lioness' den

moving on up

2007-02-21T14:31:00.000-08:00

I liked the looks of wordpress. I"m going there...

www.lionessden.wordpress.com

see you there.

huh, now that's a thought.

2007-02-18T16:14:00.000-08:00

For a long time J. and I have tossed around the idea of babies. How does that look? How does that feel? What does that look like? We've both been very unsure what that would actually look like. We've both waffled between wanting to have babies and not. We've thought a lot about what being parents means. We've talked about the options and what each one feels like. I have bum ovaries and having babies that way would be a tough road, I'm thinking. But it's not impossible. It can be done. It can't be done right now, but it can be done. His mom brought up that one of his brothers might be willing to donate. He's not blood related but a child that J's dad raised from early childhood. He is family. He is J's brother. His mom was really for the idea. She really thought that G. would be willing. I've kept it in the back of my mind for a while. And then, this morning at breakfast, J started talking about baby names. We did that for a while and then moved on. We spent the day at the Natural History Museum and walking all over town. It was a great day. We came home and I was doing the dishes and I decided to ask him how he felt about it. Although he's adamant about it being mostly my decision to get pregnant, he's more for that route than any other. He would like to avoid being the giant-tranny-under-the-microscope should we ever have a homestudy done. If we do insemination then he's just my baby's daddy. And that's just fine by me.

It was the first time we've talked about this subject that it didn't feel one-sided. It was the first time that it felt real and do-able. There are a lot of things that need to be considered and it's not something I'm about to jump into. But I am going to talk with one of my favorite NPs at work to see what her recommendations are. I'm on a weight-loss program and I'm excited to have a great goal. If it works, it works. If it doesn't then that's ok too. I don't want to have this become my life. I am very opposed to being on fertility drugs. I'm very opposed to having a litter of kids. But I'm willing to give this a shot. We'll see. This could change but for now it's a pretty cool idea.

Just some things we've been tossing around.

things is good.

2007-02-17T09:47:00.000-08:00

I got the job.

Joe has a sugery date.

I've worked out four out of 6 days this week.

I have lost 4 pounds.

I can't complain. Things is good.

I have held to you dearly...

2007-02-12T16:10:00.000-08:00

I have a date with Ed. He's a personal trainer. We joined the YMCA on Sunday. I'm pretty excited about it. It's affordable, close by and I'm ready to make some changes. This is evidenced by the half a sleeve of crackers I just ate without once stopping to think that I shouldn't. Ahh, I love my relationship with food. It's so cozy.

J. and I did a budget this weekend. One that includes a savings plan that allows for top surgery in 18 months or less. He came to me and told me that things are getting worse for him. It's getting harder and harder for him to have his chest as it is. I told him it was a priority and that we could figure out a way to make it happen. I could get a second job...I could work the corner...he could, too. With some encouragement from me and some intensive talking we decided that it could be done. It's been a pipe dream for him for so long now that I don't think this feels real to him.

And since this is my blog and talking about how I feel about things is my goal...I'll tell you how I feel about top surgery. I'm all for it. And it makes me sad. I have loved this man's body as it is since day one. He's so strong and beautiful. It's hard to think of his body looking different or feeling different. I can't imagine it. I have 18 months to figure it all out but for now I'm just going to sit with the little bit of sadness that I have. Also on my list of feelings about surgery is fear. I absolutely cannot think about him under anesthesia. I cannot think about him hurting. He wants to do this in San Fran...being in a different city without the love and support of our friends and my family is hard to imagine. Being his sole caretaker is a scary endeavor. My suggestion was Massachusetts so that he could stay at my parents' house for free and with a nurse (my mom) on call 24/7. He liked that idea until a few hours ago when he text messaged me and told me he had chosen San Fran. I'm sure we'll talk about it. It's his body. He gets to decide. It's not my choice. That's a hard pill to swallow but it's true. This is his gig. I'm just there to make sure he can get up to pee.

This is scary to think about. If it means that J. will be able to walk freely on this earth then I'm all for it. It's just scary and new. I wish there was a different way to make it happen...you know, like a magic wand or some fairy dust? Realistic things...

I should be whispering

2007-02-09T17:13:00.000-08:00

I got the call back for a second interview today. I'm really happy about it. I'm glad to be thinking about moving up in this organization. I have to do a 10 -15 minute presentation about birth control...I think I can handle it. I need to be thoughtful about how I do this presentation. The Vice President of Education and Outreach will be there. It's a bit nerve wracking but I'm fairly excited about it. I haven't taught in almost three years. I am excited to get back to it. Even 10 to 15 minutes will be a good change.

I have been in a funk for the last few weeks. I haven't been in touch with anyone really. J. and I talked for real the other night. He was sure I was going to tell him I was leaving. He was surely wrong. I was in a funk. I don't have anyone to talk to about how I feel about living here and being so far away from home. The people at home solve the problem by telling me to come home and the people here tell me to stay. He's not objective because well...because. I had a not so gentle reminder about the fact that although I am miserable I haven't done anything to make it different. That was really hard to hear but it is true. There is a part of me that doesn't want to...that might make this a more permanent thing than I want it to be. He's a smart man and one of the few who have the ability to call me on my shit. And did he ever. The message is clear...I got it. I need to make this my home. I'm going to be here for a while. There is a list of reasons why I moved here and why he didn't move east. I need to honor those reasons and stick this out. I need to do more than that actually. I need to make this a livable and positive situation.

I just found out that one of my best friend's memere is very sick. It broke my heart to hear him so upset. I wish that I could do more than say, "I'm sorry." Why, at times when it is so important to be able to communicate one's love, is it so damn hard to find anything to say? I love this man so much and have for so long. I would do anything for him...and the only thing I wanted to do was comfort him and I couldn't. When he and I were dating I got to meet her. She's such a special woman. She was the only one who was able to love him and see him through. She was a parent to him when his parents couldn't step up to the plate. She's seen him though transition and supported him completely. The night I met her I told her, "He loves you so much." She said back without any hesitation or thought, "I love him so much, too." They have a very special bond, one that has been tried and tested and it has withstood both.

I remember loosing my Nanny...it's such a strange thing to lose a loved one. Nan was a hoot. She was sharp-tongued and quick-witted. She was so many things and it's so strange that she's gone. I miss her more now than I ever did living so far away from her. There was always time to see her again; it was easy to put making the trip to see her off. Then she was at the nursing home and she didn't know who anyone was. I was scared shitless of seeing her like that. And I didn't. And I should have. It's easy to think that regret won't be yours, and until it is, it's impossible to understand it's undeniable weight. It's so much easier to say 'I'll do it later' than it is it say 'I wish I had done that'. It's just easier to do it. There aren't many things in my life that I regret. One of those things is not making more time to be a grand-daughter to my Nan.

Today's post is apparently brought to you by Hallmark.

Oh Oh Oh...I got to hold a little tiny tiny little baby today. He was only 8 weeks old. His Momma was getting an IUD inserted today. He was like a flower blossom. He was all tightly curled into himself. Little fists, little face, little feet all tucked into my chest while he slept. He has the snarfily little-man breathing. God and Jesus I almost melted. There isn't anything like those first few months, is there? The softness and stillness and then the ungodly chaos...I want that so much.

Ok. The End.

just because you lie in his bed

2007-02-01T15:17:00.000-08:00

I just got home from an interview. It went really, really, well. I think, if I play my cards right, I might have a shot at it. I'm not going to talk a lot about it. I don't want to jinx it. I would be working with a great woman, doing great training and facilitation within the organization. It would also be a big pay increase. But I don't want to jinx it. I need to think positively, and put it out to the universe that I would be grateful for it, but I am not thinking that the job is mine. So, quite out of character, I'm not saying another word on that. Just keep your fingers crossed that a second interview comes my way.

Being back here has been a challenge this week. I've been trying to keep my chin up and remember why it is that I chose to be here. I chose it. It's been a harder transition than I had thought it would be. Everytime I go home it gets harder and harder to come back. My heart goes out to J. who is being very patient and good with me. I feel badly that I'm not as engaged as I was before I left. I keep thinking about the time I'm missing with the boys and with my friends and family. I keep thinking that I should be there. I wonder how I'll be able to form a long-lasting, trusting relationship with Ben and David while being this far away. I wonder how long it will be before SBJ doesn't know who I am. How do I maintain a wonderful best friendship from 2,700 miles away? What about S? Does he know that I miss him every day? It used to be that week couldn't go by without us getting together. Maybe I'm just codepedent. Maybe I'm not cut out for living without my family and friends all circled around me.

I feel like if I had some idea of a timeline I'd be able to be here and be engaged and interested. If I knew that, for example, I'd be financially stable enough to think about adoption or marriage or buying a house or...something...I'd be excited to be here. But I'm not excited about continuing on in my job simply because I need to have a job. I'm not excited about watching each day end only to know that one just like it will appear in 12 hours. Is it selfish to want all of the above? Is it selfish to want to be a mom and a wife? Lately, I feel like it is. I feel like I'm pushing for something that isn't mine to have. I feel like the universe is sending me a message that I need to be patient and to just watch things unfold. I'm not loving this message. I want things to happen. Happen, damn it. I feel anxious and irritable. I feel sad and lonely.

I wonder if people can see it. I wonder if the lady behind the counter at Starbucks can see it in my eyes. It's called desperation. Can she see how starved I am for some connection? Does it scare her off? Am I that creepy lady who asks too cheerfully for a Grande coffee with room for cream? Am I the woman in line at the grocery store who calls the clerk by name because right then knowing anyone's name is a gift? Am I the woman who made you look askance because as I passed by, I said hello just because it just feels nice to say something, anything? I may be.

I have some sadness that I need to tease out and figure out. Where is it coming from? Why is this so hard? Other people move away from thier families and don't have this kind of loss and grief. I guess this is another prime example of how I'm not other people. I can hear my mom's voice in my head..."you're not like other people." That has usually turned out to be a wonderful blessing.

I tried to talk to J. about this last night. He thinks I'm just going to tell him that I'm going home. I wonder if he'd come. I honestly don't know if he would. That feels really scary to me and is part of the reason I haven't seriously brought up the subject. I'm not sure if he'd come. I'm not sure I could hear him say that. I tried to figure out where he was at with it last night by telling him that I was in this relationship for the long-term and that if I was thinking about moving home there would be enormous conversation about it first. And he'd have to be on board. It's not going to happen anytime soon no matter what kind of conversation we have about it. I just wonder if he would come.

Well, there you have it, folks. It's another fantastically pathetic post. You're welcome.

the sky is just a little sister

2007-01-25T18:09:00.000-08:00

I'm back in Denver. I miss home so much right now that I can't really formulate words. I have this empty ache in my belly that has been filled with little boy's giggles and tickles and stories. I have an empty place in my heart where my Dad fits and my sister. I feel like a shell tonight. Empty where E. and J. and S. and SBJ filled me up for the short time I was home. I hate this part. I get all excited for going home...as though I'll really be going home for good. And then I have to get back on that plane and come back.

