greenstorm: (Default)
It's been too long since I've written; I have too much to say. It's been too soon since I've written; I can't step back and pick out a pattern.

When I look up from the keyboard I see seagulls picked out in brilliant pink-white by the setting sun, highlighted against a dark background. I have a three-song playlist on: The Lumineers and Temper Trap, Stubborn Love and Ho Hey and I'm Gonna Wait. I've been listening to it for three days, and it's primed me for something. There are two contented rabbits curled up within sight, and a dying rat in the other room. Bananas are frying quietly behind the music, and their smell of caramel and cinnamon matches the golden dying sunlight. I'm in my house, alone. I've been folded open but there's no one here to receive me but you. So, receive me.

Blake is gone. Nothing has changed in this regard except: we've had contact three times or so, tiny facebook exchanges where he sends me a link or I send him a piece of information about the graff I've been brewing. Last night I sent him a bottle of it along with the stuff he'd left here. He sent me a thank you, he'd drink it when he wasn't sick.

That's twice he's let me know when he's in a bad way. I disregard it because I have to, because being a prop for someone who can't support themselves is one of the things I fear most, because I don't want to set precedent, because I don't want to bow to manipulation instead of an open request, because... I choose to disregard it. But it is hard, and it hurts. I love him and I don't want to see him unwell or unhappy. I miss him and although I need so much distance it hurts me in so many places. I feel like, when he hints at being not-so-well, he's extending me trust and I'm proving unworthy of it when I deliberately turn my gaze away.

It's better to feel pain than nothing at all; the opposite of love's indifference.

Blake isn't the only person I'm deliberately turning my gaze from these days. Some things went down with Graydon that weren't okay with me and I had a couple choices; I could put the work into engaging and explaining and processing and fixing, or I could just turn away. I've turned away, left all that hard work and struggle behind me, sought out a different path. So here I am on a path that feels free and unnatural and rubs against my moral grain or my feeling of being a good person who tries hard for people I love. Here I am alone in a room talking to a keyboard.

The future is certainly unwritten. I trust it both more and less than I should, I think. I trust it to bring my people back to me if it can without harming them or me, not just Blake and Graydon but my very dear others who are off on adventures and lives of their own. I know, though, that I've tethered myself to too many people to ever have them all close at once again. I have-- oh, my dears, I haven't told you of my startling, disturbing abundance yet! --I have so much, sometimes my flesh can barely hold in everything I've been given but the absence will also always be there.

She'll tear a hole in you, the one you can't repair/ But I still love her, I don't really care.

I am becoming a magnet again. People are responding to me as if I were January sunshine. I don't think I'm ready for it. I'm trying to be busy living my own life, spreading myself lightly, certainly falling for Dave but also doing too much brewing and dancing alone in my livingroom and being good friends with my amazing neighbour and starting the ball rolling on switching jobs and dating and reconnecting with oh so very many people and reading poetry too late at night and keeping my fridge marginally cleaned out and, and, and...

...and always, at the beginning of things, I can give people what they want. We've been down this spiral of talk before, I can't live here, but I keep coming back to it. I love intimacy with people. I love closeness and the insides of folks when they open up and are such an incandescent complicated irreproducible pattern inside.

People want to be loved. But on the whole they want something more from that love than I can give them. They want safety and there is no safety on this earth. They want strength but my strength is all from personal momentum and cannot be long lent. They want to lay down the burden of their selves but I consider carrying that self a holy act.

All that comes later, though. Right now people look at me and see that I see them. They open up, let me reach in, bare their bellies. I love that they do this. I've been through it too many times not to be afraid. I suppose that's why I love the self-contained ones, people who are aloof and for whom I don't seem like I could ever be necessary.

I'm too tired to continue. I've been crying as I write. I haven't cried like this in a long time. Winter's finally over. As I've been recently reminded, it's time to move to to spring: renewed warmth but also all the rainstorms that drive decay and growth.
greenstorm: (Default)
I can tell I'm back to my own life in part because nothing goddamn stays the same for any length of time. And you know what? I'm good with that. I wear it much better than I wore the socially-expected stasis that was supposed to be easier on me, that is for sure.

So, Greenie, what's up, you ask? The answer is, everything. I realize that's not helpful, so:

I've discovered and enforced some boundaries around dating. I'm pretty proud of this one; I have spent so much time giving folks the benefit of the doubt, pushing through discomfort, feeling like I owe it to folks not to break up with them for silly/superficial/unacceptable reasons. Well, just at the moment I'm on top of this one. I'm exploring that same territory in sex, and I guess it carries over some into interpersonal. So, yay.

