breaking the glass

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.

T-minus...

...5 hours 9 minutes, and counting.

my flight leaves at 16:05 today, and as i sat down to write this entry, it's 10:56. i woke up yesterday and realized it was my last full day of no *m*. the impish, dry-humored side of me pulled the corner of my mouth up in my old wry half-smile as it occurred to me i might want to call in sick to work and go downtown, then call up everyone i knew and throw a last-minute hen party.

i didn't, though. i went to work, and actually yesterday was a very good day. it was quiet, for the most part. it's been slow at work, and i only groomed two dogs. the tips from those dogs, however, bought me dinner. which, i must say, i was glad for since money's been so tight with the payroll disaster and i've been going hungry on those nights i haven't been over at *ds* and *ks*'s apartment.

boho mom, you'd be so proud of me. these last two weeks have been an immersion in the bohemian lifestyle, to include sitting on the floor (no furniture) while crocheting afghans and potholders, going hungry, drinking lots of looseleaf chai, and shaving curls of handmade goatmilk lavender soap to do my laundry, lol.

i've loved it, though. the demon children are affectionate, cuddly, purry, and a hilarious source of entertainment. my apartment's been comfortingly quiet, and ever since i put that nightlight in my room, sleeping's been enjoyable, too. although i haven't enjoyed the solitary state, however temporary i know it's been. the only time in my life i've lived somewhat alone, it was when i was married to big *c* and it was just me and li'l *c* at home together while big *c* worked double shifts to get away from me. and an infant, and then a toddler, is anything but quiet. and we kept each other company. but that's the closest to living alone that i've ever come.

and i've decided i enjoy roomates. perhaps i've always been communal, although that wouldn't be surprising. i grew up in a large mexican family, which is synonymous for "noisy and obnoxious." i loved it when it was the six of us (*ks*, *ds*, *kas*, *mj*, and *cc*) with four or five cats and a dog. it was cramped, and we got on each other's nerves, but i always felt safe and loved. sure, there's a freedom when living alone that you really don't have when you're living with anyone else, but i know i can always just get up and go somewhere whenever i want. i've made it abundantly clear to *m* that i'm anything but tether-downable.

*mj* called me a free spirit once, and *ds* and *ks* call me their stray kitty. *mj* laughs at my gypsy feet, and everyone else wonders why i refuse to settle down. i suppose after living in a cage for two dozen years, any animal would be wary of the thing that even remotely resembles captivity. we'll see if *m* has what it takes to coax a stray kitty indoors: a cozy fire; a warm, soft, and comfortable place to curl up; a gentle hand willing to give affection; and maybe a collar with a bell, but only so long as time is given to me to decide if i want to wear it, and so long as the collar is pink.

so we'll drive up tomorrow, and i got thursday off from work so i could help *m* unload the moving truck. then, sunday is dinner at the parents' and a sort of "welcome home, *m*" celebrating his first sunday dinner as a member of the household. next sunday, the girls at the salon had all wanted to go to one of the haunted houses we have around here, and they chose the 28th because they knew *m* could come, too. they're all excited to have him up here, someone they can interact with and get to know, instead of a disembodied name that just comes out of my mouth whenever i decide to talk about him.

everyone's excited he's finally coming up here. i... well, i've decided to withhold excitement until i have a better idea how this will all turn out. i really want to be happy with this whole thing, so i've been doing my best not to set myself up for too much disappointment. so i suppose as long as i just don't press, and i let things be, it might work.

as my bio-mom used to say all the time, and it used to irritate me now but as i've gotten older i find myself using it a lot, "we'll see."

how delena got her Funk back

y'know, the thing i really love about my life is that i can be zooming along life's highway at light speed when suddenly everything just changes direction in the blink of an eye.

like those really cool bikes in tron.

and then, just like that, i have to change tack and catch the wind, and off i go again like i'd always been going this way. of course, sometimes i get tangled in the lines and capsize, but i'm proud to say i usually recover fairly quickly.

this weekend of mine was about getting away, letting off a little steam and trying to de-stress at least enough that i didn't end up grinding *m*'s bones to make my bread. but i got three text messages and a voicemail with him telling me, "you need to call me." so i did.

me: "what's up?"
him: "we didn't get the apartment."
me: "what? why?"
him: *long explanation about how the owner was upset that he was too stupid to understand the small tangle that is my name change, and something about a spot on *m*'s credit five years ago*
me: *ranting*
him: "so today at lunch i'm gonna run around and gather up a few numbers of other apartments. the only thing is...everything else is full. and the duplexes i found--"
me: "ooh, duplexes!"
him: "--are a little seedy."
me: "so what's wrong with the duplexes?"
him: "they're seedy. i don't mind a little 'character,' but that's a little more character than i like to live in, y'know?"
me: *remembers the disputed gang territory/other-side-of-the-tracks neighborhood i grew up in, and scoffs* "um, so?"
him: "so...i dunno. i'll just see what i can come up with."
me: "y'know," *somewhat-but-not-really-joking-tone-that-was-more-hopeful-than-anything* "i can always just check with my apartment and you can move up here."
him: "y'know, i've been thinking about that."

so we talked more, and agreed to give it until the manager at the idaho apartments called back with an answer from the owner. i have to give the woman props. she was really working hard and trying for us. she actually called me not many hours after that conversation with *m* to tell me personally that the answer was no, and to apologize profusely. i was genuinely disappointed, because i'd chosen those apartments mainly because i adored her. she would've been an awesome manager to be renting from, lemme tell you.

so i called *m* back, and we talked a bit more, and he asked for a bit of time to really think about it. he was giving me a lot of, "i guess," and "i suppose." nuh-uh. gimme definites to walk on, or i'll make definites.

around midnight i got a text. "i'll move...yes i'm sure. sweet dreams."

of course, he's upset, and surprise of all surprises, i know exactly how he feels. i've only been living in that mix of dread, homesickness, helplessness, and fearful pain for the past two months. but it's slowly been hitting me:

i'm staying!

driving home from madras last night i was awesome. i had the "for dee" series (as i call them) in the cd player. greggo had made me a few cd's of mixed songs a couple years ago, and they remain some of my top favorites to listen to. especially that 80's mix he did...he really knew my tastes so well. it was 80's covers by modern bands, mostly goth and punk, which are two of my favorites. it's really an awesome cd. and somewhere around mt. hood i was blindly groping for a new cd to put in, and disc 2 of the wall came up the lucky winner.

so i was alone on the 26W, the funkmobile flying at 70mph, with the gorgeous evergreens a chiaroscuro of black sillhouetted guardian sentinels on either side of me, the Big Dipper shining bright just off to my left in the navy blue-black sky, and me singing "comfortably numb" at the top of my lungs.

and where before i'd be driving by all my usual landmarks with a regretful good-bye in my heart, now it was with a sense of having them all given back to me with renewed appreciation. i'm not leaving!

the Funk is BACK, baby!

