blog: the mental junk drawer

some people use their blogs to write about a specific place, or to chronicle their travels in far-off countries (far-off as in "far away from america," at least), or explore a certain aspect of themselves. some have themes. some have a tone, whether it be happy, dark, poetic, sarcastic, fictional, et cetera ad infinitum.

mine?

my blog is more a place to hop online and rummage around inside my head as long as a person would want to. it's really become, less a message in a bottle as once it was, more of my own mental junk drawer of thoughts, ideas, perspectives, observations, questions, rants, spirituality, exploration, and more. and all, really. nothing's too secret, too private, too disturbing, too "anything" to put up here.

sometimes i can't even begin to describe the risk and courage it takes to be that open about myself. it was on my blog when i finally "came out" about the child abuse i'd suffered growing up. when those repressed memories came out? BAM! there went denial right out the window, and i had to put it somewhere. all my anger and confusion at big *c*, when my marriage was falling apart around me? up on the blog. back in texas, when i was addicted to my burning? up on the blog. so many oh-so-personal things, and i slap it up here for anyone on the planet to read, as long as that person has internet access.

some people tell me that it's TMI, too much information, and that some things should be kept private. but...private from whom? and why? if they don't want to know it, they can just stop reading my blog. i have nothing to hide. the best place to hide is right out in the open. and i'm more than available for people to talk to about the things i post here; many people do write to me regarding some of my topics. only the insecure and self-absorbed jump to conclusions instead of clarifying details with the author of these very words.

but sometimes i find that there's no proper person with whom to share some of these things. as i said before, i took a Vow of Honesty every bit as binding and sacred as a catholic priest's Vow of Chastity (and that some choose to violate that Vow is immaterial; it's still sacred). some truths need to be said to certain individuals.

what happens when those individuals are inaccessible? or if speaking to them would stir up more sludge than it's worth? more often than not, it goes up here in the public-access mental junk drawer.

the past couple weeks i've been thinking a lot about *m*. and i mean a lot. it's been rather confusing, the hurt and anger it's been stirring up. and lately i dream that i sneak over to his house and peek in his windows, or check to see if his car's in the driveway, something. i'm always trying to get up my courage to knock on his door to tell him my thoughts, and before i can do so, he always catches me and i have to fess up. those feelings are more of regret and a desire to make peace, a desire to tell him i really do still care about him (not that i'd ever want to be with him again because it's not "that" kind of caring, y'know?) and it really does suck things ended up the way they did. but in my dreams, he's never listening. we either end up fighting, or i walk away feeling stupid and frustrated. i know he'd never listen to me, only hear what he wanted like he always did.

so it goes in the junk drawer.

*sy* broke up with me today, and i can't even say i'm that surprised about it. even back in january, four days after we got together, i knew how we would end. ever since the night of the great Kabloosh, i've known. i said we were stamped with an expiration date and that i'd just wait to see how it played out, and i was right. it was the messy, hostile, invading past relationship with the psycho hose beast that did it. she's read this blog pretty religiously, from what i can tell, and has tried before to use it against me, interpret this blog wrongly and then fill *sy*'s head with fucked up bullshit about me. today, instead of going to the source (i.e. ME), he decided to believe her interpretation and fuck off, delena.

it saddens me, really, because she's toxic and he's really a good guy. i gave him a chance. i hate that i saw this coming. i hate that i was right. i hate that he can't handle honesty like mine, and i hate that she's such a cunt.

however, i never lost myself. i remained true to my own Self, never lied, never compromised my beliefs, always demanded respect and gave it by the bucketload in return. i always remained true to my pack. i never gave more than i could afford to, spiritually or emotionally or financially. i remained loyal to the iGoddess-hatchling. i retained the grace, dignity, and untamedness of the Funkywild. i was always delena.

i consider this a Lilith Litmus Test of sorts. i didn't fall right back into trying to regain the dream, didn't try to raise the dead. the universe wants me to be alone, and i suppose this could be seen as a test as to whether i would always lose myself in relationships. i passed, i think. relationships come and go, and the sort of love i've always wanted is just nowhere in my future landscape. it's kinda funny, and i know dizzy would say that there's just something about me that's like kryptonite to bullshit. not that she'd use those words, but something infinitely more hilariously sarcastic, but all in all it would mean that i can't tolerate bullshit, and bullshit can't tolerate me. too fucking bad there's so much of it in the world i'm left with precious little else.

not that i don't value what i'm left with. i'm left with --what-- a family that adores me, friends that would do anything in their power for me, a great career and a boss that sticks up for me, the Funkmobile that provides me freedom, and i live in paradise-on-earth. i'm healthy, focused, mature, strong in my spirituality, and unshakable in my love.

see, universe? i can be in a relationship and not lose what you gave me. see, universe? i can be not in a relationship and be just as happy. see, universe? i accepted what you wanted and never compromised it. see, universe? see? self-love and self-respect. it's like kevlar against despair.

the price of love, pt. i

the valley treated me well. after my resurrection and baptism, there came a renaissance of childhood where i was given every good thing, feasted upon the delectibles of Nature's bounty with no thought other than that it gave me joy. i had my chores, yes, but afterward there was only play.

i had stood tall in the face of the pomegranate priestess, confident in my new knowledge, had stolen her sickle and torn a strip of her robes to tie back my hair. it fluttered about and caressed my naked body in the breeze. there was nothing but me, the sun, Valley-in-the-Glade, the Sentinels guarding our peace there with their majesty and patience, and the laughing river sparkling like rhinestones over the rocks.

in the Valley, gravity worked differently. when i got up to run, i ran like a pegasus on the air, my toes barely touching the ground and my hair streaming behind me. when i swam, the water was so light and clear it was like song on my skin, and when i breathed it was like inhaling liquid laughter. i lay on the grass beneath the sun, watching clouds play into shapes for my amusement, and the grass reached around to cradle me.

there was nothing i needed, and i wanted for naught.

my hair had been left hanging free down my back, and it had begun to form thick tendrils on its own. catching my shadow on the ground, it seemed as if snakes sprouted from my crown and twined about me with minds of their own. sometimes, if i stared long enough at my shadow, i could almost hear the whispers as they hissed wisdom in my ears. i could almost feel the caress of their forked tongues against my shoulders, the back of my neck. in play, i became quite good at twining my red scarf about my head, coiling my dreadlocks into elaborate piles atop my head, leaving one or two to twine around my neck as my only adornment.

for i was a wild thing in the Valley. when i thirsted, the river gave me drink. when i hungered, the Valley offered up delicacies like spongy mushrooms, tender shoots and berries. squirrels shared their nuts with me, birds their seeds. i slept when i tired from my play, played with whom i would, climbed the trees to hear their thoughts, and never wanted for anything.

"have you enjoyed your stay here in the Valley?" she asked.

i looked over at her as if she had always been there. i had not seen her in what seemed an Age, and yet her appearance did not surprise me. she looked much like me this time, only her robe was a red so deep at the hem it seemed black. the color lightened as it went up, as if the black seeped upwards until at about knee-length her robes were the same vivid blood-red as all the others. the black hem glistened, hung heavy as if wet.

her feet were tattooed, as were her hands. except instead of the whorls and spirals, dots and serrated edges to which i had grown accustomed, her tattoos were in a very unique spatter, with large spots of red, some of which remained perfectly round while others had been fashioned as if the red dribbled down her feet. beneath her toenails had been tattooed a deep red, and around her cuticles. the same for her hands. there were splashes up past her elbows, and her hands were almost completely stained red. there was even a few splatter-tattoos up her face.

the entire effect was...

i looked down at her hem. it was dripping. droplets of a red so dark it could only be blood splashed onto her feet.

those weren't tattoos.

"oh, they're quite real," she said. then she grasped the hem of her robes, flicked them sharply, and more blood spattered onto her face. i watched in breathless amazement as the blood seeped into her skin, became a blood tattoo etched permanently into her cheek. "my caste is a small one within the priestesshood." she gave me a dry smile. "not all of us wield a sickle, flash blue skin and red hair, and lovingly burn heaven to the ground. they talk of Those Who Bleed but Do Not Die and yet know only what is common and necessary." she shook her head, and the bones decorating her dreadlocks rattled like hollow reeds. "they do not go into the death."

she looked at me then, and i could see the red in her eyes. the bone ring through her left nostril glinted dully in the sunlight. "you have enjoyed your stay, yes?"

"my stay?" i replied. "have i overstayed myself?"

she laughed, surprisingly rich and genuine for such a dark priestess. "you may stay until the end of days when the Jiggy Snake swallows his own tail once more, for all we care. it is completely up to you." she shrugged, looked off across the water. "you have paid your price."