I need more than this. I need my family and my friends. I need to see those little boys every day, not once every three months for a few days. They are my heart. I know this will get easier but for tonight, tonight I'm just so sad and empty and lonely.

The pathetic end.

The ocean held up a mirror...

2007-01-21T05:13:00.000-08:00

Today is my last day of being 31. So much good has happened to me this year that I'm a little sad to be leaving it. This time last year, J. and I were pretty sure that this was a wonderful thing we had going. He flew out to Maine for my birthday. E. and J. made me an amazing cake...there was dancing and too much to drink. I may have even danced with a creepy guy for money. This whole year has been a whirlwind adventure. I wonder what 32 has in store for me. I can't even begin to imagine.

So I'm home for a little vacation. It's really good to be home. I've missed everyone so much that it's almost overwhelming to be here and be surrounded by so much love and conversation. I saw my boys last night! It was brilliant. I have a date to hang out with them today. My whole family is getting together today for some food and laughter. It will be fun. Again, overwhelming, but fun. There's food to be made and things to be done but right now I'm going to enjoy the calm before the storm.

I got a text message from Patrick this morning at about 5:30am. He's a pastry chef so he's up early. I climbed out of bed and into the early morning light to go see his new shop and say hello. It was amazing. His one dream was to own his own shop, to be his own boss, and it has come true. His shop is gorgeous. He handed me a croissant warm from the oven and I savored it as we caught up. Holy Shit! It was brilliant. In all of the years that I've known him I've never seen his work nevermind tasted it. The man is a genius when it comes to pastry. It was a different visit than it would have ever been before. Before J and I got together, Patrick and I were unable to control ourselves around each other. But I put the kaibash on that shit. I don't want to be with anyone else and I made Patrick promise that he'd behave. Surprisingly enough...he did. And so did I. I've known him for almost 20 years...it's tough to renegotiate our boundaries and perimeters. But it's worth it. We got to talk for the first time in a long time. He's such a good man. His wife came in as I was getting ready to leave. That was uncomfortable.

I drove home as the sun was coming up. It's so good to be home. New England will always be home to me. Denver doesn't hold a candle to the the tree-lined backroads of New England.

artic freeze

2007-01-13T07:30:00.000-08:00

It's that kind of cold that freezes your boogers. It's the cold that makes your jeans stiffen and freeze so that the frigid wind can sweep up and under and cover your legs with its icy breath. Our apartment is cold, colder than I can remember it being. I went to bed in my thick fleece pants, long-john shirt and a tee shirt. Oh, and lest we not forget the pair of smart wool socks I kept on. This may not mean anything to you. But it means everything to me. I am a naked sleeper. The ecoutrements of sleep mean nothing to me. I want to feel flannel on my butt and that is it. Not last night. I wanted to feel warm.

It was crazy cold. Crazy. I can't imagine what it meant for the people who are homeless or whose apartments or houses are even colder than mine. I can't imagine being colder than I was last night and I wasn't that cold in grand scheme of things. Anyway...

I worked in the Aurora clinic yesterday. This was a big switch from where I ususally work. It was like going home. The population that the Aurora clinic serves is so. very. different than the clinic that I work in in Littleton. Littleton is like Stepford. Almost everyone is white. Almost everyone is rich. Almost everyone has kids and almost everyone wishes they didn't. There is an enormous amount of adultery going on in Littleton. Middle-aged white men come in everyday with their sob stories about how their wives don't understand them and how they just had to have sex with a prostitute, or their neighbor, or their daughter's best friend. Gak. It's fine and I'm glad to make sure they are healthy. But it's not as satisfying to me as working with populations of people who aren't rich, white, and privledged. I had this woman tell me yesterday that she wanted a particluar kind of birth control so that when her man, her baby daddy gets out in 5 years, she'll be able to have sex with him without having to worry. 5 years. Her baby daddy will be out in five years. She was 19. She looked like she was 13. I smiled a little when she said it, "my baby daddy". I tried not to laugh because that would just be rude but jesus that makes me laugh.

The mission of my work is to provide health care to underserved populations. Working in Littleton does't really do that. A majority of the people we serve have health insurance...that means that someone in their lives, it could be a parent, partner or themselves, is working and has insurance. That's not an underserved population. It's just not. I like knowing that my work is making a difference within a community. It assuages my white, middle-class guilt.

* * * *

In other news, I'm going home in a week. I really can't wait. I can't wait to see my boys and to play with them for days. Days! I can't wait. We are having big family gathering to celebrate Christmas and my and my brother in law's birthday. I'm really excited about seeing everyone. All of my neices and nephews will be there. I can't wait. It will just be really good to be home. Lately, I've been feeling like maybe I want to bring up moving home. I really do miss my family so much. It just seems like I haven't given Denver a fair shot. There is so much about moving that wouldn't work right now. But I really miss my folks and my friends. I wish that there were a place that was closer but still not Mass or Maine. It's been on my mind. I need to sort it out before I can bring it up to J.

Bless your sweet mistakes

2007-01-07T07:21:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure where to start today. This week has been strange and mildly hard and yet...ok. I'm not sure what I'm feeling these days. Things with the Mr. and I have been a little odd. I imagine that it has something to do with all of the change that has happened for the both of us in the last 12 months. We've talked and we are both committed to this relationship. We love being together and yet. . . there's been a lot of change and probably more to come. Isn't that the way of things? Change is the only thing any one of us can really count on. Some of us find it to be exciting and some of us find it paralysing. We have been trying to figure that out.

The issue of marriage and kids came up again. This is one of my favorite conversations. I love it. J. said he felt like he went from being married to being single (for two years), to being married again. He's unsure how this makes him feel. I have been feeling similarly. I have been trying to figure out how to bring it up that some of the patterns that we've been falling into make me uncomfortable and bring up a lot of shit for me. I spent many years eating dinner in front of the television without talking or interacting with the person next to me. I got fat and miserable and I could feel myself doing this again. I usually get home from work pretty late and so if I cook dinner...it's about 8:30 when we eat. I'm tired. It's easy to turn on the tube and watch tv until I'm drooling and ready to sleep. But that does nothing for my relationship. We both needed to moderate and/or change that. I don't want what happened with Jen to happen here. I don't want to get complacent or resentful or any of those things with J. I don't want to fuck this one up. What we have is amazing, beautiful, and for the most part strong. I want to nurture that not lull it into some kind of lobotomized version of who we really are.

Relationships are hard work. I've said that from the beginning. Negotiation and compromise are great things to philosophize about, but in real life when it comes down to the actual negotiation and compromise, it's a lot fucking harder than it seems. It's hard for me to hear that J. would have to make some personal changes in order to continue on the path that we're on. I don't want him to change or be different. I've never asked that of him and I never would. He has, on his own, come to a place where he feels like he has to do some hard work in order to be healthy in our relationship. I think, I hope, this can only be a good thing. My fear comes from the idea that he's changing for me and that simply doesn't work for me. Bah...I'm not being articulate.

I asked him if he was in this for the long term or if this was just something like a test run after his relationship with H. He seemed kind of hurt by that. I didn't mean to be insensitive to how this feels, or how he takes care of me, or any of that. This feels like the long term for me and I he takes amazing care of my heart. I guess I asked because i didn't want to be the one who was later surprised and then crushed. I like to know what's coming, what's expected. That is definitely something he can understand. He is in this for the long term. We can decide later what that means. He is afraid that I'm going to wake up one day and realize that he's not enough for me. Since that exact thing has happened before I can see why he'd be worried. I realized something that summer morning 6 years ago when I woke up and realized that my life was going to be one long miserable stretch unless I made some enormous changes. Along with the realization that I needed to make changes was a realization that I cannot make my partner my everything. I think a lot of why my relationship with Jen failed is that I didn't have anything left of me. Nothing was just mine anymore, not my friends, my family, my work, my home, my creativity...nothing. It was all shared and I'm not sure that can be sustained. So this time around J. and I are so very committed to being together but separate. Just as we've committed to each other, we've committed to keeping our identities and to keep doing the things that make us, us.

These conversations that we've been having aren't easy. They are anything but easy. But in the end they get us to a place where I think we are better people for that hard work. Not only do I love that boy...I love the woman I am with him. I think that's a testament to the kind of love we share.

2007-01-04T21:01:00.000-08:00

Me and Daddy. We are twins.

Me and J. We are clearly not twins. That would be oddly creepy.

Cam might be one of my favorite human beings on earth. I call him Daddy. He calls me Sugar. We've never kissed or done it. These are two things I'm thankful for.

I wish this had been my Holiday card this year. I love the Christmas Tree Shop and wish everyday that there was one here.

Just some happy pics of 2006. The end.

ya know...one of those nights

2007-01-01T19:21:00.000-08:00

It's one of those nights when nothing seems right and something definitely seems off. Something has seemed off all day. I can't figure it out. I can't tell if it's me or if it's J. I've been quiet due to feeling a little hungover this morning but...I don't know. Something seems off. We went out yesterday with one of J's good friends. We started out with brunch and ended with dinner and about 14 Tequilla Sunrises. I was feeling fine last night...just fine.

I have a sneaking suspicion that H. is the reason for things feeling off. I don't know...I could be wrong but I don't think I am. I think I'm right...when it comes to this particular, reoccurring bump in the road, I'm usually right. Usually. I could be wrong tonight. I'd like to be. Because I'm really not in the mood to have another round of "let's psychoanalyze H." tonight.

Patience. Patience. Patience. I feel like I've extended an enormous amount of said virtue in the last year. It's not something I'm awesome at doing. I've never pushed J. to be in this relationship. I've never made him be here. I have never asked him to just get over her. But my god...tonight...tonight I'm ready for her to be a distant and faded memory. I'm just not feeling patient tonight. I want her to go away for tonight. And maybe tomorrow night, too. Christ...

Whatever. I'm about out of patience. I'm looking forward to going back to work tomorrow. I'd give anything to be at Erin's. I just need some space.

So we drive on past their marble and glass

2006-12-24T06:51:00.000-08:00

There are certain sections of Denver that I'd never want to live in. One of those places is called Cherry Creek (every neighborhood here has a brilliant name!). There's commercial for the Cherry Creek Mall that ends with the slogan, "Everyone speaks Cherry Creek." Gak. Everyone in Cherry Creek speaks only one language. Money. And here we were waiting for Spanish to overtake English in its use! Money, however, is apparently the universal language. Everyone speaks Cherry Creek because everyone in Cherry Creek is filthy, filthy rich. J's old boss, Jerry, is married to some vapid tramp who convinced him to move from their mansion in some suburban town to a a townhouse in Cherry Creek so she could be closer to the shopping. If I ever say, "Hey everyone we're moving to Cherry Creek!" you should shoot me. It would never happen because I don't have 900,000,000 dollars to sink into a cookie-cutter townhouse in a gated community. Even if I did have that much money I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be living in Cherry Creek. It's like yuppie heaven. A Nuveau Riche Resort. It's gross.