and i've forgotten how to remember

my blogs tend to have their own cycle, as with every thing in the multiverse.

first i'm honest. then i'm too honest. then i wonder if i should tone it down a bit. then i start to hold back. then i get frustrated (or disgusted) with myself and return to plain honesty, damn the torpedoes.

fuck the torpedoes.

quite honestly, the last post in which you were able to read the pure, unadulterated, completely honest delena was back on august 9th with the post venus envy. that's, um...that's kinda sad. but *m* read it and got all hurt and insulted, so to spare his feelings i began to hold back. i also began to do the "cup is half full" thing, hoping to cheer him up and show him, "see? delena's positive about this fucking move thing."

but since i'm getting tired of this pansy-ass beating around the bush, saying-it-without-really-saying-it, trying to put the best face on everything bullshit, and since *m* doesn't even read this fucking blog anymore anyway, i'm going back to saying what i want to say, when i want to say it, and how i fucking want to say it, godsfuckingdammitall.

the Funk is still MIA in my life, but i realize now it's because i've forgotten how to be alone with myself, how to meditate and really focus on listening to the multiverse. i used to be able to listen to the breeze and laugh at the sacred puns it whispered to the grass, or breathe the sunshine, see happiness in each maple leaf, and fuck gravity. i used to go to the gym every morning and while my body was running four miles on the elliptical machine, my consciousness was a pearlescent white dragon riding the thermals out to the coast and beyond, to the place where lilith had built D'hainu.

the Funk is MIA because i've forgotten how to be honest with myself. i've been thinking all these thoughts, feeling all these feelings, and i've been choking them down the way you choke down godawful roast beef at your mother-in-law's house so you don't hurt anybody's feelings. i've been choking on only the gods know how much, just so i don't hurt, or annoy, or piss off *m*. or anyone else, for that matter.

and in the meantime i've been dying for a shot of antifreeze with an arsenic chaser.

the last time we talked on the phone was this past saturday night, just about a full week ago. i finally told him i didn't want to talk to him until i'd had a chance to bury a lot of things, and bury them deep. he obviously doesn't want to hear about them because all he does is get defensive and start attacking me, going on about how he's got all this stress too and basically i have no right to feel the way i do.

like he's uprooting his fucking perfect life to move five hundred miles away? like hell.

but this past week, i've sent him text messages when *i* felt like it, and haven't spoken to him when i didn't feel like it. and this past week has probably been the least stressful, least nightmarish that i've had probably since the beginning of august. i've actually laughed out loud.

i know.

i've been singing in the car again. i find i crack myself up with my old, random delena thoughts that i used to have all the time. i find i'm once again capable of simply enjoying the beauty of a gorgeous portland day. and yes, while all my dogs for the past two weeks have all been absolute shits on my table --biting me, growling, making it virtually impossible to groom them-- i find i still love my job. i've been chatty and witty, joking and friendly at work again. i went out the other night to celebrate the 21st birthday of one of the girls at my salon. and downtown? i was getting off the MAX and complimented a perfect stranger simply because i totally loved her skirt.

it's, like, i've been the old me. you remember her? Delena of the Funkywild? i'd so totally forgotten about her.

and yesterday my weird cravings for all-things-bad-for-me disappeared, like, instantly. i'm eating healthily again. yes, i now need to break my new caffeine habit (bad chemical dependency, bad!), but that's easily done. my dreams have returned, too. i really missed dreaming.

however, i still love *m*. actually, i think i might actually love him more now than i've had a chance to thus far. he's human, ergo a fucktard. we're all fucktards when stupid emotions drive us to do stupid things. i know i have a great, long list of instances when i was guilty of being a fucktard. hell, i've even done time as Queen of the Fucktards. doesn't mean i love *m* any less. actually, now that my mind has had a bit of time to quiet down, i can hear the song my love has still been singing all this time, it's just been too quiet to be heard above the din of my crazy, stressed-out howling. with big *c*, my love song was completely drowned out by the din of my hatred, contempt, and rat-crazy human deprivation. i've taken the time to let my inside quiet down, and i can still hear my love, singing away.

i've been able to sit down and admit that yes, i now have no good reason to move at all, other than the simple fact i want to demonstrate i still support his decision to resign from the police force. if i were to say, "nope, not movin'. you can come to portland instead," that would just make him feel like a total failure, which isn't my objective. and that, simply put, is now my only reason for moving. it isn't a strong reason, or even a good reason, but it's my reason. would i love it if he just volunteered to move instead of me? yes, absolutely. do i hope he would? stupidly, i do. i wish he could be so selfless. but i will never ask him to do that, because i know how much uprooting your whole life just sucks ass. but he hasn't volunteered, and i know he won't. he's going to wait for me to ask, which he knows i will never do, so he's kind of safe and i know he knows it. and so...i'm moving.

i've worked this whole week on burying my resentment. he asked me to move, and i said i would. but then so many things changed, things that seriously were the foundation of my agreement to move...like the fact he used to be a cop, and he used to be part of their S.W.A.T. team. and now he's not. but a good woman stands by her man and supports him, so i'm going to fuck myself and move anyway. yeah, i'm resentful as hell. it doesn't help that when i'm angry, or stressed-out, or panicking again, or afraid, i can't come to *m* with it because he gets all defensive and wishes i'd just drop it and change the subject, pretend i'm all happy and everything's okay. last time i was in that kind of relationship, i bore the guy a child, almost died from it, then dumped his ass and have been spending the rest of my life feeling contempt for the pussy little fuckwit.

i don't know what to do here anymore. it's stupid, i know, but i'm actually hoping things improve after i move and we're actually, y'know, together. it's a stupid hope, i know, but it's all i have. *m*'s behavior doesn't exactly fill my heart with invincible joy. i'm burying things that should be freely breathing beneath the golden sun and growing silver in the moon. but instead i'm planting the seed of a festering disease and i know it. but *m* doesn't want to hear it. the man who said he loved to listen to anything i had to say, who said he loved my strong independence and ability to tell it like it is...doesn't want to hear it. what else am i supposed to do with it?