"yes..." i narrowed my eyes at her, wondering. "i have paid, and worked, and endured. i have learned and grown..."

"and i understand one of my sisters has called you sister?"

"she did." my heart was beating hard beneath my breastbone. "she said few make it this far, and fewer survive. are you here to kill me?"

again she laughed. "my goddess, no! i am here to invite you. there is within you a deep affinity for this path of ours." she tapped the vial of river water still in my hands. "you hold on for the chance to bless someone else, but perhaps your blessing would be better used for your own power?" she tapped the vial again, and i saw there was blood inside instead of water. i gasped, and she only leaned in closer. "you hold the power of the darkness of the moon inside you," she whispered, "and the little death within you triggers the possibility of new life to burst from you in the form of a seed. it is there, this seed, hopeful and waiting in the nest of your blood, waiting for a male seed to join it and beget life. when it dies, you wash in the river of this dark power, and again the cycle is renewed."

she wrapped a blood-stained hand around my wrist. "your death triggers life. the dead before you have given you life." she raised a brow at me. "i wonder, my sister, how you will go about making your amends to the dead?"

to pt ii

the psycho hose beasts of the world

y'know, i've done a lot of thinking the last two and a half years about my Kali Summer. i mean, there's a reason i call it my Summer of Funky Kali Love. i used to call it The Year I Lost Everything, but i realized shortly after it happened that what i was left with was everything that truly meant something to me, people that truly loved me, and what i had left behind was everything that was holding me back, keeping me down, or making me feel very badly about myself.

and that's exactly what Kali does: she takes the shit you don't need and rips it off of your back. yeah, she takes skin right along with it, but i think she does that to force her people to take time to rest, heal, and grow it all back more beautiful than before.

everyone in the world, just about, knows of a catholic priest's vow of chastity. i've been keeping this secret to a select few, but i think now's the time to finally bring it out into the open. i promise, it ties into the rest of this entry: when i was ordained a priestess, i took a vow of honesty. it was to honesty in all things i made my vow in the presence of the All, by whatever name you call It.

this vow is so encompassing, i cannot even lie to myself. this blog has survived, in part, because it's the perfect place for me to work out my thoughts and feelings purely to make sure i'm not lying to myself. it's also a great place to put my thoughts and feelings as they are, so as not to hide them from myself. everyone worth their salt knows that unacknowledged feelings go deep inside you and begin to eat at you like cancer until you are so warped and disfigured in your soul that you're unrecognizable from the wonder-filled child you used to be.

sometimes i think this is what happened to the people who tried so hard to destroy me during my Kali Summer. there were unacknowledged feelings there that had warped them, made them resentful and vengeful, unsatisfied unless someone was suffering. they resented others' happiness, others' prosperity, the truth that they might not be as admired or liked as they want.

people like that are to be pitied, but not empowered. and by "empowered" i mean they shouldn't be encouraged to behave that way, shouldn't be fortified by watching others suffer by their toxicity.

*sy*'s ex --whom we all know as "the demented psycho hose-beast"-- is one such person. she's so toxic, so selfish and immature, that she still tries to find ways to hurt me. right now her latest ploy is setting him up so i'll think he's cheating on me. whether he is or not is completely immaterial. we never decided to be a committed relationship, anyway. it's the fact she finds me so threatening, the fact that it drives her crazy she doesn't have *sy*'s worship anymore, that's so...pathetic and small and sad. people like her need serious therapy. they need to be patted on the head and told, "oh, you poor baby. it's okay, you just need to grow up a bit more."

it's just so amazingly sad. the people of my Kali Summer couldn't touch me, not really. and neither can she. it's just amazing she wouldn't decide, instead, to focus on more important things: like being a good mother, like bettering herself, like learning to be more mature and not such a petulant, selfish toddler who's so insecure in herself that she feels she needs her ex-husband's blind and desperate devotion back just so she can feel good about herself. people like her make me squeamish and shiver like that time i stepped on a slug barefoot. it's just horrifyingly gross.

how does this tie in with my Vow? only that i can never lie. i can't. and believe me when i say that she can never truly touch me. i'm sad for her. i'd never trade places with her, not for all the money and fame in the world. because if i did, i'd have to regress too far, and that's just sick.

after the ball, and the wonderful life

vampire ball was a blast.

an absolute blast.

i'd post our amateur pictures up on my blog...except that both owners of digital cameras forgot them. i fucking need to buy myself a fucking camera. they're expensive. i'll most likely never own one, not if it means paying hundreds of dollars just for shits and giggles.

on the other hand, i keep kicking myself because i've missed thousands of photo opportunities that i'd have loved to share on this frickin' blog.

but do not despair! there were professional photos taken, which will arrive in about two weeks. i sat for solo pics, purely because a.) i was instructed to by my darling *sy* (whom i've taken to calling "my puerto rico suave," lol) and b.) for photographic proof that my hair looked fucking awesome for one night. there were family pics with me, *cc*, *ds*, and *ks* all together. of course, my lovely *ds* and *ks* got one of them together, and they're just so fucking adorable. and then *cc* and i got one together. we intend it to be a birthday gift for dad later this month.

our exact words to the photographer were, "well, it's gonna be a birthday gift for our dad. he'll absolutely love it, but mom's a bit straight-laced and, well, we wanna scare her." if possible, i'll post our pic up here, just so y'all can have a fall-out-of-your-computer-chair, tears-streaming-down-your-face laugh. we're talking total cheese, flashing fishnet stocking-covered thigh and all.

awesome.

i came home this afternoon and after my just-sit-home-and-relax "me time" that i usually try to give myself, i got out of the shower, stood in the middle of the living room, and just sighed. *ds* purred at me in question. (we speak in kitty here in our house, remember?) "oh," i said. "it's just..." i searched for words.

"i had a wonderful night's sleep in my wonderful bed, in my wonderful apartment, where i live with my wonderful siblings. i had a wonderful day at work, where i work with wonderful women now --who love me wonderfully-- and even got a wonderful tip." i pointed at the almost-full-pound bag of ghirardelli chocolate squares i was given as a tip today. "i have a wonderful boyfriend, and i have a wonderful family. i just took a wonderful shower, and i'm looking forward to a wonderful weekend." i pet my kitten, rumblestrut, who was purring at me from the top of the cat tree. "yes," i said to him, "i even have a wonderful kitty! now, if we can just have a wonderful dinner..."

"it'll just be a wonderful day?" *ds* finished up.

"that's it exactly," i said. and it is. it's just...it's a wonderful life.

pdx: the REAL capital of oregon...

i caught this article over on Forbes.com about the 7 most sinful cities in america. they took the 7 deadly sins, then took the top ten cities per capita.

por exemplo, they took the murder rate for wrath, theft for envy, etc.

what rocks is that portland came out #2 in the category of Lust, second only to denver, CO. of course, before you panic, know that the criteria they used was condom and contraceptive purchase count. so it might not be that portland is the second most sexually active city in the country, but just the most consciencious about safe sex.

the other week i was in the mall with *sy*, and we passed by one of those clothing stores i usually scorn. but in the window display were retro-style shirts, and there was a brown baby doll shirt with pink writing that just made me think, "gods, i LOVE my city!" what did the shirt say? i'll tell you:

welcome to portland. recycle, or we'll kick your ass!

no great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness

so my transfer finally went through.

it's about freakin' time.

and the only thing i had to do was have a minor meltdown on easter sunday, and have a fight with a stupid cunt who calls herself a groomer. yup. total yayfunjoy. although now, when i went to call my new salon, they didn't have me on the books at all and the salon manager is on vacation until monday. so i spoke with the GM, and he said, "well, how 'bout sunday?"

impromptu vacation!!! shibby!

of course, it's unpaid vacation, but still. i've been needing BOTH a transfer and a vacation, so i've been taking advantage of it.

on saturday i'm going with *cc*, *ds*, *ks*, and a girl from my old salon to the vampire ball here in portland. it's an annual event and i promised myself last year that i'd be there for it this year, come hell or high water. there will be pictures. i swear to you, there will be pictures. not just because we'll be bringing cameras, but because Studio C here in portland will be hosting the photo booth. this might just become an annual family event, if we like what we see there. i'm sure we will...

also, last night something happened with *sy*'s daughter and she ended up in the hospital. she's okay, and of course *sy* being the wonderful daddy he is, rushed off to be with her. dropped our plans for the evening faster than a pair of pants on prom night, but that's the way it should be when it's the hatchling. grass is green, gravity works, and hatchlings come first.

