Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts

Friday, June 6, 2008

Muscle Cramps Are Sure To Occur

Monday, June 2nd 2008 at 1:48am


So much for everything.

I’m still going to try the marriage fitness program, but after the fourteen weeks are up, if things are looking anything like they are now then this will just never work.

I’m hurting myself with all this misery. My muscles all over my body are cramping because I’ve let myself get cold in my desperate actions. Crying naked on a cold tiled floor is not generally good for your health.

In this last week I’ve thrown my keyboard into my monitor causing a scrape in the monitor. I’ve also stayed up until 9:00am arguing and crying. I smoked weed for the second time in one year. I spent a good deal of time on the floor naked. I banged my head into the wall about twenty times, and on the floor around six or seven times. I screamed out the window “I hate you” to no particular person at the top of my lungs in such a high pitch that my words were indiscernible. I’ve spent countless hours trying to find a solution. I’ve spent countless hours crying.

These are all very bad signs, and while I’m fully aware of all of the implications behind all of those actions I’m still unsure how to salvage myself best in this situation. I care too much for Crusifer to leave him when I know he wants to be with me so badly. It was hard enough with Tre, but with Tre I had several advantages. One of those advantages was that I realized I was with a thief, and there is no way I could ever stay with someone who is stealing from me. Another was that I wasn’t as attached as I thought I was because a lot of the connection was placed in the weed. These sorts of things do not apply to my relationship with Crusifer. I’ve been nuts about him since the start. I have never stopped loving him, though I have drifted more and more in the last few months. I have never really hated him. I have never really said “It’s over” and expected and wanted him to leave at that very moment. I proposed to Crusifer because I thought for sure that it was the right time, and what we both needed and wanted.

There are a couple things I can focus on to force myself to leave him. For one, he confessed to me this morning that the letter he wrote me about having a drinking problem was bull shit. He doesn’t believe he has a problem. So this tells me that he lied, that he won’t quit drinking, and that he did things just to make me stay. I resent all three of those with equal disgust, anger and depression. Another thing I can focus on to make myself leave him is the fact that he almost invariably ignores me when I cry now. The part of him that cares about my feelings seems to have retreated beyond my reaching. And thirdly, he’s told me he’ll continue to drink and hang out with his friends even if it causes us to break up.

There is an abundance of other things pissing me off, like his lack of trust in me, his continual proclamations that I’m lying or “full of shit,” the fact that he doesn’t call when he’s gone for a long time, that he doesn’t care if he breaks a promise to me, the fact that he finds comforting me something he shouldn’t have to do or doesn’t care to do or find worth while to do or whatever. The fact that he considers his own pain before mine in all situations even including situations where I’m obviously the one in more physical or emotional pain. He tells me that I come after his work and his art. He told me today he’ll try to put me first. We promised to try some more. I think this might be our last dance of trying, but nevertheless I still am going to give it everything I got. I won’t fall hypocrite to the very things I’m accusing him of by neglecting him.

Crusifer told me today that he feels like he’s two people... The one that likes to drink and hang out with his friends, the him that he is at work and the him that makes me miserable. We’re calling that part of him Cav, cause that’s what they call him at work. Crusifer however always cares about how I feel and is always striving to improve himself, be productive and spend time with me. Unfortunately he’ll always be more Cav than Crusifer because of his work life. That means that he isn’t ever going to be mine. Let me tell you, that’s heartbreaking. I feel wrung out to the point where I’m not even holding my head up straight. I don’t shift positions when my foot goes numb. I don’t cover up when I get cold. I keep shaking... I never shook so much or so violently as I have these past couple days. Unless I shook like this when Jeremy left me...

Needless to say I’ve been thinking about Jeremy a lot. Feeling so desperate always makes me think about him, partly because I associate the desperate feeling to how I felt after he left me. I also think about the fact that him and I could have been together this past year and a half. I was seriously considering it before I went out with Crusifer. I love the experience I’ve had with Crusifer. It’s had so many, many good times, and so many lessons and new ways to express myself and my love and find who I really am and what I really want on levels I never touched before... But I sometimes wonder if this was the choice that would bring me the most happiness...

Hard to say. I’d be a whole person right now if I had spent this time with anyone other than Crusifer. Really issue is that Crusifer and I identify in each other something that we can find no where else. I can find love with another man, but I might not be able to find the incredible relate-ability I’ve found with Crusifer. But while I’m on that thought, perhaps we don’t relate as much as I thought anyway. Those incredible discoveries in our first few months revolved around sex and art. Two incredible aspects of life, but not the most important aspect of life. For him, those are the most important aspects, for me, they come after my health, and after love.

I used to think I wasn’t right in my head because of the emphasis I put on love, being in love and the effects that love had on my life. Because other people didn’t relate to my affection need and because other people don’t feel the deep pain that I feel when I feel a lack of affection, I thought something was very wrong with me. Mort Fertel explained to me why I’m not a freak of nature. It’s not the affection that I want so bad, it’s the love that it signifies. I feel that if someone isn’t willing to move their hands about my body for ten minutes or so, then surely they don’t love me. The joy of touching is universal, and it’s easy and it’s enjoyable. If you’re not enjoying it, then either you’re not in love with the person, or you’re upset with that person at the time.

I can follow this same logic to uncover everything that Crusifer does that bothers me. By not calling me he’s saying a lot of things. He’s saying that he doesn’t believe that I care enough to worry, or that he doesn’t care that I’m worried. He’s saying that he doesn’t really miss me, or that he doesn’t think I’d like to be bothered with his call. He’s showing a lack of caring no matter the circumstance. Even if he’s busy, and even if he’s got other things on his mind, then this still shows a lack of priority. If I was his top priority, like he is to me, then he would never forget to call me, never lack of missing me, never neglect to touch me or talk to me.

A huge thing that bothers me is that I can’t get out of him anything he wants. Mort suggests intimacy interviews to uncover all of your partner’s desires. This interview should last for an hour or so, and hundreds of wants should be uncovered in detail. To my dismay I uncovered nothing new at all except for the lack of my priority in his life. I want opportunities to show him how much I love him, and to give to him. Part of the program is to pick three things from the list you’ve uncovered to do every day. One of these three things might be the same thing everyday. I have so little to pick from that it’s impossible without doing the same things everyday.

Pedicure, manicure, massages, cooking, and sex. Nothing else makes the slightest difference to him at all. And as Mort says, you can’t give something with having a willing receiver. Therefor if he doesn’t want it, then I can’t give it. Since I should spread my “gives” throughout the day, all I can really do is wake up, give him a massage, visit him at work and bring him lunch, cook for him when he gets home, and/or have sex with him. What a dull selection. Doesn’t he like it when I write him letters? *sighs*


Tuesday, June 3rd 2008 at 7:18pm


My mind has been turning to Jeremy a lot lately. I keep expecting to see him for some reason, and then feeling out of place when I don’t. I want to talk to him about the issues I’ve been facing with Crusifer and with myself. I’d like to hear his perspective. I seem to have lost my security in my relationship, because I don’t feel that “safe” feeling a lot, and perhaps I wish to see Jeremy to see if I feel “safe” around him.

I can’t say I don’t feel guilty about this. Certainly it’s not a socially acceptable thing to want to see your ex. It’s even less acceptable when your current relationship is shaky. I can blow this off by saying that I always wish I could make Jeremy into a friend, but clearly the meaning behind my desires in much deeper, and to deny it would simply be dishonest to myself.

More than anything I want to put the past behind me and start a family with Crusifer. Short of that I want to at least get most of the past behind me and be married to Crusifer without regret. Short of that, I’d like to at least find the deepest truth of the matter within myself and put the past behind me including Crusifer if need be. Short of that, I’d like to at least use a part of my past – Jeremy – for comfort through the hard times the future may bring. Short of all of that, perhaps I can write, write, and write my misery away until I feel much better.

I feel so utterly drained. I can’t seem to find a creative scrap inside me. I have no drive to create anything right now. I have no burning craving to do anything. I have no thought nagging to be written. I have no obligation to fulfill... Why does Tina never call me?

I wanted to be there for Tina after her baby’s birth and to visit her a lot and to babysit for her...

Why do I feel so blasted empty and heavy? Surely I’ve slept well enough. It’s not lack of exercise because I biked to see Crusifer at work. I did that today and yesterday in the spirit of Marriage Fitness. Three “gives” a day, and five “talk-charges...”

I’m really lost right now. Not sure why. I suspect a shower would help...


Wednesday, June 4th 2008 at 3:29pm


Preparations for Crusifer’s birthday have begun. Despite the stress in the past few weeks between him and I, I’m still determined to give this my best shot until I don’t see any decent options other than leaving him. Crusifer is following through with his promise to listen to the CDs and to do what they say to do. He keeps quoting, “put you first” in reference to me to remind himself, and I find it absolutely adorable. He even answered the phone in the middle of a tattoo to say hi to me when I called.

His actions the past two days prove yet again that he does want to make this work very badly, but it’s nothing convincing because I’ve seen him put forth a lot of effort before when he thought it was either put forth the effort or get dumped (and of course, it was a matter of putting for the effort or being dumped.)

I discussed with him the night before last the fact that I don’t even approve of him smoking weed. Ideally, he’d quit doing that too. He of course looks at me in exasperation for a moment, but also with questing. He is curious as to know why, and not jumping to conclusions, not accusing me of trying to make him a slave.

Somewhere along the past few days I pointed out that he’s a complete hypocrite. I was able to quote at least five things he said and then contradicted within the past few days. He wasn’t able to deny his hypocrisy, but together, we were able to explain it. He doesn’t have a split-personality, but he does have two sets of values. He adopted the second set of values (he says) in seventh grade in order to fit in. The second set of values are the common values of a low class black male living in Buffalo. These values include:

Drinking, partying, not caring, fighting at the drop of a hat, demanding respect from those around you, smoking a lot of weed, listening to hardcore music, staying far away from anything homosexual and generally being a homophob. They also include not taking any “shit” from your “bitch” and “slapping a hoe” if she gets out of line, and many other things along those lines.

We gave this set of values a name; Cav, which is what they call him at work. It makes perfect sense for them to call him Cav, because he is Cav while he’s at work. This worries me because he spends so much time there. Visiting him for several hours on Monday at work made a dramatic difference in his day and in mine. He felt like he had an ally and wasn’t afraid to be the “self” that he is around me. I felt like I had my soul-mate and was drawn out of the depression I’d been in for two days if only for a few hours.

Because visiting him helped so much on Monday I visited again briefly on Tuesday, both times bringing him a sandwich. The first one just meet, cheese and vegetables. The second one included meet, eggs, cheese and vegetables. Needless to say, the eggs were much appreciated.

So this brings me back to the conversation I had with him about the weed. Smoking weed once or twice a day is not something the Crusifer I know would do, it’s something that Cav does. I brought up that this is why his mother looks down on his job. She doesn’t understand that art is all Crusifer is about, and all Crusifer will ever do for a living and that tattoos is the best way for him to turn his art into cash, at least for now. Because his mother can’t understand those things all she can see is the ghetto customers, the ghetto co-workers, the foul language, the drug usage, and so forth. I agree that those things are hard to deal with, especially when someone you love in working in those conditions day in and day out. I’m more aware than anybody the toll it takes on his personality, ego and pride.