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): "The harder we love, the deeper we're gonna feel," sings Keith Greeninger in a rootsy tune from his "Glorious Peasant" CD. That's good advice for you right now, Capricorn, since what you especially need to guide you during this phase of wandering and exploration is ever-deeper and ever-more-nuanced-feeling. I'll add a corollary that might help as well: The softer you love, the smarter your emotions will be. You can love harder and softer at the same time, right?


you know what's really hilarious about this, right?

i've been wrestling with this oxymoron since at least june. i've definitely been wrestling with it since mid-july, when i got that text from *m* asking me to move away from my family and friends and live with him. i actually have that message saved in my phone, along with the one that says, "as long as you're there, it will be home."

he might have no trouble expressing that, but i do. for me, portland is home. but it's funny, because sometimes i'll still say "back home" and be talking about so.cal. i'm from southern california, but i'm also from portland. i can't see myself being from idaho, though... then again, it just might take seven years, and then i'll be saying things like how i could never see me moving away, and how great it is to feel all the way to the horizon, that there's something about a land still so untouched by humankind and, with the nearest semblance of a city two hours away, how wonderful it is to be in a town that forces you to slow down and just breathe.

right now, though, i think my love for portland is hard and deep. honestly, my love for *m* is hard and deep, too, but i've forced myself to love him softly, with smart emotions. it gets easier every day, too. i think the secret is to always give him the benefit of the doubt, to ask myself if he really, truly meant to hurt me or was just being a guy. so far, he was just being a guy. in teaching myself how to talk to the male of the species, i've been able to begin to teach him how to listen. i could never have done that if i were loving him with stupid, off-the-handle emotions.

at least i've achieved my goal of not being a stupid female...

the other night, i decided to be completely honest about my hard, deep love for my home. again, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. the more i was trying to deny how much it hurt to be moving at all, the more that pain was struggling to be acknowledged. so i pushed it down harder, and it pushed right back. it was making me pretty crazy. all it wanted was to be acknowledged. so i did.

but then, being that *m* and i have a surprisingly honest relationship (we've never so much as told a white lie to each other), i had to come out and tell him my feelings. i don't want to leave portland, period. and i hate idaho. i might've said negative things about it in my really bad mood, but if i'm honest with myself, it's all true. i still feel that way, even in a not-so-bad mood. my desire to move has more to do with pragmatic things --money, affordability, i'm more portable of us two, better career opportunities for me, stability-- than actually, like, wanting to exist in such a place. it's not even a nice place to visit. but the people there make it worth the trouble.

and it's like i told *m*: there's no limit to what i'll endure if it's for the right reasons. here's yet another example of that very thing.

but ever since i was able to be honest about it, instead of trying to suppress it, i've been able to ease up on that hard, deep love and love portland a little bit softer, smarter.

i can already feel it beginning inside me, the letting go. in my mind, i'm already looking south and east, towards my future. i have almost everything on my good-bye list crossed out. yesterday i got some work done on the funkmobile, in preparation for the trip. i'm starting to save boxes for packing. i passed the halfway mark in Field at work, which means i'm halfway to making commission already. halfway to my goal, and august isn't even over. looking at my beautiful surroundings, at everything i love here, it no longer hurts in my soul. it's with a pang of longing, but in my heart is already a "good-bye." and there's not an ounce of resentment in my heart anymore, either.

so, no, i can't love harder and softer at the same time yet, but i'm learning more every day.

what's that word again?

from the oxford-delena dictionary

woman
n.

1. the female human being (distinguished from man)
2. an adult female
3. feminine quality or aspect; womanliness
4. that mysterious creature who, of tender heart and gentle spirit, captures the imagination
5. a philosophy unto herself
6. (v) (as in to be woman) the continuing struggle of self-discovery
7. so vastly different from a man in all ways as to be a separate species entirely



i used to joke that God made Man first. after all, you gotta have a rough draft before the finished masterpiece.

now, i've commented before on how different men and women are. finally and at long last, i've met someone who has actually motivated me to climb out of my mental rut and educate myself on those differences. for once, i actually care about those differences...and bridging them. last night, in keeping with this newfound concern i have for the differences between the sexes, i asked my dad for advice.

"okay, honey, what kind of advice?" he asked.

"well," i said, "how to talk to a man."

"directly," he said. of course, he went on to say other things. those things were in direct keeping with what i had learned in that book, love & respect, that i mentioned a couple posts ago. however, one thing dad said was that a woman talks in circles. he also said that you can ask a woman "what's wrong?" and she'll say something to the effect of, "if i have to tell you, then you just don't care about me." of course, his response to this was, "...which is bullshit."

i disagree. the female mind works very differently from the male version. she is always thinking of how she can make the lives easier of the person or people she loves, especially her partner. she is always thinking of how to please him/them. if something were bothering him, she would put forth the work, effort, and time to figure out what was bothering him just as she does to figure out what he likes, where he'd like to go out to eat tonight, what his routine is when he wakes up or gets home, et cetera. she likes to know everything she can about him, because knowing him is one of the ways she powerfully shows how deeply she loves him.

the female mind is also always asking, "does he love me the way i love him? would he do for me the things i do for him?" of course, when the answer is no, then the female mind and heart are deeply hurt. it's not "bullshit," it's the female mind, deep as the waters beneath the tranquil surface of the sea, and twice as unexplored.

men can put forth effort to learn how to speak to us, however. it's not difficult, or illegal, but it does take effort.

now, i've been putting what i've learned into practice with *m*, and so far i daresay it's been making a lot of headway. i love him, therefore i'm going to try to learn how to speak male by reading "male to recognizable english" dictionaries when i find them. i fervently wish he would make the same effort for me.

like any woman, all i want is all i give.

lately there's been a lot of social and political bullshit flying around *m*'s office, of which he is the last and final of four targets. two years ago, during the sheriff election, he and three other men were leading roles in supporting and voting for the other guy. now, only *m* is left in the force, and they're doing everything they can to push him out. it's *m*'s own version of the Summer of Funky Kali Love.

well, they've succeeded, and he's put in his letter of resignation today. last night, when i told my dad (a cop as long as i've been alive) what was happening, his advice was to stay, to go on record, and then begin the process of leaving. otherwise, he said, the implications can and will ruin any chance he ever has of picking up his career in the future. i, being a woman who loves her man and (now) knows a man's work is part of his identity, became extremely worried for his sake.

i emailed him about it and gave him my dad's email address. i begged him to email my dad and see what he had to say. i begged him. i said --twice-- "i am begging you, please do this." i even said that it would make me happy if he did, that it would put me at ease.

he said no.

now, it's not that he didn't take my dad's advice that hurts. it's not that he went ahead and set things in motion which we won't feel the repercussions for quite some time. it's not even that he didn't do what i wanted him to.

what cuts to the core is that i begged him to do a simple thing --just send my dad an email-- and he wouldn't do it. i begged him.

do i seem like a person who would beg for anything?

yesterday i woke up and realized that i was finally taking the first steps up and out of this Void of nonFunk. by no means was i out of it, but i could feel i was slightly "higher" than how low i've been lately. i made a few decisions that i've been stressing over lately, and i actually felt like i was ready to make those decisions. of course, dinner with my parents always helps, and i felt fantastic after an evening with them.

spending time with them always makes me feel so charged, so loved and confident and so much better.

when i woke up this morning and read *m*'s email refusal to my request, that shaky confidence fell. i was on the brink of tears all day. dogs struggling and being difficult on my table, which normally leaves me nonplussed (unless it's just a real shit of a day), had me using all my willpower to simply remain stoic instead of dissolving into a frustrated puddle of hopeless tears right there in the salon.

