "maybe she was just having a tantrum."

"i don't know. but man, she was really mad at me. but it was the strangest thing, both of you looked exactly like you did at those ages. and i felt it in my heart, even in the dream. i feel it now still, actually. identical."

of course, it made sense to me on a visceral level. myself at three years old was still alive inside, and knew her heart and herself. the fourteen year-old me? she was quite dead inside, with a huge gaping hole in her memory, and wearing the thickest coke-bottle glasses of denial anyone had ever seen. she couldn't be mad, of course. she couldn't be anything.

and it struck me, because last night i had my own dream. some details are vague, and strange in the manner of dreams, but what i remember was speaking with *m*, and he was telling me about this song he'd heard someone sing earlier that day. only, i only heard his voice because he was speaking to me through my bedroom door, which was an inch or two ajar. it was some native american song, he said. he said it was beautiful, but he couldn't understand it.

and suddenly, i began to sing it. it wasn't the rhythmic, gutteral collection of vowels that you normally hear sung around a shaman's campfire. it was an actual song, in complete cherokee, and i knew it for a war song. but the thing of it is...it wasn't like anything you hear of, with the drums and rattle and pipe. this was a woman's lament, and a vow. it was a song of the hidden steel beneath the frail beauty of a spring blossom long since departed of its fragrant bloom. it was a woman's war song, telling of the loss of her love and the promise she makes to herself, as she sits in her teepee and paints her face for battle, that she will take the lives of many of her enemies who had slain him, and offer them up to Father Sky, or she will die in the attempt. either way, it matters little.

it was a sad song, a rare song that somehow i knew was not meant for outsiders' ears. which is ironic, considering i, too, would be considered an outsider. i don't know how strong the native blood runs in my veins, and yet in the dream i knew every word. i knew the voice of the woman who had sung it as if i had grown up hearing that voice from infancy.

of course, the words and melody faded before i was even fully awake. but the feeling of it is with me still. naturally, the immediate interpretation would be the simple fact i shouldn't give up on my dream, and i should die trying, striving for it. but that would be silly. in the song, the woman knew she was going to her death. but in the song, it was also certain she would put up such a fight it would become legend. i refuse to die like that, if my legacy will be failure. and so i reject that interpretation. what does speak to me, however, is that it was a woman's war song, its meaning hidden from men and, thus, from common knowledge. men being the world's self-appointed-yet-faulty keepers of lore as they are.

and i remember how *m* thought it was so interesting, so beautiful, and as i continued to sing it i only thought to myself, "you fool. you don't know the meaning beneath the melody, do you? you never have."



'kay, so i was driving home and thinking inside my brain. you see, i kind of have this running monologue inside my head, addressed to my blog. there's lots of things i think about writing on my blog. usually they make it because i have a notepad in my purse that goes with me EVERYWHERE. i call it my brain, because it never forgets anything and thus remembers everything for me. i began using (and collecting, lol) brains years and years ago after reading a quote from einstein that basically said "why bother remembering anything when you can write it down?" or something to that effect.

and me, with my wonderous memory famous throughout the land for how much it doesn't work, went "AHA!" and began writing down any and everything. i have grocery lists from over ten years ago, dude. that's, like, a freakin' amazing memory...

anyway, unfortunately nothing i think of at work or driving actually makes it, because both my hands are occupied either grooming dogs and making them purtiful, or actually driving. back when i drove an automatic it was still somewhat possible to take short, efficient notes while on the highway. however, the funkmobile is a standard, hence no notes in my brain.

but what i'd thought of for the blog was actually quite wonderful. it was something to the effect of how i was thinking about all these life lessons i've learned and am continuing to learn, and how they're meaningless unless you can actually put them to practical application in your life. about how the entire point of life is actually applying them, and the challenge thereof because of something i'd mentioned only a few days ago: the human heart.

the human heart is so filled with its own things that get folded into the batter that makes up the cookie dough that is ourselves and, yes, while this always is supposed to "make life all the richer," sometimes it's a pain in the ass because you know it's not part of the recipe.

and as everyone knows, whenever you deviate from the recipe, there's no predicting the flavor of the end result.

and going with the whole food-baking-our-unfinished-selves analogy, did you know that my spaghetti sauce comes out tasting exactly the same every time? and that i find it a source of pride that this is so? and yet i always have to change up the noodles. what does that say about me?

but isn't the point of life facing the challenges of putting those lessons to active use in your life? and the human experience is the texture and flavor as you try to figure out just how the fuck to do that. there will be confusion, and struggle, and pain, and heartache, and overwhelming moments, and frustration. the measure of success is how you work through it, and just that you work through it at all...not in succeeding in avoiding the challenges. if you've got smooth sailing all the way, baby, either you're a bodhisattva already (and if you are, stop making us look bad!) or you're just not doing it right.

but godsdammitalltohell, i'm just so damn confused. i feel like i'm doing it all wrong and failing at every turn. and, i'm sorry, but i'm just not enlightened or evolved enough, i guess, to feel joy and celebration that i've been freed of the shackle of the preconceived notion of a lifelong dream. no, i just feel bitter and resigned. the life challenges, the pain, and the loss will be mine to bear alone, and my bed will be forever cold. it's stupid to feel the pain of losing something i never had, but it hurts just the same.