...so why was i so upset?

it took me the rest of the evening to figure out it was because, in part, i was so insanely jealous of how he had the luxury to rush off to help his daughter, and i'm stranded and can't do anything if it were li'l *c*. i hate how, when i call to talk to him, i feel like such an inconvenience to big *c* and his mom. they never call; i always have to call. they used to send some of his artwork or schoolwork, in the beginning. i haven't seen anything in a few years now. and anyone who works in retail knows that it's just a bitch pain in the ass to get any time off to go anywhere without seniority. and when i could get time, i never had the money.

it just really, really bothered me...the pang of not having seen my only born in three years. and there's a very huge part of me that seriously fears the possibility that li'l *c* will be my only issue. the entire creation and birth of li'l *c* nearly cost me my life. *cc* thinks i'm an idiot for risking it again, and perhaps i am. there's still the very good chance that my next pregnancy will be the same --or worse-- than the last one. if it is, i don't know if i can face going through that again. it took me six years to get over that trauma.

and if he does end up my only child? talk about failing utterly as a mother. i haven't been his mother since he was two and a half. i haven't kissed his boo-boos, i missed his first day of school, i never helped him with his homework or made his lunch, nor have i been able to contribute in shaping him to be a decent member of society, respectful of women and instilled with a sense of honor. i was just his uterus.

when i was ripping away from *m*, he told me he wanted children but wasn't ready. at one point he said, very accusingly, that if i really wanted his children and loved him, then i'd wait. well, he was going on the arrogant assumption that a.) i loved him, and b.) i wouldn't be happy with any children but which came from his loins.

join me in laughing so hard we all snort our drinks up our noses.

like hell i'd wait, i said. i'm so ready, and i have no more time. the longer i wait, the worse it will be. the truth of the matter is that i am most likely facing a pregnancy every bit as devastating as my first one was. now, there are things i'm doing to get my body in the best shape possible. this was dubbed the year of preparation. i don't have time to be wasting on waiting around for some fucktard to grow up enough to be a good mate and male figure for my loinfruit.

and, knowing this, something in me was greatly upset knowing that i --and the iGoddess-child-- are not *sy*'s priority. i'm not complaining; his daughter should be his priority and it is only right it should be so. i think what kicked in was a more primal instinct, the primordial brain concerned about survival competition and the primacy of my progeny.

not to mention the dead keeps trying to raise itself, and some zombie form of careerlovemarriagechildren keeps trying to crawl out of the grave time and again. a couple weeks ago i confessed i wanted to commit myself to our relationship --after having drunk enough for liquid courage to turn into fluid stupidity-- but nothing was ever made concrete. i also have to force myself not to ask *sy* if he would consider being the sperm provider for the iGoddess-child, and lemme tell you, sometimes it's a struggle. i know he'd never agree to my terms, and i know i'd want to make an exception with him. which could have very stupid consequences. so there was more reminder that my (very stupid) lifelong dream of becoming a housewife is dead and supposed to stay that way.

i think what made me angriest was knowing that the psycho hose beast (aka. his ex) used to have exactly what i've always wanted and she not only threw it away, but continues to dump shit all over it every day. i've been working and praying so hard for how long, and someone like her has the luxury of crapping all over it? i gave it up out of necessity, and i think it just hit me really hard, watching *sy* give to someone else what i will never have. i pride myself on being realistic, though. it's just not to be, and i accept that. i know the problem is in no one else but myself, and i'll work through it.

but still.

ps. the blog title is a quote from aristotle, btw.

when breaking the pattern becomes the pattern, and capricorns

i don't know when it happened, but i swore i would never become my bio-mother.

ever.

to the point where i never brought home a mexican, or a catholic.

of course, ironically (and we all know how delena just loves irony), i ended up treated just as lowly as i watched her allow herself to be treated. however, i was so determined not to be so literally like her that i completely ignored the fact that, religion and skin color notwithstanding, i had only exchanged the outer trappings but inside my men were the same douchebags i was trying so hard to avoid.

it still kind of blows me away sometimes, being with a puerto rican. he's shared, or been the source of, dozens of new experiences with me. i'm still not used to being able to make jokes in spanglish, or being around someone with similar mannerisms and cultural background. sure, there are differences and we make fun of each other for them --like my tortilla passion and his silly puerto rican aversity to all things flatbread...the freak-- but while it still takes me by surprise, i enjoy it every time i notice those little things i never realized how much i missed.

i'm accustomed to being the darker complected one in the relationship, but compared to him i'm sickly pale. i'm the juerita here, and it's great! he touches me, and something in me just feels...at rest...to see a darker hand on my dark skin. he's not a witch, persay, but he's open to learning more about my belief structure.

i've never been with anything other than a white guy before i met *sy*. and i've never been treated better.

i thought i would break the pattern of my abused life by finding someone who wasn't my bio-dad. but i realized i was looking at the wrong things, and breaking the pattern became the pattern. ha! not anymore.

back before the manager lady transferred out of the salon of doom, she brought her sextrology book for me to read because she knew i'd love it. not only does it --quite accurately-- depict each of the zodiac personalities, but it explores every possible type of relationship pairing, homo- and heterosexual. it's pretty rockin'.

but what it had to say about capricorns utterly blew my mind. y'know, i'd always known that capricorns were the hippocampus, a noble and majestic creature stylized in quite an amazing amount of breathtaking fantasy art, i might add. cappys are also just called "goats," and we wear the name proudly, being stubborn and hard-working and down to earth as we are. but what i didn't know --and it's totally lame because i so should have put it together-- was that the capricorn is also represented by a mountain beside a lake.

a mountain...beside a lake.

energetically speaking, i've almost always known my element was where the earth met the water. i am the place where lines blur, a shifting doorway where the energies of water and earth meet. sure, the jokes about my energy being mud are numerous, but still. i've always been the place where the two meet.

i grew up in a desert. sure, it was the southern californian desert, but it's desert nonetheless! and yet, once i was mobile and independent enough, when things were horrible i'd run to the beach and just hang out there until i could get my head on straight again. i moved up here to the portland area kicking and screaming, hating it for three solid years because i could never get used to how fucking cold it is here --comparitively-- and how dark and wet and rainy and soggy it is year-round. especially compared to my desert paradise.

but this is paradise. i've always been a child of the earth, of nature, of being surrounded by green and growing things. i love it here. once i gave it a chance, i noticed my energy and my very personality thrived and relished it here.

right here.

the picture at the beginning of this blog entry? that's mt. hood, which i can see every day when i step outside. and that's the columbia river, water flowing at the base of that wonderful mountain that is exactly what i am.

a pillar of earth, and a mountain lake. a solid, strong woman with the depth and mystery of the deep waters. a woman who can break patterns, truly break them. a woman who can build a life from scratch, ditch the entire deck of cards she was dealt, and build a new family and new circle to suit her soul.

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec 22-Jan 19): You would stir up exciting changes in your approach to life in you took time in the next few weeks to find out more about the crowning achievements of your most intriguing ancestors. It will also be a favorable time for you to engage in dreamy conversations with the historical figures you admire most, and to muse in luxurious detail on memories of events that were crucial in making you who you are. For extra credit, have fun imagining who you were in your last two incarnations. The past has gifts to give you, Capricorn. Go gather them up.


it's a thing, now, in the silverfox den, to read aloud mr. brezsny's horoscopes for ourselves when they come in each week. i read *ks*'s, after forgetting each week what astrological sign is actually his (oi...), and then *ds*'s, and then mine last.

after i read mine, the only thing i could say was, "...and why does this make absolutely no sense?"

then i began to really think about it. last week's horoscope was basically "you'll squeeze every drop of everything and every opportunity this week, capricorn, if you can learn to laugh at everything." however, to my detriment, the Stupid Work Thing has drained my sense of humor along with my energy. there was no laughing. there was lots of reflux, compulsive eating, and puking before my shift...but no laughter.

this week there is "the past is your hidden treasure trove, cappy. use it to change your approach to life and see things differently and in a more pronoiac way."

it didn't even really make sense until that email from greggo popped in my head:

but for you, in your life, you know what you need to do. don't let it get to you. don't let the stress ruin your health. don't let the anger destroy you. it took me a long time, honestly, to realize how angry you can get. and i'm not saying your anger is not legitimate, or even completely reasonable and understandable. but we both know that it's not healthy for YOU. ...that is how i see you letting your anger destroy you. you want vengeance, you want to fight back against the injustice and illogic of the fucktards who by some luck of the draw have managed to rise up to a position of management. but since you can't fight back without losing your job, you have to hold it in, and that makes it tear at your soul, at the center of your core, and THAT is what is causing you to bleed.