*m*'s seriously thinking of filing a lawsuit because of the final straw in this whole stupid fiasco. to me, the "last straw" was over sticks and stones. namecalling. yes, i know to a man, "integrity" is as much his definition as "motherhood" would be to me, and attacking his integrity is just as insulting, degrading, and undermining as when my bio-mom said i should never have been a mother and li'l *c* was better off without me. to this day, it still hurts and angers me. but if i filed a lawsuit over every defamation of character i've endured, i'd be in litigations until fuckin' doomsday.

i'm uprooting my life for this man, giving up being near everything i hold dear. i'm going to be the breadwinner, seeing as how he's resigning from the police force and is taking a significant pay cut in his new job. every problem, headache, and crisis that comes from this lawsuit is going to be just as much mine as it will be his. i'm throwing my lot in with a man who cannot even do one thing when his woman is on her knees begging for him to do it.

to me, this doesn't just tell me he didn't want to. to my female mind and heart, it tells me he doesn't hold me in high enough regard, doesn't respect me or love me enough to do something for me even though it is difficult.

how many things have i done, am i planning to do, and will do in the future for him even though i find them terrifying, intimidating, difficult, humiliating, financially near-impossible, or just plain unpleasant? how can i know that i can come to him and feel confident i'll get my needs met, that i'm safe asking him for things, when begging him gets nothing?

what little confidence i had is gone. this isn't reassuring to me that i'm doing the right thing, moving. i can't ask him for things. i've learned now that i just can't, and it's not like this was the first time i tried, either. i still don't know how to talk to him. he has enough burdens right now, i would hate to add one more. but my confidence that my heart is safe with him is pretty shaky right now.

if he begged me for anything --anything-- he knows i would drop everything and already be thinking of ways to meet his request even before the words are completely out of his mouth. when he asks me for things, to do things, to go places, even when i don't want to, the word "no" doesn't even cross my mind. it just doesn't. he asks, and i say yes. i love him. instantly giving him what he wants, simply to make him happy, is all i'm thinking of.

i begged him, and he couldn't do one thing. a simple email, even if only to humor me, and he couldn't even do that. how is it going to be when we're actually under the same roof?

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec 22-Jan 19): Welcome to the Season of Temporary Insanity, Capricorn. According to my analysis of the omens, your imminent immersion in lunacy, delirium, and freakiness won't hurt a bit - and may even stir up exotic varieties of pleasure and amusement. For best results, keep the following advice bubbling in the back of your mind. (1) "Only when he no longer knows what he is doing does the painter do good things." - Edgar Degas. (2) "Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment." - Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks. (3) "All of us are crazy good in one way or another." - Yiddish saying. (4) "You are either losing your mind - or gaining your soul." - Julia Cameron.


i suppose it makes a sort of sense that, in the latter half of the Year of Secrets there would be the Season of Temporary Insanity. with all those secret and hidden things coming to the fore, feeling the light of the sun, hissing at the glare and covering their eyes as they have lived in darkness for so long, it's only logical it would inspire insanity.

heh. logical it would inspire insanity. how's that for irony?

i actually wanted to say "thank you" to everyone who gave me advice, encouragement, and love over the last few days. i basically took all those lovely words, piled them together, and threw myself atop them like a pile of autumn leaves and wiggled a bit so i was at least half-submerged in them. then i lay there and stared up at the sky.

i watched movies. i ate what and when i wanted to and stopped feeling guilty if it wasn't exactly fantastic and healthy. i let myself be angry and stopped reprimanding myself, stopped calling myself childish and unfair. once i did that, the desire to bitch and vent went away. i didn't go to the gym, and i stopped loathing my body and the extra pounds that have packed themselves on as a result of all the bad bingeing i've been doing. i know i'll get back on track, but that time is not now. i napped right in the middle of the day, in the midst of a horrendously messy room, and it felt great.

there are clothes everywhere --work clothes, clean clothes, worn clothes-- and i haven't made my bed in a week. every flat surface is piled with crap, even spilling over onto the floor if i happen to bump into it. there's a very narrow path between the foot of my bed, where lies a foot locker, and my closet. right now it's so littered with clothes and crap that i can't even navigate it. i crawl over my lumpy, unmade bed to get to the other side of my room.

and i don't care.

i've been fighting this whole unFunk and it's been getting worse. i've forgotten one of my own fundamental truths: embrace it. whatever it is, embrace it. for you star trek fans out there, do you remember that one episode of next gen, Hero Worship, where the only survivor of a ship wreck, a young boy, starts emulating Data? i know it sounds totally geeky (because it is), but i've used that episode as a metaphor for life numerous times. it's one of my reminders of newton's third law of physics, and how it's not really all that abstract: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

but anyway, in this episode, the Enterprise gets hit with a shockwave so they put up their shields. a stronger shockwave hits the ship, and as they increase the shields the shockwaves get so strong that they're tearing the ship apart. the next hit will surely tear apart the Enterprise just like the boy's ship was destroyed. Data tells Worf to lower the shields and everyone looks at him like he's just proposed suicide. but Worf does it, and the next shockwave is a gentle ripple in the current of space.

i know it seems like such a "freaking DUH!" kind of concept, but it's one that i forget constantly and it ends up doing a number on me. i've never been one to let myself just feel. always i've buried, stuffed, suppressed, drugged, and run away from my emotions. i know why, too. i'm not using my life and times in the house of oppression as an excuse, just pointing out it was how i was molded on threat of pain. i'm constantly having to remind myself to just let go of the struggle and let myself go through whatever it is.

how sad, that i have to give myself permission to eat what i want to, not make the bed, not fold laundry, and just be angry/sad/confused. you know, there are times when i actually still expect to be slapped for expressing anger or hurt. when i come to someone and say, "this upsets me," or "this hurt me," i have to take days and muster up courage. i go through panic attacks, sweats, the shakes, the whole gamut, because i was taught it's a dangerous risk to express those types of emotions.

the fact i'm rarely received with an open mind only makes it that much more difficult. and yet i'm scolded when i keep my tongue, but fights inevitably happen when i say anything.

i have a confession. i have a secret and heretofore unspoken passion for inspirational self-help books. i know. it's stupid. unfortunately, most of them are written from a christian standpoint, but i just sift all of that out. a friend gave me Love & Respect by emerson eggerichs, and it's quite the fascinating read. on the friday *m* and i had dinner with my parents, on the drive home we had a horrible argument. that's the night i seriously forced myself to sit down and think about why i was doing this and whether i wanted it to continue. at that point i was so blinded by my own struggle with this move and the recent upheavals that i had lost track of what it is i really admire about him, and all the reasons i love him. the fundamental problem i saw was that i don't know how to talk to him.