and it strikes me as odd. i am a witch, and we hold in the highest regard the concept of free will, and the power of choice. after all, it is power, magic, and wisdom that are borne of thoughts, and it is our thoughts which shape the multiverse and define our realities. there is no greater magic than to be able to change your mind. someone --many someones-- told me i was meant for something greater, and what was Theirs to have (i.e. "the masses") was not necessarily mine. richard even spoke of Them with a measure of scorn, rats running mindlessly on a wheel, living their lives for no purpose until they died never having grown or even imagined the things we saw and contemplated on a daily basis. this scorn always bothered me, and i could never see anything wrong with their beautifully simple, pedestrian lives. why would i want that, he would ask me, when i was meant for so much more?

and so it seems the universe is also asking me this question, and always putting the same lesson in my path until i learn or realize that careerlovemarriagechildren is not for me. i feel like i'm being forced to cry 'uncle.' and yet...do i not have free will? can i not choose to walk away from the "something greater" and choose the provincial, pedestrian life filled with nothing more than going to work, loving a husband, and raising beautiful, loving chilren who have my nose and their father's complexion?

if we truly have the power to be anything, to do anything in this world, and if when we are born we are gifted with the vast potential of infinity, what is wrong with choosing modest, unambitious, suburban americana?

i don't have the answers. this post wasn't about answers, anyway. it was about the neverending current of thought-flotsam and the detritus of philosophical musings tainted with despair and loss and an overwhelming sense of defeat. and yet, i have this urge to remind you, my dear beauty and truth fans, that apparently, by all signs, i'm still succeeding because at least i'm facing and dealing with my challenges, not avoiding them.

success can fucking bite me, if that's the case.



CAPRICORN (Dec 22-Jan 19): To advertise its upgraded features, the search engine Ask3D.com rolled out a marketing campaign with a seductive catchphrase: "Instant Getification," as in immediately acquiring your desired results. I'm borrowing that mantra, or at least half of it, for your horoscope. Your getification levels will be way up in the coming weeks. That doesn't mean you will instantaneously and automatically obtain everything you crave without any effort. Rather, it suggests that you will have an enhanced power to summon the will and ingenuity and resourcefulness that will help you get what you want.

first off, lemme actually think about what it is i really want. yesterday evening i made a life-altering, tilt-the-world-on-its-axis decision that was perhaps also a symbolic letting go of my dream of careerlovemarriagechildren. now today begins a path completely different. it's still in its embryonic stages, to be perfectly ironic.

of course, late last night a new element entered the picture, so now i suppose the race is on to see if my choice is carried out the way i plan. i'd say more, but this idea is so fresh i know the merest breath could destroy it.

mr. brezsny, i've been chasing what i want with all the power, determination, and single-mindedness i possess. i don't know that i have the endurance for that kind of disappointment. what i wanted is no longer possible. so i suppose what i want now is to simply be at peace with that knowledge, even though i know it's settling for being happy with a consolation prize while someone writes "boob" on your forehead.

the twang of fucking heartstrings

There's not a lot to say at breakfast....silence is only supposed to happen as a manifestation of supreme actualization, where both parties are so at peace with their emotional connection that it cannot be expressed through the rudimentary tools of the lexicon; otherwise, silence is proof that the magic is gone and the relationship is over (hence, "we just don't talk anymore")

the only good silence is the kind described by the hair metal band Extreme. "More than words is all i ever needed you to show... then you would'nt have to say that you love me, cause i'd already know"

this is the difference between art and life: In art, not talking always means something

--Chuck Klosterman

this struck a chord in me as i read it tonight. i'll figure out why later.



i just wrote an email to greggo, and this ended up a part of it and i knew, even as i was writing it, it belonged here.


i hate how complicated things are getting. and it's not even really the situations i'm in that are complicated, but this fucking thing called "human heart" that complicates the fuck out of everything. i always try to get back to the basics, find those few gems of importance and clear everything else away. only act on those shining gems. as long as it's only me in the equation, it's possible. add another human to the mix, and it just never seems to happen.

there's this urge in me, so strong, to run towards those things that aren't so complicated, that hail back to simpler times, and stay there. but that would be running from my problems, and that's just not a good thing. and yet, another part of me knows that i don't *need* this complication and heartache, and doing away with it would be a very good thing. just walk away, because i don't need to waste myself on puzzles that can't be solved and are only serving to hurt my spirit. in fact, insisting on staying is just as stupid as running.

but between running and staying is the limbo of indecision, which is probably even more poisonous than the other two options. right now, it seems i'm fucked whatever way i turn. rape by the stupidity of the situation, so to speak.

so lately i've been coping by shopping, and losing myself in lip gloss and body fragrances. it sounds so stupid and shallow, but i swear to the Funk it's feeding a part of my soul heretofore starved and ignored. and i'm going to have to feed the beast soon. the urge to write is so strong i'm actually pacing like a lioness in a cage at times. even still...i know i can't do that for too long, because even while curling up in the fetal and rebirthing my Funk is a good and necessary thing, curling up in my den for too long also constitutes running from my complications.

the love of my life is living in my home, and i think i could just reach out my fingers a few inches and touch, put my hands on something solid. but when it looks at me, it's with the cold blue eyes of a perfect stranger and i know that, while the shell looks the same, it's a different person inside now. and the rage and despair feels new all over again, my loss just as fresh and unexpected as that first day i realized hope was indeed lost. love is gone, and that pain isn't fading. it's growing.