just be who you are, do your job in the kickass way you always have, and whatever happens is going to happen anyway. no matter what, you'll still be you, you'll still know the truth.

it's kinda funny. when the bio-dad would accuse me of something absolutely ludicrous and based on nothing more than his assumption that any female having achieved puberty was duplicitous, wilfully rebellious against him, and wanton to the point of filth, i used to just shrug and say, "that's okay, believe what you want. i know the truth." i'd finally given up trying to convince him i was a worthwhile and good human being, and while something in me had broken and i no longer cared about being punished (because it was going to happen either way), i used those words to goad him and also let him know there was some small core of me he would never, ever be able to touch.

greggo's echo of those very words were actually a comfort.

at the same time, he knows how violently i rail against injustice and how sick it makes me to watch the exploitation of the weak. i'm thankful someone out there understands that. actually, my whole adoptive family understands. even *cc*, though she doesn't understand why, and i can see why she wouldn't grasp it fully. she's a military medic, and her specialty is triage. if you can't personally deal with a situation --due to lack of supplies, manpower, or the realities of what it is in a person's power to actually do-- then you just don't worry about it and what will happen will happen.

i, on the other hand, rail against that inability.

the injustice and illogic of the situation in the salon, and the store in general, infuriates me. but, as greggo well knows and pointed out to me, it is my own helplessness and feeling of utter castration in this situation that's making me so sick. i didn't embrace my inner revolutionary freedom fighter just to sit and sweat in some egoist's hotbox and accept the realities of utter impotence.

fighting for a healthy, safe place to work and live is nothing more than fighting for my own health and happiness. the reality of my situation is that i have been, or am, in the course of my life an abused child, recovering SI'er, codependent, and bipolar. certain situations kick off that chemical imbalance in my brain. being the pronoiac and naturopathist i am, part of my ongoing treatment is fending off those situations that would tip me over into imbalance.

i simply want to be healthy, godsdammit.

the wholistic thing to do would be to participate in fixing the problem, leaving things a little cleaner and neater than i found them for those who come after me...in every situation. just "getting out" by transferring doesn't fix anything. of course, on the other hand, as in the situation with *m*, at some point i'm going to have to accept that the situation can never be fixed, and all i can do is get the hell outta dodge before the whole damn thing collapses under the weight of its own shit. let the karmic chips fall where they may, and get out with a whole skin.

i've let this thing affect me for too long. i haven't been to the gym in weeks. i've been eating dairy products and not giving a shit how they tear me up. i've been compulsive/comfort eating again: starches, salt, and sugar. taco bell, for cryin' out loud! freakin' ACK!! i've been drinking alcohol and soda, and smoking djarum blacks (clove cigarettes) looking for the buzz from alcohol, caffiene, and tobacco. i'm suppressing, again.

all of which not only makes me sicker in various ways, but impedes getting better. and no, they're not the same thing.

yeah, greggo, you're right. i wanna fight back against the lame, unjust illogic of it all and i know i can't. my anger is consuming me.

but not for long. i am a revolutionary freedom fighter for beauty, truth, and the Funk. i am a daughter of the Menstrual Temple, and scion of Lilith --Night Mother of Vengeance and Independence. i am a witch, i run with the silverfox pack, and am House Mother of the House of Dragons' Rest. i am pronoiac, i am woman, i am delena.

not for long. so the fuck mote it be.

lots to say, none which is interesting

...to say the least.

taking my shower earlier, there were actually quite a few topics rolling about in my head like marbles. but really, honestly, i'm so damn tired i really don't give a crap about any of them. i'm so tired i give these jaw-cracking yawns all day long, my brain is dead, and my body feels weak like it's getting sick.

and no, i'm not getting sick.

and yet i can't fall asleep, godsdammit. i dread sleeping, i don't want to do it, because when i wake up i'll have to go to work, and i fucking hate that fucking place right now. i've increasingly hated it over the past few months. and there seems no good way out. my only way out --quitting-- is just another version of an anal rape in the dark over a barrel with sand in the vaseline. indentured servants can't up and quit their jobs.

just fucking transfer me, assholes.

what, me stressed??

so yesterday i'm at work bathing my 3:30 appointment, a standard poodle mix named jacques. he's quite the sweetheart and perhaps is the exception to my rule to hate all doodles. he's a sweetheart, and he can't help it stupid people made him a mutt and are making themselves look stupid trying to make him an AKC standard breed.

(for those of you unfamiliar with the dog world or its lingo and nicknames, "doodles" is the unofficial nickname for any breed mixed with a poodle. e.g. labradoodles, goldendoodles, schnoodles, stupiddoodles... except for "yorkiepoos." UGH.)

and no shit, there i was, rinsing off his beautiful head with his warm hazel eyes, and suddenly i'm doubled over in piercing lower abdomen pain. i shut off the water --ever the desert creature, brainwashed at an early age to cringe at all waste of water-- and collapsed against the wall. this was, like, holy-shit-i'm-freaking-OUT kind of pain. i went into mild shock kinda pain.

i put jacques the doodle away in his kennel soaking wet, poor thing, and apologized profusely. but i was also sweating and shaking, the pain was so bad, and i hoped he'd understand. then i just headed for the back, because if i was gonna puke, dammit i was gonna puke in a toilet and not all over the floor.

i made a beeline for the door through the salon, doubled over, and the acting manager (since the manager lady got herself transferred due to Stupid Political Crap at work) and one of the other groomers asked if i was okay, what was the matter? i gasped out an, "i have no idea" and kept walking. i was fucking scared.

with no luck in the bathroom, with both of those groomers' help, i made it to the break room and just sat for a while until the world stopped spinning. i'd say i was sweating like a pig, but pigs don't sweat. my general manager and one of the floor managers were there, and they asked if i was okay. the GM left, but said he'd check on me later. being the stubborn bitch i am, the minute i could stand mostly upright, i went back to the bathroom.

what scared me even more than BAM!-out-of-the-blue, twist-me-into-a-pretzel pain was finding blood when it's nowhere near my time of the month. some girls have the occasional spotting, some have the occasional surprise early or irregular period.

NOT ME, DAMMIT!!!!

you could set your watch by me. i'm the chick everybody hates. no cramps, no spotting, no bloating, no soreness, and in three days i'm done. sometimes less than that. yeah, i'll get antsy a week before and crave spaghetti like nobody's business, but so what? so i get to make my fan-fucking-tastic delena spaghetti once a month and everybody benefits! this doesn't happen to me, dammit!!

of course, the only thing going through my head was when my grandma had cancer and this was how it started. she's years in the grave, and it was a fucking wad of fun watching the cancer just eat her up until she wasted away and died. i was slightly scared, to say the least.

i called up my doctor, but wasn't able to get a hold of anyone until this morning. i called in to work, but my GM had left a note for the other managers that i probably wouldn't be in today and it was okay. that was thoughtful. but anyway, i spoke to a nurse, and she said it was most likely a cyst, and the bleeding? stress.

BLOODY FUCKING ZIPPY YAY YUMMY FUN.

i've never had my body react to stress like this. usually i toe the edge of a mental breakdown, have another violent flare-up of IBS, and catch some type of bug that lasts for weeks. like the flu. it's cost me a job or two in the past, because it stressed me out until my health was on the midden heap. but bleeding? yeah, let's just go from zero to scare the crap out of me in 2.5 seconds.

of course, you could say it's really my body telling me something. and i know things have sucked at work lately. i haven't written about it --which makes me feel worse, actually-- because the wrong person could read those entries and take advantage of them, and then there goes my fantastic, perfect career. and there are a few people who read this blog who are dirty enough cunts to endanger my job. i know this. i don't change what i say because i couldn't care less about it. i value my honesty, and i love this blog too much to let them keep me from shining. but i'm also not stupid, either.

i just wasn't aware that work was stressing me out this badly. something seriously needs to be done, and i think i just need to be transferred ASAFP.

at least i got to take a nap today...