at one point i even burst out laughing right in the middle of the fight because we sounded so stupid. we sounded like a real couple, but if he'd asked me at that point, "aren't we a real couple?" i would have said hell no. to me, what we had was a joke. there was rarely physical contact, even rarer "i love you's," i hadn't made eye contact with him almost the entire time he'd been here, and we had this cold war raging below the surface. i was feeling hurt and rejected, sexually frustrated, and now i couldn't even bring up something that deeply bothered me without him saying "thank god!" when i said, "fine, i'll just shut up, then." he was refusing to talk to me about things and i knew it, yet i knew he could talk to his best friend about them. it wouldn't be so difficult to stomach if his best friend wasn't a woman.

that one fight is still sitting in my gut, actually, unresolved. and there are several tangent issues clinging onto it that squeeze my solar plexus and make it hard to breathe. i still don't know how to talk to him, how to bring these things up without starting something else. yes, we made up later that night, but we didn't solve anything.

so i'm reading this book with those things in mind, and every time dr. eggerich talks about those interactions between men and women that inevitably turn into fights, i have our own fight in mind. sure enough, the miscommunications, misinterpretations, assumptions, and reactions he mentions are exactly what happened with us.

so last night, on chat msgr with *m*, i tried a different tactic. personally, i'm a lay-it-on-the-table kind of girl. all my cards, boom, right there. i do not mince words. i do not beat around the bush. i say it like it is, and i mean what i say. being blunt just saves time, and i am nothing if not pragmatic. i like efficiency. but this new thing i tried came straight from the book and goes against my grain entirely. it's like nails on a chalkboard to me, and i've never found any reason to respect this new thing. in fact, i look down on people who are like this, and i lose patience when they try to treat me this way. i'm a strong, big girl, godsdammit, and i can take it. give it to me straight, fucktard.

but...i love *m*, and i'll try anything if it'll help that love grow. we shouldn't be having these sorts of problems this soon into the relationship.

it worked. i think he was a little surprised, actually. he was more open to what i had to say, and immediately began giving me more of what i've been needing lately. just like that.

as soon as i stopped fighting the fact that i've lost my Funk and just let myself be depressed and insane, half of my struggle and pain disappeared. i was then able to ask for what i needed from *m*, and there was a small lessening in the half that remained. "think of the adventure," he said before going to bed. for only knowing me a short time, he sure knows the perfect thing to say sometimes.

so, mr. brezsny, i think i'll take advice piece No. 4: "you are either losing your mind - or gaining your soul."

actions speak louder than words

this place is my downfall.

i can tell i'm getting to a really bad place. not only have i not been eating well, i've been eating things with faces lately. chicken. fish. beef.

gods, it's so gross, but it's like i can't stop. and i've been smoking a lot lately, too.

it's one of my lingering verybad habits left over from my high school days. when i'm really stressed, i'll eat tons of crap until i can't stand it, then i'll starve myself and commit suicide at the gym. i'm hitting that "can't stand it" stage. however, i haven't indulged myself in this bad habit of mine in quite a few years. until now, anyway. that makes me nervous.

i've been seriously thinking about calling the whole thing off and not moving. i have. i've been weighing my options, standing a lot of things up to logic. the largest point of logic being if A, then B. if *m* is now definitely leaving his job with the county over there, but still wants to be a cop, then why not move him up here and get him a job with the portland PD? they're looking for men right now. it would be better for me in countless ways. but that's just it.

it would be better for me. not us. better for us is idaho.

on the way to chipotle --home of the UnGodly Burrito of Doom-- i stopped by the other salon where i was working back in july. i needed some paperwork info, but the salon manager and i started talking. we've been so excruciatingly slow at my home salon she offered me a table at her salon to help me get through this gap. the faster i'll be making commission, in other words, and the faster i can move to idaho.

i jumped on that offer faster than a cat on a cricket.

just goes to show: no matter how much i'm hating life right now, no matter how much sleep i'm not getting, how much i'm punishing my body, how much anger i'm repressing, or how much stress and fear are ruining me right now...it's all just temporary, and i know what i want.

and what i want is to move to idaho.

quite honestly...

As much as you want this, deep down I think you're really nervous about it all because no matter how much you try to convince yourself that everything's going to work out great, there's still that element of fear that comes with any new endeavor.

Maybe talking and being with *m* right now brings that nervousness/fear to the forefront and when that happens you unconsciously toss up a defensive shield that is powered by plain old mean and nastiness. Just a thought.
-Az

azzy, oh my lovely and unbeatable goddess of roleplaying, my friend and my muse, you're so freakin' absolutely right it's not even funny. so much just gets triggered inside me when idaho and the move become more than an abstract idea taking place in the future, and talking with *m* makes it really-not-abstract. it's, like, in my face real.

You're in the midst of a huge transitional period. That, combined with your previously posted "lack of support" regarding this move, you're just overwhelmed I think. Scared?

yes.

Not trying to play Freud here, but do you think you're subconsciously "testing" *m*?
To see if he's worthy? Dedicated enough to share a life with the fabulous Delena?

well, not so much testing him as scared as hell i'm going to move down there, get comfortable, and then he's going to realize i'm insufferable and not worth putting up with. thanks for calling me "the fabulous Delena," though...

Do not sabotage this.

i know. i'm trying like fuck not to. oh my Divine Wow, please believe me.

Get some rest and connect with your inner funk. I send you virtual cups of hot steaming chai tea & chocolate biscotti for dunking. Find your happy place and be true to yourself.
-Boho Mom

thank you. i'm going to curl up with your chai and biscotti on my bed and watch vanity fair, i think.

It sucks but just be aware of how far you let yourself go, we Goddesses have a very bad habit of thinking we should be indestructable
-Dizzy

oh, my dizzy girl... you know me so well. and always so practical, too. after all the crap i've been through --through eight years of which you've been with me-- you know that i kinda think i am. all that, and still in one piece? shouldn't i be indestructable? *rolls eyes*

You're ALIVE and LIVING and making choices and mistakes and decisions. Why can't people see that?
Who wants to sit in the bleachers and never go up to bat?
God forbid you strike out?....who cares?
-Boho Mom

THANK you! egads, someone who actually freakin' GETS it! that's what i've been saying for years upon years. quite honestly, the bio-dad wanted to lock me up in a cage doing nothing but taking piano and voice lessons, to emerge a talented and cripplingly sheltered musical virtuoso. he wanted me sequestered from boys and the outside world, pristine as a sister from the Carmelite Order (which i almost joined at 18, mind you), yet worldly enough to make it in professional music.

quite honestly, i sat on the sidelines and listened to the fun things my friends were doing, missing out on them myself. i had to run away from home and move to another state just to feel the sensation of being able to go out with friends and not have to call home to check in every thirty minutes. even when i was twenty-four, my curfew was sundown. since i was twelve, i got to hear how filthy i was, what a slut i was, how --as a female-- i was a contributor to how miserable my bio-dad's life was simply by reason of my gender. quite honestly, i think my life in the house of repression is the singlemost reason why i'm so unrestrained and wildly adventurous now.

does anyone have any idea how it feels to miss out on twenty years of your life as you watch it just go past you? why would anyone want to play anything safe, after living in such shackles and misery? quite honestly, why would anyone not want to THROW themselves headlong into Life, after that? i know i do.

