I'm Not Easy, I'm Just Easily Swayed
Okay, so am I flaky because my heart is no longer broken? See, this harkens a query from a preceding blog which questioned my love for all nine of the men I claimed to love. I'm filled with questions today.
Did he come along to ease my pain from missing David so much? Was Jeremy there in the month of July when the seers thought David would come back, designed to make me consider and reevaluate exactly what it was I needed this time, instead of constantly succumbing to the needs and wants of the men, as I traditionally do? As Psychic Kim said, "He's coming back, but I'm not sure whether you'll want him again." Yeah. Me neither. I did listen to the tape today though.
The last time I saw Psychic Kim I'd brought in a tape recorder. (I'd much rather have a DAT, but it works, so why allow something to A) unnecessarily collect dust or B) contribute to landfill issues.) I now have this tape that has two different, yet very similar readings on it performed by two psychics. They all say he's coming back. I think Jeremy came by during the time where I'd reached the end of my tether and where I'd missed intimacy so much that every fiber of my being was screaming out for the kind of attention I'd needed for the past two years plus.
He raised the bar on the standards I'd loosely set when considering a potential union of two. I tend to solely consider the individual and the direct correlation he has with my heart. The rest of the stuff is irrelevant, really. I mean, I don't care what he does for a living, if he has a car, if he has a house, stuff in general. Never really mattered to me. I liked his careful, though. I think I liked that the best. That and he was honest.
I was not careful. Careful's not really an adjective used to describe me. I need to feel stuff all the time. I don't care what it is: tragic, euphoric, angry, and (sweetly rare) jealousy. I was never too concerned that I cried. Crying is truth for me. It's an opportunity to examine things and to know that I care deeply about things. About people.
Sweetly rare jealousy. Hmm. David was the only person that ever, in any recent memory, inspired jealousy in me. I never felt that while with Mike, husband of 7 1/2 years. Never. I don't think a little jealousy is a bad thing, though. A bit of it means they mean something to you. The possibility of them being taken away is potentially devastating. Maybe that's what I need. Dunno.
Maybe the universe has some grand design for me. It inherently knows I'm terrible with remembering lessons that were learned too easily. So, it threw in a little havoc. I was merely an outpatient in the cardiac ward. All the aortas still functioning. Just a little angina, or indigestion in the grand scheme of heart break. Just so sweet, the pain. I wrote to my friend Meredith, "Every now and then it's good to be a bit shattered. It puts this delicious tragedy in your life, which in the end enriches it.
I think I freak people out.
Sometimes I freak me out, in retrospect. But then I'll read a magazine article while having lunch and there's something in there that will absolutely speak to my soul and cause me to put my fork down, though my mouth is open, it cannot receive food.
From Richard Wollheim's Germ: A Memoir of Childhood, an excerpt found in the August 2004 issue of Harper's Magazine:
"...women could love, they could fall in love, they could be in love, they could be lovesick. They could *feel*. Sometimes, after a man and woman who had come down to the house for lunch had driven off, one of my parents would say, not exactly to the other, for that was not how they talked, but more into the surrounding air: 'Why does she go on doing it? What does she get out of it? When will she settle down? Why is she throwing away the best years of her life?' If only, I would feel, these questions had been asked of me, I, though not able to put it into words, would have had much to say. I would have begun by saying that these were women, something that my father had never been and perhaps something that my mother had forgotten how to be, and I would then have gone on to say that, for women, for some women at least, love, love in itself, love unrequited, love that did not even seek for anything in return, in other words the pure culture of love, could be a way of life."
And then I smile to myself,
an inward and outward smile,
singular,
alone
but not lonely
and I feel good.
Did he come along to ease my pain from missing David so much? Was Jeremy there in the month of July when the seers thought David would come back, designed to make me consider and reevaluate exactly what it was I needed this time, instead of constantly succumbing to the needs and wants of the men, as I traditionally do? As Psychic Kim said, "He's coming back, but I'm not sure whether you'll want him again." Yeah. Me neither. I did listen to the tape today though.
The last time I saw Psychic Kim I'd brought in a tape recorder. (I'd much rather have a DAT, but it works, so why allow something to A) unnecessarily collect dust or B) contribute to landfill issues.) I now have this tape that has two different, yet very similar readings on it performed by two psychics. They all say he's coming back. I think Jeremy came by during the time where I'd reached the end of my tether and where I'd missed intimacy so much that every fiber of my being was screaming out for the kind of attention I'd needed for the past two years plus.
He raised the bar on the standards I'd loosely set when considering a potential union of two. I tend to solely consider the individual and the direct correlation he has with my heart. The rest of the stuff is irrelevant, really. I mean, I don't care what he does for a living, if he has a car, if he has a house, stuff in general. Never really mattered to me. I liked his careful, though. I think I liked that the best. That and he was honest.
I was not careful. Careful's not really an adjective used to describe me. I need to feel stuff all the time. I don't care what it is: tragic, euphoric, angry, and (sweetly rare) jealousy. I was never too concerned that I cried. Crying is truth for me. It's an opportunity to examine things and to know that I care deeply about things. About people.
Sweetly rare jealousy. Hmm. David was the only person that ever, in any recent memory, inspired jealousy in me. I never felt that while with Mike, husband of 7 1/2 years. Never. I don't think a little jealousy is a bad thing, though. A bit of it means they mean something to you. The possibility of them being taken away is potentially devastating. Maybe that's what I need. Dunno.
Maybe the universe has some grand design for me. It inherently knows I'm terrible with remembering lessons that were learned too easily. So, it threw in a little havoc. I was merely an outpatient in the cardiac ward. All the aortas still functioning. Just a little angina, or indigestion in the grand scheme of heart break. Just so sweet, the pain. I wrote to my friend Meredith, "Every now and then it's good to be a bit shattered. It puts this delicious tragedy in your life, which in the end enriches it.
I think I freak people out.
Sometimes I freak me out, in retrospect. But then I'll read a magazine article while having lunch and there's something in there that will absolutely speak to my soul and cause me to put my fork down, though my mouth is open, it cannot receive food.
From Richard Wollheim's Germ: A Memoir of Childhood, an excerpt found in the August 2004 issue of Harper's Magazine:
"...women could love, they could fall in love, they could be in love, they could be lovesick. They could *feel*. Sometimes, after a man and woman who had come down to the house for lunch had driven off, one of my parents would say, not exactly to the other, for that was not how they talked, but more into the surrounding air: 'Why does she go on doing it? What does she get out of it? When will she settle down? Why is she throwing away the best years of her life?' If only, I would feel, these questions had been asked of me, I, though not able to put it into words, would have had much to say. I would have begun by saying that these were women, something that my father had never been and perhaps something that my mother had forgotten how to be, and I would then have gone on to say that, for women, for some women at least, love, love in itself, love unrequited, love that did not even seek for anything in return, in other words the pure culture of love, could be a way of life."
And then I smile to myself,
an inward and outward smile,
singular,
alone
but not lonely
and I feel good.
posted by Comrade Chicken at
3:27 p.m.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home