Wednesday, July 06, 2011

Five Feet of Heaven in a Ponytail

I made a comment on someone's blog about love and how I felt like only I could love me.  And the person felt sorry for me.  And that is the second time I have done that.  I am kinda bummed.  I don't feel sorry for me, and I don't really feel comfortable making people feel that way.  I feel I am brave and enterprising and stalwart.  (We won't get into foolish or impetuous or wrong headed or whatever in this blog.  At least not today.)  I guess it is my perspective or my use of the word, or, perhaps, my own perception.

Recently I parted ways with a friend I have known for most of my life.  I had always said that she was a better friend to me than I was to her.  But, kind of like a light bulb went on in my head, suddenly (she said and did  stuff I totally could not fucking believe, and still can't) I felt like I was not the person she thought I was, and she was a friend to someone that was a stranger to me and I could not relate to it any longer. It is a huge watershed in my life, and weeks later, I refer to it and dream and obsess  about it.

In the car,  the other day, my daughter was 'lecturing' me on some thing I was allowing with my grandchildren, one of which (whom, who?)  lives in my home.  And I said, 'Well, I know I am an 'enabler', etc.", and brought up the old saw about where do you draw the line between caring and enabling, which is maybe not such an "old" saw, but has always been a good back up retort for me when I am being used as a doormat. and I said, "How bout we wait til this comes back to bite me in the ass, cuz I already did it and I know I shouldn't have and I really don't want to hear anymore about it right now."  And she said, "Okay."  And we just went on. 

Yesterday, when I was holding her baby, (the cutest thing you ever saw, no REALLLY) and I said, "She looks a little thrushy."  And Fran said, "No.  It's just milk."  And I said, "Okay." And we just moved on.

I have never had a relationship in all my many too many years, except for this one with one of my children, and sometimes that is a little shaky,  where things could be said like that and boing just move along with your life instead of analyzing the living breathing shit out of why it was said, and where did that person get that idea, and how should you react, and, Christ, increase my xanax scrip and give me an extra hour on the couch this week.  And, maybe I put too fine a point on it, but I think, if you love someone, or have love for someone, totally, it just has to be like that.   And you don't have to work at making it be like that, it just fucking IS.  And the respect and the admiration and the getting completely pissed off cannot be dealt with separately or analyzed or corrected.  The person has to know who the fuck you are.  Maybe I idealize myself, or feel I am more complicated than I appear to others, but I have been married to someone for over forty years who has no idea who I am or what I am about.  And he shouldn't have to think about it or define me to himself, he should just fucking know it or be aware of it.  I know if someone handed him a copy of one of my books and he read it, (and he wouldn't be bothered to read it unless it was titled  "Getting Down with the Kinghts Templar"  or "Sex and Seamanship") he would have no clue who wrote it, nor would he ever give it a thought.  He would just kind of mentally go, "Uh, huh."  and pick up the remote.

And I totally get that this is all about choices.  And that makes no nevermind here.

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