In fact, I think it may also carry over into work a little: the boundaries, not the sex, of course. Instead of pulling miracles invisible to everyone else out of my ass, I'm being a little more vocal about burnout, a little more vocal about how much work something will be, and have successfully got "thinking time" added to the paid part of my job description. This does lead me to hang out in the "maybe my job isn't so bad after all and I can keep it" zone a little more, which is a problem, but it's a step in a good direction.

And, hand-in-hand with being more open about things I don't want, I'm practicing being more open about things I *do* want. I still suck at this in a bunch of ways, but man does practice make it easier. Everytime I suggest something and no one freaks out or drops dead, it gets a little easier with that person. I'm afraid my general principles still believe that I'm either inconvenient or running the show, without a middle ground for negotiation, but on a per-person basis the back of my brain is becoming more reasonable.

I continue to dread the moving process. Right now there's not much out there that looks good, but hopefully things will move by spring. I'm thinking right now that I'll get a box (a la Ahhhsoeasy/pods/bigsteelbox/mobileministorage) dropped out here and fill it up with my stuff for Feb 1, then the box can either be transported to my new place or stored so there's not as much pressure on my house-hunt. I am sort of tired of this moving business and I don't want to settle half-assedly into a place I don't love.

My mourning process is still engaging in weird fits and starts, usually in public in restaurants or on transit. I've started wondering whether I should build "riding transit around for several hours" into my life to get through some of that stuff. You'll know when I'm engaging, of course, because there'll be a ton of lyrical, angsty, lovely posts here. Or... maybe this occasionally nagging sadness won't spill over into that kind of thing. I really cannot find it in me to regret, right now. I am just so, so done with pretzeling myself around other folks' issues. I mean, everyone has issues, but they need to have their issues some other goddamn place than their relationship with me, and come back when things are sorted.

I've slowed down on the brewing because I have too many competing ideas stuck in my head, which is cool with me. I am going to see if I can get some apple juice from the valley in the next week or two for 1) a second batch of graff and 2) the juniper-apple-(rowanberry?) wine. Apparently the Vancouver brewer's group found a place in Abbotsford that presses the stuff and will fill a carboy for something like 1.60/L. That's way cheaper than anything bottled I can find and has the benefit of being fresh and excitingly unpredictable. Everything I have smells amazing right now.

Intermittently cooking, pretty much avoiding gardening, looking forward to climbing, not biking as much as I'd like... I seem to have room for another filler-type hobby right now, something to think lots about but that doesn't take a lot of dedicated time. I don't think I'll end up geeking out about knitting so much, so I've no idea what will fill that space. Maybe pottery?

Well, there we have it, things ticking along pretty well. Be well yourself, guys.
greenstorm: (Default)
Looks like I'd better strap in, the rollercoaster is beginning.

I'm starting to miss Blake. I'm starting to love people. I'm starting to feel sad. Tiny bursts of anger occasionally fire in random directions.

Finally.

I made some graff yesterday -- I will try to give some to Blake. He loves booze, he loves that series. It will be ready to drink in 4/5 weeks or so, so I guess I'd better start getting a handle on things by then. It is ineffably sad to make something with my own hands that is perfect for someone I love and think it might be rejected because of who I am.

I also found something on greatpoets. It's been a long time, no? But she got it:

This is the Nonsense of Love

I.
Our kiss is a secret handshake, a password.
We love like spies, like bruised prize fighters,
like children building tree houses.

Our love is serious business.
One look from you and my spine
reincarnates as kite string.

When I hesitate to hold your hand,
it is because to know is to be responsible for knowing.

II.
There is no clean way to enter
the heavy machinery of the heart.

Just jagged cutthroat questions.
Just the glitter and blood production.

III.
The truth is this:
My love for you is the only empire
I will ever build.

When it falls,
as all empires do,
my career in empire building will be over.

I will retreat to an island.
I will dabble in the vacation-hut industry.
I will skulk about the private libraries and public parks.

I will fold the clean clothes.
I will wash the dishes.
I will never again dream of having the whole world.

Mindy Nettifee

In the meantime the weather is beautiful, it is the ideal fall. My kousa wine is interesting and fun, and I am plotting what to make next.

Mute

Oct. 4th, 2013 06:12 pm
greenstorm: (Default)
I still feel it peeking around the edges. It comes when it's inconvenient: when I'm in a crowd of strangers stuck on a rush-hour skytrain, when someone who would be inconvenienced by my breaking down is speaking of something altogether else. I am, of course, a fucking world champion of stoneface when I need to be. I spent many years breaking down that skill, living outside of it, and now a year or two of practice and it's walled me inside.

Inside, outside, apart. I don't know. Metaphor breaks down and I am apart from myself.