I explained to Crusifer about the values I wanted my children to have, and the values that I have. Those values don’t include associating with people who throw their lives away, who don’t care about their health or the health of their families and friends.


My values place compassion and love far above pride and material possessions and drugs and parties. My values place health far above the temporary enjoyment of any unhealthy activity. And I want my children to share that, and my husband. If my husband doesn’t share those values than my children will share those values about fifty-percent of the time, and that would be that.

After I explained in detail about that, he nodded and agreed, and said, “I’m not ready to just quit smoking weed. What do you want me to do?”

“Start small. Don’t smoke more than once a day, and don’t smoke near the time you come home from work. I want to see you sober.”

He agreed easily, because not that many days does he get the chance to smoke twice in a day. The only problem is, despite Crusifer’s ambition and understanding of self-improvement and of love, Cav has no respect for my values or for self-improvement. Is Cav the problem?

According to Mort, he explains that in every marriage there is Rachel and there is Laya. (Refer to the Bible, and to Jacob and his two wives.) Rachel is the person you want to marry, the person of your choice and desire. Laya is the person of your fate that comes with your choice no matter what you do. Mort says that Laya is not the problem. Cav is not the problem. How I react to Cav is the problem. I certainly don’t react well. I used to I think, but I’ve been losing my patience. It’s been too long to still have this problems in my opinion. But this isn’t about “me,” it’s about “we.”

Using Mort’s principles certainly steer away from breakup, and they certainly create bonding. The only thing that takes so much time is to bond enough and love enough to be able to really drop your issues with the other person. Accepting Cav will prevent break-up, but living with him will always cause me distress unless a deeper solution can be created. The theory is that if we both put each other first, and we both move our circle of life to include each other a much as possible, if we both establish that connection and compassion for each other, if we both rekindle the way we felt when we first met, if we both remove the conditions, drop the issues, and give each other affection, loving conversation and our presence in our giving each and every day then our problems will dissipate or find easy resolutions.

I believe that this is true, but I also believe that it’s no easy matter. Granted, when Crusifer makes me happy, it’s easier to let him do something I don’t want him to do. I can leave the room, because I’m not being needy because I already had my fill of him previously in the day. Granted, that if he asks for something I don’t prefer him to do, instead of just doing it, I’m much more likely to say “okay.” Granted that if he calls me throughout the day I’m going to feel more loved, and if I call him too he’ll feel more loved. All of this is very true and makes a very good point, but it really takes two. Keeping the ambition to do all this giving is beyond what I’ll be able to manage within a few weeks if I don’t feel that he loves me enough to do the same.

Note how I worded that. Not that I have to get the same back. I need him to love me enough to give the same back. Another important point which Mort stresses is that it’s not about what you’re getting, but what you both are giving. When you look at it that way, it straightens out a heck of a lot.


Friday, June 6th 2008 at 10:09pm


As any of my long-time readers know, the lack of entries is a good sign in 80% of cases with me. I have not written the past few days because I have not felt stressed enough to need to write. Even, now, I don’t need to. I just wanted to record a joyful day where I accomplished much.

I woke up from a dream where I was enjoying myself. I don’t know what the dream was about, though I do remember being pelted with bits of crushed brick. However, whatever the dream was mostly about, I enjoyed. I know this because I woke up feeling especially refreshed and good.

Crusifer brought me a cup of tea. I drank half of it, as usual, and then turned to giving him attention. As he bored of this activity (touching and talking about nothing) he strayed from the bed. I absentmindedly starting touching myself, and found myself aroused. I called him back to the bed, and after several minutes he finally came back and I lured him inside me. The lovemaking was short and sweet, the way I generally prefer. I came, he came. Can’t ask for much more, can you?

Well, I did ask for more. I asked him to take the few extra minutes it would take to shower with me, but he declined. I made a few attempts into coaxing him into it, but I think he became annoyed at this attempt. I cleaned up in my attic bathroom (the one with only hot water, no warm water) and then hurriedly got dresses and applied sun-block and followed him downstairs into the livingroom. We grabbed our bikes and carted them out the front door, off the porch and biked with him all the way to work. He was quiet and rebuffed my attempts at conversation. This dismayed me, but I didn’t let it affect my attitude towards the day. He didn’t smile, he didn’t speak except to answer questions, he didn’t initiate any kissing or touching when we got there, and so I was a little disappointed.

I contemplated my short skirt, tank top, morning sex and ride to work with him on the way back wondering what I could have done wrong. I guess it was the “nagging” about the shower. Frustrating as that was, the day was too bright to be bogged down because he didn’t smile for me.

I got home, showered. I asked my mom if she wanted to “play with blocks” before or after going to Wegmans. We decided on before going. I’m currently making the twenty-four “wonders” for the game I’m creating. These wonders all have the same size of the base but the wooden parts connected with hot glue are arranged in drastically different designs. So far my mother has made two, and Crusifer has made two, and I’ve made nine. None of them are really painted yet though, so that’s a whole other task in it self. My mother really enjoyed herself and that made me happy.

Then my mother and I went to Wegmans. I picked up organic granola (five boxes to mix), four packages of rice crisps, three cartons of Wegmans orange juice, one flat of Wegmans water, one bag of pistachios, two bags of sour cream and onion kettle chips and two bags of salt and vinegar kettle chips. Anything else... Hmm. I also got more razor heads, and... Grapes. I got the grapes mostly to eat while I was there because I was so dehydrated.

I gave my mom $25 in cash, because it’s all I had. I think I picked up $60 worth of stuff. Crusifer usually provides for these things, but recent strains in our relationship make me feel guilty for asking for money. He’s trying to save to go to Mass. for a week. Something about experienced tattoo artists who are friends of a friend who want to help him out and have him be a guest artist at their shop. I insisted that he wouldn’t go anywhere without me for the week so it’s a decent expense to save for.

I got home, decided it was dreadfully hot, showered again, and then went about the daunted process of extracting my air conditioner. It’s been rolled into a corner for the winter behind plastic sorting drawers full of crafts, my craft table, my chair, and other related things which are extremely close to my bed which is up against an opposite wall. In other words, there is no room to just rearrange. I had to lift things, dismantle the table, sort things, put many things away temporarily, and finally pull the air conditioner to where it could hook up to the outside world. The reward sucks, because despite it’s 9000BTW, it doesn’t help much. If it’s above 93 degrees or so it can’t do anything. It blows out “cooler” air, but the cooler air is like 85 degrees or something, so it doesn’t feel like it’s working when it’s that hot. At 85 degrees or so it works quite well. What a silly machine.

I also removed the curtains the separate the “back” of the attic from my room and put them at the door at the bottom of the attic steps to help heat stay downstairs. Previously I had added foil to the windows and I have two window fans going at all times. I’ve recently starting using my third fan, a big circular one to help bring the fresh air to the bed area. All of these measures make it about five degrees hotter than the second floor instead of twenty degrees hotter, which is of note, but still daunting when I’ve gone to such lengths to make it livable up here.

Anyway, after I did that (and got all sweaty again) I took another shower... And broke the shower. I had no idea that the plumping was so fragile that if I adjusted the shower head too hard that it would disconnect on the other side. Water poured out of the pipe for a moment before I thought to turn it off. The bathtub still worked so I resorted to a bath.

Then my parents and I attended an event at my church. A very good local group called the Blood Thirsty Vegans plays there the first Friday of every month, but I’ve never been before even though I know the lead guy Alex vaguely from other open mics and such.

They played for about an hour and a half and then had an intermission for open mic. I read my poems: Intimacy, then Fire, then Dissatisfied and lastly Rain. Four of my favorites of course. I still like Beyond Reality, but it needs a revision before I read it aloud again. It screams “sixteen years old” in the middle of it even though it starts out so strong.

I danced my heart out tonight, which made me feel really good and alive. I started out with a little shoulder movement and thrusting my heal out to the beat. It quickly evolved into the most elegant arm movements I can muster, the most rhythmic hip movements I can make, the most crazy but intricate and rhythmic feet movements I can make without stumbling, and swishing my damp hair about whenever I saw fit. Being the white girl that I am, and a stereotypical one at that when it comes to dancing it takes a lot of technique for me to muster rhythm. I believe that rhythm is not a “have it or don’t” sort of thing. I don’t naturally have rhythm the way many people do, but I have techniques to keep following the beat.

My first and most important technique is to pick on element of the music to follow to get into it. Once you’re in the zone you won’t need to focus so much, but when I begin I follow one element in the music very closely which is generally the base.

The second technique I have, which is almost as important is my feet. I always try to jerk my foot on every beat that I’m following. Whether it’s a step, a stomp, a tap, or more of an ankle bounce, it’s almost vital to keeping myself in tune. However, once I’m really into it, I can switch my attention from my feet to my shoulders. Thrusting one shoulder forward, or alternating my shoulders on each beat, or thrusting them back, is another way to remind myself of what I’m following.

The third technique I have is to move my entire body in every movement. In order to look animated you can’t have limp hands, or stiff ankles or a ridged back. I utilize this to the fullest possible when focusing on technique one and two. If the song is fast paced enough, and if I have energy enough, and if I’m into it enough I can twist all three of these techniques together and do what many people just do naturally. I can move my shoulders to the in between beat and my feet to the main beat and then thrust my body forward and back, stretching up and bending low while continuing the motions with my feet and shoulders which make my other seemingly-random movements look coordinated.

Dancing has never been easy for me, but I enjoy the freedom of it, and the expression of it. We arrived at 7:00pm and left at 10:00pm. It’s going on 11:00pm now and Crusifer has called me to let me know that he won’t be home until midnight, possibly one o’clock in the morning, but he has no intentions of being longer than that. He’s going to “the park” to chill with “some people” on his lap top while smoking “a couple blunts” and doesn’t expect it to take “until three o’clock in the morning or anything like that.”

I have my doubts as to what will really happen though I imagine his intentions are good. He even warned me earlier that he wanted to go out, and I’ve accepted Fridays and Saturdays as acceptable nights to go out. I’ve accepted him going out once a week as long as it’s one of those nights. I can’t argue when he meets every condition, but none of it settles the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when he goes out. It doesn’t hurt when he lets me know ahead of time, and my heart doesn’t ache when he follows my conditions, but my stomach never feels quite settled when he’s out when I know he could be home with me.

I’m not letting it dampen my spirits though. I had a good day despite his indecisive moods.

I think I may go read now. I’m on the fourth book of The Bridge of D’Arnath by Carol Berg, which by the way is a phenomenal series of epic adventure, fantasy, vivid sorcery, and deep characters who really portray how layered real people are. I’m becoming a huge fan of Carol Berg and look forward to buying her other series which I can’t remember the name of at the moment.