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19) - San Francisco Chronicle columnist Jon Carroll says he's periodically asked about what it takes to be a writer. He has two pieces of advice: "Good writers read a lot, and good writers write a lot." I urge you to apply that approach to whatever skill it is you'd like to master, whether it's building a boat, traveling where the tourists don't go, satisfying a lover, or anything else. In other words, practice, practice, and practice some more as you study the work of those who are experts in the field. Now is an especially ripe time for you to identify what this skill is for you, and to sign a formal agreement with yourself in which you promise to steadily upgrade your mastery of it.


now, i'm a writer and yes, lately i haven't been writing a lot. my bad. actually, i've been feeling the absence of the writing muses, and i keep promising myself that i'll get back into it, but right now i'm just keeping up with life-in-general. not that i'm complaining! for the first time since *m* and i got together, i can finally say that i'm totally in love with my life again. i'm trying to dwell less on the fact that *m* grossly derailed my Funk and more on the fact that i've got my Funk back and it's Funkier than ever!

but i've been seriously thinking about my horoscopes the last few weeks. i've just not really known what to write about it, and last week...? i didn't really wanna come out with what i thought about it. it was about how this last week i should really be thinking about a truth that'll slowly manifest itself from the lies i'd wrapped it up in like protective coating. and really there's only been two truths that i've been protecting myself from because they hurt so much.

one is the simple fact that no man will ever love me enough to truly be a good-enough partner and companion for me, and for the family i wished to create. i feel like less-than, like a defect of a woman for not being what men want without sacrificing my soul. and sometimes i'm convinced that, obviously, i'm shit because men always end up treating me like shit. and oh goddess, it hurts. but okay, so i'm not good enough to be the fabulous wife i know i could be. i'm still going to be a fucking-fantabulous mother to the most...how did boho mom put it? "the most loved, anticipated, empowered, enlightened, cherished, magical child ever born." yeah. the iGoddess baby will be the first of what will eventually become a tightly-knit, loving, magical, formidable family spanning the world.

so the fuck mote it be.

the second truth is that i'm quite seriously falling in love with *sy*, the person who was simply supposed to be company on cold nights. but he's somehow worked himself past my defenses, past my coldness and my aloofness that *m* had forced me to conform into. he's worked himself past what i wanted and found what i really needed, and it's meshed so wonderfully with what he's wanted and needed that, despite myself, i find our rhythm ebbing and flowing like La Diosa Del Mar herself. it's a slow rhythm, beautiful and subtle and filled with those nameless Things which make the ancient magic powerful still. it's like making love with slow, passionate sighs amid the cozy, orange glow of candles, where the physical connection is more for closeness than pleasure...until climax comes out of nowhere and takes you deep inside a place you'd forgotten ever existed.

those revelations come like that, slow and rhythmic, and i discover belatedly that i've already descended to another level of intimacy despite myself. consciously i fight it, but sometimes i feel i'm being driven by something deeper.

i have yet to decide if i like it.

and this week? this skill i wish to master is, quite simply, love. i've been paying attention to the masters of quality, and the masters of speed in the grooming salon. i've made my weekly goal a permanent and now-commonplace accomplishment. and my quality of work hasn't suffered. i suppose i could still pay more attention and master this skill of pet grooming. and i have been, keeping ears and eyes open for more i could learn. once my transfer goes through, i'll be among other groomers and will learn even more.

but the skill i'm truly interested in mastering is Love. i'm living with *ds* and *ks* now, and i'm sure it's become apparent from my other entries that i hold them as my role models and ultimate example of what love can be for me. of course, to me they are so perfect that perhaps it's no wonder i'm so unlucky in love. for even as i am not fit to be a wife to someone, i doubt the poor bastard would ever be able to live up to the standard my brother and sister hold for me. not one couple in a million achieves what they've been blessed with, which makes it all the more sacred.

just as Love is sacred. as sex and marriage and life and all of existence is sacred. didn't Everything come from Love?

and so i will sit back, and i will pay attention, and i will learn. this ever-growing mastery of love will be showered upon the iGoddess-child. and in the sanctity of my bedchamber, i suppose *sy* will be the lucky recipient of my advancing lessons as i grow in my mastery.

*shrug* i guess...so the fuck mote it be.

the one where we fill in the blanks

last saturday i had "*m*" scribbled in my little pink personal calendar i keep in my purse, ever since my schedule got so hectic in my mission to remain at home as little as possible. hell, it go so that i could barely keep track of where i was supposed to be and when.

he apologized. not only did he apologize, but i was actually very pleasantly surprised that he sucked it up and admitted he had turned exactly into big *c*. his life had gone to shit and he was taking it out on me. he put me last. he pushed me away instead of letting me in. he ignored me, and i didn't deserve any of it. he treated me like absolute shit, and he was filled with remorse. he loved me, and oh god, did he miss me. it killed him every minute i wasn't home, and it killed him to know that he brought it on himself and, moreso, that he deserved all of it.

and so on and so forth.

he got really choked up and even teary-eyed for some of it. it's uncomfortable being around a grown man crying. we talked a bit. he was stone-cold sober...for once. lately he'd been drinking a lot, but as he'd ignored my own drinking binge previously, i made a point to ignore his. on his knees in front of me (i was sitting on the floor happily eating taco bell), he asked if there was any chance of us fixing this. any chance at all?

i shook my head. "it's too late," i said.

after a lot of crying and kicking himself, he left for a while. i thought maybe it was to drive around and think, but it was actually to buy more alcohol. however, by then i'd asked *ds* and *ks* over to watch more alias and to talk a bit.

sunday was another story. i'd come home after a fun night out with *ds* and *ks*. that was the "corset and cheese" night. oi vey...

but we talked more, *m* and i, because i was actually trying to be friendly and he wasn't speaking to me. "ah, so we're being rude now," i said. he gave me this schpiel about having just lost the best thing that ever happened to him and how he's having a hard time right now and just trying to kill his love. that's the phrase he used. "kill his love." every time he looks at me it reminds him of what he lost and it hurts too much.

fuck. like every time i set foot inside that apartment i was whacked upside the head with everything i'd lost --including how dead my lifelong dream was-- and with everything that made me so fucking miserable? everywhere i looked, there were *m*'s things, reminders i was in such close proximity to someone who had made me as miserable as big *c* and my bio-dad had.

(just for reference, my friendship with my bio-dad is really good now.)

so i had no pity. and *m* was well along in the drinking by that time. the argument escalated to the point where he lost his temper and was screaming at me. he slammed his drink on the table, which splashed in a fountain onto the carpet. he stood over me and was shouting at the top of his lungs. being that i will not tolerate being in any submissive position except at my choosing (and only with my lover), i calmly got to my feet and stood off with him. he ignored the gesture and continued to shout. he put his hands on me, still shouting, right around the scruff of my neck.

drunk, he put his hands on me in anger.

which is, of course, the unacceptable Point of No Return.

so the next day i told *mj* and *cc* about it. they were upset, needless to say. i told *ds* and *ks* as they sat on the couch with me and we watched across the universe (yay!). i called up my dad and told him, and he and i had a long conversation about it.

the thing of it is, i was still actually willing to pardon his behavior. compared to the really violent shit i've already lived through, putting hands on me while shouting in my face doesn't really register on my scale. i was more insulted and irritated than anything, and not once did it even occur to me to be frightened. in fact, he backed down first. but seriously, i've been beaten, raped, bludgeoned, had joints dislocated, and stared down the barrel of a gun someone else held up at me. all at the hands of men. a little drunken raging was nothing. pipsqueaky, even.

but then *ks* said something that simply decided it for me. he said the thought of his sister living in this kind of environment just made him twist up inside, and i knew it was that protective love for a member of his pack he was talking about. well, if living in that place --where i'd honestly had nothing but unhappiness anyway-- was going to do that to members of my family, then move out of it i shall.

and i did. monday night we packed up some of my stuff, then went to shari's and celebrated by stuffing ourselves like pigs. it was great. on tuesday we packed up the rest of it and hauled it out of there. on wednesday we moved my heavy stuff and that was that. i'm now posting to you live from my new apartment i share with *ds* and *ks*.

and on wednesday night, *sy* and i broke in my bed good and proper.

and it was Good.

gypsy feet

i'll write more later about the story in full, but i'm writing this post from my new apartment...

...with *ds* and *ks*. i woke up happy this morning. i woke up exhausted because i moved all my worldly possessions in two days (bye-bye weekend, *sniffle*) but i woke up happy.

the living room is an absolute nightmare, piled high with everyone's shit, and boxes and boxes. 'tis a veritable mountain of boxes. Mt. Crapola.

yay, mt. crapola!

but yeah. i'll write more later when i'm not busy snatching sleep or working or sorting. but trust the delena: this was a good thing.

word of advice

if you are lactose intolerant...

...wearing a corset and eating cheese isn't good.

don't ask me how i know. *nod*

oi vey...

