Love letters... 2

I've been thinking about you all day. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, actually. After that first moment of grogginess and mental cursing of the alarm clock this morning, I was thinking about how plesantly you surprised me last night. It's been going through my mind when I am not actively focused on things like the lesson I'm explaining to students or trying not to trip over the random crap left thrown in the halls.

I suppose I am doing a decent job of hiding how distracted I've been today. I wasn't so distracted that it was dangerous for me to drive home after work. I'm not so distracted that I am unable to sit here and type this little note to you. But, I wasn't really listening to the other women I eat lunch with gossip about the television shows. I didn't really pay too much attention to how the social buzz in the hallway changes as the day progresses in the school. I kept thinking about you.

The one thing that continued to run through my mind was the feeling of your lips on my skin and the sound of your voice as you whispered to me. It still makes me shiver and my heart pound. I'm not sure what more to say with out proving embaressing.

A point of contemplation - restraint...

Working in a spirit of restraint, I find ecstacy. I live in the moments of freedom where I am bound, body straining, lungs heaving and mental focus is a torture. The task of self discipline, self mastery becomes spiritual in that place of lust. Even as the ecstasy of letting go comes to me, my barriers are torn away and I'm left more pure, more genuine me. My masks, behind which I hide, are shattered, molded to fit a different form then mine.

I find freedom in having the self discipline broken, that sweet release of pure energy. For the art of the spiritual lies in it's paradox.

Oh, submission, that is another joy I find such delight in it. To give myself fully to another. To honor myself with the gift of one who is worthy of me. For in giving myself to them and their acceptance, I find I am recieving them. There is something sacred in the gift of each other that two people make in the bedroom. It is not mearly lust that spurs this gift on but some sacred duty. This duty is to love and be loved in return.

Sex is but a natural progression of this love. Yest, I know there are other ways to describe and aspire to show this burgeoning love. For love is an emotion and the human mind can convey emotion in an infanite array of ways, not all using the human body. But love, why is it so sacred? what makes it so holy? why is it a gift, a thing most precious. Just as we all need food and shelter to live and be healthy, so too do we need human contact and love to do so.

It is a rare soul that can live as an aescetic and alone. These hardy souls are voyagers into the place of spirit that few venture to. For their chosen companion is themselves. That is not my place. i love the warm circle of my husband's arms far too much to give it up and be alone. I strive, however, to succeed alone. I struggle to adapt myself to the silence of an empty room and the presence of only myself, not one stick of furniture or bare flickering of a candle. But it is hard. Such places of silence do exist, but rare is the mood that brings me there.

The white silence of fury brings me there. I have come to fear that place because warm compassion does not seem to exist, only cold logic and lightning's power. Some day, I shall yet master it. Fear is no man's friend, not when it is your master. Yet, when you strive to conqure it and take it into you as a part o yourself, your soul, fear becomes a wise counselor, warning you of dangers and ill consequences.

Love letters... 1

I wrote this yesterday as I was waiting for you. I suspect that you will probably read it at work. And I suspect that it will be the least potentially offensive item seen on a computer screen around those parts. :) That said, I hope it doesn't make you blush too much.

********* Love Letter no. 1 *********
All I can think about is how much I want you. My body aches for your touch. The wamrth of your voice as you see my tears of fustration slides more seductively over my senses then the finest of silks. I crave you like an addiction. every inch of my flesh cries out for your touch just as every fiber of my soul screams to surrender to you.

Again and again, we go through this tortured, treasured ritual of devotion. By submitting to you, I come home to myself. In accepting my surrender, I can see peace returning to your soul.

Just a note...

[deleted]

We discussed this last night.

You're right, I do need to stop torturing myself.

Gods, I hope I figure out how.

Productive... maybe, let's not get too hasty in labling this.

My progress today on gifts for Christmas/Yule:

1. My paternal Grandfather's book on Aviation
2. Youngest neices's toy kitties
3. Husband's aunt's flavored vinegars & oils
4. Husband's other aunt's dried chilies & cinnamon & flavored vinegar
5. Sister-in-law's bath spa set
6. Mother-in-law's bath spa set
7. Mom's roosters
8. Husband's Grandmother's framed photo of us
9. My maternal Grandmother's framed photo of us
10. My paternal Grandmother's windchimes

all complete

To be completed:

1. Brother's roll up tool kit
2. Neice's heart pillow
3. Copies of photo CDs, with lables for 23 ppl (approx.)
4. Framed photos for 7 people
5. Mini-photo album for my father
6. Brother's painting of daughters
7. Altar cloth for Stargazer
8. Mini-sampler for friend
9. Calligraphy for friend
10. Sister-in-law's scrapbooking supply case
11. Neice's lap quilt
12. Cookies & candies for 15 ppl (approx.)
13. Book of poems for Mom
14. Fabric doll for neice

It may be that I'm half way through the making of things and purchasing of things at this time, but it doesn't feel that way. :p Good thing I've got an organized list of how hubby can help with this. If we're lucky, we can swing this with out having to actually go out shopping. A little later, I'll be taking on the challenge of sending out roughly 60 holiday cards...