My uncle called me last week to see if I wanted to come out and visit him while he's skiing at Breckenridge. (This is the uncle who, when last I saw him, mentioned that he was glad his country club had little Mexicans to blow the leaves off the green. He mentioned that I should be glad that his country club gave them health insurance. (If he lived here he'd live in Cherry Creek.) I told him I was glad to know that he had found a place that sanctioned being a racist, classist asshole. I told him it was great that the workers at the country club had health insurance...I told him I thought health insurance was a right and not a privilege. I told him not to refer to other humans as "Little Mexicans". I told him he was a pig.) He's coming in tonight from Ohio and taking a shuttle to Breckenridge. I told him my car probably wouldn't make it through the mountain passes. He recommended that I rent a car. I told him I had to work all week. He was shocked. Shocked that I had to work the week after Christmas. Jesus Gay. Yes, I have to work at my non-profit job. We have to be open all the time. Also, my Puerto Rican boyfriend might have to pass on meeting you all.

My neighborhood is primarily comprised of non-white people. It's a poor neighborhood right on the edges of a very poor neighborhood. It's called Five Points. The city is right now working on gentrifying that neighborhood to accommodate the needs of the hip, young, urbanites who want to live 'uptown' but don't want to pay 'uptown' prices. I love living here and I love my neighborhood. It's quite unlike the ultra-homogenized, ultra-pasturized, white-milk of Portland. My uncle wouldn't get out of his car in my neighborhood. This doesn't bother me at all. I am the richer of the two of us by far. I don't have any furniture for him to sit on anyway so it's a good thing that he wouldn't visit.

I don't want for more. I mean, I guess I want for things like a couch, whatever. I don't want for more money or more wealth. I don't want it. If being wealthy means being a socio-political amnesiac then I certainly don't want it. I am proud of the work I do and of the way that I live my life. I guess in a sense he's proud of what he does, too. We just hold such incongruous values...and we're from the same family for Christ's sake. I guess there's a part of me that is sad that he wouldn't come to my home or if he did he would judge it. My apartment could fit in the foyer of his house. Can happiness be measured this way? I don't think it can. I should stop.

Mostly, as I sit here this Christmas Eve morning, I am once again bowled over by how blessed I am. I have learned that happiness doesn't come from how much money I have in my wallet or how big my apartment is. Happiness isn't measured by whether or not my house is drafty and old or new and big and shiny. I am happy and loved and clearly cherished. I wish the same for my uncle. I wish for him to know what it feels like to love and be loved and to know happiness by name.

I guess it's time...

2006-12-22T08:19:00.000-08:00

Just thinking about writing this down brings tears to my eyes and a giant lump to my throat. But I woke up this morning and my first thought was that I had never written it down. There's more that happened here than I'll be able to remember. There's more feeling here than I'll be able to express. But it's important and if I don't write it down then I'll forget even more of the details and the feelings will be distilled down to something trite.

I think it was late December in 2004 although, it might have even been 2005 already. Stephen and I ran into Erin at my favorite store at the mall. Erin and I were new to each other. But we connected instantly and it was just a matter of time before we were best friends. She was listlessly looking through the sale racks. We hugged and I immediately asked her what was wrong. Stephen asked where Janelle was: Express. He left to find her. Erin was in tears. Erin doesn't cry in public. She had found a post on an adoption board that seemed very promising. She wanted to pursue it. J. didn't so much. Questions like: Are you sure? Are you ready? Do you think it's the real deal? They all made their way out of my mouth. Reassurances like: I love you. It's going to be ok. You know if it's meant to be, it will be. They all found their way out of my mouth, too. Nothing I said was what she needed to hear. It was eerie the way she just knew it was supposed to happen.

Some of this time is foggy for me...they went to the midwest for the holiday and then came back...and they had decided to go for it. And then they decided not to. It's amazing how entering into the process of anything unknown is driven by fear. After some conversation...my two best friends decided that it was indeed time for them to be Mommies. And it was all going to happen in the span of 8 weeks. Holy shit.

I remember meeting S. for the first time. I was really nervous and of course she was too. She is one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. Both physically and emotionally S. is beautiful. Her story is hers to tell...and I hope with my whole heart that she finds a way to tell it. I'm not going to romanticize her story or make it into something that makes me feel better about her pain, hurt, and choice. She is an amazing human being and I'm grateful for the chance to meet her. I am also grateful for the unbelievable opportunity that she gave me to support her through her labor. At the time I knew it was a gift that I could give her...two years later, the gift she gave me is truly one of my most precious.

I had to house-sit pretty far away in Bowdoin, Maine. It was an hour from my home, my work, my friends. The house was a rambling old farmhouse tucked into the woods. It sat on 150 acres of land. At any other time I would have been ecstatic about being able to live in a house like that for a week. I remember getting to sleep at about 11:30pm. The phone rang about 20 minutes later. It was Janelle. "Hi. If someone's water breaks...about how long until the baby is born." I don't even think I answered her. I remember saying, "I'm on my way." I remember telling Janelle that what S. needed from her right now was for her to be calm. I remember Erin getting on the phone and explaining the Castor Oil Milk Shake that S. had requested.

I got dressed and got back in my car. I drove rather calmly through the darkness. I cried a little for the weight of the situation hit me pretty hard. I got to the house and let myself in. "Hi, kids!" I chatted with S. for a bit to see where she was at. She was snuggled up in her sweats on the couch. She told me she didn't really feel anything. She has some back pain but other than that...nothing. I told her to let me know if it changed. We all just hung out and watched TV. It was about 2:30 or so when B. (a mutual friend), Erin, and I went upstairs to lay down. We were talking and laughing and being ridiculous when all of a sudden, Janelle is running up the stairs, "SUGAR!!!! IT'S STARTING!!!!" The three of us leapt off the bed and ran down stairs. I sat down on the floor infront of S. I asked for a watch. I told her to tell me when a contraction started and when it stopped. She did. I didn't belive her...22 seconds apart is NOT the beginning stages of labor. In a nano-second it all hit me. Periodic back pain, the 4 hours that had passed since her water broke. This beautiful human wasn't in the beginning stages of labor. This beautiful human was in transtion. We needed to get to the hospital immediately if not sooner.

I looked in her deep, dark, eyes and told her she needed to get up so we could go to the hospital. She, in her infinite humor, said, "I don't think I want to have this baby. I'll just stay here." I told her that if we didn't get her to the hospital she was going to have the baby on the couch. I told her that wasn't really an option. I put her arms around my neck and sat her up. I put her feet on the floor and I told her to just lean on me. We stood up. Her hard belly was against my soft one. Her strong arms were around my neck. My arms were around her and clasped in the back. It's called the dance. It's an actual labor technique...and it was the most natural thing in the whole world. I could feel contraction after contraction tear through the muscles in her back. I could feel her belly harden with each contraction. I talked her through each one. We swayed back and forth through a series of contractions; I honestly don't know how long we were there. It felt like the two of us existed in a bubble. I know one of the girls called the doctor, someone was getting bags ready, and B. came over to put on S's. shoes. I asked her how she wanted to get out to the car and she said softly into my shoulder, "Just like this." And that's what we did. We swayed and danced out into the car.

We got into the car and she couldn't really sit. She sort of perched. Clearly, she had a baby working his way out. She told me over and over that she couldn't do this. I told her over and over that she was doing it. She got a little panicked. I had her drop her chin to her chest and moan. She said that felt better than shrieking. We finally got to the hospital. Thank you Jesus. Thank you. We went up to labor and delivery and the nurse told her she needed to check her cervix. S just about told her to fuck off. She did not want to lie down. I convinced her she could lie down for just a minute...and a minute was all she was willing to give. The nurse quickly checked her and said she was 7. S was out of that bed like a shot. I went around to stand by her and she asked if we could do that thing again. She put her arms around my neck and I put my arms around her middle....and then she let out a primal, animalistic, throaty scream. I looked down and saw blood and mucous on the floor. She told me she needed to poop. I told her she needed to push. It had been about 5 minutes since that initial check. I told her she needed to lie down and let the nurse check her again. 10 cm. 3cms in 5 minutes! Holy Christ! Time to move this kiddo out. There wasn't time for drugs. There wasn't time for anything except pushing. And push she did.

Erin and Janelle were across from me. Erin was holding one of S's legs and Janelle was up by her head. I remember looking across at them and mouthing "I love you." Back to S. My time there wasn't about Erin and Janelle or this new baby. My time and energy was about S. Someone said, "good job." She didn't want to hear it. She yelled, "Don't say that!! It's not a good job!" I pulled her back and said, "It's hard work. You are doing very hard work and it's almost over." She nodded and told me that was exactly it. We counted, we held our breath when she did, we blew it out with her, for her if we could have. And then there was a baby head. Alien-esque and wrinkley. During births that don't include adoption it's typical to hear things like, "your baby's head is right here, Mom. Do you want to feel it?" This was different. It was more factual: "The baby's head is out. Here come his shoulders." S didn't want to hear the baby cry. Arrangements had been made to have him taken from the room immediately. Erin was to go with him. Janelle and I were to stay with S. With a strength that would humble even the toughest men, S. pushed that baby out. He was whisked out of the room so that she didn't have to hear him cry. That was her specific request. Then it was just us three with the nurses and doc. S. looked up at Janelle and said, "Go see him. Go meet him. It's ok." Janelle kissed the palm of S's hand and looked as though she couldn't actually leave that room. She did eventually go meet him.

I stayed with S. At this point it wasn't about anything other than making her comfortable. She hadn't had any pain relief and she wanted what was due her. I watched as one more strong contraction pushed the placenta out. I watched as they tried to find the source of her bleeding. I translated medical-speak for her so she could understand what the doc was talking about. I smoothed her hair back and told her that she was quite possibly the most amazing human I knew. Not because she chose adoption, or because I equate her with superheroes for her ability to place her child into the care of a community of virtual strangers. I told her that because she, like hundreds of thousands of women before her, pulled off the most amazing magic trick of all. Childbirth. I thanked her for letting me be there for her. She reached up for me and hugged me and thanked me.

Once her bleeding was under control and she had been given some pain medication, I told her that I needed to pee, vomit, and have a cigarette. She laughed and asked if she could come. I told her as soon as she was out of here, we'd have a smoke. I left the room and ran to the nearest bathroom. I puked, peed, and went outside. The sun was just coming up over the bay. The sky was gray and pink and soft. It was only 7:30 so the town was quiet and peaceful. Stephen came out with me for a smoke. We didn't have any words other than, "Welcome to the world, SBJ."

I went back to my post. S looked at me and said, "You can go meet him, you know?" I couldn't. I felt like I was betraying her. Right or wrong, that's how I felt. I felt like if I left that room that I was somehow betraying her, her journey, her choice, her life, her feelings, her love. It wasn't until I actually held his little body against mine that I realized that it wasn't a betrayal to love him. I was honoring her, her journey, her choice, her life, her feelings, her love. She entrusted her son to my friends and they chose me to be a major part of his life. Loving him is my only gift back to her. I can't change things for her, make things easier for her, soothe the hurt that I know she has. All I can do is love that little boy with everything I have.

I never got to say goodbye to her. I never got to say one more time, "You rock." I'd love to be able to check in on her now and then. I'd love to have that smoke. I just wish she knew how often she's in my thoughts.