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec 22-Jan 19): Philosopher Robert Anton Wilson defined information as data and ideas that are new to you. If it's something you already know, then it's propaganda or dogma, not information. Philosopher Terence McKenna had a similar view. He used the terms "information" and "novelty" interchangeably. If you're not surprised, he said, if your curiosity isn't piqued, then the messages streaming your way don't qualify as information. I'd like you to make that your gold standard in the coming weeks, Capricorn. Be voracious for real information, and ruthlessly banish all the fake stuff that's masquerading as real information. You will know you're doing it right if you're never bored.


"what do you know?"

i've been asking myself the above question a lot in the last few days. and, no, not in the pleasantly surprised manner, but more in the, "okay, delena, search your mind and your heart. what do you know is true?" the only answer i keep coming back to that i know for definite truth is, "i am happy."

i might hold onto something until it's long since gone to dust. i'll hold the dust in the cracks and creases of my grubby little hands until it's mixed with so much of my sweat and tears it turns to cement, dries, and weighs me down. but when i finally decide to let it go, i never pick it up again. and i never look back.

of course, i suppose i've also been using nothing but the aforementioned propaganda and dogma to decide this. of course, i've also not had so much of an influx of new information to help me make any decisions. *m* has gone into full-blown "operation win back delena" mode, and this makes me decidedly uncomfortable. he's starting to try to be sweet, and attentive. he's even gone so far as to set up a date with me to spend time together, and sent me flowers at work. my only emotional response has been anger so far. well, anger and discomfort. i keep wanting to shout "too fucking little too fucking late! WHY couldn't you do this three months ago?!!?!" but i say nothing.

then again, saying nothing hasn't really paid off in the past, either.

my relationships with people-not-him are driving him crazy. he's gone into the mindless male possessiveness, and i had to grind it into his head that i am not his territory anymore so he can stop trying to piss on my leg, thankyouverymuch. i also had to grind it in that not only is my personal life not his business, but he's no longer a part of my personal life. i don't think he realized how far he'd fallen out of my life until he was so far removed he couldn't see me at all.

and if that's what it took, then so be it.

of course, now i'm quite content with my life as it is. i'm making these fabulous plans and working toward the goals i can reach. i'm setting weekly goals and meeting them! i'm finally truly learning the meaning of, "let it go to focus on other things." richard told me this once, and i figured out it meant that only when something is strong enough to stand on its own can you then let it go to focus on other things that need your attention. in theory i understood it, but now i've figured out what it means in actual practice. and it seems so simple now, but it's so very difficult to learn.

and *m* has yet to learn this, but he wants me to be his support. he doesn't see he needs to build his own support. he was a cop for so long, he used that as his identity and sense of Self. when that was gone, he used me and our relationship. now that's gone, and he's left looking at himself...and he doesn't want to. so now he's trying to get me back so he doesn't have to face his darkness.

and we all know how that story ends.

and i hate to think so, but it feels like he's only being nice to me now because he wants something from me and he's desperate to fill the void in himself. i don't want to discourage him if he really wants to work on things, but i'll only help him work on what's important: his own Self. i don't know if i want to work on us. if i'm totally honest with myself? inside, it just doesn't feel like i want to. that could still be lingering resentment and a whole lot of distrust, and i have to be honest and look at that, too.

all i really know is that i'm happy right now, where i am, and who i am. and i don't wanna mess that up.

delena haiku

new purpose in life:
it's magically delicious!
sometimes things work out.

lilith in the garden

as part of my resolutions for the new moon --of which i'm doing rather well (go me!)-- i've decided to come out about yet something else. now, before you respond with, "*stunned silence* ...uh, delena? don't you wanna sit on this one a while?" just know that i already have sat on this for quite a few months, and i haven't said anything until i was not only sure, but had already taken steps in this direction.

i had come across this story by robin westmiller a few weeks ago and the beauty and simplicity of it rocked my Funk. it's about lilith in the garden of eden, right before she awakens to her plight and tells adam to go fuck a sheep. she would have told him to go fuck his mother, but in this story, adam really didn't have a mother except for the clay from which he was fashioned. but anyway, that's not the point. the point is the end of the story, where she says...

"from the dust you came, and from the dust you'll return. i, however, will continue for generations. i don't need you. you will never be able to create a new life on your own. i can, and i will.

"...it's all i need to create more of our kind. they're called 'children' and i will have them and they will be strong. the males will be partners and equal to the females and never force the females to lie beneath them. they will be my children and they will have love and be loved..." --robin westmiller

one thing i've come to realize after the debacle-of-*m* is that i've been trying to force something to materialize, through sheer force of my will and effort, that will never be. okay, so i can't be june cleaver. fine. however, i've also come to realize that by the very nature of my quest, i've affected the nature of the very thing i've sought after for so long. simple quantum physics, like schrödinger's cat.

kinda ironic that my holy grail turned out to be a dead cat. (and please, tell me you googled the cat so my very geeky joke at least got one laugh...)

however, i am a child of the dark goddesses. i am a capricorn woman, and it is written in the stars our lives are like one, long dark night of the soul. death is our bridegroom. i wholeheartedly believe in and embrace compassionate destruction. i am a pronoiac: "i die every day" is one of our mantras.

so be it.

i have swallowed my dream and broken it down into its most basic elements so i may then use those materials to construct an even purer Funkalicious Dream, closer to the breast of the All-Savage Vulture Goddess Herself and the Spark that Fueled the Great Big Mushroom Cloud in Our Brains.

and what was left?

love. and family. and love.

if i die right now, i die failing to impart the wisdom Funk i've learned. i die with a meaningless childhood in the House of Oppression, the Baseball Incident only a sad tragedy with no purpose. the ability to feel the Funk with my signature delena-liciousness will fade as my ashes are scattered in some organic garden somewhere. sure, my ashes will inspire some Funky zucchini, but c'mon. squash have a Funk all their own.

zucchini rock, btw...

so i decided if lilith can do it, and if i have taken her name and the responsibilities of her patronage, then i can follow her example. and lo, i said unto myself, in regards to building a happy family, "i'll do it myself."

i declare this the Year of Bountiful Funk. the rest of this year is dedicated to preparing for the precious child i will bring into this world with love and joy and much, much anticipation. i will prepare my finances, my surroundings, my mind, my body, my life. i've gone back to the gym and renounced all caffeine and shortcuts. with the help of a few precious friends and mentors, i'm researching the nitty-grit of single motherhood. *waves to boho mom* i'm transferring to a salon closer to home by half, to help save money. the Funkmobile is slowly but surely getting into perfect working order. *ds*, *ks* and i are planning on moving into a rent-to-own house, as soon as we can find one that works for us. i swear, every time we get together, we can't help brainstorming about this wonderful Plan of ours, with real and attainable Goals we're working on even now, because the thought fills us with such excitement and purpose.

and with this decision, i feel a new vitality breathing in me. life has color again. my life has purpose...finally. i never was fully happy living just for myself. so yes, this time i think i'm ready. i'm not a child this time around, and i can look into my child's eyes and say, "i wanted you. i chose you. i cleared the way so you may come and experience life."

i'll do it myself.

conversations with a disillusioned heart

while driving home...


me: i've never really liked valentine's day. in grade school it was a popularity contest, receiving those valentine-o-grams with lollipops or balloons. i wasn't liked, let alone popular. in high school, i'd already been injured enough by males to get a kick out of dumping boyfriends a few days before valentine's day. married, there was the bouquet of stargazers for a couple years, then nothing. valentine's day sucks.

now there's someone who called me up to ask, "hey, what do you want to do for valentine's day?" it surprised me. *looking over shoulder to change lanes* i made him dinner last night, and we enjoyed wine, italian, and movies at his place. i never said anything, but it was my valentine gift.

my Disillusioned Heart: but i thought you never made dinner for anyone if it wasn't special.

me: i don't, but that's just it. i'll cook for family. i cooked for the special men in my life. but i couldn't help it. i just wanted to.

my Disillusioned Heart: but you didn't want to get serious. you said you were done with men, with hoping for a husband, with believing in that kind of love being possible in your life. you're such a flake!

me: i don't understand it. the one relationship i've tried so hard to keep from getting serious is the relationship that's turned out to be the most rewarding i've ever been in. i know that should tell me something, but what? i'm not yet sure. *downshifting for slower traffic*

my Disillusioned Heart: it tells you serious relationships are never rewarding. every time you got serious, you got fucked and i got smashed to pieces. this last time with *m*? the fucker put me in a blender! do you know how NOT fun it is to be frappéed? i'm a fucking pile of goo now. no pieces to put back together. thanks for that, by the way.

me: i know, i'm sorry. i should have protected you better. my naïveté and trusting nature shouldn't be an excuse. but i don't agree with you, either. my love role-models show me committed relationships are among the most rewarding things in the universe.