Thanks for reading. I miss you guys when you don’t comment. Anyone who comes here at all knows my social life is lacking. This is my friend. Writing is my social life. I talk, talk, and talk, but without feedback, it’s not social, it’s just talking to myself – which might make me slightly crazy. Something for you to think about – if you don’t respond, that means I’m talking to myself, which makes me crazy.

Cheers and smiles and love for everyone! Recycle your junk mail, eat more organic food, cut back on your sugar intake, smile to a stranger, give someone special a hug, and write me a detailed comment about yourself and how you can or can’t relate to me, and consider you good deeds done for the day.

Saturday, May 31, 2008

Attempt at a new Approach

Tuesday, May 27th 2008 at 9:24pm


It seems to be a sad fact that I write a hell of a lot more when I’m upset.

So guess how well I must be doing to not have written since last Thursday!

Crusifer and I had a fabulous weekend. We didn’t argue about a damn thing the entire time. I feel alive again.

One of the primary things that Mort Fertel explains in his message is how our relationship is the center of our life, and while some people may not believe that is true, and while a lot of people go out of their way to make sure that isn’t true, it always has been for me, and undoubtedly always will be. The happiness in my “marriage” is the happiness in my life. The stability in my love is the stability in my life. If my relationship is good, my life is good. If my relationship is in ruin, my life is shambles. Mort says that all people are this way in their truest self. Clearly this is something to be argued since so many people deliberately flaunt how they’re single and happy to be single.

I always thought I was selfish for putting my love and my relationship before all other aspects of my life. I thought I must be wrong to put love before talent, love before family, love before friends, love before education, love before work or money. Mort eased that guilt, and told me that I’m the one who is right, and that other people should be doing the same. I think this is a key change in my perspective on life. Before hearing what Mort had to say I would have been willing to stay with Crusifer for sex, for money, for convenience and to avoid feeling hurt. I was even considering just “putting up” with him until I could find someone else. My perspective has been so turned around that now I think that spending any day of my life not being in love, and putting love as my highest priority would be stupid and a waste of my energy and time.

If love is what make me feel fulfilled in life, then why settle for anything else? If love is what makes me happy, why settle for money and for sex? If marriage and children and a happy family is my dream, why settle for being role-mates with kids? If love gives me the ambition to draw, to write, to be creative and happy, and to dance, then why put any of those things before what gives me the ambition to do them? If love brings out the best in me, why put the best in me before love? And if connecting with Crusifer, and giving to him, and spending time with him and lavishing him with his every desire is the key to making me feel fulfilled, then why spend my time trying to “work on our problems” or practicing “communication skills” or visiting a consoler. Not that I don’t think I should do any of those things, but they seem half as important as they did.

Crusifer is not a quiet person. He generally is quiet because he doesn’t prefer to speak to people. His opinions are likely to be dismissed, because that’s how people are, and he’d rather not speak if he won’t be heard. He’d rather not speak if he can’t be honest, and being honest will often bring ridicule. There are probably a dozen other reasons why he’s quiet around most people, but he is not a quiet person. I know he’s not, because when we first met, we talked for hours and hours and hours into the night. We stayed up until 7:00am sometimes just talking. Mort says that this is key. He says that reestablishing talking about “nothing” is important. Logistical conversations don’t count. Crusifer has the capability to be quiet, or talkative, just like he can be compassionate or harsh. And what and important distinction that is!

Crusifer has been, and can be a talkative person who will talk all through the night. It only takes the transformive properties of love to make him that way. This is just one of the many reasons why love is key, just one of the many reasons why I feel enlightened, just one of the many reasons why I feel good about my life and my relationship today and for the past week. Sappy as it sounds, love is the most important part of life, and it really is at the core of what you need.


Thursday, May 29th 2008 at 3:26pm


Yesterday was mostly a lovely day. Crusifer couldn’t sleep and got up very early, around seven in the morning. I woke up due to his absence from the bed, and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I got up at eight in the morning. We spent the morning talking, playing final fantasy XI, and I gave him a pedicure. Then at one in the afternoon his co-worker called to let him know that he had an appointment. So much for having Wednesday’s off, right?

He went in, did the appointed tattoo, did another tattoo several hours later, hung out with the owner’s husband, Frank. They smoked a blunt together, and he made it back home at five-thirty. Not bad considering two Wednesdays out of three since he was supposed to start getting them off he spent the full ten hours at work. My mom had suggested on Tuesday that we go to the movies, so at six-thirty (shortly after picking my father up from work) the four of us leapt into the car and went to see Indiana Jones IV.


We went to an AMC instead of the usual Regal on elmwood. The AMC is all the way out on Maple, so an illogical choice for us usually, but Crusifer had suggested us all going to Red Robin as well, and I suggested that we go after the movie so we’d all have something to talk about. Crusifer and my parents have not talked much since he moved in well over a year ago, so I thought this would be a great way for them to engage in some conversation.

The movie was less and more than I expected of it at the same time. The beginning was less than I expected, and the ending was much more than I expected. It held up to the classics, and it held up to making the movie with modern quality, while still being set in the past. I really enjoyed how the slipped facts into the movie, especially those concerning the nephelium. Though they never actually called them nephelium, they most certainly were portraying nephelium. Anyway, I won’t spoil the movie for you, so go see it yourself.

So then we went to Red Robin. I took my handy-dandy enzyme pills to assure myself that breaded-shrimp wouldn’t upset my sensitive stomach. Dad ordered an appetizer of guacamole and chips, and we discussed with the waiter the ingredients. To my delight, no “cream” was added to it. Which meant there was no dairy and no sugar, which meant I could eat it!

My mom, dad and Crusifer all had burgers. Red Robin is basically a gourmet burger place. They have tons of different burgers, and every single one of them is made to perfection, the way you’d expect an expensive steak to be prepared. You would expect quality, and you’d expect exactly what you asked for. That’s how Red Robin’s burgers are. I ordered the jumbo shrimp as always. I don’t eat the sauce of course, or put the dressing on my salad or put the ketchup on my french fries, and I take my pills, but with all of those precautions I can leave with only the mildest of burping, and no pain. Needless to say, it’s one of a very small hand-full of places I can actually eat out.

The food and service was great. But as with all fabulous days, there is always a spoiler just waiting for you to get angry or upset. Not that any one person is waiting for this to happen, but karma, the universe, and the powers that be seem to be determined to set up disappointments throughout your days, especially the good days. Because a whole day of pure happiness is strictly forbidden!

The spoiler was really no one person’s fault, but it certainly is more my father’s fault than anybody’s. He ordered a “Jamaican Beer” or something. This brought up the topic of alcohol which I shoved out of the way with talk about the movie just as quickly as I could. After Crusifer’s letter about not letting him drink no matter what and about quitting and stuff I wasn’t about to make an exception, and I wasn’t about to discuss Crusifer’s letter or realization with my Dad, lest my Dad change Crusifer’s mind.

But somehow the Jamaican Beer led to Jamaican food. Crusifer remarked that I ought to get food from the Rastaraunt which is a Jamaican restaurant that is owned by Tre’s family. He said that I should be able to get food from there for free because I “have connections there.”

This irritated me, because I most certain don’t have connections there. In fact, if anyone there recognized me, it might not be good at all. Most likely I’d be harassed, if not bodily hurt. I didn’t find the “joke” funny, and I tried to tell him that I didn’t. But at this point my father had caught wind of our discussion and said that he thought Tre worked at the steel drums. Then Crusifer turns to me, accusatory, and tells me that I lied about where Tre worked. I said that Tre usually had three part time jobs at once – the Rastaraunt, Steel Drums, and working for his father, and doing his weed runs on the way from one to the other and home again.

Crusifer didn’t seem to hear me and continued to bait me about how my stories always change. At that point my father started talking about Tre and this started to make me nervous. This was the last thing I wanted to talk about. What happened to talking about the movie? I couldn’t think of anything to say about the movie, so I started remarking on how great my shrimp was. My ploy completely failed. Dad grabbed one of my shrimp, agreed with me, then continued talking about Tre.

Crusifer said, “There has to be something missing here. How could parents like you and a girl like Atara let someone like him live under your roof? Somebody has to be lying.” Again, I gritted my teeth. I began to become really upset, but I hid this behind consistent eating of the shrimp. My Mom tried to explain how you’d never know about the real Tre by just meeting him. He seemed ordinary and charming and smart as an acquittance. She tried to explain how she couldn’t forbid me as a teenager from seeing him. She explained how this would only cause me to rebel. I chimed up and said that she was right, and that she might have risked me running away by forbidding me to see him.

Incidently, my father did forbid me from moving out with Tre, but that never came up over dinner. Again, after more accusations about lies and delving deeper and deeper into my personal feelings and my past, I tried to switch the conversation to the movie. It didn’t work. I tried then to switch the conversation to Crusifer’s ex, Brianna. Somewhere in this Crusifer tells me I have a bugger hanging out of my nose at some point where I’m trying to distract him by kissing him. I wipe my nose and he tells me it’s still there, then I realize that he’s pulling my leg and start to go from distressed to angry.

I tried to delve right into his personal life with Brianna. I brought up his kid with her, and all of that. He pushed it right off. My parents knew nothing about Brianna to say, but they both knew that this was just another attempt to drop the Tre topic. My mom tried to defend me, tried to help me drop the topic. My father persisted.

He jumped to the heart of the matter, and said to Crusifer, “if you woke up from a nightmare that really disturbed you, but you knew you had to sort it out by talking about it, because otherwise you’d forget the nightmare and only feel disconcerted, you’d talk about it, wouldn’t you?” He didn’t have to explain the analogy for me to understand that he was defending the fact that I used to talk about Tre a lot. I was sorting out my nightmare. I had been afraid, I had been high, I had been someone who I didn’t want to be, I had been with a drug dealer, a gangster, a ninja, and I had been in love with him. I was disappointed with myself and my judgement, but I was also liberated to be rid of him. I was elated to meet the “quiet artist” I thought I had found in Tre. I was high as a kite in fresh love and embracing a new self that was blooming and growing each and everyday. But who can push off the nightmare even in the glorious sunshine?

Surrounded by spring flowers, a cool breeze and palm trees with the sun shining, basking in the shade, watching the beautiful ocean, you can be very blissful, but if you just woke from a nightmare, you’ll use the peace to discuss the nightmare, and that is exactly what I did. For my father to have delved that deep into how personal the whole thing was, to accurately explain why I used to talk about him so much got to me. It left me vulnerable. I was already upset, and angry, and at that moment I became vulnerable on top of it. To make things worse, my mother attempted again to make them drop the topic, she said that if they had ganged up on her like that, that she would have left to go to the ladies room by then. Her suggestion was tempting, but it made me all the more determined to stay right where I was and to not show how upset I really was.

The debate continued. I was too upset to record the information to memory, so I’m not really sure what all was said in all that time. I tried to defend myself many times. But I just wasn’t getting anywhere. And finally Crusifer pulled the last straw my telling me (once again) that I was full of shit. I don’t even remember about what.