The day S. gave birth to SBJ I had worked at the clinic. It was an abortion day. I supported women through their abortions that day. Then I saw a birth happen. Then I saw the beginnings of an adoption journey begin. I have never been more thankful for the right to choose as I was that day.

I didn't capture this quite like I wanted to...but at least it's down on "paper".

avoidance

2006-12-19T19:18:00.000-08:00

i'm hiding from the pile of dishes in the sink and the chicken in the fridge that I don't feel like cooking. I've made friends with some crackers and some cheese and I'm going to stay in this room until I either die from all of the cheese I'm not supposed to eat or the dishes do themselves. Either way, I'm going to be here for a while.

The boy just left for some christmas shopping. If a Toaist goes christmas shopping, is it really christmas shopping? I can't begin to guess. I should go wrap his presents. I should...but that would mean walking by the dishes and I can't face them!

sigh.

Logan International Airport

2006-12-16T08:15:00.000-08:00

January 2005. I remember lying on my bed and thinking, this will take a year. I will feel like myself in a year. The Cowboy and I had just called it quits. I remember feeling like I wouldn't quite be myself for a long time. And I was right. I wasn't. I was tired, sad, withdrawn, and cellularly pathetic. And sexy...did I mention the sexy? I remember thinking that I just didn't want to date anymore. I wasn't going to do it again. My relationship life is spotted with hard, shitty, often messy break-ups. I thought I wasn't capable of having a healthy relationship.

Cut to late October 2005...E. and I were upstairs in the old house. She was playing on the computer and I was trying on her clothes. I had just recently told her that I had put a profile up on topyourmom.com. I was mortified at the thought. I had done it out of spite. The Cowboy had done it and I thought if he could do it, then I could do it too. It was your basic, no-frills profile. E. was having none of it. I needed pictures, she said. I needed to be aggressive, she said. I told her she was in charge. And take charge she did. (I'm sure she regrets it now as it's landed me 2,700 miles away from her.) I was zipping up one of her skirts when she said,
"Oh my. He's so hot! I'm sending him a kiss!"
I knew which profile she was talking about. I had read it a couple of times and decided that he was too cute, smart, and witty for a girl like me. This guy was damn fine. There was a picture of him sitting against a bookshelf. He didn't smile in that picture. I remember his profile said something about liking Tai Chi and Chai Tea. I thought he was clever.
"NO! Not him. Please!? He's too cute."
"Too late, dude."
"Fuck! ERIN!!!!"
I never thought he'd respond to me. I sent him an email that basically said I want to talk to you but I don't know how. Tell me stories? That's how I ended my first email to him. And tell me stories he did. He wrote me a long and hysterical email in third person about his life in the Mile High City. I read that email and immediately felt at ease. We began emailing on a regularish basis, we made mix CDs for each other, and we finally exchanged phone numbers. I was pretty concerned that this was the most insane thing I had ever done. I was pretty sure that he was going to end up being a serial killer who happened to have a brilliant command of the language. I was pretty sure that I was going to regret this whole thing. I was pretty sure that this was all a huge mistake. Why would he want me? Oh, every single, tiny insecurity that I'd ever had came screaming at me at 4556 miles an hour!

I called him. Why not? The whole time, even with every ounce of my reason calling insanity on the whole deal, I remember thinking Why Not? We talked for three hours. Three hours. I know now that he spent most of that time lying on his kitchen floor, freezing his balls off, because that was the only place he could get reception. We talked about everything and anything we could think of. He was newly separated from his now ex-wife and wasn't so sure about this whole thing either. We just talked. It was so easy. It was so easy that we did it again the next night and the next and the next. This is a man whose typical phone conversations last for about 45 seconds. It was all just so easy.

After about a month of late night phone conversations, incessant text messaging, and fervent emailing...I decided that I couldn't handle it anymore. I needed to meet him. I needed to know if what I felt for him was the real deal. Now...some of you who read this might feel lied to or betrayed but I did the following for love, damn it!! I remember the conversation went something like this:

Her: "I can't do this anymore. I need to see you."
Him: "Yeah? What are you doing next weekend?"
Her: "I have a family Christmas party and I have to work. I'll get out of both."
Him: "Good. I'll be there."
Her: "Shut up!! For real!?"
Him: "Absolutely."

I told my boss that this was all going down and that I was supposed to work that Saturday...she said, "No you don't. Go meet your boy." I lied and told my family that I was sick (M, don't tell mom!!! Please!?). I drove down to Boston at 3:00am to meet his 5:00am flight. It was delayed. 6:00am.

I got a text message: Baggage Claim 4. If you dare.

I watched him come down the stairs from the gate. He was hell-bent on getting to that Baggage Claim. I followed him for bit...and then I said, "Excuse me sir? Do you have the time?" He turned around, looked confused for a minute, and then his beautiful face lit up with that smile I've come to love. We hugged and then kissed and kissed and kissed. I remember hearing someone say, "Oh, that's so sweet!" They had no idea just how sweet it was....it is.

That was a year ago today. It's been a carnival ride so far. I only wish he knew how much I love the carnival.

Happy Anniversary, J. I am thankful every day for this amazing adventure we call us. You are my love. Today, tomorrow, and always.

my joy

2006-12-14T08:50:00.000-08:00

It's been over a year since my cousin S. has talked to me. It's been over a year since I got an email saying that she needed to break out of my shadow. It's been over a year since I opened my home and my life and my friends to her. She is seven years younger than me. My whole adult life has been spent trying to make her life easier, more managable. My whole adult life has been spent trying to encourage her to be herself. It has felt like she's usurped my life at times. It has felt like she has done everything I have done. I came out as queer. She came out, too. I had her in my home on a regular basis. We spent so much time together. We would drive and talk and sing and smoke butts. I thought we were friends, sisters in effect. But we weren't those things. I, apparently, was suffocating and mean. I was trying to keep her in my shadow. Jesus gay she's crazy. She's the kind of crazy that makes me put up my hands and say, "Not in here. Keep your crazy somewhere else."

I got a text message yesterday morning that said she was moving to Denver. Fuckin' A. Motherfucker. No. No. No. No. No. NO. NO! I do not want her here. This is my place. This is about J. and I. I moved here and I wanted this to be our place. I just don't want her here. I don't want to wonder if I'm going to run into her. I don't want her to be here!! I know I sound like a four year old but jesus god and all things holy...NO!

She's coming here with her boyfriend and bestfriend so maybe she won't be looking for me to be there for her. She asked if maybe we could hang out sometime and I couldn't even answer her. Hang out? My shadow might be too big. I might keep her from seeing her true self. Shut the fuck up.

I'm just mad. I'm sad that CO won't just be my space anymore. And I'm still really hurt. And that's where all this is coming from. bah.

the end.

We're like donkies.

2006-12-09T06:41:00.000-08:00

It's another one of those Saturday mornings when I wake up at 6:00am and I'm three times more awake than I ever am on a weekday. So instead of fighting it I just got up. I made some coffee Holly-style (add cinnamon), and came in here to maybe write for a bit. I usually put on the same Lori McKenna cd when I write so that I can have something to tune out the outside world and so that I don't actually have to listen to it. I've heard this one album about 65,848,203,947 times. It just sort of flows into the background of my consciousness and turns off the part of my brain that censors my feelings and thoughts. It just let's me tap into what is really going on for me. I wonder if other people do that, too.

Poor sweet boy has been sick for the last two days. He got violently sick on Wednesday night. I've never seen him sick like that. Holy shit. No pun intended. He just kept looking up at me and saying, "I don't get sick like this. Why am I so sick?" Poor bug. He's better now. Big sigh of relief. I was awake with him all night on Wednesday. It made me wonder what it would feel like to have a sick kid. I was worried about him, sure. But he's an adult and fully capable of taking care of himself. He can tell me when he thinks he's not ok enough to keep on taking care of himself. But with a peanut...what the hell do you do? How do you not worry yourself silly?

J had lunch with his ex-wife this week. She's pregnant. I came home Wednesday night (before all of the puking and shitting began) and he was all tucked up in bed. He had his "I'm upset" face on. When I asked him what was going on he told me he was just upset about something that happened at lunch with H. Two cigarettes later he was really talking about why that was so upsetting to him. It's upsetting for so many reasons. He can talk about why in his own blog. I immediately went into supportive listener mode. I just encouraged him to talk about what he felt, told him he was safe to talk about all the things that came up for him.

Some things came up for me, too. I wanted to help her. I wanted to give her all the information that I have about pregnancy options, etc. I wished for about 5.6 seconds that she was someone that I could just call or text message. I'd tell her to come over and talk it all out. It sounds like she could use an objective ear. I got a bunch of information together for her and now I just have to let J. give it to her. Sitting back is not my forte.

Then I had my own set of feelings on the matter. I work with pregnant women everyday. I work with women who are excited about it and I work with women who aren't. I work with women who are indifferent about it. I work with women who already have children and never want to parent again. And on some base level it all breaks my heart. It's hard to be surrounded by women who can so easily can get pregnant. It's so hard to be surrounded by women who don't want to be pregnant at all. I find it challenging to be surrounded by women who take it for granted that they can get pregnant and are truly pissed off that their method of birth control didn't work and voila...they are pregnant!

I've been doing reproductive health care for a long time...almost 10 years. I've been dedicated to choice and safety, etc. for a lot longer than that. I am pro-choice almost to a fault. I believe that it's a responsible choice for some women not to parent. The thing is...I want to be a parent with my whole heart. I want to help raise a child. I want to be a mom. I want to extend myself in ways I'm sure I am able to but have no idea how to.

So it was hard to hear that H. isn't sure how this is all going to go down. It was hard to hear how she joked about taking back the cat and giving us the kid. Because you know what? I'd do it. in. a. heartbeat. I'd love that baby more than I ever thought possible. It was hard to hear that she may want to parent but that she doesn't really know if she wants to parent with her current partner. I want to! I want to parent with J. I'm sure. I have never been more certain about anything. This all makes me feel like stamping my feet and yelling, "It's NOT FAIR!".

But I'm not fertile and neither is J. I'm not. I don't need a battery of tests to tell me that. I know it. It would be a shot in the dark if I decided to try to get pregnant. So my wishes for pregnancy have been grieved and buried. We would adopt. It feels right. It also feels intentional...and there are some days when I wish that our love, our sex could create something. There are some days when I wish we could just fuck and later laugh at what we did together. There is a sense of loss there. It's different than my own personal loss over a set of bum ovaries. Honestly, there is a sense of envy of the people who can do just that. I'm envious of people who are fertile and whose sex can create something so genius, so amazing. It's not all-consuming but it's there.

I wonder if I'd be satisfied in this life without children. And I honestly don't think I would be. I think there is something amazing about loving someone more and differently than you love anyone else. I think there is something amazing about teaching a little one to navigate this world. I want it. I don't have to apologize for that. I just want it.

