I want

E: In my own case, the feeling manifests as a call to something ancient, it feels like, in my marrow...I want to chant the saga of my fathers and their fathers before them, I want to carve my own tale on the pages of the world and shout a battle cry into a wall of enemy shields; I want to slay giants and woo the noblewomen of Faerie...I want to shout at the stars that I exist, and call on the gods to witness my deeds, and at the end of it all, I want my own people to sing of me for generations.


A: I want to tell my younger self that I will make it far away from him. I want to tell her not to wish the seconds and minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years away. I want to tell her not to trust her mother no matter how tempting it is. I want to tell her she is worth it. I want to tell her that she deserves better and to never forget it, even when it feels like she won't get it.

No one does it like you.

(But I tried so hard.)

Just talking to her

Some days, like today

I have so much pent-up sexual energy it feels like there is a constant porn film playing in the background of my head. Good God. Is this what it's like to be a man?

Snippets

"I don't want you to hate me," he said, stifling a sob. I put my arms around him.

"I don't hate you," I replied. "I love you."

* * * * * *

"Why can't you talk to ME!?" she shouted. "What kind of crazy fuck goes to a shrink?!"

* * * * * *

"You need to fight for yourself. Fight for yourself like I know you would fight for me," she said tearfully.

* * * * * *

"Even after all those years and all those hard times, my heart still beat faster when I heard his footsteps on the stairs," she said, a far-off look in her eyes.

* * * * * *

"I'm leaving him and he knows I'm leaving him," she typed to me.

* * * * * *

"I think it would be really something to know you," she said shyly, standing at the entrance of my cubicle.

* * * * * *

"I came to see you," he corrected. "I know you're moving to San Francisco and I thought you might like someone to go with you." Hope was written on his face.

"I have someone I'm going with," I said gently. His face fell.

* * * * * *

"I know it sounds boring, but I think it's the boring things I remember most," he said wistfully.

* * * * * *

"When I'm with you I remember things better and when I look at you it feels like home," she cried desperately. "You can't go!"

Tonight

Tonight I'm singing the blues in dark, smoky jazz club. I will saunter across the stage as my voice reaches out to the lonely souls in the room. In between songs I'll toss back some whiskey--it adds to the sultry, huskiness of my voice--and tell stories of loss and longing. Then with a nod of my head, the band behind me will strike up the next song, and we will play late into the night.

Or, I could just do laundry.

10 things that are true.

1. It means a lot that she still writes to me.
2. I can't open that box.
3. I tried to take care of you.
4. I didn't take care of myself.
5. I miss having a grandpa.
6. She inspired me to sign up.
7. I am intimidated by the suddenness.
8. I can't stop imagining horrific crashes of cars and planes when I drive.
9. She walked across the bridge with me to help me feel less afraid.
10. French onion Sun Chips are best.

It will be like AA...

...only different! I feel liberated.

"I don't mind saying..."

"...you were my garden." And I still water what is left.

All mixed up in the wash, hot water bleeding our colors

My best friend is here, and it is heavenly. Cindy and cooked chili for lunch yesterday, and then went out for Eritrean last night. We lay in bed talking before we went to sleep; there's something so cozy about laying in the dark with a close friend chatting away.

I will censor no longer!

I hate my job.

I love my medication.

And that day in the band room? I knew. I posed. I was fully aware of what I was doing. So sue me.