I asked him to move to let me use the bathroom. He said no. I shoved with all my might until he was sprawled practically on the floor and pushed past him and hurried into the bathroom. I started to cry the moment I was in the stall. I cried for perhaps five minutes. I organized my purse, straightened my hair, actually used the bathroom of course, washed my hands, put up my hoody, put on my hat and my glasses, pulled out the money for the bill and counted out exactly how much I was going to put inside it. After my breathing was steady and my face no longer red and wet I returned to the table, paid the bill and we left.

Mom and I got to the car first and she deliberately talked about her experience at the convention to take my mind off it. Dad smoked a cigarette and Crusifer and him talked about the matter for six to ten minutes. When they returned to the car my mother continued talking and we all listened. I tried to hold the conversation by my voice was constricted and for some odd reason I needed to use the bathroom again badly. Crusifer made no attempt to look at me or touch me the entire ride. I held his limp hand.

Shortly after getting home Crusifer and I began arguing about it all over again. My father came up the stairs and then I really got upset. Truth be told my relationship with my father is a much more tender place inside me than my memories of Tre. I lost my control several times, and once I banged my keyboard so hard that I put a mark on my monitor. I’m not proud of that, but my father pulls out my emotion like a fishing rod.

The odd part though was that somehow, things were resolved. It was a painful journey, but Crusifer, my father and I resolved the issue. I mean, I’m pretty sure that is what happened. I wasn’t even angry anymore by the time my father left. He said some things that helped Crusifer understand and believe. One of the key things he said was that Tre was a very scary guy. He used the word scary. Tre wasn’t a full-fledged gangster-mafia type, but he believed himself to be enough to make it as true as it needed to be. And that isn’t what I wanted, and when I was finally sober enough to put everything together, I left him. And I’m not ever going back. I think Crusifer finally understands that. He just needed a man to explain it to him was all. Perhaps in the end, it was a worth while discussion.

Anyway, odd as this may seem, I began writing this entry because of a spider. An ugly white spider was crawling up the cord to my printer. It was in a place that I couldn’t miss. I wrapped tissue around it with my fingers, and put the wadded ball in the toilet. I was disconcerted, but I sat back down here. Then I noticed it was still alive, though a bit crumpled. It was now on the desk between my keyboard and monitor. This time I really got it and put it in the toilet and flushed. I got the chills as I did this. Spiders really freak me out, especially now that I believe they are helping me predict things happening.

My prime example is the huge daddy-long-leg spider that fell practically in my face on New Years night, and how several hours later I almost broke up with Crusifer because of how angry he made me. He brought El home with him, unexpected. He was drunk, and he had me pick him up at 4:00am with my permit and limited experience. It was freezing cold out. I was tired. And he had the nerve to be unappreciative of all that I did for him and how forgiving I was being. I told him to get out and never come back that night. I cried and cried and cried that night. I screamed and yelled. Nothing did any good of course, but eventually Crusifer took me in his arms and apologized.

That spider let me know, I just didn’t realize it was letting me know. Ever since then I’ve been able to draw a direct connection between spiders and unhappy events in life or closely dodged unhappy events in my life. After yesterday, I can’t think that spider was a coincidence, especially when I thought it was dead, but it wasn’t. Perhaps I think everything from last night is resolved, and it isn’t yet.

We’ll see what we’ll see. As for now, I’m going to get back to what I was doing an hour ago before saw the spider. *sigh* I love Crusifer dearly, and I want everything to work too much for my own good. Assuming we really get married, I hope... I wish... Bah!



Saturday, May 31st 2008 at 11:34pm


I’m still trying to figure out where April went, and now May is over too. I’m sure I’m not the only one. For some reason I feel like I have a number of deadlines on me, even though I don’t have any. Perhaps I’m feeling everyone else’s deadlines? Or perhaps I’m just feeling time slipping by?

I feel like I’m overdue to have the office finished. I feel like I’m long overdue to have the board game finished. I feel like I have not been working on my body enough, no where near enough exercise. I feel behind on my relationship, like I should have resolved something more by now, like I should understand something deeper by now. I feel like my room is a mess. It’s organized, but it’s not clean. I feel behind on my understanding in general. Why do I still have so many bodily problems? I sick of mystery pussy-pains that are not STDs and not yeast infections. It’s completely inexplicable and completely intolerable!

I didn’t do any gardening like I planned to, unless you count the one plant my mother and I bought with our spare change the other day. It’s kinda past planting season. Will I ever stop feeling like a failure? I guess not, it’s in my blood.

I never went back to the commune. I want to go this summer, but Yashieva is long gone, and without her there, I’m not sure if it’ll feel right. I have not worked on any of my novel ideas or started novels in months. I spent so much time and effort (and even a small chunk of money) on Saga only to have not played it in a month now.

Why does this stuff bother me so much? Probably because Crusifer is being really distant. It’s probably because we haven’t had sex in so long. I’m so sick of even trying. I get myself all aroused just to discover that the inside still feels like fire after only a few minutes. He talks of having a girl around “just to fuck” as if this topic isn’t a sore spot for me. Not that he has been talking about it the last couple days, but quite a bit over the past month in general, or rather, the past few months.

I dreamed I found a really huge nasty bug that foretold worse times to come. I have an unjustified disgust with bugs. I get freaked out when a fly lands on me sometimes, though I usually am pretty good at not showing it. I don’t scream when I see a spider or anything, but I jump, and usually move away until I catch my breath long enough to get a wad of tissue to grab it and flush it. I’d prefer a vacuum, but I don’t have one in my own right.

Crusifer is playing music. I suppose he figures it doesn’t count because he keeps turning them off after five seconds or so and changing it to another one, looking for songs he likes. I don’t really mind. I just mind the complete lack of affection for two days now. I thought I’d reverse that easily last night by giving him this long back rub, and then I got into it, and despite how my fingers ache after seven or so minutes I kept at for well over fifteen. When my fingers were too tired to go on anymore I didn’t want to stop, so I continued more gently, trying to ease him asleep. He was tired, but restless.

I felt inspired so I continued on into a reiki healing. Not that he can tell that’s what I’m doing, but that was fine with me. I was enjoying giving, even if he didn’t particularly care that he was receiving. I feel like there isn’t much of anything I can give to him, and that also bothers me. He wants sex, and he wants that all the time, but I can barely ever give it to him and it’s not even my fault. He wants affection so he says, but I feel like he never really appreciates it, or really wants it, at least, it’s so rare that I forget.

He also wants food, but I can only give that if he’s hungry. You see how this leaves me little to give most of the time? I have little to offer for all that I want in return and it drives me crazy. I wish he’d just melt the way I do when I write him a letter. Getting a letter from him makes me just burst with happiness. He gets a letter from me and he sort of smirks, might give me a kiss or two, and then goes on with his day unchanged. I feel like I have no real affect, no real purpose. Like I’m here incase of emergencies, but other than that, I’m a door mat or something.

Crusifer is probably going to go out tonight. That’s okay. It’s agreed upon. I feel like crying though. He’s gone already. I got so few kisses this morning I can count them – three. Two were on the forehead of all things. I know he loves me, and I know I’m important to him... But something is just irking me.

I tried that thing Mort said, the “intimacy interview” where I ask him all sorts of questions about everything. I basically ask for all his ideals. Not just what I can give, but everything he wants in general. Then, after I’ve made a long list, I go through everything and see what I can do, and do as much as I can as often as possible. Two things about this made me really upset.

The second thing that made me really upset shouldn’t have surprised me much (but it was a heavy blow after the first one which I’ll get to in a moment). He didn’t ask for anything new at all. He indicated nothing I wasn’t already doing as often as possible except for pedicures. I believe he likes it most because it involves me being so intent on him. It requires a bit of focus to pull off all the dead skin around the nails, and pull out all the dirt and old skin, and toe jam, and push back the cuticles, and file the nails until they’re all even, and then sand them, buff them and polish them. It also takes a bit of time. So I’ve done that several times this week instead of my usual once or twice a month. He thanked me, he gave me kisses, and that’s all well and good, but I can’t just do that every time I want affection, just like I can’t have sex with him every time I want affection – though I would if I could!

The whole point was to give more, and much, much, much more. Another exercise is to make sure you have a minimum of a one-minute conversation about things you like, or things you want, or your speculations, or your theories, or whatever, as long as it’s not logistical, and to have these conversations at least five times a day. Also, they have to be throughout the day, not just five phone calls in the last hour before you get home from work. Well, I can’t get up to five or even four while he’s at work. During those ten hours he’s too blasted bust. If he answers the phone when he’s busy he doesn’t really talk to me anyway. We get one, maybe two if we’re lucky and no amount of calling him changes that.

But the more devastating thing I uncovered I have not even brought up with him. I can’t broach the topic. I can barely even think about it. I’m not sure if I’m in denial, or if I genuinely believe that it’s not really true. *sighs* The first thing I uncovered was in my first few questions about his priorities. I suppose if I had followed directions better, these questions wouldn’t be included. But I wanted to ask everything I could think of and get it on paper.

His first priority? His art of course. I suppose I already know that. His second priority? His job. His third? Me – and he almost decided to say “social life” but then said, “no wait, that wouldn’t be true,” and then said his “relationship with me” as third. I’ve been putting him first for over a year. I’ve given up going to conventions to stay home with him. I’ve gone out of my way to do every small thing for him that I could. I’ve had sex with him when I didn’t want it countless times. I’ve put every bit of strength in my body to massaging him, cooking for him, trying to ask the right questions to get a conversation going, calling him... And it’s not that I regret a moment of anything I’ve ever done for him.

In fact, I don’t regret any of it. I wish I had done more in our relationship. But he doesn’t feel that way, does he? I’m not sure. Perhaps if we were married and our marriage really was dead, then perhaps these exercises would bring life to our relationship because he would be so flattered to get love and attention like he did in the beginning. Thing is, I already put him first, and I already give him most everything I have. True, Mort says to give all that you can. Basically, give 100% like I always say. But he’s also saying to not be concerned with getting back.

Well, I’m sure that the theory is that they will automatically give back, and it’s not that he doesn’t give back... But it’s like he’s doing the minimum to stay with me, instead of giving himself to me. I want him. As Mort says, give presence with your presents. In other words, give yourself in everything you give.

Crusifer made me a cup of tea this morning. It’s the first morning that he’s done so in a long time. Why did he do it? Because I asked him to last night. He handed me the cup of tea and then sat down far enough away that he wasn’t touched me and stared at the ceiling. He sat on the bed and not at his computer because he figured this would please me. At least, I think that’s the reason, since it didn’t seem to be for himself. For a moment there I was really delighted, because he curled up on me, and then he talked to me about work yesterday for like three minutes while I drank the tea happily.

Then he got up, looked out the window, and sat back down not touching me and stared at the ceiling again. Not stroking, no kissing, and the short lived conversation over.

I asked, “Why did you move?”

He replied, “This is more comfortable.”