So how do I feel about H's pregnancy? The same as I do about any woman who walks into my clinic and says, "I don't know what to do." My first gut response is to say, "Give it to me." My actual response is to say, "Yes, you do. You just need to talk it out." I often feel crazed by how much people take this all for granted...she's not excluded from that list. I do wish I could reach out to her and let her know that she has a place to talk it out if she needs it. I like it that I can be objective and free of judgement. It's my job. It's what I do. It's what I've done forever. But today, here...I'm not judgement-free. Today I just want to be mad that pregnancy isn't as intentional for everyone as it is for folks who aren't fertile. Grrr.

Standing in your kitchen

2006-12-02T08:11:00.000-08:00

This has been a weird week. I've been feeling anxious and tired and grumpy. J and I talked the other night about me telling a friend of mine here that he's the trans. He just got quiet. He said he needed to think about it. That's fine. I get that. I love him for having to think about it. But I'm not asking him for permission...he said a long time ago that he doesn't care who I tell as long as he knows about it. Well, it was more like a head's up...an "I'm going to talk about this with her." And now the rules that I was presented with a year ago don't hold. And now I'm waiting for permission. And that makes me feel gross.

I'm not trying to be insensitive to him. Jesus knows I'm not. I just can't seem to wrap my brain around how he doesn't understand that I might need to talk to my friend(s) about my life. My life includes him and it includes trans-issues. I might need to talk to my friends(s) about how my life is different than it seems. I'm not sure how to articulate this to him without coming across as selfish and making him feel bad. I know the first words out of his mouth are going to be "I'm sorry." I don't want him to be sorry. Sorry for what? For being trans? For being a straight man? None of those things are a fault. None of those things are things I wish were different. I just want to be able to talk about it with my friend(s) and not to him all the time. There's only so much he can understand, so many perspectives he can have. Sometimes, I just want to talk to a girl about it face to face. I don't have my best friend next door or in my house anymore. I have one friend that is starting to become very special to me here. I have one person that I feel like I can talk to about just about anything and that's all. This isn't a pity party, this is just how it is.

I don't have a lot I want to talk about. I don't have a lot that I feel like I need to share or hash out with her. I have some things that I'd like to be able to talk freely about. And there is a little piece of this that is about perception and how people perceive me. I am tired of being seen as a straight girl. That's not me. That's a lie. And I don't want to lie to people. Jesus, why does this make me cry!? I know I need to bring this subject back up to him. I need to be able to talk to my friends and family about how I feel...and sometimes that includes how I feel about trans-stuff. I'm not used to censoring myself, and quite honestly, I don't want to now.

I guess I'm just feeling really lonely. I just want some sense of family here....mostly, I want to come home. I want to rent a house on the beach and work at the Hood in Portland. I want to get married and have babies and raise them with E and J and M. I want to be close to my family again and to be able to see my boys. I'm thinking that this 6 month mark is a hard one. It's like if I get past this then I'm committed to being here. And I think I'm all done. I think I want to go home. This whole making a new life thing sucks and I don't want it. I want neighbors that I know and friends who just come over and who know that my house is their house. I want to be within driving distance of B and D again. I want them to know me and J.

Well, hasn't this turned into a great big wet rag of a post. I'm just so done with Colorado. I'm so done being this lonely and numb.

There's that faggot bashing poetry...

2006-11-27T20:35:00.000-08:00

There are times when I wish so desperately for a best friend out here. I wish that there was someone that could know the ins and outs of my life and how I live it. I wish there was someone that I could talk to about how I feel. How I really, really, really feel. I wish there was someone who could understand what it's like to live my life the way that I am right now. I wish there was someone who could sit next to me and nod and say, "Yeah, no shit, right?!" when I talk about what it's like for me. But there isn't anyone like that. I haven't been this lonely for connection in a long time.

There are things I'd like to be able to talk about with my one friend here. There are things I'd like to share...about how my life isn't what it seems...about how I feel about that. I feel like a little girl wandering around in her mom's high-heels, playing grown-up. I feel like one of these days the whole fucked up rouse will be exposed...and then what?

I just want to talk to someone. I just want to connect with someone who could maybe understand it for one second. I just want to be me for a minute....I want someone out here to understand on a fundemental level who I am.

Well, since that's not going to happen tonight maybe I'll just go to sleep.

Yeah...fuck this.

Lucy Stoners...

2006-11-12T10:56:00.000-08:00

We went out last night and met up with some friends. We went to a bar called Herman's Hideaway. It was brilliant except for the part where I had only Doritos before leaving for the night and managed to get significantly lit. And this morning, you ask? This morning I feel like shit. I didn't even drink that much. We didn't end up going to bed until 3:00ish and now that I think about it, that's probably the reason why I feel like ass.

I had a revelation last night...there's a lot of queer repression happening in this town. It very well may be everywhere but I can only speak for Denver. Now all that might not come as a surprise to anyone but I was surprised to see it. I've spent the last 13 years in gay bars...I haven't been to a straight bar in a long time. I spent most of my time last night watching Sweater Girl and her girlfriend Pink Shirt Girl. They were obviously together, at least they came to the bar together. They were dancing and flirting with each other and it seemed they were making a solid attempt to gain the attention of the circling vulture-men by doing so. But there was something else there...they wanted to be with each other. When Sweater Girl started dancing (and by dancing I mean gyrating and simulating fellatio) with Baseball Cap Guy, Pink Shirt Girl got pissed. Pissed enough to leave the dance floor and go back to her table.

Of course, had you been there you would have been laughing hysterically at the antics of these two. You would have been peeing your pants at the pathetic attempts of Baseball Cap Guy to actually get that blowjob. It was funny. It was. But it was hard, too. It was hard because Sweater Girl and Pink Shirt Girl clearly had some kind of a relationship. Good or bad, healthy or not, they had a relationship. Something was keeping them from being able to just be ok with it, to accept it, to love it. I'm not suggesting that Sweater Girl and Pink Shirt Girl should settle down with two cats and a communal pair of Birkenstocks...I'm just saying that there is something inherently sad about a society that forces people to be things they are not. I'm just saying that there is something inherently sad about perpetuating this bullshit hate-mongering. It's sad and I watched two very sad women last night try to negotiate how they fit in with each other.

Living out here has been an eye-opening experience for me with regards to being queer. It's been a long time since I've worn the rainbow bling and raised my fist against the injustices that face my community. My queerness is more like an involuntary muscle response. I don't think about it anymore. It's just a part of me. I don't go to gay pride parades or dyke marches. I don't go because I don't feel like I need to. I don't feel like I get anything from being there. But maybe it's not about that. Maybe being there and showing my support is more about keeping the hate at bay for another Senate session or election day. Maybe my being a part of the queer community is something that is bigger than what I need or what I get. Maybe it's about giving and not receiving at this point.

I felt so sad for those girls last night. I was given a gift when I came out 13 years ago. I was given freedom and permission to just be me. I was allowed to figure out who I was and who I wasn't. Three years ago, I was given another gift. I was allowed to change and figure out who I was again. Lesbian. Femme. Queer. Dyke. Whatever. I was allowed to find myself without fear of reproach or disdain from my family and friends. I think there's a part of me that feels like I ought to pay forward the gift I was given to other queer folks who have not been given such a gift. I have spent the last 6 months living with a man, passing as straight, and periodically feeling very uncomfortable with the assumptions that have gone along with all of that. I haven't needed to feel connected to the queer community until now. I haven't needed to stand up for what I believe in because I just assumed that someone else would stand up. That's not going to happen. I need to do it.

Colorado just recently passed an amendment to the state constitution. It's a marriage ban. It defines marriage as between a man and a woman. It defines who can be protected under the law and who can't. And. It's. Not. Right. Things are different for me right now. I could get legally married. I could have access to J. should something happen to him. I would legally be responsible for him and he for me. I want that. But do I want that at anyone else's expense? I know the expense. I've been there. I spent 10 years wondering what would happen if she was in an accident or very sick. Being on the other side of the issue now is a very different experience. Legal marriage feels different. It feels different because it is different. It's fucking different than a commitment ceremony or a civil union. As much as it sickens and humbles me to say it, I think I would have worked on that campaign if I had been with a woman. I think I started to take my privilege for granted. Gross.

I'm not sure of my point here. I'm not sure I need one. It is, afterall, my blog. I think what I came to better understand about myself last night is that:

1.) I'm not straight and I never will be.

2.) I owe it to the people who have come before me to continue working toward making our communities safe for everyone.

3.) I am a bit ashamed of myself for being so god damned complacent.

Down at the Dariy Queen

2006-10-21T10:41:00.000-07:00

I met Patrick when I was in the 7th grade. He was in the 8th grade. He was one of the tough kids. He was quick to temper and yet quicker to laughter. His smile would light up his face; his dark-chocolate brown eyes would crinkle at the edges. Patrick was a friend of some friends. I remember sitting next to him before school with my stomach full of butterflies. I wanted him to notice me. I know now that he wanted me to notice him, too. I remember the morning he reached out and took my hand. I couldn't breathe and I couldn't think of anything to say. I just let him hold my hand. He later asked me to "go out" with him. The school year was about to end. He was going to High School and I had another year in Junior High. I don't think any of that mattered to me. I hadn't ever had a boyfriend before him.

The school year ended. There were a few awkward phone calls during the course of that summer and then we drifted away from each other. My mother didn't necessarily approve of me having a boyfriend and she certainly never approved of him. I went through the 8th grade and when I started High School I remember thinking that I would at least get to see him again.
We spent most of the next four years together much to the dismay of my family and most of my friends.

Our senior year we would eat lunch every day in the art room. The art room smelled like a mixture of paint, plaster, and paper. That was a smell that always lingered on Patrick. He could paint like no one else I knew. He painted to escape. He painted and drew to get away from the noise of his home, the violence that permeated his every day. He doesn't paint or draw now. He says it's because he's found other outlets for his art. I miss being able to softly come up behind him and just watch as a blank canvas became a face or a place. I miss watching him create. After graduation we didn't talk or see each other for five years. We left each other on very bad terms. He had been cruel and I had ended things with harsh words and a melodramatic slap across his face. I thought a lot about him during those five silent years. I know now he thought about me, too. He wished he could have made things right. He wanted to find me but knew that contacting my family to do so was out of the question.

I got the news of our high school five year class reunion and decided that I would go with my best friend Jennie. We hadn't ever been a part of our class. We had always kept ourselves on the fringes. She was stunned when I asked her to go with me. I knew he'd be there and I had to see him again. He had been so much a part of our school. He was the goalie for our Hockey team, class artist, and general trouble maker. He was well-liked and I imagined that he still had his group of friends.

I was standing outside smoking a cigarette. I turned around and saw the back of his head and felt like that 7th grader all over again. I heard him laugh and knew that it was him. Flashes of the four years we had spent together went through my head. Walks on the beach; driving and smoking butts, singing at the top of our lungs with the salty air blowing through the car; quietly laying in each other's arms; getting high behind the high school, and making out down at the Dairy Queen parking lot after his shift...all of it rushed at me and I couldn't breathe. I made good use of the crowd and slipped inside. I went to the bathroom and tried to compose myself. Big. Deep. Breath. I walked back outside and walked up to him. "Hey, you." He turned and looked and wrapped me in his arms once again. He said, "I only came because I thought you might be here." We hugged for what felt like forever. He said, "I never got to say I was sorry." I couldn't talk. I could barely breathe. I just let him hold me.