I need to purchase some printable lables for addressing. I think I'll be typing up a holiday letter to stick into each card rather then writing a note in each. Make it less of a problem with writer's cramp.

Tomorrow, however, in the morning, I need to make that pumpkin pie. Here's hoping that goes well.

Some days, I know too much....

This was in response to another person's comment about murder.

Now, I'm of two minds on how to respond to this. On one hand, I find myself thinking that murderers are among the lowest forms of life upon this earth, especially those of this particular nature. I'm, however, biased in this stance, due to the fact that my Uncle was murdered by a student of his. As a result of my bias, I hold murderers in a high degree of contempt and revile them as a lower class of being then rapists or violent pedophiliacs.

The other thought that I have is how a person who operates like that would engage in such things is because they viewed it as the fastest route to accomplish some goal. Perhaps it was wealth, perhaps it was the elimination of a person whom you believed was a rival on the verge of destroying your efforts. I could think up many different possible motives for such an act. To commit murder, especially an act of murder that is not blatently obvious as a crime comitted in high passion, one must beable to separate themselves from their victims. There needs to be a sufficent breach between the concepts of "person" and "thing" that your former friend is now worth less to you then a dog.

Such individuals are frequently described in the media as sociopaths or psychopaths, but it's not an accurate description of the psychological "problem" at play here. It's actually a form of anti-social disorder. Anti-social disorder doesn't mearly mean that you have a strong vein of misanthropy but that you can not identify at all with the social group, in this case. Usually, the killers who have such a form of anti-social disorder also have some form of meglomania. I think it is a way that the ego/mind/brain (what ever damn term you want) compensates for the radical and unhealthy split that is present there.

These people have two different general groups that they come in. One is a very suave and seemingly socially sophisitacated, where as the other is the sterotypical serial killer who lives off in the boonies with their rusty axe, waiting to snap and kill all people in a 30 mile radius. The schisim that is observed in most muderers who have anti-social disorder is a result of an early childhood psychological trauma. It's frequently traced to some form of problems with: gender indentification, sexual orientation identification, or pathological abuse by another. They may or may not have a history of violence that is to an extent that it is recorded in public record by way of police reports.

More often then not, however, it is usually such that the violence is expressed in means that are easily hidden or explained away in childhood. "Boys will be boys." or "Oh, they all go through that phase." As these people grow into maturity, they realize that the tendancies that they have are not such that would allow them to function well in society. This serves to further alienate them and widen the breach between "people" and "things" in their minds. From what I've been able to determine in my research, it's about the age of late teens early 20s that this thought pattern (which initally was a defense mechanisim for coping with the childhood trauma) is finally completed and entrenched in the mind.

Then, you have the development of the two groups of killers. One group will say "fuck it, these mongrels can't handle it, then too damn bad." They continue to satisfy the violent urges, which usually are either compulsive efforts to ease some form of psychological angst or reinactment of the childhood trauma. These ones become the sterotypical axe murderer in the woods.

The others work to hide their tendancies in a fustrated effort to work with society at large. They will either express their tendancies via fantasies and through vicarious living in violent media/graphic materials/literature or through the subtle continuation of their earlier methods. Unfortunately, in either group, they become resistant to the earlier method of assuaging the growing fixation upon sadisim and need to become more elaborate to satisfy the psychological "need".

In many respect, the act of killing is just another way to get a fix for their need. This person may have been some one who kicked the dog, beat his wife, and eventually graduated to murder because of the growing compulsion. Unfortunately, this "need" is a fustrated attempt to address something that can be resolved via psychotherapy and can be overcome or rechanneled into more .... constructive outlets.

Now, tell me... am I delving too deeply for character development?

Eulogy for a Stranger

This is a eulogy for a man whom I have barely met. This is a man whom the sanctimonious prayer-mongers will forget. A face seen in a crowd, a chance association, one who will not be mourned when he is gone for they never realized his vibrancy. I met him recently in the midst of doing the most heroic thing most un-heroically, living.