my Disillusioned Heart: they're merely the exception proving the rule.

me: people all over the world have rewarding, committed relationships.

my Disillusioned Heart: *raises a brow* seems like everyone but you, huh?

me: no need to be so hurtful. and no, not everyone. if everyone had the same special gift, it wouldn't be special anymore, would it? ...'cept for the gift of life. that's always special, and everyone has that.

my Disillusioned Heart: *scoffs* too bad so many people squander it. don't appreciate what they take for granted.

me: just because they're blind to the specialness doesn't take it away, though. it's always there. just like my own specialness has always been there, whether They ever appreciated it or not. you and i? we let Their blindness convince us we were just seeing things, hallucinating our own specialness. we were wrong.

my Disillusioned Heart: ain't nothing special 'bout amorphous goo that used to be a heart.

me: *laughs* 'cept that now i can take that goo, like cake batter, and bake it slowly in the warmth of peace, forgiveness, and self-respect. spread the Funk on you like cream cheese frosting. when it's done, you'll be whole again. good as new, but stronger. denser. moist and sweet and delicious. maybe you, my oft-broken heart, had to be completely destroyed --frappéed, as you put it-- to put you into the perfect consistency for resurrection. wouldn't that be exactly what our goddesses do? compassionate destruction to utter completion? resurrection to a stronger, purer Self?

my Disillusioned Heart: shut up.

me: perhaps you had to utterly die, my heart, in order to truly live again.

my Disillusioned Heart: *quiet a moment* ...you sound like you actually believe this bunk.

me: i do.

my Disillusioned Heart: next you'll be telling me you love this whacked relationship you're in; "The Serious Relationship That's Not."

me: *sigh* i do.

my Disillusioned Heart: *accusing glare* you said you loved him last night.

me: *whispered* i know.

my Disillusioned Heart: *narrows skeptical eyes* what are you gonna do about it?

me: nothing i haven't already done.

my Disillusioned Heart: good.

me: not for the reasons you think, though. quite simply, you're not ready yet. and i've let go of that dream.

my Disillusioned Heart: i'm not going to convince you i'm right, am i?

me: no, my heart. it is i who will convince you.

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Happy Valentine Daze, Capricorn! The astrological omens suggest that you should liberate your wild heart from its hiding place, maybe even experiment with extravagant expressions of love. To get yourself worked up into a proper state of fertile agitation, read aloud from Pablo Neruda's book *100 Love Sonnets* (translated by Stephen Tapscott), starting with "Love Sonnet XI": "I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day_I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps . . . [I] hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,_I want to eat your skin like a whole almond . . . I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes. And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens . . . ."


mr. brezsny, i love you...but FUCK NO and GET BENT, mr. brezsny. my "wild heart," as you accurately called it, has been indelibly cured of its ridiculous obsession with romantic love.

but don't worry. i'll love you next week.

new moon

i was browsing through boho mom's blog and found this, and it just touched me. so much has been simmering inside me lately, and as always when i'm on a long simmer, i haven't been able to put any of it to words.

and on the other hand, my actions lately have lacked aught for eloquence. and so i, too, will commit to the blogosphere my intentions for this new moon. my natural powers and abilities always resonated more strongly with the dark/new moon anyhow...



the new moon phase is the time of new beginnings.
this is a time of growing energy, newness, rejuvenation, growth, renewal and hope. it is a good point to make changes in your life, such as putting an end to bad habits or dead-end relationships.

as we begin this lunar cycle and tune into the new moon energy i am focusing on intention for these areas...

~ enriching those relationships with which i have already been blessed
~ kind thoughts, kind words, kind deeds
~ reinforcing my new dedication to work so it becomes permanent
~ moving meditation
~ defining my goals, and creating a Plan to attain them
~ good health, better diet, a night of pampering myself
~ creating peace in my heart, and in my home
~ performing a re-dedication ritual for my space


I am letting go of...
~ bitterness toward broken dreams
~ resentment towards *m*
~ feeling pressured to be more committed than i feel ready to be

[r]EVOLUTION [!]

the thing i love most about pronoia and the miracle of self-actualization (or as the Multiversal Jiggy Snake likes to call it, "Pop Goes the Weasel") is that i find out more things about myself every day. and considering i'm just self-centered enough to find myself fascinating, i find this whole finding-more-things-out absolutely...well...fascinating!

after a text-message fight with *m* last night, i realized that while i've given up on him, i'm still honoring the memory of the version of *m* i fell in love with and with whom i wanted to bear children and create my family. i'm still giving him a chance. yes it's a long shot, because i don't think he's ever going to self-actualize and come out of his self-absorption enough to realize what he needs to realize. but all the same, i'm giving him a chance not because i'm in love with him, but because i owe it to our memory, and the memory of the wonderful him, to give him every chance i can.

as long as he asks for it.

on the other hand, i'm also not going to sacrifice any more of myself for it. i have drawn my lines in the sand and made no bones about it. i've not lied or even hedged the truth. yes, i'm seeing *sy*. yes, we're fucking. yes, he makes me happy while *m* makes me abjectly miserable. but i'm a funktastic, bootylicious, strong, beautiful, and enduring woman with one hell of a head on her shoulders, and i'm a stunning partner to be with.

i think he's finally figuring that part out, and pissed as hell that i don't belong to him anymore. i belong to ME. but i'm giving him a chance, for the man he used to be. call it a matter of honor.

mirror mirror

work has been fan-funky-tastic. bloody orgasmic. a great big mushroom cloud in my confidence...and my checking account.

i've gotten in the groove of filling my appointment book, and judging how much extra work i can take on in any given day. the net result has been upping my average by two dogs a day, and bumping my weekly sales well over a grand. considering your average dog groom costs about forty dollars, that's a lot of dogs. i love my work...

yesterday, by purest funky chance, i happened to check my cell phone. i usually don't anymore, since *m* and i really don't talk, and he was the reason i kept my phone on during work hours. but i was looking up *ds*'s number to apologize for going off radar for so many days --as we have the gym regimen together-- and found a text from *m*: "is there an ER in [our city]?"

oh crap.

so i call him, and there's no answer.

double crap.

i call again, and get him. thank the Funk. i ask what's wrong. he's in pain. crippling pain, left kidney. he's gasping on the phone.

shit.

i tell him to call my sister, as she might be home. call me back at work if she doesn't answer. a phone call comes in; it's a customer wanting to make an appointment. fine. phone call. it's *m*. *cc*'s not answering.

shit, shit.

fine. lemme work something out. i wait for the manager lady to get back in the salon, tell her what's going on. *m*'s got something serious, needs to go to the ER, there's no one else to drive him but me. she tells me to go. i call *m*: "i'm on my way, hold tight, 'kay?"

to make a very long afternoon short, it was kidney stones and i've never seen *m* in that state before. he was in the sort of pain in which no position is comfortable and stillness is agony, to move is torture but the body writhes and fidgets and rocks itself back and forth because it is pushed so far beyond its ability to process or endure that level of pain.

i know it well.

my heart knows it even better.

...this story is not about *m*.

you would think, knowing my big and stupidvulnerable heart and what a sucker it is for people in need, that i would have dropped work, dropped everything and been by his side through thick and thin. as greggo can attest, i've never been very good about allotting my inner resources. i just give it all away on anyone i remotely care about.

but it's been eating at me since yesterday: the only thought through my head was that i was more irritated that i'd be missing out on work and the opportunity to fatten my paycheck with my rockin' grooming. i was counting every dollar that i missed out on (103$ in sales), and whatever missed opportunities came in the form of walk-ins or call-in last-minute appointments. and when *m* was sitting in the hospital bed, rocking back and forth and crying from the pain, i wanted to sit with my book and read. if i was going to miss work, at least i could finish the book i was reading. but i thought, "if i was in his shoes, i would want a little human compassion." i actually had to think about it. things like that are instinctive, reflexive with me. i had to think about holding his hand, consider if i actually wanted to do it, and then make myself do it.

all the while, it was in my head what an inconvenience this all was.

all i could see was the man who had shoved my heart into a food processor and hit "pulp." all i could see was the stranger wearing my dead beloved's face, this stranger who makes it so fucking uncomfortable to be home to the point where i'm gone mostly five nights out of seven every week just so i don't have to be around it. all i could see was someone i don't trust, who had already cost me so much money, time, and heartache as it was.

to make matters even more complicated...