It's been 18 years since Patrick and I met. We've been friends since we were just little kids and I'm thankful every day that we are still friends. He has a lot of my firsts. We still stay in touch. He's married now and just started a new business in the town next to where we grew up. He plays goalie for a community hockey league. He drinks too much bourbon and smokes too many Camels. Some things don't change.

2006-10-07T08:34:00.000-07:00

I love early Saturday mornings. I love listening to some Lori McKenna and writing about the week. I love knowing that although I feel alone, I have a boy, snuggled up and soft from sleep in the next room. I love thinking about what the day will bring. I've spent much of this morning reading some mama-blogs. I love reading about the adventures in mommy-hood. I love thinking that someday that might be me. I might post a blog about the best kind of diapers or what to do when my baby won't eat anything other than creamcheese and olives. I like the idea that someday I, too, could be a mom.

I just called my boys to see what they were up to this weekend but nobody was home. I think they have gone to the Cape to see my grandfather. I also just talked to my Dad...I wish I was home and watching football with him. I miss my poppy a lot.

So yesterday I had a phone interview for a job in Boulder. I'd be working with Queer youth! I'd be in charge of a program again. There would be room for advancement. I'd be paid what I'm worth! It would be brilliant. I have another interview on Monday, and should that go well, I would meet with a group of young people on Tuesday night. I can't believe it's happening!

It's occurred to me before, but yesterday when I was on the phone with the woman interviewing me, it occurred to me again that I haven't been around any Queer folks since I moved here. It's tough sometimes to always be perceived as straight. It's tough not to justify my inherent queerness by outing J. I try hard not to; I try to be aware of why I'm telling someone if I do end up telling her/him. I'll be excited to be around other folks who just sort of get it. Or maybe they won't...maybe when I say "my boyfriend" they'll think I'm straight or my "my partner" they will assume that he's female. Bah. I don't care so much but it's tough to negotiate sometimes. The woman interviewing me asked me about my personal experience with the gay and I told her that I had come out in 1993. I didn't tell her that I came out again three years ago when I realized that my primary attraction was to transmen. I didn't tell her what that journey was like. I didn't tell her that my identity is as a queer femme. I just told her I came out in 1993 and let her think what she wanted. I'm sure she thinks I'm a dyke. And you know what? I'm not. I'm not a lesbian. But I'm not straight either. It's all so ridiculous anyway. I'm just me. I love J. The End. But I know that's not going to be the end of it. I know that this is just the beginning of it should I get this job.

I've said before that it doesn't matter what your partner's identity is; your identity remains separate. I've said it before but I've never lived it day to day. J is a straight man. There are times when we both forget that he was ever born differently. And then there are the times we are reminded...like last night. I looked over as he was undressing and saw that he was wearing two binders. Two. As if one isn't bad enough. I said, "Both binders, love?" And he said, "I don't want to talk about it." He didn't have to talk about it. I knew what was happening. It (the it we don't discuss) is starting to bother him more and more. He wants top surgery more and more each day. I'd give anything to have 7,000 dollars to hand to him. Later on in the night I told him that I was sorry that things were getting harder for him. He told me he didn't know what I meant. I reminded him of the binders and he just wrapped his arms tighter around me and pulled me to him. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to and that's when things like identity, sexual orientation, etc. don't matter a whip.

2006-10-01T10:02:00.000-07:00

I woke up at 5am today. Or should I say, the darling boy who also lives in my house woke me up at 5 in the morning. He was hungry, being up all night will do that to a boy. I got up, wrapped myself in my robe, nodded my hello as we passed each other in the back bedroom, peed and went back to bed. I tried not to let my brain wake up. I tried hard to fall back into that deep, dark, warm, snuggly place. I couldn't do it. I got up and padded back into the computer room and said good morning to one very sweet boy. Instead of sleeping he had been looking at the single funniest website I've seen in a long time. We scrolled through it, laughing our asses off, for a about an hour or so before we both went back to bed. He conked out immediately while I stayed awake just to feel his warm, sweet body pressed against my back. Then, matching my breath to his, I fell asleep, too.

Not too long after that my text-box went off. I thought it would be Daddy but it wasn't. It was S. He wanted to know what I knew about the current state of affairs of his relationship. I had previously been put in a fuck-tastic situation by his ex-boy which would have required me to lie to S. I chose to be the better human and tell him the truth. His boy has cheated on him...end of story.

I've cheated on partners. Partners have cheated on me. I understand the how's and why's of it all...but lately, lately I can't imagine it. I can't imagine what it would take for me to decide that J. wasn't the one I wanted to be with. I say on a regular basis that there are not enough days for me to love him. I feel so blessed to have him in my life. Even when things are hard or not fun...there isn't a time when I think that I should be with someone else. I would do whatever it takes to make my relationship healthy, positive, and strong. And finally, I have a partner who would do the same.

This time of year is always such a huge reminder of what I left behind three years ago. Three years ago I was about to be married. I was about to commit my life to someone that I wasn't in love with. I loved her very much, but I wasn't in love with her. I left that situation so badly...I don't regret leaving just how I left. I don't regret moving to Portland and I don't regret how my life has unfolded these last three years. I just wish I had left with more grace and dignity. I wish I had left her with more of those things, too. I remember when it occurred to me that I wasn't going to marry her. I remember waking up one morning and thinking, "this is it?". It wasn't enough for me. Our relationship didn't sustain me. I did so much of the care giving and the taking care of things without any help or support from her. It wasn't until that one early summer morning that I realized that I would continue to be that person unless I left and made a huge change. I should have been a better person and kept the newly forming other relationship out of it. But I didn't. I made some enormous mistakes...mistakes that I still feel guilty about. I've tried to make amends with her. I've tried to maintain a friendship of some kind but that really doesn't work for her. I understand that. She says she is still in love with me, that she would be with me if I would come back. It's been three years. I'm not the person she used to know. Something changed and shifted in me three years ago and I'm just not that woman anymore. And I hurt her so much, took so much away from her...I can't imagine wanting to be with that person...with me.

I now live in her favorite city. There are times when I wish I could call her and tell her what I'm seeing. That is undeniably selfish, I know. But there are times when I miss my friend, you know? If I had stayed next week would mark three years of marriage. We'd probably have figured out kids, etc. We'd probably both be miserable. I know I would have been. I regret hurting her...but I don't regret freeing myself. I don't regret living on my own and learning about how I work and who I am. I don't regret any of the last three years. And in a minute, when I walk out into my bedroom and see J sleeping there...I know I made the best choice in the history of choices.

Still, something lingers around me this time of year. I don't know if it's guilt or what...but something lingers. I wonder if my family thinks about it. Since I didn't follow through with the wedding to her, I wonder if my family will be strange if J and I decide to get married. Who knows? Not me. Things to think about for sure.

I have a quilt to finish. Today is the day!

2006-09-07T10:01:00.000-07:00

I have eaten nothing but brown rice and veggies for the last five days. I am about to break that fast with Oatmeal. I wish I could explain to you how happy I am that I am about to eat a bowl of oatmeal. J. and I have been doing a cleanse/purification diet. In the beginning it was going to be a Japanese purification diet that my friend Mel had done last year. It would have required me to eat seaweed, pickled umeboshi plums, sweet potatoes, miso, and pickled daikon radish. All of the above mentioned items made me gag/vomit. I could do the rice and the sweet potato. So we modified it a bit so that I wasn't just eating brown rice for a week. I feel fantastic. I've been drinking water like it's my job and I've been walking/running and we went for a small hike up in Boulder. Yesterday I even had J. show me some weight lifting techniques. This is good. I'm so ready to be better to my body. I haven't had a smoke, caffeine, or refined sugar in 5 days (well, yesterday I did have a mini peanut butter cup in a moment of weakness). But that's it. I haven't cheated at all other than that.

Last night J. and I watched Buffy and drank a bottle of yummy wine (I'm sure this isn't on the diet either but it was tasty and we had been so good for so long. It was so nice to just sit and laugh together. We have been doing this diet thing together but we've each been having such a different experience with it that it's been a bit of a strain. It was nice just to play. (Did I mention yet how tasty this oatmeal is? Holy shit it's good!) This diet has given me some insight into food addiction. I can quit smoking. I can't quit food. Not having any choice in what I ate was the best feeling in the world. There wasn't anyone there watching me, making sure that I didn't eat anything else...there just wasn't anything but rice to eat. I felt so unencumbered by food. I didn't think about it, didn't stress about it, and I didn't want anything else to eat. Yeah, I thought about what I wasn't eating but I didn't want it. Last night when I thought we might eat something else I panicked. All of my shit about food and eating came rushing back. I can't stop eating; I can't quit eating. But I do have an issue with food. I have a problem. Much of this cleanse/lifestyle change is about making better choices. I can choose to eat well or I can choose to eat like shit. I've chosen to eat well and to exercise. I like how I feel when I do those things. I don't care what people think about the 225 pound lady running down the street. I feel good when I do it. I don't care what people think about me eating rice and veggies for a week. I feel good when I do it. Maybe if I do it long enough I won't be the 225 pound lady anymore.

J's been having a rough time at work lately. Three people got laid off two weeks ago and now he's been working in the production area of his office. Lately this has required him to run a copy machine. He feels like he's been demoted and although that isn't true it certainly feels true for him. He's been grouchy and grumpy since all this went down. I don't know what to do for him. I know he's bored doing that kind of work and I know that he is amazing at what he was hired to do there. I wish he was motivated to find another job but I know that would send him over the edge...

Me...I need another job so damn bad. I can't keep doing this. It's not cool. I'm so overqualified for this position that I am bored and unchallenged to the millionth degree.

But anyway...we need to get our proverbial shit together so that we can do the things we want to do: travel, kids, marriage...not in that order. Today I shall send out more resumes. This time I will take off all identifying markers that I have ever done abortion work. I seriously believe that this has been a reason for the lack of interviews. We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. People here don't think of that as honorable work. They think of it as murder. Sweet Jesus and all the saints...this state is crazy.

2006-08-31T07:39:00.000-07:00

you don't know the power that you have with that tear in your hand...

Last night I made a running mix. Today I am going to listen to it while I walk/run. Today will find me without cigarettes and much caffeine. Tomorrow will see me without cigarettes, any caffeine, and another walk/run. Saturday...now Saturday will be the beginning of the end. We are doing a purification diet beginning on Saturday. We will eat only brown rice, nori, sweet potatoes, umeboshi plums, miso soup, and barley tea. Melissa did this diet for ten days and although it was the hardest thing she'd ever done...she felt great afterwards! I want that.

I need to make a giant change in how I eat...I need to make a giant change in how I relate to food. I want to eat food because of what it can offer my body not what it can offer my emotional self. So this is a beginning for me. I'm going to make a change with how I function around food. I've been so afraid of this change for so long. It's not that I'm afraid to be healthy, it's that my brain is afraid of me not being addicted to smokes, reliant on food, and dependent on caffeine. And there is nothing to be afraid of. I know that now. Something has changed and shifted in me. In the past, I have not wanted to be so overweight, a smoker, etc. In the past it was easy for me to just put it off. I'm not sure what I was waiting for but no one can make this happen but me.