and in other aspects of my life resulting from losing love...i realize i'm living a shallow life. and c'mon, this is Delena of the Funkywild. i can't stand shallow. and yet there it is. shallowness. in my life. there will never be love again because i've tasted it now, when it was real, and the love of my life is dead and gone and is never coming back. and aside from being unable to cope, i find myself wondering what the point of anything is if there is no love at its core. because the Funk is , among other things, Love, and who am i if not Delena of the Funkywild? sitting here, i just realized if you translated it, one interpretation could be Delena of Wild Love. it's not the whole of it, but it's a good start.

sometimes i wonder if i'm not just in mourning. and yet...i've been in mourning. no, this is different, and my life has been radically altered. i know it in the deepest of my fundamental self. my foundations have been shaken. of course, as a daughter of pronoia, scion of lilith, and survivor of the Kali Summer, i should embrace the change and rejoice that my archetypes are mutating. but i swear by the Funk, i just feel like i've been gutted.


sorry, had a brainfunk there

my mind has been everywhere this last week. for a while, i actually wondered if it were truly possible to lose one's marbles...

do you remember those building sets, kind of like build-a-blocs or tinker toys (i loved tinker toys...), only they were plastic multi-colored ramps and tubes and funnels, and they came with marbles? and you could build these elaborate structures for those lovely glass marbles to tumble through until the finale, when they arrived in your hand after the singular thrill of watching them fall through the creation of your master mind?

my favorite was the sound of them. the tink and rumble and clatter of marbles falling through chambers and tunnels and chutes. my theme was always spiral; everything was build in spirals back then. even my tinker toy creations and doodles. talk about prophetic...

anyway, this entire week, i've been hearing a memory of the clatter-rumble of those marbles. a favorite pasttime of mine was to dump handfuls of marbles into one funnel and watch them roll crazily, milling about in chaos as they slowly rolled toward the spout and disappeared...only to reappear in a trough, rolling along in perfect order like soldiers marching in a line. order from chaos but, oh, how the chaos fascinated me!

my thoughts have been like those marbles i'd dump pell-mell by the handful, rolling about in crazy confusion, getting mixed up and bumped around and disappearing down into the funnel of my subconscious only to pop up again minutes, hours, a day later at most, and making perfect sense.

por exemplo--

marble: nothing lasts, let alone love and relationships. even family eventually disintegrates. everyone knows one day the sun will go supernova and swallow the world in fire. and yet...that doesn't stop the 6.6 billion people walking the earth from living their lives anyway. who cares about tomorrow? the Now is all we have.

marble: the NAS bible says love "is patient, love is kind, love is not jealous; love does not brag nor is it arrogant...love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." everyone recognizes 1 corintians 4-7. not that i've read the bible in more years than my hatchling's been alive. but goodness! that doesn't tell you much about love, does it? makes love sound flaccid and pale as milkwater. better, then, that my bible is the televisionary oracle, and here's what it says about love: "as far as the goddess is concerned, there is only pantheosexuality. also known as polymorphus perverse omnidirectional goddess-caressing. all else is a lie, an obscene limitation. you can only be in mad loving lust with ALL of goddess, not some of her. to be in love with some and not all of her is to be in love with none of her." --the televisionary oracle, chapter 41. it's as i'd been trying to tell *m* all this time...

...all or nothing.

marble: there can be no respect for a man with no self-respect.

marble: to whom it may concern was real. he was really here. but now he's gone, and there's no promise he'll come back.

marble: love is gone, but i cannot but hold onto its memory. and i would move mountains for it.

marble: much as i've tried to run from it, i see more clearly every day i became my bio-mother after all. just those parts i loved, and inherited. and there is no shame in it. she was, in her own way, quite beautiful.


just shut the hell up

have you ever come to the sudden realization that you've forgotten how to be alone with yourself? or, worse yet, that you find yourself such reprehensible company that you refuse to be alone with yourself?

music is my constant company lately. i've never been without a book to read, not since forever, but now? if there's even one spare minute, i'm cracking open my book and not allowing myself a moment to think. i've avoided touching the heartbreaking work of staggering genius like one avoids touching a dead spider squished on the bottom of a shoe. when i'm bored with reading, i pop in a movie or play oblivion. i leave little room for thought lately.

the other day *m* wrote me a letter, and damn him for his timing. sometimes i wonder why the human species can't just love and not hurt one another. but it seems the deeper we love, the harder we hurt.

not just that, but i saw yesterday how *sy* and i will end and there's nothing for it but to let it play itself out. at least i see this one coming. the other day i was talking with one of the girls from the salon, and i was talking about how all my relationships worked until they didn't work anymore. her point was that, in the end, none of them ever worked so there was no point in me giving them validation.

what she doesn't understand is that everything works, everything lasts, until the day it doesn't. nothing is made to last. and on a long enough timeline, the life expectancy of everyone drops to zero.

whenever i let myself think too much, i can feel my pragmatism and experience telling me to just let go of hope, as it hasn't served me at all save to set me up for devastation later. it wars with something idiotic and naive within me, some small voice that i can't kill, that continues to fight to hold on to hope. but no matter that it's apparent *m* and i still love each other, we're not a good match. and *sy* and i are already stamped with an expiration date. yet i still find myself waiting up for whenever *m* gets home just because i hate being so damn lonely. i look forward to my evenings with *sy*, because at least it means arms around me while i sleep.

didn't i say peace would be a long time coming? i find i simply cannot embrace the prospect of a life alone. if there were a convent dedicated to the service of lilith, i would drop everything and join it. or i wish i could drop everything --the magic, the striving for evolution, the calling to learn and serve my goddess as i may-- and just become one of the herd, with no thoughts of higher aspirations. i wish i could just forget this pointless longing.