I sometimes use music as a tool to break through this. I have not done that. When I had finished the tattoo sitting and Angus came in and I was worn out from resisting the pain I knew it would break when I looked up into his face (so warm! and I can be so, so cold) and it did, but only for a moment.

I think I am avoiding it. I am avoiding some people, for sure, because I'm afraid of being inconvenient. My pain very much wants to be inconvenient, it wants to be a storm or a flood and it won't thus far be contained in a quiet room where I can sit patiently and wait it out.

I find myself fantasizing about a good top who cares about my well-being, someone who could draw the pain out of me (it wouldn't take very much; physical pain is a very open gateway here. I amost broke down in the doctor's office when she drew blood) and revel in the process, who could a big enough, sure enough safe space to contain the storm the first time until it passed a little. I have even thought of asking some people.

But while my pain wants to be inconvenient, I do not. And. I. Feel. Inconvenient.

I guess that's my word right there. Other people don't like to be called bad, or wrong, or irresponsible, or whatever that trigger is that's been built into them. This is the trigger that's been built into me surfacing right now.

It occurs to me that I should think of ways I'd like to feel, words of power for myself. I've been trying during these last two paragraphs to think. I don't want to be necessary, helpful, needed, not even really desired. But-- wanted. I want to be wanted. I want to be liked. I want to be cared-for and cherished. Interesting comes and goes. Correct I reject wholeheartedly. Admired? Yes. I like being fascinated by myself, but not fascinating. I like feeling interconnected, I can tolerate feeling self-sufficient (that is where I'm sliding, these days).

And, I like to feel... sufficient. Enough. For everyone, myself included and especially.

Wanted and sufficient. I'll think about that more later, but for now I will feed myself like a good girl and go curl up under the protection of Kynnin, he who has loved me longest and knows as much about my history as anyone. I am enough for him as I am, and he will not allow me to be inconvenient. So there we are. Maybe I will even, finally, be able to cry a little.
greenstorm: (Default)
My very dear friend Andrew went on a vacation and left me his keys, so I've been staying in a space with my own real bed and a locking door for the last few days. There's a kitchen where the dishes stay clean if I do them, and I can play music, and a bonus cat. It's close to my friends and work, so there's no commute to keep me from sleeping or break to my spontenaeity.

I've been cooking meals for myself: salad, meat, sides. I've been petting the cat for half an hour a day. I've been going to sleep at 10 or 11 and feeling human when I wake up.

It seems like Blake is out now, but he's left some stuff and doesn't want to talk about getting it back. I guess that means it's my job to pack it up and either store it or throw it out. He would no doubt be livid if I threw it out. He also still has the keys, but isn't yet ready to return them to me, so things are not as well as I'd like. I've been popping by to feed and water the animals; tonight is New West potluck so I'll be staying there and waking there and trying to feel out how to best start the massive cleanup job that space requires.

I wish I had a little more money to get some nice house things. That went on hold for two years, it was so irritating at the time (he never even got a dresser for his clothing, I would have had to pay for it) but now there's nothing to lose or divide on that front. I want another book-case (for my canning stuff) and a rug for the front of the fireplace.

I have my bike back, and went biking with a rainbow-haired poly dude I met at the masquerade. I love biking, and it was so, so nice to talk about poly to someone who is independently coming from a similar set of desires to me: not dyadic or heirarchical is particularly a thing to me right now. I do not want to get sucked back into that ill-fitting trap.

My brother is trying to convince me to buy a juiced-up electric scooter/"bike". It's pink and lovely. See: I wish I had money.

I sat down to write about my experience of kink originally; I'd had a discussion with a friend where he said something about a belief or experience that it was usually less intimate than sex. That was so far from my experience that it spun off a lot of thinking that wanted to lead to talking, but by that time there was nobody to talk with.

I'll have to write it later. For now, I should go get ready for work. Be well, folks.
greenstorm: (Default)
I am not sleeping much.

I feel flayed, skin bleeding pain or poetry or even strength sometimes.

I have tons of people I can reach for at any time, and I have been. This resource feels inexhaustible right now.

I am not inexhaustible right now. I am so so so tired, and I want a home that's mine to crawl into, shape to my skin, and fall asleep in. Blake was going to be gone last night -- he'd asked that I not share a bed, so I found a place where I wouldn't be leaking pain all over him. Now he says one more night, but-- I'm not sure I can be gone again.

I guess all things will come in time. Again, just one more day.

Work is hard right now. Doing things that isn't being close to trusted people is hard right now. My life is changing a lot and it's hard to be out of shelter.

So many people love me it's impossible and amazing and shelter is so easy to come by. I need to make sure I don't escape to it too often.

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