...your ways are not always easy to understand, because being delena takes an amount of passion and courage that most of us will never approach

...but it's so simple, the source of my passion and courage. quite honestly, it's simple hunger for living. i don't want to miss out on anything ever again.

EVER.

but i've told you, and i believe it, that you are ready. you're ready for this move, and you're ready for whatever life throws at you. not that things will always be easy, or that you'll never have doubts. but you have made so much personal progress in the past year that you will overcome anything or anyone that tries to hold you back. you don't depend on a single relationship to define your worth; you know you fucking rock, and you will know that in idaho as well as you know it in portland or socal or nocal.
-Greggo

i know. *shuts eyes tightly and winces in typical 'my bad' fashion* i know i know i know. quite honestly, that's part of the problem. my life had just reached the pinnacle of Perfect here. all things were As I Wanted Them, and i had reached a sweetly perfect equilibrium.

sweet perfection.

it's already changed, which is how it works, i think. the minute we hit that perfect balance, it shifts. perfect moments weren't designed to last any longer than a moment, damn it all. but quite honestly, i'm terrified. quite honestly, i'm uprooting that recently-perfect life for a man i really don't know all that terribly well. true, if i listen to the Multiverse i can hear the Jiggy Snake humming, gearing up for a really freak-fucking-tastic, "WEE!" but still.

quite honestly, running through my head like a broken record are the words, "what if he hates me?" because, quite honestly, i'm not the most phantasmagoric of people. i drink from the milk carton. my vegitarian, lactose-intolerant diet's been such a pain in the ass for everyone around me i've resorted to simply fucking not eating for days at a time, just to make their lives easier. what if he gets so fucking sick of having to work around what i can and can't eat he just stops caring like everyone else?

i have a Temper. quite honestly, only two people in the history of Delena have seen it, and it takes a special degree of hatred to inspire it. the last guy who experienced it? it took three people just to pry me off of him. not that i even remotely think *m* has the talent to raise my temper, but just my anger and irritation are enough. quite honestly, i'm vicious in a cold sort of way.

and i'm forgetful. like, not just a little forgetful, but so absent-minded people think i'm an idiot. i can't keep two thoughts straight inside my head. my brain is so constantly moving, and so quickly, that sometimes i can't even have someone talking around me because i'll lose my train of thought a half dozen times. other times, i can think of ten different things and recite them back perfectly after hearing them once.

and, quite honestly, i'm a woman. men just fucking hate living with women. i know this. we're stupid and difficult and leave our stupid girly shit everywhere. quite honestly, i'm terrified *m*'s going to look back on his wonderfully masculine, bachelor life and pine away for it. quite honestly, i've tried to avoid being so many things --demanding, clingy, bitchy (failed miserably), overly presumptuous, contrary-- that i feel like i've stuck a ramrod up my ass and it's the only thing holding me upright.

quite honestly, this move intimidates and frightens the absolute shit out of me. i'm going to be alone in a place i don't understand, surrounded by nothing familiar, with none of my refuges to run to. i'll have none of my traditions --dinner at the parents', descending with The Horde, Midnight Movie Madness with *so*, first day of summer on Hawthorne. my job at the new location will be sink-or-swim, and it'll be very, very rough at first while i learn how to navigate around the stupid drama and social crap of people i don't even know...and returning to a more familiar environment will be extremely difficult at best. after the upheaval in both my and *m*'s life, i won't have the heart to even suggest it. quite honestly, i have nightmares about it. disembodied voices telling me things that terrify me into wakefulness, and then all i can do is either choke on my own gorge or throw up in the bathroom and hope i didn't wake up anyone.

quite honestly, i'm scared as absolute shit one day *m* will wake up and look at me and regret everything. yes, i've said i'll be able to take care of myself out there, but that was bravado. that was said to reassure everyone else. i'm terrified of facing the rage that will come when i realize i uprooted my Perfect Moment life for nothing. and, quite honestly, i'm really not looking forward to hating my environment for years. again. i hated it up here in portland for three years when i moved up here with big *c* when li'l *c* was an infant. three years. the thought of once again looking out the window and being filled with loathing at the sight actually makes me sick. it's ugly, desolate, and austere out there, plain and simple.

i'll write more later. i'm falling asleep.

this entry of iGoddess is brought to you by the letter D...

D!

D as in Delena.
D as in Determined.
D as in Decision.
D as in Deliberate (v).
D as in Dammit.

so okay, i haven't exhibited the best judgement in the past. i admit it. my bad. my freakin' bad. but sometimes i wish people would look just a little deeper and see that it's not bad judgement. it's not idiocy. it's a desire and willingness to trust people, to give second chances, to give the benefit of the doubt.

people like that, like me, get it up the ass a lot by fucktards looking to screw someone over.

so i was still actually getting negative feedback from a few people even during this past weekend while i was in idaho apartment hunting with *m*. it finally got to the point where i stopped trying to find out in roundabout fashion why i was considered such a fucktard. i took my toe and drew a line in the sand and asked point-blank what it was about me that people thought of me as so stupid.

this was a text conversation with my li'l sis, *t*. at that point i was angry and fed-up. she told me that it wasn't that she (and *aj*) think i'm stupid so much as i've been fucked over and while yes, it affected me deeply, it also affected them and they're just protective. they'd still rather i didn't move at all. or, if i absolutely had to move, then live alone for a while (as in years) before making any relationship-type decisions.

i've explained to them that any suggestion of that type is merely suggesting i go completely against the grain of everything i am. i'm not a toe-in-the-water type of person. i'm a swing-from-the-ropeswing-headlong-into-the-deep-end-with-a-squeal-of-glee type person. i'm an up-to-my-eyeballs kinda girl. i jump, revel, bury, and submerge myself in those things i believe in, whether new or traditional.

have i ever turned away an adventure?

have i ever failed to explore an opportunity that even remotely appealed to me?

have i ever moved cautiously when i could forge ahead intrepidly?

i think that's part of the reason that vanity fair is one of my secretly favorite movies. becky sharp is someone i can vastly relate to. from the sense of promise and adventure, to getting in over her head and even kicked to the curb, to the world-weary heaviness...to bouncing right back and gripping another adventure by the horns and riding wildly all the way to some strange new land filled with promise and unknowns.

after that final conversation with *t* --in which nothing was really resolved-- i felt my sadness and dismay burn away, like oil left on a pan with the burner still on. i felt it just burn away like smoke. in its place was a very steely, razor-sharp determination.

"i think," i said to *m* in the car, "if i have to slit my own throat in sacrifice to all the gods of good fortune, i will make this idaho thing work, godsdammit."

"please don't," he said. "i like your throat as it is."