and i'm restless. one thing about myself i've very rarely touched upon is my cravings as a submissive. for those familiar with the BDSM world, i am wholly a submissive. it's not about sex at all, but it is about love. it's about trust. it's about a song in the blood, a song of safety and unmitigated surrender, an echo of need and response. my particular favorite is the flagellum, a deep thud i feel all the way through my bones. a part of me needs this, and perhaps twice a year i grow restless and despairing in my craving. it's like a cat in heat, only my need is much more subtle if no less powerful.

the fine line is, ironically, administering to myself isn't like masturbation so much as it's like self-injuring. my struggles with such were chronicled over a year ago in another blog, and in yet another blog during my time in houston. again, perhaps not so ironically, the key is in the connection with another person...but not just anyone. quite rare, indeed, to find someone who would be both lover and dominant. more than likely the two would be separate.

however, this blog wasn't so much a lament as the fact i'll never find a partner, as it was my struggles with coming to grips with that fact while, inconveniently, my other craving decided to rear its seldom-seen head at just this moment. the subject might be uncomfortable for most. after all, how many can say they actually enjoy getting the crap beaten out of them? but for those of us who understand, it's somewhat of a transcendental experience and i'm not quite complete without it. thank all the gods the craving comes seldom. i've learned how to weather it. it's just one more thing i know i'll just have to accept living without.

hence why i don't like my own company right now. too much acceptance of deprivation of things that make me fundamentally myself. how much am i going to have to deny?

love is illusion.
all of life is illusion.
it all comes to naught.

usually i like irony

between my birthday and the evening before, it ended up being the best birthday i've had in sixteen years. i suppose, compared to other people i know, it seemed really low-key and uneventful, and maybe even a boring and sad birthday compared to what they're used to. no, for me it was the best in over half my lifetime.

the sunday before, dad made indian for dinner. there was dhaal, lamb stew, cucumber salad, a hot spinach and mushroom salad and i can't remember what he called it but it was incredible, and *cc* made a cream-cheesy, limey custard-thing and it was really good. she and i are in complete agreement. we don't like lime in our desserts, we like...


and mom got me this little watercolor of hibiscus that was quite charming. "and it's pink!" she said, laughing at me. my choice of favorite color is always a source of grief and humor to my family. how sad that they'll just never be able to appreciate the fabulousness of pink...

there was also this lovely basket my mom covered in kitty fabric. "they did have a pink version of it," she said, "...but i just couldn't do it." heh. inside said basket, however, there was a treasure of my favorite scents from bath and body works: japanese cherry blossom (my new fantastic favorite) and velvet tuberose. i now have lotions, body sprays, eu de toilette, and oil for my infuser so i, quite simply, am now immersed in those heavenly fragrances. it does a lot to life my spirits.

i have to write my little sister in hawai'i and thank her profusely for that gift card to the body shop she sent me for christmas. it's what got me a little out of my fuck-it-i-don't-care depression enough to appreciate beauty and just smelling pretty. before *m* moved here and ruined everything, i used to always surround myself in pretty things that made me happy, and i always smelled pretty.

well, at work i smell like dog, but hey.

but after the exhilaration of shopping (and what woman can resist shopping endorphins???) and bringing home all these lovely smell-pretties, i thought to myself, "fuck him. my house is going to smell pretty again." just because i didn't feel like celebrating life with his oppressive presence around all the time, it didn't mean i wasn't going to try my damnedest to ignore it.

as for my birthday itself? i slept in. i went shopping for lip gloss (my weakness) at bath and body works and stepped into a dreamland: SALES!!! planning to spend maybe twelve bucks on just a couple of tubes of lip gloss, i walked out of there with fifty dollars worth of treasure...for only thirty bucks! WOO! after that, i figured since i was gonna see the boyfriend tonight, i might as well buy new dainties. i needed them anyway. and lo! there was a sale at frederick's of hollywood, too!

and lo, it was good.

yesterday, before yet another dr. appointment for my hand (i've seen doctors every fucking day this week, and see YET ANOTHER ONE this afternoon and tomorrow), i dropped in at work just to say hi. one of the girls there asked me, "so what did your boyfriend end up getting you for your birthday?"

i just grinned. "a jolly good rogering."

she laughed. i wish i had pictures. pictures of the people i talk about here, of the places i go, even just of the incredible food i get to eat that really does lift my spirit and change my life, if only for an hour or two. i'd love to get myself a camera, but i always shy away from the prospect because i lack two things: money and talent. i see the pics that jane takes over at painted house 52, or greggo takes over on his blog, and even boho mom's spontaneous scrapbook-like blog (which is wonderful), and i feel in way over my head. funky and colorful as i love my words to be, funky and bohippian and pink as i love my surroundings to be, i'm just not a picture person. i hate cameras that are pointed at me. beautiful scenery and moments that are captured in photograph by my hand lose whatever was magical about it. total lack of talent. my plain practicality comes through, i guess. just know that, while i don't share pictures of my life, the desire's always there to do so.

so that was the birthday this year. i don't want to make a huge thing of it, though, because this was most likely a fluke and i don't want to be getting any ideas. i just wanted to go, "wow, it was actually good this year," and move on.