My heart must have leaked blood out in the wrong place at that moment, because I certainly felt like there had been an unnatural squeeze to my insides. I put the tea cup down thinking I’d add the last of it to my potatoes later, assuming I boil some potatoes today. And then I curled up next to him. I kissed him, I stroked him, but he still continued to play with his hair and stare off into nothing. Soon he sat up and then left for his computer, leaving me only with a quick kiss to the forehead.

There is nothing wrong with this behavior, but I feel like I’m third. He didn’t spend his morning with me because he was busy putting music on his ipod for work. He leaves at noon when work starts at 1:00pm so he can get an early start on cleaning his “tubes” so he’ll be ready. He gets home between 11:30pm and 12:00am even though it’s only a five minute bike ride and he gets off at 11:00pm.

I hate being so unimportant. I feel like I’m nineteen and my mother still is the only person who cares about me for real. And she can’t afford to put me first. Hell, I ought to put her before Crusifer for all that she’s done for me, so why don’t I? Why am I so fucking bent on love? What’s love ever done for me? Given me some blissful months out of my life? Next to the much longer months of stress and heartbreak it ought to be useless to me now. Ought to be. Ought to be... But that would be logical, and emotions don’t really work very logically. They have their own crazy logic of some sort.

He called me just now, because I called him ten minutes previously. Only a few minutes after he left.. Is this how he is when we’re not having sex? No matter what? With all the problems I have, I’m pretty darned sure I won’t be able to have sex with him at least every other day for the rest of my life. That never lasts more than a month before a new infection, a new pain, a new soreness. I hate how doctors never solve my problems!

If this is the case then imagine what he might be like during the last few months of pregnancy? It might kill me to get to little affection from the father of my baby. Maybe I’m making a mistake afterall...

Attempt at a new Approach

Tuesday, May 27th 2008 at 9:24pm


It seems to be a sad fact that I write a hell of a lot more when I’m upset.

So guess how well I must be doing to not have written since last Thursday!

Crusifer and I had a fabulous weekend. We didn’t argue about a damn thing the entire time. I feel alive again.

One of the primary things that Mort Fertel explains in his message is how our relationship is the center of our life, and while some people may not believe that is true, and while a lot of people go out of their way to make sure that isn’t true, it always has been for me, and undoubtedly always will be. The happiness in my “marriage” is the happiness in my life. The stability in my love is the stability in my life. If my relationship is good, my life is good. If my relationship is in ruin, my life is shambles. Mort says that all people are this way in their truest self. Clearly this is something to be argued since so many people deliberately flaunt how they’re single and happy to be single.

I always thought I was selfish for putting my love and my relationship before all other aspects of my life. I thought I must be wrong to put love before talent, love before family, love before friends, love before education, love before work or money. Mort eased that guilt, and told me that I’m the one who is right, and that other people should be doing the same. I think this is a key change in my perspective on life. Before hearing what Mort had to say I would have been willing to stay with Crusifer for sex, for money, for convenience and to avoid feeling hurt. I was even considering just “putting up” with him until I could find someone else. My perspective has been so turned around that now I think that spending any day of my life not being in love, and putting love as my highest priority would be stupid and a waste of my energy and time.

If love is what make me feel fulfilled in life, then why settle for anything else? If love is what makes me happy, why settle for money and for sex? If marriage and children and a happy family is my dream, why settle for being role-mates with kids? If love gives me the ambition to draw, to write, to be creative and happy, and to dance, then why put any of those things before what gives me the ambition to do them? If love brings out the best in me, why put the best in me before love? And if connecting with Crusifer, and giving to him, and spending time with him and lavishing him with his every desire is the key to making me feel fulfilled, then why spend my time trying to “work on our problems” or practicing “communication skills” or visiting a consoler. Not that I don’t think I should do any of those things, but they seem half as important as they did.

Crusifer is not a quiet person. He generally is quiet because he doesn’t prefer to speak to people. His opinions are likely to be dismissed, because that’s how people are, and he’d rather not speak if he won’t be heard. He’d rather not speak if he can’t be honest, and being honest will often bring ridicule. There are probably a dozen other reasons why he’s quiet around most people, but he is not a quiet person. I know he’s not, because when we first met, we talked for hours and hours and hours into the night. We stayed up until 7:00am sometimes just talking. Mort says that this is key. He says that reestablishing talking about “nothing” is important. Logistical conversations don’t count. Crusifer has the capability to be quiet, or talkative, just like he can be compassionate or harsh. And what and important distinction that is!

Crusifer has been, and can be a talkative person who will talk all through the night. It only takes the transformive properties of love to make him that way. This is just one of the many reasons why love is key, just one of the many reasons why I feel enlightened, just one of the many reasons why I feel good about my life and my relationship today and for the past week. Sappy as it sounds, love is the most important part of life, and it really is at the core of what you need.


Thursday, May 29th 2008 at 3:26pm


Yesterday was mostly a lovely day. Crusifer couldn’t sleep and got up very early, around seven in the morning. I woke up due to his absence from the bed, and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I got up at eight in the morning. We spent the morning talking, playing final fantasy XI, and I gave him a pedicure. Then at one in the afternoon his co-worker called to let him know that he had an appointment. So much for having Wednesday’s off, right?

He went in, did the appointed tattoo, did another tattoo several hours later, hung out with the owner’s husband, Frank. They smoked a blunt together, and he made it back home at five-thirty. Not bad considering two Wednesdays out of three since he was supposed to start getting them off he spent the full ten hours at work. My mom had suggested on Tuesday that we go to the movies, so at six-thirty (shortly after picking my father up from work) the four of us leapt into the car and went to see Indiana Jones IV.


We went to an AMC instead of the usual Regal on elmwood. The AMC is all the way out on Maple, so an illogical choice for us usually, but Crusifer had suggested us all going to Red Robin as well, and I suggested that we go after the movie so we’d all have something to talk about. Crusifer and my parents have not talked much since he moved in well over a year ago, so I thought this would be a great way for them to engage in some conversation.

The movie was less and more than I expected of it at the same time. The beginning was less than I expected, and the ending was much more than I expected. It held up to the classics, and it held up to making the movie with modern quality, while still being set in the past. I really enjoyed how the slipped facts into the movie, especially those concerning the nephelium. Though they never actually called them nephelium, they most certainly were portraying nephelium. Anyway, I won’t spoil the movie for you, so go see it yourself.

So then we went to Red Robin. I took my handy-dandy enzyme pills to assure myself that breaded-shrimp wouldn’t upset my sensitive stomach. Dad ordered an appetizer of guacamole and chips, and we discussed with the waiter the ingredients. To my delight, no “cream” was added to it. Which meant there was no dairy and no sugar, which meant I could eat it!

My mom, dad and Crusifer all had burgers. Red Robin is basically a gourmet burger place. They have tons of different burgers, and every single one of them is made to perfection, the way you’d expect an expensive steak to be prepared. You would expect quality, and you’d expect exactly what you asked for. That’s how Red Robin’s burgers are. I ordered the jumbo shrimp as always. I don’t eat the sauce of course, or put the dressing on my salad or put the ketchup on my french fries, and I take my pills, but with all of those precautions I can leave with only the mildest of burping, and no pain. Needless to say, it’s one of a very small hand-full of places I can actually eat out.

The food and service was great. But as with all fabulous days, there is always a spoiler just waiting for you to get angry or upset. Not that any one person is waiting for this to happen, but karma, the universe, and the powers that be seem to be determined to set up disappointments throughout your days, especially the good days. Because a whole day of pure happiness is strictly forbidden!

The spoiler was really no one person’s fault, but it certainly is more my father’s fault than anybody’s. He ordered a “Jamaican Beer” or something. This brought up the topic of alcohol which I shoved out of the way with talk about the movie just as quickly as I could. After Crusifer’s letter about not letting him drink no matter what and about quitting and stuff I wasn’t about to make an exception, and I wasn’t about to discuss Crusifer’s letter or realization with my Dad, lest my Dad change Crusifer’s mind.

But somehow the Jamaican Beer led to Jamaican food. Crusifer remarked that I ought to get food from the Rastaraunt which is a Jamaican restaurant that is owned by Tre’s family. He said that I should be able to get food from there for free because I “have connections there.”

This irritated me, because I most certain don’t have connections there. In fact, if anyone there recognized me, it might not be good at all. Most likely I’d be harassed, if not bodily hurt. I didn’t find the “joke” funny, and I tried to tell him that I didn’t. But at this point my father had caught wind of our discussion and said that he thought Tre worked at the steel drums. Then Crusifer turns to me, accusatory, and tells me that I lied about where Tre worked. I said that Tre usually had three part time jobs at once – the Rastaraunt, Steel Drums, and working for his father, and doing his weed runs on the way from one to the other and home again.

Crusifer didn’t seem to hear me and continued to bait me about how my stories always change. At that point my father started talking about Tre and this started to make me nervous. This was the last thing I wanted to talk about. What happened to talking about the movie? I couldn’t think of anything to say about the movie, so I started remarking on how great my shrimp was. My ploy completely failed. Dad grabbed one of my shrimp, agreed with me, then continued talking about Tre.

Crusifer said, “There has to be something missing here. How could parents like you and a girl like Atara let someone like him live under your roof? Somebody has to be lying.” Again, I gritted my teeth. I began to become really upset, but I hid this behind consistent eating of the shrimp. My Mom tried to explain how you’d never know about the real Tre by just meeting him. He seemed ordinary and charming and smart as an acquittance. She tried to explain how she couldn’t forbid me as a teenager from seeing him. She explained how this would only cause me to rebel. I chimed up and said that she was right, and that she might have risked me running away by forbidding me to see him.

Incidently, my father did forbid me from moving out with Tre, but that never came up over dinner. Again, after more accusations about lies and delving deeper and deeper into my personal feelings and my past, I tried to switch the conversation to the movie. It didn’t work. I tried then to switch the conversation to Crusifer’s ex, Brianna. Somewhere in this Crusifer tells me I have a bugger hanging out of my nose at some point where I’m trying to distract him by kissing him. I wipe my nose and he tells me it’s still there, then I realize that he’s pulling my leg and start to go from distressed to angry.

I tried to delve right into his personal life with Brianna. I brought up his kid with her, and all of that. He pushed it right off. My parents knew nothing about Brianna to say, but they both knew that this was just another attempt to drop the Tre topic. My mom tried to defend me, tried to help me drop the topic. My father persisted.

He jumped to the heart of the matter, and said to Crusifer, “if you woke up from a nightmare that really disturbed you, but you knew you had to sort it out by talking about it, because otherwise you’d forget the nightmare and only feel disconcerted, you’d talk about it, wouldn’t you?” He didn’t have to explain the analogy for me to understand that he was defending the fact that I used to talk about Tre a lot. I was sorting out my nightmare. I had been afraid, I had been high, I had been someone who I didn’t want to be, I had been with a drug dealer, a gangster, a ninja, and I had been in love with him. I was disappointed with myself and my judgement, but I was also liberated to be rid of him. I was elated to meet the “quiet artist” I thought I had found in Tre. I was high as a kite in fresh love and embracing a new self that was blooming and growing each and everyday. But who can push off the nightmare even in the glorious sunshine?