"i will make it work, gods damn it all. i'm tired of this shit," i said quietly. "i don't have the luxury anymore to mourn everything i'm losing. i'm making this work."

and so far i've geared myself to do exactly that. whenever i think of idaho, i think about what's positive about it. sure, the list is very short right now (what's positive about a land of flat nothingness, especially compared to portland's verdant abundance?), but i keep replaying those promising items over and over in my mind. i picture myself driving home to my new apartment and coming home to *m*'s loving arms. i mentally prepare myself for signing off my firstborn for a full tank of gas (gas prices are an anal rape in the dark over a barrel without any vaseline...compared to portland). i've put myself into packing-and-moving mode...a mode i thought i'd never see for at least another two years, but oh the fuck well.

there's been the support of a few people, the rest of the silverfox family. and my dad says i'm a grown girl, i can make my own decisions, and if i hate it i can always come straight home. besides, when mom and dad retire, they're heading back to northern cali, so it's not like i'll be in idaho forever. i'll be in no.cal. *nod* but still.

this WILL work.

i have spoken.

credendo vides

iGoddess has seen the Year of Secrets, the Week of Juxtapositions and the Land of Simultaneous Opposites, and the body of my enemy --*jd*-- floating by in the river. iGoddess has tasted miracle concentrate and the dust of the bones of my antepasados. iGoddess has taken the vows of the revolutionary freedom fighter for truth, beauty, and Funk. iGoddess has answered the clarion call of the pronoiac. iGoddess has visited the Menstrual Temple of the Funky Grail. iGoddess has lived through delena facing and embracing her greatest fear: Love.

these past couple of weeks have actually been a very trying time for me, and i wonder that i could have done so much better in how i dealt with it. however, i am rather ashamed to say that i let my inner flaming narcissist run away with me. i cared more about my own pain and confusion rather than rising above it to be there for *m*, who has so quickly become my funkiest groovemate. while i'm proud to say that i never withdrew from those who love me, i didn't trust myself enough to avoid talking and posting the fear and hypocrisy i could feel coiling in my belly. hence why i posted the EBS.

iGoddess isn't about self-pity, or letting insecurity surmount upon itself. if i couldn't keep my grip on the Funk...if i couldn't keep my focus on pronoia and my duties as a revolutionary freedom fighter...i simply had no place saying anything at all for a while.

i let my own weakness and love for my pain blind me to the simple fact that i was being snotty and uncommunicative. i fell into old habits brought on by simple fear. and it was stupid fear: fear of leaving this place. leaving home, leaving my parents, leaving *cc* and *mj*, leaving everything i've built that i love, leaving the land itself which i've loved like a part of me.

but portland will not run its fingers through my hair, or kiss my forehead when i'm falling asleep. portland won't make me laugh so hard i snort my drink up my nose, or be that warm presence in bed beside me. portland won't eat the dinner i've spent all evening in the kitchen preparing, or encourage me when work's been stupid and filled with drama.

having *m* so close by these last two weeks really makes his absence that much more achingly apparent now. it also taught us quite a few things about ourselves, i think, and about each other as individuals and as a pair.

we learned that while we find the other easy to talk to, and we have a lot to talk about, we need to learn how to talk to each other. more importantly, we need to learn how to hear what the other is really saying. at one point, after a week of our cold war, i finally forced myself to ask myself how it would affect me if i suggested *m* go home alone. sure, it would have been easier, and i could have chalked it up to originally not really wanting a relationship anyway. it would have been the best excuse to not even consider moving out of portland. if we couldn't even spend a week together without falling into the arguments we had, into the patterns that were oh-so familiar to me after my time with big *c* (hence adding to my panic), how on the Funk's green earth could we ever hope to survive in the same apartment together?

and i was forced to admit it would hurt vastly worse to be without *m* than facing the silly pain of whatever stupid crap we were dealing with at the time. hence, i had to admit i couldn't lose him. i love him, and want a life with him.

it was humbling.

the deeper implications being that --no matter what-- i was moving to idaho. of course, after i realized i couldn't be without him, talking about and planning this move became much easier. my practical side returned to the helm, so to speak.

spending four days down there, apartment hunting and meeting *m*'s friends, also taught me a few things to like about idaho. of course, they all center around the future, but i suppose that fits with the way i am. once i really let go of something, i don't look back. it's the letting go i've always had a problem with, but that's old news.

we reconciled, and it felt so good not to have that tension between us anymore. it felt good just to hold him.

we talked and planned. future hatchlings even came up several times in conversation and planning. at one point, he even called them by name...which sort of amazed and surprised me. usually it's the female who's most eager to begin nesting.

y'know, a short while ago i said:
i'm bigger, shinier, funker, and more beautiful than i've ever been and i know it.

the rest of this year will be used to finish up and close this particular chapter in my life. i'm ready for something funkywild and new. so i say again:

bring it!

when we call, the multiverse answers. i wasn't specific, and "something funkywild and new" took the form of a funktastically amazing relationship and a move to Bum Funk Nowhere. maybe i should have been more specific. or maybe i wasn't meant to be.

in my horoscope this week, mr. brezsny told me it's Big Wild Prayer Week for me, prayer being an intention to align my emotions and thoughts with the highest possible good. so, in light of the recent attack of my inner flaming narcissist, the temporary seige of the apocolypse and my momentary failure to my duty as a revolutionary freedom fighter, i say this prayer...

"die, apocalypse, die! i swallow you down and break you up into your most basic elements so i may then use those materials to continue to construct myself into the funkiest groovemate worthy of both myself and my sweet baboo, and thereby kill the apocalypse within me by transforming my shadow self into constructive expressions of the Funkalicious Jive! i shall endeavor to find equality, equilibrium, and interdependence with my sweet groovemate in order to allow him to manipulate me as much as i manipulate him, so that we both may work our magic on each other and manifest all of our potential!

amen. a-woman. ommmmm... and hallelujah."

radical intimacy means we kill the apocalypse at the source.
(robert brezsny, the televisionary oracle, pg. 355)

here's the thing...

first off, mich, azzy, and dizzy -

ladies, you rock. i know that there are some people i can count on to make me smile, even when i'm feeling rather murderous. even when i want to strangle the first living thing that comes within arm's reach. even just being able to express it here makes me feel better. or, at least, i feel like i've released something so i'm not holding it in, and there's just something about a circle of women who can understand that. and yes, boho mom, even though i know you haven't had a chance to respond, you're included in that, too. *nod*

so anyway, the thing that had me so...whatever, and as a result, this "whatever" had me angry. well, it still has me angry, come to think of it. but i've finally actually told my parents, which now makes it fair blog game. something strikes me as wrong if i blog about something huge like this without first breaking the news to my parents. of course, holding it in probably contributed to the whole walking rage thing i have going on.

i still have to hold it in, but at least now i can blog about it, which means i can put it into words. not even being able to put it into words this past week has really been grating on me until i'd just been walking around feeling raw and...well, murderous.

so, um, i'm kind of moving to idaho. like, in two months. possibly sooner.