His head was bowed with some hidden grief and I simply could not pass by. I looked at him and saw a companion soul torn by misery's twin sister, despair. I strived to act upon the natural compassion in my heart. Listening to my intuition, I gave him the rough equivalent of child's friendship gift with the words that it would help. Some time passed and I did not see him. I still thought of this somber, suffering man and voiced a silent prayer for him each time.

Now, I have seen my stoic friend again. I have learned that he is dying. My heart was wrenched with grief beyond words. This vibrant, witty man whom shone with a light of fascination even in the depths of horror and heartbreak ... this valiant soul would soon no longer be walking the earth with us. It was with a smile to ease the horror and grief that most obviously shone in my face that he said that he was not afraid.

It was something he had to say three times until I understood it. He wasn't afraid. Indeed, in his face, I saw only peace. He was accepting it, living with it as we would the rain. That is what gave me courage. Even now, he walks among us but not, a figure of anonymity, and sheer courage unparalleled by any I have met. In our friendship, how ever brief it shall be, I have this one regret, that I don't know your name.

All I can add is this:

Thank you, my friend, and when it is time to rest, be at peace. All the world's sorrows will no longer plague you and you shall abide at the place of love, if no where else, then in my own heart. Blessed be, my brother, let us all live with your courage.

sore and sleepy

Well, my back is still kinda stiff from the exercizing I did yesterday.

It's a good thing I exercized. It's a bad thing I'm so damn out of shape. I suppose the fact that I did laundry and hefted the clothes down stairs and up did me some good. I just don't feel like it.

It's the feeling like you've been beaten with a broomstick wrapped in towels or something simmilar. The muscles ache down deep inside but only when you move them a certian way or exercize them for a little too long. My back is kinda weak due to my poor posture, so my exercizes and efforts to maintain correct posture have given me a sore back today.

I still miss my honey, but he'll be home soon. His flight is within the next few hours and then tomorrow morning he's home. I'm still rather tired, but I only got 3.5 hours of sleep last night. Perhaps I will wake up to him walking into the bedroom. That'd be wonderful.

All of that said, I think I'll slack on putting the laundry away and washing dishes until the morning and go to bed.

no inspired title today

I feel a mixture of diappointment, sorrow, and hope. The disappointment is due to the fact that in many respect my birthday was a bust. I was looking forward to a romantic dinner, flowers, and some personal time with my husband. Life happened and I sort of got one out of three.

The responsible adult in me says that I can't really be too upset. Part of this is what I got for saying "Sure, he can have dinner with us." and part of it is just that life threw us all a curve ball. Getting ready at the last minute for a trip across the country that you found out about that afternoon can make any guy's day crazy. When it happens on a particularly busy day that is also your wife's birthday, it just makes you feel like a complete heel. But, that was what happened, and I felt pity for his boss being told he had to fend for himself for dinner last night.

End result of this is: Hubby didn't have time to get me flowers, though he really wanted to. Dinner was excellent, the restaraunt was plesant, but the guys talked shop in an attempt to ease their nervousness about this trip. Walmart didn't help us much for two reasons. 1. It had to be designed by some one that has no concept of how people shop. Everything was impossible to find easily, thus I wasted 2 hours of my life in high heels wandering around that store searching for what seemed like 4 hours. 2. The customer service desk's concept of customer service is "we're too lazy, do it your damn self." I'm pretty sure that my dear husband will be ranting about that in the near future.

As my husband was forced to repeat the 2 hour search for required items, after a 20 min game of listening to hold music as the customer service desk mocks you, I packed his suitcase and got everything ready for this morning. I fell asleep at 1:20 in the morning. He got home close to 3 am, only to have to wake up roughly 3.5 hours later. I'm amazed he actually woke up. Though I wonder if he actually slept, because he seemed rather nervous about this meeting.

I feel sorrow because of the fact that he had to go out to the otherside of the nation in a flying tincan held up in the air by a reinforced plank with a gas tank and motors attached. I don't worry about airplanes much, but because of my ever present anxiety that the people I love will be taken out of my life by a sadistic or amoral/insane diety, I worry. It doesn't help that I have a fairly good understanding of what happens when there is a catastrophic failure of equipment on an aircraft. Any person knows the answer to that, you don't even need complicated mathematics or much understanding of physics to do it. What goes up, will come down. The question is how controlled the descent is and how fast is it.