I brought all of this up to J. and he was not only supportive of me doing this but wants to join in on the fun. I hope we don't kill each other. He's been great...last night I had sort of a meltdown about it all. I was feeling panicky about losing so much and giving up on all of the things that soothe me. He was right there to strategize about other things I could do to make myself feel good. He was right there to tell me, "lady, you're crazy. You are so strong...you moved here, remember? You can do this."

So farewell to the old me. Nah, just farewell to some really shitty habits and some really shitty ways of taking care of myself. Hey, if I'm going to be a mama someday I need to have my shit together... I need to get my motherfucking ducks in a row as Stephen would say. So there it is, kids. This is me lining up my ducks.

2006-08-29T20:00:00.000-07:00

well it's saturday night...No, it's not. It's Tuesday. That's just the first line of a Springsteen song that's on.

Well, there's been quite a bit going on on this end. I haven't had the time or the space to write about it much but I'm sure that I can bang something out tonight. I have a shit-ton of energy that I can't figure out what to do with. I guess I'll write for a bit.

We got back from vacation last week. It was fantastic to be home and to see all of my family and friends. I have missed them all very much. It was strange to think about coming back here as coming home. I was honestly glad to come home. I'm glad that I can call this place home. I'm thankful that I feel comfortable here. I was glad to see Liri-cat and to sleep in my bed.

We got home and J. talked a lot about the kids. He was impressed with B and D. He was so glad he got to spend some time with them. We started talking about children. He told me that his biggest fear about raising children is that he'd fail at it. I just let him talk (oh, and that was easy!). He talked about not wanting to be the Dad that left...like his did. He talked about wanting to be present and attentive and loving and yet didn't want to sacrifice meeting all of his needs, too. He talked quite a bit. He thought about it for even longer. That's the thing with Joe...he thinks a lot before he speaks. When we next talked about it it was over instant messaging. I had the day off last thursday and he sent me a message about an article he had read about adoption. He asked me how I felt about parenting that way. He asked me about how I felt about parenting a bi-racial child. (Since I'm sure we all know how I feel about all of that I'll reserve my FUCK YEAH!!!) I asked him how he felt about it...he thought that he would really like to adopt. He felt he could be an effective parent that way.

Skip to the next day...it only gets more and more effed up...the man looks at me and asks me what kind of wedding I'd want to have. I looked him in the eye and carefully said, "Don't do this. Don't talk to me about these things if you can't back it up." He kept my gaze and said, "I know. So tell me what you'd want."

Um, ok. So these things are apparently on the radar again. We talked about fear and how a lot of his reaction to being married again and to parenting was about him being afraid. He's either getting more comfortable with being afraid or he's getting more confident in himself. The end result of both converstations was that we want to do this thing together. And that is enough for me.

2006-08-11T09:57:00.000-07:00

I am going home tomorrow. I didn't realize just how much I missed everyone until yesterday when I started putting plans into place. Daddy is going to pick us up at the airport and I simply can't wait to see him. I know I'm going to cry. I just can't wait to see him. And Holly is coming on Sunday, too! It's going to be so overwhelming and crazy...I can't wait.

God, i can't wait!!

2006-08-08T19:49:00.000-07:00

Jordon is having a hysto tomorrow. I am wishing him nothing but love and positive energy. Much love to you, Cowboy.
Belle

2006-08-06T14:40:00.000-07:00

So I got a package in the mail from Jordon...it is a box of wonderful things. We talk a lot about writing and making time for it in our lives. He sent me a box collaged with fantastic images and inside: many many many many many topics for journaling. I have decided that I will begin the journey of journaling today while my hair dye seeps into my follicles and makes me a luxurious brunette.

Today's topic: If you could spend a day in conversation with one person, living or dead, who would it be? What would you talk about? (The rules of this journaling endeavor are that you cannot put back a topic that you've drawn for that day. If it's a challenging question the point is to sit with it and figure out why it's challenging to answer.)

God, who would I choose? There are so many wonderful and mysterious historical figures to choose from. But today...today I would choose Mark P. I would love to spend another day with him, talking about nothing important, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all....I wonder if we'd even still get along. I wonder if I'd still find him interesting or if the years of living in rural Maine have made him jaded and hard and Republican. I wonder if he was all of those things to begin with but I just didn't see it. To say I was naive at 15 would be an understatement. I didn't know about a lot of things. What I did know is that I loved him.

What would we talk about now? I know I would ask him why he left the way he did. I know I'd bring it all up. I'd start in on my second beer and my tongue would loosen and that would be the end of it. I'd ask him why he was such an ass. I'd want to know what he was thinking...how he could walk away from something like we had. I'd ask him about his life, his kids, Eva. I'd want to know. So much time has passed by now that I'm not sure it would still hurt. It shouldn't...it's been 13 years since we last talked. Jesus Christ it's been 13 years. I can't believe that. So much has happened in those years. The last time I saw him was when Joe and I went to Bangor. He wanted to see Stephen King's house. I pulled off the Hammond St. exit just like I had a thousand times before. Two blocks up on the right hand side of the road was Mark. I could pick him out of any crowd. He was my first love, my first real true love. I knew each inch of him...the body and brain don't always fail me. I saw him on the corner, getting ready to cross the street. I couldn't stop my hands from shaking or my heart from racing. "Holy Shit. That's Mark."

I'd ask him why he could never say hello when we met on the street. I'd ask him if he meant it when he told me he loved me. Mostly, I'd want to spend the day walking in the sunshine with my little hand in his big one. Like we used to. His size was always so surprising to me...the way he could lift me off the ground; the way my head would rest on his stomach when we'd hug. I'd want to feel that again. I'd want him to tell me the story of us from his perspective. I've dissected the story of us hundreds of thousands of times. I'd like to hear his version. And one more time, just one more time I'd want to hear that deep tenor voice of his say, "I love you, Little One."

As I write this I can see us walking around Bangor just talking and shooting the shit. I can see us just falling back into what we took for granted for three years. It would be so easy.

2006-08-06T08:52:00.000-07:00

My great grandmother came from Ireland to Canada. From Canada she made her way by herself to Brockton, MA. By the time she was 15 years old she was working in a shoe factory and sending most of her wages back to her family in Canada. She married a man named Patrick Whalen. It doesn't seem like much of story, or a story very different from other girls of her age and hertitage.

This tiny nugget of information about the matriarch of my family came from a letter I wrote to my grandmother in which I asked her for the details of her family's history. She didn't have a lot of information. She knew some of the basics and hoped that was enough for me. What came through, more than the facts and non-fiction of my Great Gram's story, was a sense of longing. There have been lessons of sacrifice taught from one generation of women in my family to the next. Women of my clan work for the greater good of The Family and will suffer a personal sacrificial foul in order to put the needs of another (especially a child) first. There in the loose, loopy, scrawl of my grandmother's handwriting I heard her longing for something more, something else, something that was just hers. I thought then that maybe she would have liked to go to school and then college. I thought then that she probably just wanted to be away from my Grandfather, from the 10 kids they had together, from the ghost of the girl she used to be. The longing in that letter could have been any or all of those things but I think there was something more to it. I think she longed to know life in a less compromising, sacrificial way.

I'm not sure my Nan wanted to have 10 children. I wonder what her life would have looked like if she had been able to go to school and shed the ancestral weight of expectation. I wonder if she would have been a happier woman if she were able to know herself beyond the bonds of Irish Catholicism and the guilt that plagued her heart. Did she think she was a bad person because she longed for more than being a mother and a wife? I can see her sitting at the kitchen table, staring intently out the window. Her cigarette burned down to nothing but ash because she was so lost in thought. What were the dreams behind her brown eyes or her mother's, or any of the women who came before? Were there wishes for freedom? Were there dreams of travel and romance? Or was it more basic than that? Did she simply wish that her endless list of tasks and demands ease even by one? Did she just want affection, someone to come and wrap their arms around her and whisper soft, sweet things in her ear? Would that have made her heart soften to the simple joys of life?

I don't know why I am thinking of these women this morning. I guess it's to learn the secrets that they kept locked inside; I want to know if they are the same secrets I have. I believe in learning from the women who came before me. I believe that their stories and secrets and dreams can lead me to being a better woman. We should learn these stories before it's too late to get the details and specifics, before all we can know are the distilled and vague notions of the women who paved the way for the rest of us.

2006-08-03T08:27:00.000-07:00

I had dinner with an old friend last night. It was so good to be in the company of an old friend, someone who knows me, knows my history, knows what I'm talking about when I mention home. It was her home, too. She knows the same roads and backstreets and mountain paths that I do. She knows me. We had a very yummy dinner at a very cool vegetarian restaurant here. We just talked and talked and talked. And it felt so good. She and her husband didn't end up spending the night but that was ok. We had a good time just catching up and being silly girls.

Being anonymous these last two months has been an interesting sort of experiment. Could I be anonymous to everyone else and not lose myself? Could I be anonymous and alone and still enjoy this place? I have stretched and stretched my comfort zone in these last two months. I have realized that I could live anywhere...people are people and I will always make friends...but it's my family that I miss on a cellular level. So, yes, I can be anonymous. I can be mostly invisible and not lose myself. What I miss is that feeling of someone just knowing you without explanation and discourse. 9 more days and I'll have a little slice of that pie, please.

I just wish that this were a tiny bit easier. . .

2006-08-01T20:51:00.000-07:00

I'm tired and hungry...which comes first? Since I had chocolate chip cookies and grape soda for dinner last night I'm thinking I should maybe eat something good for me tonight. Fuck it...maybe I'll just go to sleep.

I gots me some friends coming over tomorrow night! They are just in from Maine (they moved here last week) and they need a place to crash. Of course I can only offer them my floor since I don't have a couch or a futon or even a blow up raft that could make like a bed. Meh..whatever. I think they can make do for the night. It will be strange to have someone who knows me from before be here. I've been anonymous for the last two months...that kind of grows on you. But it will be good. I can't wait to see Brit's face. Ahhh, finally some girl talk after all these months.

2006-07-30T21:39:00.000-07:00

So it's approximately 456983 degrees in this room. Both fans are currently cooling our bedroom off. I was supposed to have a date tonight to finish watching Psycho but I missed my chance talking to Erin and embroiling myself in some good old-fashioned gossip. When I disentangled myself from the internet, J was snoozing away on top of the covers. Have I ever mentioned my disdain for falling asleep on top of the covers? That and wearing pants in bed. Bed should be a place free from pants. Even underpants. Underpants...that's a dumb word. Underpants. Weird. Anyway, I finished a book about the re-education of two boys during the Chinese Cultural Revolution and suprisingly enough I'm not tired. Not even a smidge. So I figured I'd see what I could see online...there's not much to see in case you were curious. I know you were. You were wondering what I could possibly be looking at online...and I'll tell you. Underpants. I'm kidding...I just checked my email is all. Oh, and I found a few blogs I'd like to read, but they are in Spanish. It just occurred to me why I'm so wired. I had 2 diet cokes after 5pm. Shit. I'm colossally screwed now. I'll never fall asleep. I'll be chain smoking cigs and watching the sun rise. Damn it. Why don't I think of these things!?