and time...it still marches on

if anyone here is a fan of They Might Be Giants, then you'd know the "older" song:

you're older than you've ever been
and now you're even older!
and now you're even older!
and now you're even older!
you're older than you've ever been
...and now you're even older...
...and now you're older still.

tiiiiime...is marching on!
and tiiiime....
...is still marching oooooon!

that song's been stuck in my head all day. on my bio-mom's side, there's a quirkly little traditional joke among the women: they never claim a day over the age of 29. my bio-mother's been 29 for the past 29 years. when my older sister, *k*, turned 29, there was much joking and laughing and pointing, but i realized on that day it was a sort of initiation into something. she was no longer an older child of the family, a young woman with all those things young women possess and lack. no, she was a woman, and accepted into the ranks of the women on my bio-mom's side.

the women on my bio-mom's side of the family have never liked my bio-dad. never. and, being the spitting image of him, i was always my bio-father's daughter and, therefore somehow, their enmity of him transferred to me. i suffered horrible, subtle abuses at my aunts' hands, and they continuously allowed my male cousin to beat the crap out of me when i was a child and laughed about it later. somehow, i always knew that when that day came and i finally turned 29, never to age another day again, i would never be allowed to wear that tacit badge of...whatever it was they had. i looked upon my twenty-ninth birthday with a mixture of curiosity and dread.

and as that day has come, today, i find i have not spoken to my bio-mother in over two years. passage into my twenty-ninth year will go quite unremarked by the very people who had fixed this day in my mind from the very beginning. one of the girls at work asked me if i will continue with the tradition, and never age a day over 29, and quite honestly i told her, "i don't know." the laughter has gone out of the joke, and the specialness has fled with the mystery which, i know, would have always been denied me anyway. my bio-mother's people never loved me. i was a sanchez daughter, and the sanchez age proudly. for some reason, now that i think about it, i had always somehow believed that at least by turning 29 i would gain some acceptance from my bio-mother's family. but the day has come and is quite anticlimactic, and i feel bad, almost, for that it has so little meaning to me.

i wish the day had passed completely unremarked, to be honest. but it was my twenty-ninth birthday, and i found i couldn't quite keep my mouth shut this year, like i had with so many others. but i have always hated my birthday, ever since my thirteenth. i became a "teenager," and it was the day my bio-dad withheld his love and showed me his hatred and distrust of women. he called me, a virgin whose body hadn't even showed signs of changing yet, a slut. every birthday he sought to change me, force me into places and clothes and actions that would turn me into something of which he could approve and control. i hated my birthday. it was the worst day in all the year, when i would be reminded most how much he despised what and who i was.

now i just wish i could ignore it. my life hasn't exactly been something worth celebration, anyway. but at least i'm still capable of learning and gaining wisdom. pronoia isn't all about fun and Funk and communing with the Great Flashy Disco Ball in the Sky. it's about the darkness and the light, about loving the dark, ugly things more than you love them. terrorists, wife-beaters, and Starbuck's are just as necessary to the fabric of the multiverse as hippies, recycling, and forgiveness. it's all One. there is no light without darkness, no love without indifference, no Funk without Fuck.

and i suppose a thing i have learned to mark my own passage into the mysterious realm of no-longer-quite-young but stepping-through-the-doorway-into-Prime is that perhaps i cannot have both. some are blessed to serve their gods, have Funk, and also have marriage and children. such people are a thousand times blessed. this gift is not for everyone, and i imagine the burdens and perils are just as amplified as the blessings.

i have come to realize this gift is not for me. peace with this knowledge will be a long time coming, but at least i've already achieved acceptance. this does not mean, however, the universe is not at this moment conspiring to shower me with its own blessings. it's just that the only blessing i cared about and wanted was the one that was not for me. this doesn't mean i should be closed to what is meant for me, and given time i think i will learn to be content with it.

and i suppose it's just one more mark in how i have grown. my passage into maidenhood and womanhood were marked by shame, or not marked at all. i never mentioned a single birthday in my twenties. but this? an age that i had always lived knowing was somehow special...perhaps i will not be initiated into anything by anybody, or welcomed to a side of family that has never welcomed me before, or even laugh at a single shared inside joke with people who also lived with this special age as a Special Thing. perhaps not. i am accustomed to this. momentous events in my life have, one and all, gone overlooked and unremarked. perhaps it is just the way in the life of delena.

but my own knowledge, my own hard-won wisdom, and my own acceptance of difficult things and the letting go of priceless-yet-fruitless dreams, will be my own initiation.

may the Funk be with you.


delena haiku

conflict begets pain.
sleepless nights and heartache days.
please, just make it stop.

delena haiku

conflict and darkness:
always they work hand in hand.
it confuses me.

delena haiku

a farewell to dreams;
career, love, marriage, children.
a farewell to dreams.


what the hell.