yes, idaho boy asked me, and we talked about it. and no, it's not like i'm "just moving for a man," which i've been accused of repeatedly, and in varying tones of disgust. it's actually a really good career move. could you say that you'll make roughly two to four grand a month shaving dog butts if you moved to some state that's located beyond the ass end of Bum Fuck Nowhere? would you say that it's a good career move if suddenly you found yourself with the chance to do so?

i thought so.

anyway, what had me in a walking rage was the simple fact that i'll be leaving portland. i'll be leaving my home, the first place where i built --with my own hands, my own effort, my own sweat and heart-- the first place where i was ever truly happy. like, where i finally found for the first time what Happiness is. the first place where i could look down at my feet, solidly connected with terra firma, and say this is mine.

the first place where i heard, "it is perfectly fine to be you," and those people meant it.

and no one wants me to leave. half the time, even i don't want me to leave. but like i said once to *m*: "sacrifice is merely giving up something in order that something even greater might be obtained." and i meant it then, and i still believe it now.

but i also know that this is going to be a very and increasingly painful process. i'm only now coming to realize that perhaps my root structure isn't so much like salvia divinorum as i first believed. somehow, even without me realizing it, perhaps i have grown roots like the big-rooted springbeauty. i know that whenever i attempt --in preparation for the move-- to pull at a small section of my root system, it feels like i'm trying to rip off my own limb.

and there's really no one i can talk to about it. everyone i talk to here would say that it's a big red flag screaming that i'm not ready to move. in all fairness, following that line of thought is the simple fact that i'll never be ready to move away from here. ever.

but that's not what i want. yes, when asked, in a perfect world, i will sprout amazing roots here, bear children, own a house, do all the regular american, suburban things here, start a family, become known as mrs. whoever and have all the neighborhood children love me and throw block parties, move into bigger and more comfortable homes and get promoted...all that happy crap, and then finally die here and have my ashes buried somewhere nearby.

i think we all know that delena has learned by now that the world isn't perfect, and life isn't fair. but godsdammit, living a fair life should amount to something.

i've never been with someone who actually wanted to uproot their lives and relocate for me. for some outlandish reason, this right pisses me off.

of course, i've tried to talk to *m* about this, and i get instant responses of how it hurts him to hear it, and he already feels bad enough, he doesn't need to feel worse. "don't say that," he says. of course, i hear, "your words hurt me." so i've held my tongue.

and nearly exploded from the pressure.

the other night *m* couldn't sleep, and he kept me awake. not that this is hard to do, what with all the practice i've had sleeping...being insomniac and all. but we made love that night, partially, i think, because there was nothing better to do and we were both awake, but whatever. it was short, but that didn't matter. this was *m*, and so of course all of my love for him, and all my emotions, come burbling up to the surface and i realize that i cannot go any further. do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars...until i've gotten all of this other crap out of me.

but i knew i couldn't do that in front of *m*, either, because apparently my own heartache makes him feel badly enough. and when, i ask you, have i ever put myself before anyone else, except in cases of extreme self-preservation? emotionally, the answer is "never."

so i got up, got dressed, got my car keys, and went for a drive. i wanted to go across the river into vancouver. i wanted to go to the place where i'd tied myself to the land with the strongest spells i know. but my subconscious took me a different route, and i found myself in the neighborhood of my old house in northeast portland.

my heart caught in my throat. my heart was slamming so hard against my ribcage i could actually feel my arms trembling in time to its furious staccato beat. the car lurched as i downshifted, as i found i'd suddenly forgotten how to drive a manual again. thank all the gods it was the wee hours of the morning, otherwise i might've just caused me a traffic accident.

i pulled over and stared. just stared.

there, beneath that tree, i'd laughed and talked on the phone to an old friend of big *c*'s. i was barefoot and loving the feel of my Home beneath my feet. i told him i was happy, and at that moment i realized i truly was. and there, in that front yard, many of our friends had gathered to spruce up the landscaping for a fund raiser. that window there, with the air conditioner, was my former roomate's room. and the windows below? that was *a*'s and my room, with the door to the side of the yard that never got used. and there, across the street, was the sidewalk where the bus let me off after work every afternoon, right past the safeway that was the familiar landmark for giving people directions. the familiar sounds of the neighborhood at night, the sight of it, and the memories, undid me.

up and out, the tears i didn't even know where there crashed like a tsunami against the pittance of a barricade i'd had up all this time. there was no buildup, no slow warming to it. no, the wail tore out of my throat so hard i thought for sure my throat had ripped open. i sobbed and sobbed, my hands still on the steering wheel, unable to move. my tears soaked my hair, my shirt, trailed down my chin, down my chest, to pool beneath my right breast like greasy sweat in a houston summer.

i don't know how long i sat there in my car and cried. i only know that the pain in my chest, of my heart, grew so unbearable i was clutching at it with both hands, trying to reach through flesh and bone to squeeze the source of the pain itself. as if that could alleviate the ache. it was so fierce i couldn't breathe, but i couldn't stop crying, either. i grew dizzy, and my eyes felt like they were bulging and there was a ringing in my ears, but i don't think i was capable of panic at that moment. the tears wouldn't stop for me to catch my breath.

i've only cried like that once before in my life, and it was towards the end of the Summer of Funky Kali Love, when the last piece finally fell apart. life as i knew it was over, then.

life as i know it is over now. and all i've built, all i've done, all i've risen above and all i've become...my family, oh, my family...

it's no secret my family is the only reason i didn't kill myself last year. they are my rock and my salvation. if i am the arrow, they are the bow from which i've flown true.

when i reach out a hand to stabilize myself, when i feel unsure or afraid, they are what my fingers touch and i am sure and stable again. sometimes i don't even need to reach out. i just need to remember they're there, and it is a comfort to me. knowing my parents are only forty minutes away is sometimes all i need to feel confident in times when i would crumple in insecurity.

and i've been able to share none of this with anyone. once upon a time, the old delena would have had no difficulty keeping all this inside, but this past year i've had much in the way of practice sharing my feelings, expressing them, and accepting all of it. and now, i don't know how i could ever have survived being so repressed before. it's made me physically sick, and i know i've been absolute hell to live with, but i can't find it in me to care. all i care about is how being ripped away from my family feels inside.

i know it's my choice. *m* asked, and i said yes. and i want it. i do. but it's a painful process, and it's only going to get worse for a long time. and i need to freely be able to say "ow," without being guilt-tripped or scolded with, "well fine, don't leave, then."

it hurts. it hurts like hell. i need to be able to rage. i need to be able to cry. i need someone to hold me while i cry. i need someone to offer to get ice, maybe a band-aid. i need to hear, "yes, it hurts now, but it'll be okay soon and in the meantime, i'm here. i'll help you through this."

i need that right now, because it hurts, and i'm afraid, and so far, right now, i don't have anyone to talk to. that, i think, is the source of the anger. i don't like being angry. i don't want to be angry. i want to be loved and reassured.