Surrounded by spring flowers, a cool breeze and palm trees with the sun shining, basking in the shade, watching the beautiful ocean, you can be very blissful, but if you just woke from a nightmare, you’ll use the peace to discuss the nightmare, and that is exactly what I did. For my father to have delved that deep into how personal the whole thing was, to accurately explain why I used to talk about him so much got to me. It left me vulnerable. I was already upset, and angry, and at that moment I became vulnerable on top of it. To make things worse, my mother attempted again to make them drop the topic, she said that if they had ganged up on her like that, that she would have left to go to the ladies room by then. Her suggestion was tempting, but it made me all the more determined to stay right where I was and to not show how upset I really was.

The debate continued. I was too upset to record the information to memory, so I’m not really sure what all was said in all that time. I tried to defend myself many times. But I just wasn’t getting anywhere. And finally Crusifer pulled the last straw my telling me (once again) that I was full of shit. I don’t even remember about what.

I asked him to move to let me use the bathroom. He said no. I shoved with all my might until he was sprawled practically on the floor and pushed past him and hurried into the bathroom. I started to cry the moment I was in the stall. I cried for perhaps five minutes. I organized my purse, straightened my hair, actually used the bathroom of course, washed my hands, put up my hoody, put on my hat and my glasses, pulled out the money for the bill and counted out exactly how much I was going to put inside it. After my breathing was steady and my face no longer red and wet I returned to the table, paid the bill and we left.

Mom and I got to the car first and she deliberately talked about her experience at the convention to take my mind off it. Dad smoked a cigarette and Crusifer and him talked about the matter for six to ten minutes. When they returned to the car my mother continued talking and we all listened. I tried to hold the conversation by my voice was constricted and for some odd reason I needed to use the bathroom again badly. Crusifer made no attempt to look at me or touch me the entire ride. I held his limp hand.

Shortly after getting home Crusifer and I began arguing about it all over again. My father came up the stairs and then I really got upset. Truth be told my relationship with my father is a much more tender place inside me than my memories of Tre. I lost my control several times, and once I banged my keyboard so hard that I put a mark on my monitor. I’m not proud of that, but my father pulls out my emotion like a fishing rod.

The odd part though was that somehow, things were resolved. It was a painful journey, but Crusifer, my father and I resolved the issue. I mean, I’m pretty sure that is what happened. I wasn’t even angry anymore by the time my father left. He said some things that helped Crusifer understand and believe. One of the key things he said was that Tre was a very scary guy. He used the word scary. Tre wasn’t a full-fledged gangster-mafia type, but he believed himself to be enough to make it as true as it needed to be. And that isn’t what I wanted, and when I was finally sober enough to put everything together, I left him. And I’m not ever going back. I think Crusifer finally understands that. He just needed a man to explain it to him was all. Perhaps in the end, it was a worth while discussion.

Anyway, odd as this may seem, I began writing this entry because of a spider. An ugly white spider was crawling up the cord to my printer. It was in a place that I couldn’t miss. I wrapped tissue around it with my fingers, and put the wadded ball in the toilet. I was disconcerted, but I sat back down here. Then I noticed it was still alive, though a bit crumpled. It was now on the desk between my keyboard and monitor. This time I really got it and put it in the toilet and flushed. I got the chills as I did this. Spiders really freak me out, especially now that I believe they are helping me predict things happening.

My prime example is the huge daddy-long-leg spider that fell practically in my face on New Years night, and how several hours later I almost broke up with Crusifer because of how angry he made me. He brought El home with him, unexpected. He was drunk, and he had me pick him up at 4:00am with my permit and limited experience. It was freezing cold out. I was tired. And he had the nerve to be unappreciative of all that I did for him and how forgiving I was being. I told him to get out and never come back that night. I cried and cried and cried that night. I screamed and yelled. Nothing did any good of course, but eventually Crusifer took me in his arms and apologized.

That spider let me know, I just didn’t realize it was letting me know. Ever since then I’ve been able to draw a direct connection between spiders and unhappy events in life or closely dodged unhappy events in my life. After yesterday, I can’t think that spider was a coincidence, especially when I thought it was dead, but it wasn’t. Perhaps I think everything from last night is resolved, and it isn’t yet.

We’ll see what we’ll see. As for now, I’m going to get back to what I was doing an hour ago before saw the spider. *sigh* I love Crusifer dearly, and I want everything to work too much for my own good. Assuming we really get married, I hope... I wish... Bah!



Saturday, May 31st 2008 at 11:34pm


I’m still trying to figure out where April went, and now May is over too. I’m sure I’m not the only one. For some reason I feel like I have a number of deadlines on me, even though I don’t have any. Perhaps I’m feeling everyone else’s deadlines? Or perhaps I’m just feeling time slipping by?

I feel like I’m overdue to have the office finished. I feel like I’m long overdue to have the board game finished. I feel like I have not been working on my body enough, no where near enough exercise. I feel behind on my relationship, like I should have resolved something more by now, like I should understand something deeper by now. I feel like my room is a mess. It’s organized, but it’s not clean. I feel behind on my understanding in general. Why do I still have so many bodily problems? I sick of mystery pussy-pains that are not STDs and not yeast infections. It’s completely inexplicable and completely intolerable!

I didn’t do any gardening like I planned to, unless you count the one plant my mother and I bought with our spare change the other day. It’s kinda past planting season. Will I ever stop feeling like a failure? I guess not, it’s in my blood.

I never went back to the commune. I want to go this summer, but Yashieva is long gone, and without her there, I’m not sure if it’ll feel right. I have not worked on any of my novel ideas or started novels in months. I spent so much time and effort (and even a small chunk of money) on Saga only to have not played it in a month now.

Why does this stuff bother me so much? Probably because Crusifer is being really distant. It’s probably because we haven’t had sex in so long. I’m so sick of even trying. I get myself all aroused just to discover that the inside still feels like fire after only a few minutes. He talks of having a girl around “just to fuck” as if this topic isn’t a sore spot for me. Not that he has been talking about it the last couple days, but quite a bit over the past month in general, or rather, the past few months.

I dreamed I found a really huge nasty bug that foretold worse times to come. I have an unjustified disgust with bugs. I get freaked out when a fly lands on me sometimes, though I usually am pretty good at not showing it. I don’t scream when I see a spider or anything, but I jump, and usually move away until I catch my breath long enough to get a wad of tissue to grab it and flush it. I’d prefer a vacuum, but I don’t have one in my own right.

Crusifer is playing music. I suppose he figures it doesn’t count because he keeps turning them off after five seconds or so and changing it to another one, looking for songs he likes. I don’t really mind. I just mind the complete lack of affection for two days now. I thought I’d reverse that easily last night by giving him this long back rub, and then I got into it, and despite how my fingers ache after seven or so minutes I kept at for well over fifteen. When my fingers were too tired to go on anymore I didn’t want to stop, so I continued more gently, trying to ease him asleep. He was tired, but restless.

I felt inspired so I continued on into a reiki healing. Not that he can tell that’s what I’m doing, but that was fine with me. I was enjoying giving, even if he didn’t particularly care that he was receiving. I feel like there isn’t much of anything I can give to him, and that also bothers me. He wants sex, and he wants that all the time, but I can barely ever give it to him and it’s not even my fault. He wants affection so he says, but I feel like he never really appreciates it, or really wants it, at least, it’s so rare that I forget.

He also wants food, but I can only give that if he’s hungry. You see how this leaves me little to give most of the time? I have little to offer for all that I want in return and it drives me crazy. I wish he’d just melt the way I do when I write him a letter. Getting a letter from him makes me just burst with happiness. He gets a letter from me and he sort of smirks, might give me a kiss or two, and then goes on with his day unchanged. I feel like I have no real affect, no real purpose. Like I’m here incase of emergencies, but other than that, I’m a door mat or something.

Crusifer is probably going to go out tonight. That’s okay. It’s agreed upon. I feel like crying though. He’s gone already. I got so few kisses this morning I can count them – three. Two were on the forehead of all things. I know he loves me, and I know I’m important to him... But something is just irking me.

I tried that thing Mort said, the “intimacy interview” where I ask him all sorts of questions about everything. I basically ask for all his ideals. Not just what I can give, but everything he wants in general. Then, after I’ve made a long list, I go through everything and see what I can do, and do as much as I can as often as possible. Two things about this made me really upset.

The second thing that made me really upset shouldn’t have surprised me much (but it was a heavy blow after the first one which I’ll get to in a moment). He didn’t ask for anything new at all. He indicated nothing I wasn’t already doing as often as possible except for pedicures. I believe he likes it most because it involves me being so intent on him. It requires a bit of focus to pull off all the dead skin around the nails, and pull out all the dirt and old skin, and toe jam, and push back the cuticles, and file the nails until they’re all even, and then sand them, buff them and polish them. It also takes a bit of time. So I’ve done that several times this week instead of my usual once or twice a month. He thanked me, he gave me kisses, and that’s all well and good, but I can’t just do that every time I want affection, just like I can’t have sex with him every time I want affection – though I would if I could!

The whole point was to give more, and much, much, much more. Another exercise is to make sure you have a minimum of a one-minute conversation about things you like, or things you want, or your speculations, or your theories, or whatever, as long as it’s not logistical, and to have these conversations at least five times a day. Also, they have to be throughout the day, not just five phone calls in the last hour before you get home from work. Well, I can’t get up to five or even four while he’s at work. During those ten hours he’s too blasted bust. If he answers the phone when he’s busy he doesn’t really talk to me anyway. We get one, maybe two if we’re lucky and no amount of calling him changes that.

But the more devastating thing I uncovered I have not even brought up with him. I can’t broach the topic. I can barely even think about it. I’m not sure if I’m in denial, or if I genuinely believe that it’s not really true. *sighs* The first thing I uncovered was in my first few questions about his priorities. I suppose if I had followed directions better, these questions wouldn’t be included. But I wanted to ask everything I could think of and get it on paper.

His first priority? His art of course. I suppose I already know that. His second priority? His job. His third? Me – and he almost decided to say “social life” but then said, “no wait, that wouldn’t be true,” and then said his “relationship with me” as third. I’ve been putting him first for over a year. I’ve given up going to conventions to stay home with him. I’ve gone out of my way to do every small thing for him that I could. I’ve had sex with him when I didn’t want it countless times. I’ve put every bit of strength in my body to massaging him, cooking for him, trying to ask the right questions to get a conversation going, calling him... And it’s not that I regret a moment of anything I’ve ever done for him.

In fact, I don’t regret any of it. I wish I had done more in our relationship. But he doesn’t feel that way, does he? I’m not sure. Perhaps if we were married and our marriage really was dead, then perhaps these exercises would bring life to our relationship because he would be so flattered to get love and attention like he did in the beginning. Thing is, I already put him first, and I already give him most everything I have. True, Mort says to give all that you can. Basically, give 100% like I always say. But he’s also saying to not be concerned with getting back.