What type of Fae are you?

delena haiku

at once i am both joyful,
and also i yearn.

delena haiku

bye-bye, partnership.
hello something else entire:
a future alone.


kitty kitty dang fang

if you could see me right now, you'd either be telling me that blogging should be the least of my worries, or you'd understand the warped sense of dedication i have to my blog after six years of chronicling my whacked-out life online and would be laughing at me. just shaking your head and laughing.

today was a wonderful day at work. it was a wonderful day, period. i slept in, woke up in *sy*'s arms, went home and took a bit of a nap. i treated myself to lunch before going in to work, as i had the closing shift and had the time. my dad called to confirm what we're having for my celebratory birthday dinner on sunday: dhaal (which i've been seriously craving for weeks), a lamb dish for everyone else (of which yes, i will sample a little so i don't feel like i'm spurning my dear daddy's effing awesome cooking), some sort of cucumber salad, and dessert. at least, i think dessert.

today was a great day at work. everyone was cheerful, i was in a great mood. one of the managers from the tigard store stopped in, as he does from time to time, so i got to say hi to him. and, once again, he asked me when i was going to just transfer over to tigard, it's much better there, anyway? i laughed, but it feels good. they love me in tigard. they liked me at the gresham store, too.

i didn't have any appointments in my 3:30 slot, so instead i did some deep cleaning in the back. i moved the kennels away from the walls and cleaned behind them and beneath them, and then i called back some customers and tried to set up future appointments, filled in missing gaps in some dogs' info, etc. it was great. stuff that needs to get done but never does because we're so dang busy finally had a chance to get done.

then the manager lady asked me to help her groom a kitty. it was a lion cut on a smoky grey persian, what we lovingly refer to as "smooshy-face kitty" in the salon. the kitty was on his back, and i had hold of his forelegs. the manager lady had hold of one hind leg, and was shaving his belly.

well, kitty had something to say about that.

at first it was just a bit of whining and squirming, but that's nothing new. even the nicest kitties will sometimes protest at the lack of dignity we offer them as we splay them spread-eagle on the table and shave 'em nekkid. then was a bit of hissing, and once or twice he wiggled and tried to go after the manager lady, clearly with "die, bitch!" on his whiskered, kitty lips.

then came the feline four-letter words and, lemme tell you, this cat cussed like a wagon driver. i turned to the bather that was standing nearby, chuckling with us at the poor kitty's demise. "cover your ears, my child," said i.

we laughed.

oh, such famous last words were never spoken.

kitty lunged for my hand. now, something about persians. their faces are so freakin' flat that, most of the time when they go to bite you, they bounce off their own foreheads and all you end up getting is a pissed-off cat butting its face against you. "ha ha!" you can say. "smooshy-face kitty no bitey!" this one time, also assisting with a persian lion cut, the kitty went to bite me several times but just bounced its face off my hand. "stop hittin' yerself! stop hittin' yerself!" i was saying, and the manager lady was laughing her head off.

ah, kitty karma, you're such a bitch.

not only did this cat bite me, he laid into me like my thumb was a hot dog on a stick. i felt those teeth completely punch through skin, and my tendons were crunching around like the stick of said aforementioned hot dog. of course, anyone who either has cats or handles animals on a regular basis knows the first thing NOT to do is to pull away when a dog or cat has any of your body parts in its mouth. that's the surefire way to do even more damage to yourself than the animal would do for you.

so i sat there and let kitty eat my hand. when he was finally done and i could take my hand away, he immediately went for the manager lady, free paw swinging wildly at her face. "c'mere, bitch!" there were five puncture wounds all in the fleshy part beneath my thumb at the large knuckle, and one in the webbing between thumb and forefinger. three were so deep i could see meat, and the bruising goes clear through to my palm. at the time, i had limited mobility in my ring and pinky finger, but it was just enough to drive the Funkmobile (which is a standard) to urgent care.

i'm grounded from work tomorrow, for which i threw a mighty fit in the salon, because i fucking need and WANT to work, dammit! i love my job, and i love paying bills.


i so didn't mean that the way it sounded.

so i got my gimpy hand and am doing this neat finger tapdance on the keyboard, trying to type with three working fingers: middle (yay! i can still give the bird!), ring, and pinky. my index finger is limited because of the bites in the webbing, it hurts in the muscle. and my thumb is all but immobile. the numbness is gone, and in its place is a nice, dull ache. nothing that really bothers me until i, y'know, actually try to do anything.

so all i can say is...yeah. bad kitty. bad, baaaad kitty!



that was the sound of me hitting the bone-chilling, unforgiving waters of reality, and after sleeping on it, i'm only now coming up for air.

so last night was my first real "date" with *sy*. it was actually pretty fun. i met a friend of his, and his friend's fiancé, and we had dinner at TGI Friday's. it was kinda funny because, while i think *sy* told them i was vegetarian, everyone forgot. it's really easy to do that, i know. hell, sometimes even i forget it. either way, it was an adventure trying to find something delena-friendly on the menu. now i remember why i never go there, ha ha.

we had a really good time, laughing and joking and talking video games. i was showered with compliments by my date. but then, he always showers me with compliments because he's just sweet and thoughtful like that. especially after being so affectionately starved since well before lughnassadh, *sy*'s exactly what i needed. then again, the more i sit back and listen to him, or watch him, it seems like i'm just what he needed, too. it's kind of nice that way.

then we get back to his place.


all i have to say is OMFG. there's his ex, with their daughter, and suddenly this red-headed harpy is in my face trying her damnedest to make me feel like the other woman. except i already know the story, so all i really had to do was sit back and marvel at the fucked-uppedness of some people's mental and emotional health. even last night, after getting back home i was still in a state of shock, not because of the confrontation, but because i simply couldn't wrap my mind around how deep some people's fucked-uppedness really goes.

made me feel perfectly sane and reasonable, actually. i mean, we all have our issues, but jeezus!

i was quite graceful, actually, even though she was lying, insulting me, and even put her hands on me a few times. diosa mia, i'm way too old for that kind of drama.