Well, I'm too sweaty to continue. My fingers keep slipping off the keys and my ass is stuck to this chair. Mmmm...nothing says, "Happy Summer!" like ass-sweat. Here I go...off to look at more underpants.

2006-07-28T10:08:00.000-07:00

i have had a stomach flu for three days. Mmmm....I can't turn the sexy off. Maybe I'll just think of this like a fasting and cleanse (with a fever). It's my new diet to look fantastic on the beach this summer!

bluck. I'm gross.

2006-07-24T18:02:00.000-07:00

well, aren't I a Debbie Downer. Jesus, my last handful of posts have been so full of pep and verve. This weekend was fantastic. Let's start there. It was relaxing and peaceful and full of a great book that I started. It's called Widdershins and it's brilliant. Charles De Lindt is the author, or shall I say magician, of this book. It's brilliant and all free from the Denver Public Library...I got a card...I'm all official...it's cool. Maybe I won't rack up a bazillion dollars in late fees this time around. It's either go to the Library or not read since buying books isn't really in my budget these days. It's a good incentive to return my books on time. Speaking of which I should see when these are due back.

J. and I talked for a long time this weekend. I told him that what he had said earlier in the week had shifted everything for me. We talked honestly and openly about what we both want. And we actually do want the same things. He had a bit of a meltdown about the fact that he's finally getting divorced at the end of August. That is totally reasonable to me, and although the outpouring of emotion that came with said meltdown was not, it's rational too. He asked for some time to just get the divorce past him. I told him that I was right there and we'd figure this out. It's not like he could have predicted how it was going to make him feel and dealt with it before...it's not like that. He has to deal with it as it comes to him. He wants nothing more than to have us be us. We are happy and make each other happy in ways that we've each never felt. Neither one of us are willing to let this go. So it feels a whole shit ton better now than it did last week. It's amazing to me how fear can manifest itself so subtly and yet be so powerful. Although the problem isn't completely solved, I feel like we are both on the same page...and that's a good thing. I don't feel like I'm compromising anything by giving him some time to deal with the finality of his divorce and he doesn't feel like he's being pressured into something that he's truly not ready for today. These are good things...

I just got home from work and made The Best Stirfry in the History of Stirfries. It could be that being blindingly hungry makes a difference...but this was damn tasty. I would lick the bowl if I could. Let this be said: produce in the West blows balls and not in the good way. I went grocery shopping on Saturday morning and got a bunch of veggies like I always do. I cut into the eggplant tonight and it was rotten, rotten, rotten. Bitches, man. If I had any cojones I'd take it back to the store and demand a refund...a new eggplant...justice, damn it!! Anyway, the stirfry was yummy just the same. I'll have to find another cause to believe in...like why they can't just make regular ice cream without lactose in it. It's 2006 people...it's time for an ice cream that everyone can eat! Damn the man.

Tonight's agenda...not a whole lot of much. I think I'll go read the rest of my fucking fantastic book! God, it's so good. Things are looking up and are feeling so much better. Thank You and Goodnight.

2006-07-23T07:10:00.000-07:00

I looked around the other day and I felt like, "I live here." I can't believe that I live here. It's been wonderful and challenging and yet...Jesus, I miss home. The concept of home is so important to me. Creating a space that is mine, ours, his...that's so important to me. It's one of the places where J and I differ. He's never really felt a connection to a specific place. He moved around so much as a kid that he just never let himself put down roots. He says that he just doesn't really need to. I, on the other hand, need to. I need to plant things, hang up art, have music filling my space, and have something cooking on the stove. I need to have my books and my coffee pot. I like having a home.

The other night was terrible. After some prodding J told me that he wasn't sure he ever wanted to get married again. And the kids thing...yeah, he's not too sure about that either. I felt like my whole world warped into another dimension. I couldn't do anything but cry. It wasn't very effective communication but who the fuck can talk after hearing those things. These were pre-negotiated conditions. I want both of those things and I was honest and upfront about it from the start. He was on the same page before Monday night. Or Tuesday night whenever the fuck this all went down. He felt terrible. He so rarely cries that when he does, I'm shocked. I don't know what to do or how to comfort him; I wasn't really in the mood to make him feel better anyway. Needlesstosay, we were both a mess.

After a few days of cold silence and more tears and snot than I thought a human could make...we started talking about it. I asked him where this was coming from. He's just not sure that marriage works. That makes sense since his marriage didn't. He's just not sure what kind of Daddy he'd be. That makes sense for a myriad of reasons. I have been doing my best to be supportive and understanding but since this is MY blog...I'll tell you that I am heartbroken at the thought of not being his wife and not parenting with him. He says that he's in, that he wants us to be great and to work. He's just not sure of the whole marriage thing. I've spent my entire adult life unable to get married. I've spent my entire adult life wanting that. I want to have access to my partner should he be sick or hurt. I want it. I can't honestly tell you why it feels like it makes things feel weightier...it makes me sick to say that out loud. My first two long-term relationships were just as valid as this relationship, I know. I don't need a piece of paper to validate my relationship with J. I want it. I just fucking want it.

I can't even wrap my brain around the possibility of not having children. I haven't been able to figure out how to negotiate that with him. I have straight up told him I can't even begin to talk about that. I am so angry about that. I know that having children would be a difficult endeavor. We would have to plan and plan and save and save. We would have to figure out if we wanted to do infertility treatments or if we wanted to adopt. We'd have alot to think about. I want to be a Mommy. I thought he wanted to be a Dad. I'm sure that somewhere under this deep, deep sadness is a vein of anger that I'll tap into soon enough. Right now I just feel heart broken.

The hardest part is that I know he feels terrible about it all. I don't feel terrible...I'm glad he told me how he was feeling. It took a lot of courage for him to tell me. There was no way for him to know how he'd feel about getting divorced before the actual process began. I remember after leaving Jai that I never wanted to hear the word marriage again. But it's been three years and I'm ready in ways that I wasn't able to understand before. I don't want a big fancy affair. I want a pretty dress and a nice walk to the court house. It's so hard to want something this bad. It's hard to keep resentment out of it. It's hard to be compassionate and understanding. (I'm not being a pussy either. He's heard how I feel. He knows where I'm at. He knows...) I want to give in to the the feelings of anger and bitterness. But I can't. I don't want to function from that place. I don't want to face this challenge with negativity. I want to try my best to be the best, kindest me that I can be. That doesn't mean I'm just going to lie down and take it up the ass...but I want to try dealing with this with something other than anger. It would be a first for me. That doesn't mean I don't feel it. I do. That doesn't mean that he won't know those emotions, too. He will. But I don't want to just be pissed off. I want to find a solution and that solution cannot be built from bitterness and resentment. It needs to be built from love and kindness.

We go East on the 12th of August. I can't wait to see my family. I talked to Ben and David on the phone the other day. They must think their Auntie is crazy...I can't talk to them without crying. I just miss their faces so much. Ben is getting so big; he'll be six this August. He told me all about his trip to Tenn. He and his Daddy went on a "boy's trip" to a family reunion. He was telling me about a fish that he caught that was as big as his foot. And that he fell over the side of the boat but he "floated right back up, Auntie." He is so big...big enough to drown! Now there's a milestone to meet. David told me all about his favorite lunch being "cheese and crackers and pepperoni." He likes to make them into a "smandwich." I'd like to make him into a smandwich and eat his little face.

As I was talking to my sister ( I didn't tell her about any of the conversation with J.) I could hear the boys in the background being Wild Men. When the clock strikes 5pm they turn into Werechildren. It's spooky. I want that. I really really do. I think I'd be a good mom. And no matter what he thinks, J would be an awesome dad. I guess I never thought I'd have to choose between those things and J. I really don't want to. I really really really don't. I'm not sure I could. How the fuck do I chose?

2006-07-18T23:40:00.000-07:00

you were the last person I thought I'd ever lose faith in.

I am so sad.

2006-07-18T17:19:00.000-07:00

I have to be at an HCA training all week. It's called the fundamentals of HCA-ness or some shit. I can't stand it. I have been doing this work forever. I have trained people to do this work. I have taught this shit for years. I do not need to know how we contract Herpes....Why? Because I know how all that works. It is just a colossal waste of time and I'm bummed out that I have to sit through it. I have been trying really hard to be good and not open my mouth too much because I don't want to undermine the trainer. But she fucking told people today that Needle Exchanges were illegal. Actually, no. They aren't. fuuuuuck.

I tried to talk to about it tonight when I got home and all I got was a "bummer". Jesus H. Christ. I guess that was better than waking up to him saying, "I only have three vacation days." We are supposed to be going to the Cape for a week in August...for five days. Did I forget to mention that this trip is non-negotiable? I'm going. We are going. I wonder what that's about...he was obviously thinking about it...I wonder if he's getting worried about being around my family and friends for that long. I would have liked to talk about it when I got home but he's being irritable...so I'll wait. I'd rather get him in a good mood and then shit on it. (That's sarcasm, kids.)

I can't wait to go home. I just want to hug my boys. I was telling stories about them today and almost started crying. I can't wait to see them.

2006-07-16T09:35:00.000-07:00

last night...last night...jesus I have never seen anything like it. J tore down the house with his version of Rio last night at Kareaoke. And then again with Proud Mary! My little unassuming J...i had no idea he was a stage whore! Brilliant on all counts, really!
I talked with JP about some of my feelings about H. She's a good sounding board. She and Patrice have known J for a long time and both of them understand the situation. JP looked me in the eyes and said, "you have to see what he feels for you. You have to see how much he loves you and cares about you. Do you see it?" And I do. I was being ridiculous before.

2006-07-13T10:25:00.000-07:00

so it's 10pm and the phone rings. He says, "who the hell is calling me at 10 o'clock?" I mutter, "your ex-wife." Sure enough. It was her. I can feel her energy like she's standing next to me. Or maybe it's the way his molecules rearrange when she's around that I'm feeling. Whatever it is, something changes in him and in me. And what did she want? To tell him that she'd see him the next day to drop off something at his office. Oh, and to tell him that M. had told her how awesome I was and that if it wouldn't be weird she'd probably like me. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? "Fuck it. Let's do it. Let's meet even though it will be weird." No. I want nothing to do with that woman. How am I supposed to respond to her? It's like she says these things about how she's happy he's happy...how she wants him to be happy...why?! So she can assuage her guilt? So she doesn't have to feel bad that she left him? So she can continue to be the good guy? Fuck that. What a manipulative bitch. I'm all done with her and she's going to be a part of our lives forever. I can tell. He won't ever completely let go. I want her to fucking sod off and stop being in our life. I want to come first with him. I want him to love me not her. As much as he says he doesn't love her anymore...there's a part of him that does. I can feel it when he says her name; that shit can't be hidden.

I need a smoke.