I'm sad because he's far away fom me and will be until some time late afternoon/early evening Friday. I'm anxious because he's far away from me and I can't reassure myself at the end of the day that he's ok. It's a huge anxiety problem that I usually don't have to think about because I see him everyday and there's not a lot of threats to our relationship. It may be that we'll drive each other crazy and lead to mutually assured destruction, but aside from that, I think we're ok.

The hope is from the children I work with. On my birthday, they threw me a surprise birthday party complete with cake and card. Both of which they had made themselves. These kids range from profoundly mentally retarded to severely learning disabled but functionally normal. The child who has been skipping school actually came into school to wish me a happy birthday that day as well. It was a delightful surprise, even more so when he showed up at school today. Who knows, maeby he will actually come to school on a regular basis. We'll see.

And then there was today, where one of the high functioning mentally retarded children tried out for cheerleading. I know, it sounds like a disaster in the making, but it actually went really well. She completely botched 90% of the routine that they did for the tryouts, but that was due to her disorder. And she was the loudest of the cheers and completely spot on for that. The physical therapist thinks we can help her with the simple routines and I think that'd be great for her. But this isn't what gives me hope for mankind. It was the fact that *all* of the girls trying out for the squad were offering her words of encouragement and doing everything they could to help her out. Not just at the tryouts but all of the last week and a half that they were getting ready for them.

It warms my heart when I see instances like that.

I think I'll end this on a happy note and make a much needed phone call. Stargazer, I hope this brightens your day a little bit, because I know the earlier portion probably didn't.

Some whining about my birthday.

Yeah, I've been doing alot of it of late. It's oddly helping me to whine on here, so I'm not going to apologize.

My birthday is coming up. Just like my darling husband wants to have people make a big deal over his birthday but refuses to admit it, I suppose I feel the same way. I'm just embaressed by it. I mean, I'm a grown woman and almost 30. I shouldn't be wanting something foolish like a surprise party or an ice cream cake or something. Most of the time, that's something that little kids are looking forward to and they eventually grow out of that phase.

Not that those are what I'm precicely hoping for down in the heart of hearts. It's just the first thing that popped to mind because it was something that I wanted at one point when I was younger. This does revolve around my childhood because of one simple fact. Each and every birthday party I had after the age of 3 sucked, with the exception of probably two or three.

When my 16th birthday rolled around, I was hoping for possibly getting flowers in school like the other girls did. That didn't happen. I was hoping for a big dinner with my favorite food and maeby a party with quite a few friends and a cake. That didn't happen either. It was a dinner out at the local cafeteria style buffet restaraunt and a party that had my immediate family and my boyfriend there. Not the sweet sixteen party that I was hoping for.

The let down of my 16th birthday is really a pretty good description for most of my birthday parties. It doesn't help that I felt obligated to go because most of my family was expecting me to and they didn't really want to be there themselves. I was over joyed that my 18th birthday happened at college. That way I didn't have to deal with yet another sad, drawn out ordeal of familial obligation. My 21st birthday was another birthday that I was glad to have at college.

My family are generally prudes when it comes to alcohol and would have sneered at my drinking anything, even if they were too polite to do so openly. The only downsides of my birthday that year was:

1. Being made to watch Debbie Does Dallas. I can't stand porn, but it was a bit of a gag among the girls.

2. Being too broke to go out and actually do something with the group.

3. Having to study for an exam the next morning.

When I finally got home from college, I dreaded when November came along. I did not want to suffer through another birthday party where people felt like they were being dragged there. I delt with that from the age of 8 until I was 17. Roughly ten years of feeling obligated and disappointed didn't do me much good to look forward to my birthday.

So... if you're one of my local friends, here's what I'm hoping for (not that I'm expecting it because I self-sabotaged by not saying anything before now).

1. A surprise party.
2. Great food (pasta is always a win with me) and a bottle of red wine.
3. Music and everyone having fun.
4. People actually happy to be there and to see me.

I recognize that my birthday is on next tuesday and it's no time to do anything fun. Never mind the headache of election day, it's tuesday. Work days to either side of it, and we all need to be up in the morning. Fun is right out. So.. thanks for listening to my whining and maeby we could do something for next year.

To my friends that are out of town, thanks for listening to me whine.

And to everyone, thanks for giving a damn. It means alot to me. I don't worry about getting older, just about people no longer caring about me. I'd be crushed if all of you suddenly stopped caring or it was revealed that your affection for me was a sham. It matters more to me that you care then making up for my rather sad childhood birthday parties.

look, i'm an author.

http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Ok, Stargazer, I'm going to give this a shot.

Who knows, maeby it will revive my flagging spirits for the fantasy novel I'm working on.

We'll see.