however, i did feel a little badly, though. i left *sy* with that harpy trying to sink her talons into him. but what else could i have done? it wasn't my home, it wasn't my ex (thank goddess!), and it really wasn't my problem. now, should *sy* and i really get serious, then it'll become my problem. but the future is not now, so i have the luxury of not needing to think about it for a while.

later on, closer to midnight, my phone rings. i can tell from the ring it's *sy* calling, so i pick it up and answer with, "so is the psycho hose beast gone?" and her voice answers: "no, i'm still here." in retrospect, it's hilarious. hell, it was funny even then, but i had to be dignified. she'd called to apologize. i was expecting her to say, "he's mine again, so stay the hell away from him." instead, however, she said she could see that i was good for him and that he's happy being with me, and perhaps she overreacted. (ya think?) we talked about their daughter, and how she'd like me not to be around their kid while he and i are getting to know each other. and you know what? that's perfectly fine. i have a hatchling myself, and big *c* and i have a similar arrangement. if one of us gets serious about someone and wants to expose li'l *c* to that new person, both parents have to meet them first. now, whether big *c* is actually honoring that agreement is totally beyond me, and i wouldn't be surprised if he's not. but anyway.

it was an absolute shock, her calling me to say those things. she even said she was sorry for crashing our first date. shocked quite a few people, actually, because of course i immediately texted the friend that introduced the two of us as soon as the drama went down. but now, i think, i actually have it in me to respect the ex. it was the adult and responsible thing to do, and i respect her for it. i know i could actually be able to interact with her in a civilized way should we be in the same room together again. in fact, if i know myself, i would actually be friendly. honestly, i don't like animosity and conflict. i mean, who does? but if and where possible, i try to make friends of my enemies, or i just simply leave well enough alone. i'm really not all that good at hostility.

of course, the question now becomes: do i want to choose to put this into my life? now that i'm aware --partially-- the extent of things in my potential boyfriend's life, is it something i can and want to handle? his having a hatchling doesn't faze me. his having a messy, hostile, potentially invading past relationship does, however. he called me this morning, making sure i'm still talking to him, really. he sounded stressed out and prepared for disappointment. i think i'll call and leave a nice voicemail, let him know that all i did last night was think about him and hope he was okay.

now, does he have a few things to sort out before we go any further? sure he does. but do i want to go further? actually...yeah, i think i do.

talk about reality, huh?



CAPRICORN (Dec 22-Jan 19): Do you ever wonder if God loves Brad Pitt and Paris Hilton more than he loves you, as seemingly evidenced by those celebrities' charmed lives? Do you suspect that Tiger Woods' fame and Bill Gates' wealth mean that fate is friendlier to them that it is to you? If so, you're in for a major surprise, Capricorn. Events in 2008 will bring you big deliveries of the next best things to riches and fame. You'll get more proof than you've had in a long time that God and fate adore you.

y'know, i read this when it first hit my email box. my knee-jerk response was, "bullshit," and a vague thought having to do with not holding my breath.

i have a new appreciation for the word "detox."

this whole time, at least i never lost sight of the fact that there was a lesson in all this for me. i've been doing a lot of exploring as to what that particular lesson could be, or if perhaps there were more than one. i will never lose sight of my objective to learning, shattering convention, and rocking into oneness with the Jiggy Snake. but perhaps careerlovemarriagechildren isn't part of my life, no matter it's really all i ever wanted. then again, i want pronoiac bliss and the Funky Jive, and perhaps i can't have that and a mundane charter life.

after all, no one else can dance to my tune but me.

proof the Funk and fate adore me: my family

proof #2: they love me no matter what, as they've loved me through this whole stupid emotional relationship crisis

proof #3: my friends at work have stuck by me and still like me, even though i've been an emotional wreck these past few months.

proof #4: i still have beauty and truth fans out there who stubbornly insist on keeping faith in me and reading iGoddess.

proof #5: the Funkmobile is still running.

proof #6: the purring kitty in my lap as i write this, who's bathing my face with a tongue that could scrape barnacles off a hull.

proof #7: a job that's made it possible for me to keep my apartment and all bills paid while *m* was jobless for three months.

proof #8: the color pink!

proof #9: the fabulous time i spent with *sy* last night.

thinking back to how depressed i've been, and how close i came to giving up again, once again i realize just why my desire is so powerful to never go there again. i hate despair. there's nothing constructive about it...but it has its place, and the pronoiac in me must love despair more than i love it. after all, there are lessons for us at the bottom of that black mere as well...even if the lesson is as simple as, "well, i never wanna do that again!" and, quite simply, i love my life.


pretend there's a title

for christmas, i saved a kitten.

evil neighbors in the building next to mine had turned out two kittens about the same age as my demon children, Roulette and Chitterling the Minor Demon of Annoyance (yes, that's her full name). it was snowing. what had gotten my attention was the very pitiful, plaintive, tiny meowing of a kitten-sized fuzzball. searching, i found one greyling at the door, curled up in a little kitty-cake, and his brother was clawing at my neighbor's door and crying.

poor things.

i came up and said hello, and one of them came right up to me and was only too happy to give me love. the other dashed away and leapt off the second story balcony in order to get away from me. i caught a glimpse of a grey kitty butt disappearing behind the building. the friendly brother followed me over to *ds* and *ks*'s apartment. halfway there, i finally scooped him up and took him with me. speaking with said evil neighbor, his voice held nothing but contempt as he said they'd turned out the kittens and fed them, but were just hoping someone else would take 'em.


