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I am mundane and magical, Silly and serious. I am an underachiever who suspects that someday in the eternities I may yet blossom and even fruit. I am a collector of spirits and essences, a studier of mood and nuance.I have many many faults and yet I've always been loved. I am a good friend, but I will let you go if you so desire. I believe in Somewhen. I laugh easily and cannot often cry, which I know is a Flaw. Like You, I am a work in progess.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Right now I should be trying to do statistics homework. But no. Here I am. Venting. I wonder if I will ever be done venting. I see fissures in barren lands spewing poisonous gasses. How many millenia till there is green there again?
Nowadays, when I go to bed, I just want sleep. I used to cherish the time before sleep as a time of fanciful thought. Now, just sleep please. But do I get it? No! I twist and contort in the throes of what even I is unresolveable. Like some live bug already ruined by sap that will become amber. Fighting even when movement and breath is impossible. Same. Old. Thing. yesterday, all day I was full of these thoughts, and the sadness, the anger, the feeling of waste and, is it betrayal? I don;t even want to argue. There's nothing to say TO the other person. people go by what is the deepest wish of their hearts. Even I know there is absolute good man ely no point to be made at all in arguing or even expressing this. I find it amusing that I have managed to live through, without terrible damage, sexual molestation, control scenarios ...pretty much name it, but not one ANCIENT, for the other person eminently move-onable relationship. I am quite sure NOTHING I endure in life will ever have the effect on me or cause me the pain and shrinking of self that this one loss has. Not death, nothing. And I am up in the nights wondering if this is mental illness. It could well be! I turn sleeplessly talking to a person who can never listen, and still bound to that soul, in whom I still see all the beauty even recognizing the callowness (toward me, I don't judge further than that, well maybe I do, I feel such amusement at the assertions of his "feminism", so maybe I do) Anyway hours pass and really, I just want to go to sleep. It is an exercise that affects no one but me. Then again maybe that is not so true either. The good man in the other room is affected. By a certain aloofness, by a lack of confidence, full engagement. But that's a long term effect, mulling it, what good does this do I wonder, trapped in the dynamic of it, wishing to express something (what IS it that I would really like this other to know? I can't for the life of me determine THAT) Finally I give up, knowing that once again it will be a sleepless night. And then I remember My Favorite Person. I remember the night he stopped me, on the very short walk from car to apartment and engaged me in purely friendly conversation under the stars in the shadows of snowy Salt Lake mountains not randomly but not with a specific intent. And I, so really ruined I mistrusted any person with a penis who would talk to me only wondered what that was about and speculated on the socioeconomic CASTE of this person and how unexpected the topics of that conversation was. i did not ever ever expect anything like it to be repeated. I had my "not open" vibe down pretty pat. So when I herd that knock on my very door and answered and there he was, as far as I could tell, just a human with no expectations I was puzzled but I found myself up for that. And the wonderful nights of conversation which sent me to work looking like a raccoon, but a happy one.
Last night I remembered a time we went driving. I can't consciously recall where we were now, I think near Morgan. I think we may have even eaten at The Spring Chicken. We were just driving. And it was wonderful. he asked me to pull over, which I would not have done for anyone else seeing it was on a highway. But I did and we hiked up a little hill. I could, of course, still hear the occasional rush of cars. There wasn't a lot of traffic. But that world faded away, even though there was still the sounds of traffic now and then. Have you ever read Carlos Castenada? I have. And enjoyed the books though I was quite sure I would be unhappy in Castenada's actual presence. But there was something akin to that in this experience. Like Stopping the World. The quality of the very sunlight was so palapable. Like it was from a purer more natural time. Like it was nourishing us then and there. Quietly gently but richly. The hill was covered with sage in bloom. Just sage. Not a garden of earthly delights. But it was so alive and bees (which normally make me a bit nervous) were buzzing around. It was very, I can;t think of a better word than happy. It was like being in another world. And we just stayed on this hill for a very long time. At one point he picked some sage leaves and asked me to do so to and he crushed the in his hands and so did I. It was fragrant I remember. he rubbed the crushed sage and my hands and arms and told me it would work as mosquito repellent. We didn;t talk a lot. We mainly just stood there enjoying the feel of this experience that felt outsdie the usual world. At one point as the sun was lowering and I could see distinct shafts of lazy but living and energetic light he stood behind me and put his arms around me. It was the first time he ever did that and it was so unexpected and so beautiful and while it was unusual it felt so natural and right. We just stood there like that till the sun was nearly gone. then we left. After remembering this last night. I slept. Do you think it was just my own memory? Or was that compassionate spirit there?

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