last night i was with *sy*. now, a few things about *sy* as i see them: because of this whole stupid complication with *m*, and my ambivalent, conflicting feelings regarding him, i'd been letting myself be with *sy* but not letting myself get too involved or attached. my heart was a bloody pulp, and love is gone. there is only Now, and no attachment or commitment to a future.

it is long, long gone;
career, love, marriage, children.
a foolish dream, dead.

but while i was still reeling in confusion over my reaction to *m*'s emergency, in its wake came a new eagerness and anticipation to see *sy*, and a happiness on the verge of excitement when i saw his face. i wore the purple number beneath my jeans and t-shirt, gave him such a thrill when he saw it, and i had fun doing it. i'd bought it to try and entice big *c*'s attention after things fell apart, but instead of waving it around in desperate appeal i wore it for simple surprise and enjoyment, and what a difference! not to mention, because i wasn't letting myself care too deeply, i've been able to be myself in bed and not care. i've been demanding and creative, even getting up and leaving in the middle of the night the one time he wasn't attentive to my needs.

that's not really like me. usually i bend over backward and take the disregard like a doormat. the whole boundary issue, and being too, foolhardily generous with my inner resources. not with *sy*, and i daresay that's probably what my problem has been with men treating me well in the beginning and then like shit at the end. i think i conditioned them to do it, with my too-stupidgenerous giving of everything i had. right principles, wrong execution.

but last night i was still that way, still comfortable and unself-conscious. i asked for it "soft," and it took him a minute to understand what i meant. "oh!' he said, laughing. "you mean the touching and soft kissing, slow and gentle everything, right?"

"yeah. i think i want that," i said.

"you mean makin' love. that's what you want."

my smile froze on my face. the realization hit me like thunder and dread and i felt it slam into my chest and spread upwards and outwards until my toes, fingers, and scalp fairly tingled with that ball of mixed emotions. but he was absolutely right. i wanted him to make love to me.

and he did. we did.

i woke up this morning sated and soft, not just in my body but in my heart. he couldn't stop bringing up how his touch made my body sing, and his fingertips coaxed the words, "i think i love you" from my lips. i vaguely remember something like that, but i was out of my head at the time.

but i think yesterday, dealing with *m*'s emergency, those are usually the time for realizations of what's truly important. you could be at absolute, merciless odds with someone, but in a medical emergency or life-threatening situation, all the bullshit gets swept aside and those things that are truly important finally get to shine. well, the bullshit was swept away, and there was no love to be found.

there was only me.

in the place where i thought a torch was still at least smouldering for *m*, i found only cold darkness and, at the same time, that realization gave me the freedom to give *sy* the warmth i'd been holding back from him. it might not be love --it's too soon for it to be love-- and it probably will never be. love is dead, remember? but the caring, affection, and warmth i think i was holding back in hopes to give it to *m* is now free to go where it will.

i don't want to say it's a happy ending, because i don't feel it is. it's a tragic ending for the saga of delena and *m*, for whom love was slaughtered in slow degrees by neglect and self-absorption, and encouraged to die by my misguided attempts to be purely unselfish. i swear by the Funk, i did not see what i was doing. i thought i was being loving, selfless, and may the Jiggy Snake lash me with its mighty, cosmic big bang tail if i'm lying.

on the other hand, it means i'm free of this oppressive heartache for once and all, and it's no secret the vehement revulsion i hold for all cages. because of it, last night held magic. it's small, the step he and i took, but i can feel the difference it made for the two of us. and my heart...i think it's slightly less pulpy.

the little stripper who could...

it seems that it's becoming a pattern every week, that i'm really only home two nights out of every week. and by "home," i mean the apartment for which i work to pay rent and utilities. the apartment in which i house the fucktard kittens-who-are-not-mine. the apartment in which i actually have a reserved parking space in the lot, use the gym and pool facilities, and store my clothes and polyglot "stuff."

yeah, that home.

i think renting a storage unit would be cheaper, since i really lay my head there less often than i lay it elsewhere. but anyway...

last night was designated "friday night out" with a few friends from work. since she is the tacit-crowned party girl of the salon, and since i have the great good fortune of closing the salon on friday nights with her, i usually end up just packing a few things and driving to her place, partying all night long, and then dragging my sorry, whimpering-yet-sated ass to work the next (early) day.

like today. *cough*

so yeah.

i had thought, and packed clothing accordingly, for 80's Night. y'know, club with nothing but kickass 80's music, bottomless sex on the beach and midori sours, and dancing for hours straight and, in my case, watching friends play pool. i can't stand pool. but instead i was surprised by the news we would be going to the strip club down the street from them.

i was down with that.

so we walked (i swear, it was that close) and i ended up watching them play about a half dozen rounds of pool, ate a few baskets of fries, took (stole) a few sips of my friend's white russian, and then went and watched the girls. now, my friends --being that they live two portland blocks from this place-- are known regulars there, and have their favorite girl. and yes, she's actually quite entertaining and engaging. she's outgoing, talkative, and hilarious on stage. so it was fun.

but while eating fries and watching my friend kick her boyfriend's ass at pool (by nothing but lucky shots and pure chance), what do i espy across the room, in the far, dark corner, but a very shapely, thick, rubenesque venus of redheads spinning upside down on the pole.

i swear to you, ladies and gentlefolk, it took my breath away.

"oh my funky gods," i said.

"what?!" she said.

i pointed. "her."

she looked. "you like her?" her tone was neutral, yet interested.

"my gods!" i breathed. "she's gorgeous! she's not like all the other fucking thin-like-rail girls here that i know i'll never live up to. she's thick, but she's beautiful!" and it was true.

she was round and voluptuous in the way that i would imagine the first women of Eden would have been. of-the-earth, with thick ankles adorned in shining, coiling bronze, muscular calves and a torso defined by just-enough muscle to ripple like soft waves against the shore at sunset. i swear i was enchanted. she didn't wear the usual outfits the others wore, but just a simple red dress and no shoes. and lemme tell you, it's harder to walk around with the self-possession, poise, and grace that the others do when their prancing around in five-inch stillettos or platform heels, and you're barefoot.

she pulled it off.

we sat down, and i actually had to wait --patiently-- through three other girls' sets before my flame-haired vulture goddess came onto the stage. and she was friendly, and talkative, and i think i might have been the first person all night to ask her how she was.

"and how are you all tonight?" she asked, doing her little wiggle-dance.

"we're fabulous," my friend said.

"that's great," said the dancer. "y'know, it's always nice to hear that from people."

"and how are you?" i asked, entranced.

she kind of chuffed, a laugh that's not quite a laugh. "you don't wanna be asking me that right now."

of course, my bold friend being what she is, asked point-blank, "so what happened to make tonight not a good night?"

and she told us. long story short, she came in three hours early to work and it wasn't paying off, not to mention two people had already come up to her to tell her she was too heavy to be dancing. imagine! people with enough shit for brains to dare try make a stripper feel ugly. and not just any stripper -- my vulture goddess! when angry, i would bet hard-earned grooming money she sprouts an extra four arms and her skin turns blue when she's angry, just like one of the patronesses of the Menstrual Temple.

i sat and talked with her after her set was done, stars in my eyes. all night long, i couldn't tear my eyes away from her lines. it wasn't even about the stereotypical eye-candy that all women possess; it was about those beautiful lines, the epic poetry of her curves. i asked her how she got such a stunning body, "...because," i said, pointing at my friend across the room, "i've been telling her all night that you are the most beautiful girl in this entire building. you look real, and you're unbelievable on stage. girl, you give me hope," i said.

throughout our conversation, i found out she was 5'3, weighed 185 lbs., and she was as strong as all that to do the things she did freestyle, and enchanting from every angle. it made me realize that, standing at 5'5 and weighing ten pounds less than she did, beauty was actually attainable.

now, everyone can say, until they're blue in the face, all that beauty in the eye of the beholder bullshit, and many types of beauty, and blah blah fucking blah. but the truth of the matter is majority rules, and all i ever see are skinny, anglo-saxon twigs with delicate bone structures, no hips, and bellies as flat as my sex life with *m* was.

i'm mexican. i am all hip, and i have shoulders as broad as some men's. i will never be slim, and i will never be delicate or flat. i have too much rugged mexican terrain and thought the only goddess figure i could aspire to was of the venus of willendorf persuasion. not that there's anything wrong with Her, just that pendulous breasts and an ass that could park a car wasn't exactly what i had in mind when talking about my inner goddess.

not until my dancing vulture goddess showed me --for the first time in my life-- that thick and beautiful really could go together. i'd never seen anyone like her before.

ever.

she gave me so much last night. she said i made her night. i gave her dollar bills. she gave me hope.