i never did find the brother, not yet. but the greyling has found a wonderful home with my silverfox brother and sister, who named him "rumblestrut" for his ever-present purr, and the fact he struts like a peacock if he thinks anyone's watching. he's always happy to see me, too. i'm the one who took him from cold deprivation and gave him a place with warmth, food, comfort, pettings, and other kitties to play with. i only fear for rumblestrut's brother, who now is not only out there in the cold of a wet portland winter, but is now without his brother. i continue the search when i can.

in other news, i haven't been home since friday, and it's been wonderful. i've been staying over with *ds* and *ks*. in all honesty, i've forgotten what it's like to live with people who not only love having me around, but show me how much they love it. i come home to appreciation, affection, jokes and teasing, and a sense that i belong there. no wonder my year-and-some living with just my family was so wonderful. no wonder i was so wonderously healthy and happy.

it's absolutely fucking amazing what warmth and affection can do for a human being, isn't it? of course, that's a huge "fucking duh" to anyone who knows better, but apparently it's still quite the mystery to *m* why there's even a problem in the first place.

if he'd stayed in the police force, he'd never have made detective with the cognitive skills he has.

he called the salon yesterday looking for me. i'd called in sick (due to a slight case of not having slept all night), and he asked if anyone knew where i was, since i haven't been home in days. of course, my co-worker didn't know, but he should have. i'd only been left in *ks*'s capable hands when he left for work on friday, and *ds* told him they knew what they were doing. they've had to pick up delena pieces before.

he texted me yesterday, as well. "dee, i do miss u and i really want to work this out, please text me."

of course, this is after three days of not hearing from him at all. no one else had heard from him either, or they'd have told me. just the salon. maybe he was giving me my space? yeah, okay, except this isn't the first time i've stayed away from the apartment for days at a time just to get away from him and sort things out. after three months living together, i shouldn't be at this stage. we should still be in the fabulously-blissful-starry-eyed-fucking-every-night honeymoon stage. but everyone knows we're not. the night before christmas eve, i told him we were over, just roomates. this past thursday night, i told him something's gotta give, or one of us needs to move out asap. he said he could work on things with me, but not until sunday. give him time to "get in the mood for it."

so yet again, he was going to make me wait.

i spent friday out with my silverfox family. i spent saturday out with other friends, and met back up with a friend of hers she'd been telling me about. there'd been attraction the first time we met, but i was still waiting for *m* to perform a cranio-rectal extraction (aka remove his head from his ass) so i didn't let it go anywhere. but saturday night? oh, i let it go everywhere.

here was someone who made it very plain he was interested, who flirted smoothly and very, very well. later, his kisses were passionate and soft. so soft. he cupped my face, ran fingers through my hair, marveled that i was so pretty.

pretty, while wearing a NIN hoodie and my old too-big-for-me work jeans with ink and dirt stains, an ever-widening hole in the right knee, and frayed cuffs. total "i just came from dinner with the parents and really don't give a fuck what i look like, at least i'm comfortable" outfit. and he loved it. we curled up on the couch beneath a very warm blanket and watched "pirates of the caribbean: dead man's chest" while he rubbed my feet and kissed my neck. he asked a neverending stream of questions about myself, about what i like and things he'd heard about me from my friend. if he wasn't holding me close as a second skin, he was resting his head in my lap and enjoying while i ran my fingers through his hair and kissed his neck.

so simple, so easy and comfortable, and everything i'd been craving from *m*. and, proper or not, he and i ended up going to bed together that night, but it was glorious. after so long doing nothing but serving someone else's needs while he held no consideration for my own, here was someone to whom the sound of my cries was like music. he would actually smile, or laugh with satisfaction, when i couldn't hold back a whimper. my own pleasure excited him, just like my own lover's pleasure always excites me. i'm just like that. and after so long with someone like *m*, it was a wonder and a balm to be with someone that could give me what i needed simply because he wanted to.

and i don't know that i'll ever be able to explain that kind of desire to *m*: the desire to give pleasure, warmth, and affection purely for the joy of giving it.

and it seems it wasn't a one-time thing. before i left, he made sure to set up when we could see each other again. so he asked me out for this tuesday night: dinner at a vegetarian-friendly restaurant, so he can make sure i have a good time and can actually eat the food there. he asked me to call him today during my lunch hour...which i did, but he called me first and left me a cute voicemail that made me laugh. i'm going to see him tonight. during dinner, he called to let me know i could take his parking spot tonight when i come over, so that i don't have to hike up the parking lot in the dark.

*ks* turned to me, spaghetti twirled on his fork, and gave me that smile of his. "gee, someone made an impression on that boy, didn't they?"

i laughed. "makes me wonder just how big of an impression."

*m* hasn't asked me to come home, nor will i agree to until he actually shows up at the door and asks me to come home. but that boy's gonna have quite the uphill battle, if it's not already over for good. after all, i don't need him. i never needed him, but i wanted him. but now he has competition, and i have a clear head again and am surrounded by my family who gives me strength and support. he's given me grief and heartache. he's cold and unaffectionate and neglectful, and i've found someone who's cuddly and warm and thoughtful. he hasn't listened all this time, and i'm done talking. but i wonder that *m* just isn't feeling insecure the longer he goes without his emotional security blanket. he likes the idea of having a girlfriend, but he doesn't want any of the responsibility.

Delena of the Funkywild does NOT stand for that.

and Delena of the Funkywild is back, godsdammit.


sometimes i really wonder what the universe is telling me.