Well, I’m sure that the theory is that they will automatically give back, and it’s not that he doesn’t give back... But it’s like he’s doing the minimum to stay with me, instead of giving himself to me. I want him. As Mort says, give presence with your presents. In other words, give yourself in everything you give.

Crusifer made me a cup of tea this morning. It’s the first morning that he’s done so in a long time. Why did he do it? Because I asked him to last night. He handed me the cup of tea and then sat down far enough away that he wasn’t touched me and stared at the ceiling. He sat on the bed and not at his computer because he figured this would please me. At least, I think that’s the reason, since it didn’t seem to be for himself. For a moment there I was really delighted, because he curled up on me, and then he talked to me about work yesterday for like three minutes while I drank the tea happily.

Then he got up, looked out the window, and sat back down not touching me and stared at the ceiling again. Not stroking, no kissing, and the short lived conversation over.

I asked, “Why did you move?”

He replied, “This is more comfortable.”

My heart must have leaked blood out in the wrong place at that moment, because I certainly felt like there had been an unnatural squeeze to my insides. I put the tea cup down thinking I’d add the last of it to my potatoes later, assuming I boil some potatoes today. And then I curled up next to him. I kissed him, I stroked him, but he still continued to play with his hair and stare off into nothing. Soon he sat up and then left for his computer, leaving me only with a quick kiss to the forehead.

There is nothing wrong with this behavior, but I feel like I’m third. He didn’t spend his morning with me because he was busy putting music on his ipod for work. He leaves at noon when work starts at 1:00pm so he can get an early start on cleaning his “tubes” so he’ll be ready. He gets home between 11:30pm and 12:00am even though it’s only a five minute bike ride and he gets off at 11:00pm.

I hate being so unimportant. I feel like I’m nineteen and my mother still is the only person who cares about me for real. And she can’t afford to put me first. Hell, I ought to put her before Crusifer for all that she’s done for me, so why don’t I? Why am I so fucking bent on love? What’s love ever done for me? Given me some blissful months out of my life? Next to the much longer months of stress and heartbreak it ought to be useless to me now. Ought to be. Ought to be... But that would be logical, and emotions don’t really work very logically. They have their own crazy logic of some sort.

He called me just now, because I called him ten minutes previously. Only a few minutes after he left.. Is this how he is when we’re not having sex? No matter what? With all the problems I have, I’m pretty darned sure I won’t be able to have sex with him at least every other day for the rest of my life. That never lasts more than a month before a new infection, a new pain, a new soreness. I hate how doctors never solve my problems!

If this is the case then imagine what he might be like during the last few months of pregnancy? It might kill me to get to little affection from the father of my baby. Maybe I’m making a mistake afterall...

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Together Forever?

Tuesday, April 29th 2008 at 2:37am


Boredom comes from not being obsessed with something. I wish I was obsessed with something. I want to be obsessed with something creative, productive, engaging, and skill enhancing. I guess that’s a bit much to ask though, isn’t it? I’ve gone back to working on my computer-game-design, but it’s not very engaging. There is nothing exciting about it. It’s just a bunch of text and concept art. Tables, and descriptions and stats aren’t very easy to be obsessed with.

Crusifer isn’t here often enough for me to really obsess over him, and even if he was, he never wants anything. I could shower him with affection, attention, and doing what he wants to do, but it hardly makes a difference to him at all. I mean, he’ll notice, but he’ll say “it’s nice and all, but not really necessary.”

I have anime music blasting through my headphones right now, so that I don’t have to hear the music emitting from Crusifer’s headphones. He’s drawing, looking adorable as he does so. He’s drawing a chick out of a magazine for “anatomy practice.” This is something he does periodically, usually filling an entire page with random sketches. I don’t have the type of drive to do something like that. I’m all about a finished product, when the finished product is disappointing or long in coming I tend to have a habit of quitting.

I suppose that’s one reason why art appeals to me. Why ever quit a picture? It won’t take that long to finish it. And, it’s more appealing to look at every moment that you work on it (to a degree).

I’d like to complete this computer game design and submit it to a company... After some research on how that’s done. How do you submit something without them just stealing the ideas they want and then rejecting your proposal? I know there are ways, but of course I don’t really know much about it. Copyrighting your work and such. It would be nice if they would steal the entire thing and do it just the way I outlined it, but more likely they’d steal several key ideas and dump the rest, and then I couldn’t even prove they ever “stole” anything.

Anyway, say I could submit it without it being stolen, then there is fact that they probably won’t even give it a second glance because I have no degree or work experience in the field. Yet, there is a chance someone might look at and take in the uniqueness of the ideas presented, and see that there is a good sized market for such a game. But that chance will hang in impossibility without a complete design to look at.

I won’t consider the design complete until all aspects of the game are covered, all races, all items, all spells, all functions, all abilities, all disciplines, all realms and terrains, and maps and so on. I’d like all the concept art to be all complete too, but that’s a lot of concept art. The interface design is not a problem for me, but the concept art is really more than I could hope to accomplish. Crusifer and I together could probably do all of it, but relying on Crusifer for something like that (I’ve learned) is folly.
There is no point in asking myself if it is worth it or not to complete the design, because it most certainly is even though the chance of it ever being used for the template for a real game is slim. If but nothing but for my pride.

There is also the chance of putting together a team to design it with me with an agreed about of percentages of payoff (if and) when there is one. My major issue with that is how low quality the game would be if I managed to do that. Saga clearly took a very long time in the making and it’s coding is clearly crap because the load times are terrible for a game with low graphics and small playing fields. This leads me to believe that they have the inexperienced coders as well as average-joe modelers. And while Saga’s game concept is very good, the whole game (as it is now) doesn’t have draw after a certain point in the game for the economical strategist. I want this game to be made much more professionally.


Wednesday, April 30th 2008 at 12:06pm


I’m getting that sick to my stomach feeling again. I get it every time I start to believe that Crusifer and I might not be... Good for each other?

He said to me last week (and has written on several occasions) that he wants to quit drinking. This morning he said that he doesn’t want to quit. I think it’s over, that’s what I think. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon enough. As fast as life flies by it’ll be over and in the past before I can really comprehend why.

What happened to all of his talk of forever? What happened to all of mine? He’s not willing to budge an inch for me. Well, I guess a few inches. I don’t have enough time with him to prove my points to him. I don’t have enough time with him to really understand him, to really understand where our relationship stands.

He hardly ever admits to changing his mind, or tells me that he has changed his mind. It’s always “well I think...” or “I feel...” about whatever it is, and it’s almost always different than the last time. I don’t think I know him as well as I thought I did. I don’t think he wants this as bad as I thought he did.

In the middle of February, when I was the most happy with this relationship if he had threatened to break up with me I would have bent over backwards to change his mind. I would have given up anything, picked up anything, given him more freedoms, done anything but feel the heartbreak surely to come. I see so much of myself in him that I expected him to be the same way. I thought if I expressed that I felt it wasn’t working... If I told him I was having second thoughts... If I made it clear that his actions were upsetting me, depressing me and pushing me away... I thought if I told him those things that he would suddenly be a panic to keep me, the way I would be and have been over him.

I was sorely wrong.

He barely seems to care. I want to say that this is because he hardly shows any emotions, but perhaps it’s because he doesn’t feel things. He says things like “I’m human too you know” but how can I remember that when he hardly shows it?

I don’t believe that I’m not crying right now. That shows how close to the end it really is. I’m already starting to accept my heart cracking down the center. I’m already beginning to accept that I need to find a life outside of him. I’m already accepting the fact that I have to be independent... Some part of me (that I don’t know to well) is preparing for it, some part of me that is wiser than the part of me that has control.

How can I leave him? He’s a good man. He is. He’s a beautiful artist. He’s beautiful in general. He makes good money with his talent. He has worth while goals. He has stamina. I want to say he’s passionate, as I’ve said before, but I’m not sure that word applies so much anymore. I see it more and more as lust and not passion. Passion implies emotions, and deep emotions at that. Oddly I see him more and more as a less emotional being, and more robotic and cruel.

Why do I see that? It’s not even a logical assertion! He’s not violent (like Tre was), he’s not messy (like Tre was), he’s not a drug dealer (like Tre was), and he is logical (like Tre wasn’t)... Or is he logical? I’m having trouble with that one these days too. So have I just scratched off passionate and logical with one blow? That certainly is a lot. If I scratch those off it’s a lot harder to make a good case for him. Have I deluded myself into thinking he’s more than he is?

He did buy me a laptop. He does give me incredible orgasms. Why don’t those things matter in the face of how he speaks to me? I’m so word-oriented. I keep believing his words. Perhaps out of spite for him not believing mine?

I want to sink into being suicidal. I want to declare that my life is over!

I also want to be more mature than that.

So is maturity... Break up? It’s tempting in the way that I wouldn’t have to keep trying to work it out. It’s tempting in that there would never been another screaming fit. Christ! When did breaking up with him become tempting? My love, my future, my plans and attachments are slipping right through my fingers! I’m standing in sand. I’m in quicksand. And I’m sinking, sinking, sinking... Sinking out of love with him?

I feel the beginnings of tears. I don’t want to cry, oddly. I usually can’t wait to cry when I feel like this. Just get it out you know? But I know once I start to cry the little negative voices will chirp up. The ones that say things like, “this is all your fault,” and “it’s because you’re ugly,” and “if you weren’t such a retard, like he said,” and “if you weren’t such a needy baby,” and “you just don’t love him enough,” and “if only you’d just let him drink,” and “maybe you can settle for less,” and “maybe if you change and adapt enough you won’t feel this way,” and “maybe if you were more considerate,” and “maybe if you lost weight,” and “maybe if you gained weight,” and “maybe if you had sex with him more often,” and so on, and so on, and so on!

I’m trying to be rational here. If I keep being rational I can hold those thoughts at bay. Why is this really happening? It’s because I have needs that he can’t satisfy. I want a companion, for several hours a day, (preferably more, but three or four is a good minimum) that will give me affection, talk to me, kiss me, possibly sleep with me (at least once a week, preferably two to five times) and tell me how wonderful I am, (while I tell them how wonderful they are) who will work with me on a project (the actual content of the project not being half as important as the fact that we’re doing it together) and then another project and then another over time and years, who will comfort me if I cry, who will care for me (instead of saying I’m a pussy, or that I’m weak, or that I’m being a typical woman), and who will make me feel special. And at least one day out of the week, (really the minimum is more like two days a week, I guess I made an exception for Crusifer) spends time with me all day long, where we might go out together, where we get dressed together, brush our teeth together, hold hands along a nice walk, wash each other’s faces, take a bath together, clean each other’s toe nails, scratch each other’s heads, watch a good movie, draw together, read together, write together, play video games together...

That’s what I want, most simply put.

He has needs that I can’t satisfy as well. He wants to listen to loud rap music. (It has to be loud, it has to be rap.) In the future he hopes to have his own room far away enough from mine where he can blare his music loud as he wants. (He’ll never understand that I can’t stand it no matter what I say. He won’t believe it. I’m just being a pussy after all. (This is a moment where you’d think I roll my eyes, but rather I’m too upset to stop staring blankly at the screen.))

