Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Just when it was all looking up, a bird flew by

I lifted my eyes toward the sun; its rays shone down on me as I tilted my head toward it to receive its blessing. All seemed right and well - the clouds were gone, darkness melted away, and just as I relaxed and allowed myself to receive its beauty openly, a raven swooped down from the heavens and crapped on my head.


I feel like I have been under a lot of pressure to be the perfect mix of lover and friend, and I think I'm being judged - a lot. I've been walking on egg shells, and I still manage to hurt the people I care most about. Is it that I need to change, or that the climate around me is changing? The things I used to understand to be kosher are now inappropriate, but I need some explanation, some clarity before I can proceed down a different road. That fucking road is bumpy and dusty, and yet it's challenging and fresh. Truth be told, minus the flowers and pomp, I'm scared to death. I'm afraid that I've found something worth fighting for; ghosts, history, fear, walls don't belong in this scenario. But how does one rid herself of these unappealing features, when nobody is gently reminding her that she doesn't need to use them anymore? All that's happening is that the walls are slowly building themselves back up, one shovel full of mortar and one layer of brick at a time. I can almost hear the scrape of it as it grows, stone upon stone. And somehow I feel bound, powerless to stop it like the archetypal maiden in distress. Cinderella didn't have abusive exes, or a history that would instill disgust into any slithering tabloid journalist. I mean, who actually believes that shit? Some days, it's certainly not me who believes - but worse, I know it. I now it because it's been burned white-hot into the very marrow of my bones.

But truth be told, that's my story. My story is on the shelf, too unbelievable to be read seriously. Therefore, I have a lot of baggage, and all I know how to do is be one of the guys. Nobody was ever really interested in getting to know that other side - the one who dreams, and hopes, and plans how she'll fall in love, or come to see a lover as a true life partner. She dreams of romance, and of her love requiting the feeling and embracing every one of her failures, and every one of her shortcomings, just as she would of his. She is the girl who sits in the middle of a field, or in a glade listening to the sounds of nature, oblivious to the fact that I'm even around in their neck of the neighborhood. She is the girl who attempts to write the lyrics to what she hears buzzing around her. She's the girl who finds romance in a touch, the way a blade of grass allows itself to be caressed by her hand as a spring breeze breathes around her. She's the girl with her leather bound notebook empty because she hasn't yet decided which story to tell today. This girl is waiting for her prince to come, but most of the time he's out drinking with his buddies, and fails to see these other qualities. So then she deconstructs, becomes that tough, run of the mill chick who is simply one of the guys.

I feel like every time I reach out to open myself up to the sun, to show it who I really am and what I'm capable of if properly nurtured, I get burned. Cliche, yes. I need nurture. I need nature. I need love, unconditional. I need clarity. I need to hear, and to listen to what he has to say. What is his heart telling him? How far up or down are his walls? Does he feel like I do, that we need to talk things through, and shift gears into something more smooth and less bumpy and unpleasant. To what degree does he want me to change? To what degree do I want to change him? Truth be told, I want to be let in on his little secrets - I want to know why he's been changing on a dime lately. And why everything I do irks him. Everything I do irks him, and that makes me feel like less than someone special. It makes me feel small, unimportant and unworthy. Does he know he's doing that to me? He's been tightly wound, stressed, looking down on me, and then snuggling with me until I think I'm the only person in his world. It's the looking down on me, and not treating me in a romantic way (i.e. having a real date?) When we're together, his attention seems to be all on me, but something is missing. I want to start at square one, then proceed. Right now I feel like I'm focusing every ounce of attention I have, just to keep my head above water, and to stop the smatter, scrape and push of mortar and brick from enveloping me completely.