He also needs his friends. This one is hard to argue with really. Everyone has friends. Everyone but me. And at this point in my life it’s actually my choice. Perhaps I’m so used to not having friends that I’ve become comfortable with it?

It’s occurred to me that his quest to not being enslaved (as he puts it) is leading him to try and enslave me. He told me this morning that men have more say in the relationship, and that is the way it’s always been, and always will be. I tried not to hear him. I was disgusted, but I tried to pretend that he was kidding. He started laughing afterwards, like it was a joke, but it wasn’t a joke. He’s trying to pin me under his thumb. Once I let him listen to his blaring loud rap music, and let him drink, and let him bring friends over, and let him go out with friends, then he’ll be excited to marry me. And then I won’t be interested anymore.

I never thought these issues would escalate. I remember saying to Crusifer, “I can’t imagine what problems we’ll have,” and he replied, “We won’t have any.”

What a naive reply! And how much denial it really shows in him. Or hopefulness?

Perhaps he’s in denial that this isn’t working. Or perhaps he’s just quietly separating himself from me, the way I know I am somewhere deep inside of me. That’s that pain we feel in our chest. I’ve concluded that feeling is the soul ripping apart. My soul is slowly, one tiny spot at a time tearing away from his, and the change in energy is centering in my stomach, making me sway with uneasiness, making my chest vibrate and ache. If I cry, I’ll try to heal the tear inside of me, I’ll try to calm my restless energies. Perhaps I shouldn’t cry yet. I need to keep tearing, tearing, tearing away from a man who wants to control me. A man who wants to party, drink, smoke, blare his rap music and “chill wit da boys.”

I can’t believe my own thoughts! I’m thinking about the fact that I ought to try dating a white guy. I’m thinking about actually trying to find someone else! God help me! Someone help me!

I will. Not. Cry. Yet.

I think I understand something about him now. Why he doesn’t cry. Crying leads you back to safety. I’ll cry my way back into Crusifer’s arms and peacefully forget how I felt, and why I felt that way. Tears lead me back into my emotions, back away from logic, they allow me to let go what I’m holding back right now so that I can analyze.

Right now I need to choose. To pull away from Crusifer, or to try and mend it. Again, again, again. I’ve tried this before. I’ve tried mending it several times. We tried the compromises. Sadly it’s not even what he does at the moment. It’s the things he’s said.

I don’t want to keep being called a retard (even from the same man that calls me a genius – neither of which I am I suppose) and I don’t want to be treated the way I was this morning. The way he cut me off, the way he wouldn’t listen, the way he called me full of shit again.

He’ll never keep his promises, will he? It’s been a year and a half and he’s still drinking, and I’m still a liar, and he still won’t believe that the sound of music is really disturbing enough to matter, and I feel more and more and more alone. I feel so lonely I could burst.

I will. Not. Cry yet. Not yet, not yet, not yet.

He’s been better than Isadora’s Josh. He’s not a big baby. He started off like Isadora’s Bean. (I’m talking about Isadora Wing, from the three-book series by Erica Jong.) He started off making love to me in the most amazing ways. We were sex maniacs together, and after the sex we talked and talked and talked until the mornings. He was understanding. Our pasts related to each other. I understood him in ways he had not been understood before, and he did the same for me. We were so affectionate. Oh how I miss how he used to touch me!

I will not cry yet! Not yet! Not yet!

I miss being happy with him. I miss being sure. I was so fucking sure! I was sure! I wanted nobody but him! I wanted to marry him! I wanted his kids! I did this all over again! All fucking over again! (Not yet!)

Why is this all in past tense? I have not given up, have I? Christ, I’m not even sure about that! Please forgive me for my sins, for I am thinking this isn’t going to work, and I’m thinking that I should cut it off sooner rather than later, and my heart is pounding, and my face is contorted from holding back tears, and my lips are fidgeting, and I’m paralyzed from the neck down aside from my fingers, clacking, taping, jittering, pressing, moving, like spider’s legs across the keyboard, finding the next letter, seeking, searching, searching, searching the way I am for love, for affection, for companionship, for someone to feel the way I feel.

I want him to feel how I feel.

I just want him to fucking feel the way I fucking feel.

I’m degrading, I’m falling apart, my logic is failing me, my heart is burning. I want to curl up in his arms and I want to cry. I want him to tell me I’m beautiful. I want him to tell me he’s sorry. I want to believe that this will work... Will work... Will work... Will work...


Wednesday, April 30th 2008 at 5:42pm


Predictably, I left my entry this morning to sprawl on my bed and cry. I think I wept loudly for about five minutes, quietly for another five, stared at nothingness for around ten minutes and then I decided to focus my entry into the drawing I’m working on. It’s an anime rendition of Crusifer and I together. What I like about the picture most is that it actually looks like Crusifer, and it kinda really looks like me too. Except that we both have big anime eyes, and our heads are rather large for the bodies, and the bodies are longer and thinner, and the necks very thin, especially mine. I love how the picture is coming out.

Crusifer inspires my art time and time and time again. I don’t want to give up, but I also don’t want to “waste” my time with him. Not that I really believe it’s a waste, because after all we’re learning from each other (from the negative and the positive experiences). I still have hope for our relationship, but this morning was another punch to the tit. Telling me that I was full of shit again really socked it to me. And then bringing up the music thing again... Telling me the man should have the say in the relationship... Telling me that I shouldn’t go take a college class because one class is useless and a waste of money. Telling me that I’m spending all his money and preventing him from saving. Telling me he’s not very sure about marrying me, at all. And the real whopper, he doesn’t want to quit drinking, and doesn’t plan on it. He said that he wrote that he wanted to quit because I got the idea in his head, implying that I clouded his judgement. (As if beer doesn’t cloud one’s judgement...)

I’ve considered all the possibilities that I can, and I’ve come to a conclusion. I will take the summer college course (sculpting – mostly because that is the only art course there was that was at a somewhat reasonable hour and that sounded interesting enough and was at an entry level) and I will soon have my bike in the mail. When my bike arrives I will bike to and from work with Crusifer, which may improve our relationship, or it may not. Either way, I’ll get exercise and see the outdoors and will be exploring another possible area of our relationship. That would add another hour onto the amount of time we spend together each and every day that I bike with him to and from work. In addition, taking the course will give me something else to learn about, something else to focus on, and somewhere new to meet new people interested in similar things.

Another measure I’m taking is that I’m halting all the wedding and children talk. The man I saw this morning was absolutely not the man I’m going to marry. This morning did serious damage to my opinion of him, and this time I think the damage is more permanent than before. Previously I’ve been able to forgive him, to let him redeem himself with promises and kisses. I won’t take promises and kisses as redemption for the things he said to me this morning. I will not marry a man who drinks, no matter how little, or how often. It’s a disgusting habit and if he can’t kick it for me then I’m obviously not worth it to him, thus making him not worth it to me.

I’m in no hurry to get out of this relationship, and at the moment I don’t even feel like I’m in a hurry to have kids and get married. I’m in no hurry to do anything in my love life at all. At the moment it’s functional, though somewhat upsetting at times. If I drop the marriage talk, the drinking talk, the kids talk, and an assortment of my other complaints about video games and people and such, then perhaps the arguing will stop, and perhaps things can mend from there. Perhaps biking with him will rekindle something between us that I feel is dying. Does he feel this way about to me too? I really believe that he does, based on the things he’s said and done. He just doesn’t seem committed, or sure that he wants this for himself, and that alone is enough to make me wonder if I’m with the wrong man.

I’m not putting him on some sort of trial, and I’m not going to test him. I don’t believe that he’s going to change. I’m going to push myself to socialize and find new avenues for myself this summer.

I’m going to try to adapt. If I can’t adapt, then I guess that’s that.

You know what really makes me sick though? I don’t feel like he’s really truly tried to do this my way, even under threat of breaking up. Perhaps February was a fluke and he was really just rushing home because it was cold. The back-rubs have stopped. The giddy cuddling is down below the minimum required for sanity in my life. The conversations become more and more argumentative and less and less productive (or even funny or thoughtful.) He doesn’t compliment me half as much as he used to. I get a “you look cute today” in a standard tone, with his standard admiration look... Sometimes he’s not even looking at me when he says it.

Oh, and I forgot the other sock to my guts he gave me last night. He brought up us having a girlfriend... After all this time of having dropped the subject, after ruling it out, after mutually deciding that it would ruin our relationship he brought it up again. I don’t really think it’s that bad that he brought it up, really. I mean, so it’s a nice fantasy and all, but it’s just so impossible to bring to reality, and if it did become reality I know we’d breakup over it. How do I know? I can imagine it clearly now... I know my jealousy better now...

I can see this pretty white girl, blond most likely, sitting on his lap while he’s at his computer. (I’m imagining this in print here, for the benefit of future recollection of my point.) He let’s her distract him from his computer (the way he would get mad at me for doing) and they kiss and kiss and kiss (the way we did when we were a new couple) and they sleep together often (making me feel out of place, jealous and angry and neglected) and she leaves most of the day, comes home when he does, and then they’re all over each other again, talking, laughing... It wouldn’t work unless I loved her too, unless she loved me too. Chances of that? Zilch.

Just thinking about it makes my blood boil. I want him to behave that way towards me again, not watch him behave the way towards a new woman!

I want his love and affection and attention so bad that I’m a wreak. I’m so blasted lonely in here that I could just set myself on fire. (That would take more guts than I really have.)

I’ve been working every single day towards getting that office done in the back. And it’s coming along quite well, as I’ve said before. It’s a good project to keep me distracted. All the boxes of books are out of there. All of the boxes of papers I have sorted through (tossing 90% of it – magazines and pamphlets and other text not written by either of my parents). I kept the stuff that had their signatures or handwriting and carefully filed it into a bin. The materials for my binders about my parents that I will create in the future.

All the tools I found I put in one box. I painted over the plain soot-covered shelves that the boxes had been on. The shelves are built into what is usually the knee-wall. They’re on both sides of the soon-to-be office. On the one side I’ve finished painting them black and there is the CD player, cleaning supplies, the bin full of old papers, trash bags, an assortment of now-empty binders, a box of reader’s digest magazines (from the late 80s and early 90s) and the box of tools.

The office project brings me closer to making Crusifer more comfortable and happy with our arrangement. He’ll probably be able to play music on the whole opposite end of the attic while I’m on the bed if there is a fan going in between, which there will be in the summer time. That would allow him music time on Sundays. I’m not too happy about not being with him during any part of our time together in the house, but then again, I’m obviously not happy about a lot of things, so compromises of any kind are helpful at the moment.

I’m not going to tell him about how I feel about this morning. I can’t really see the point. He knows what I want from him. He’ll notice that the chain I gave him (where he puts his engagement ring) is missing along with the bracelet, and promise ring are missing. He’ll notice that I won’t talk of marriage or kids anymore. It’s clear enough, just like it’s clear that I’m not his ideal wife either.