Fun With Shelley.

To ----

One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it;
One hope is too like despair
For prudence to smother,
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love,
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the Heavens reject not,--
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?


Obvs, the fine Master Bysshe, taking back and marking time with a favourite poem of mine from my teenage years.

(this entry is inspired by the fact that i've been fiddling the last two lines of this in my head for a bit. the devotion, the far, the sorrow, it's flickering a little, in an angst-ridden way. and then i looked up the poem and re-read it. i liked it, deeply in the past, but now, older, and far more cynical, it seems less romantic, and more of a cop out. this rant is not about you, anyone, it's about my own irritation... as with last entry. general disillusionment, a little less magic realism now covers the world... snow melting, and the grass is dead under it.)


i can't remember, exactly, which of Shelley's passing fancies inspired this. he was a wanderer, and constantly strayed around mary, as though she was a flagpole, one hand upon her, swinging in circles, circles, her the stable, but in love with the romance of time, those fleeting moments, oh, i cannot have you and i shall weep, weep, weep, at the melancholy of it all. i shall let my soul be wrecked in torment, poetic mistress, as i cavort, and you, my love, shall watch patient at this.

of course, as a teenager, it merely was a good poem to cement adolescent angst over my teenage crush on brent. (now married to a lovely good christian girl, excellent), then niftily i could transfer the feelings to these words to hannah, my divine, large handed actress. then finally, the buck was passed to max, my shelleyan love, born on the same day, unable to swim, and adoring of parallels between his life and that of bysshe, (only without the 'free love' polyamoury).

i hated being a distant goddess - this is the situation my first relationship put me in. this poem leaves a bitter taste now. i can recall it from memory, shelley is the only poet with which i can do this. i enjoy his rhythm. i want to argue shelley verses keats verses byron. i never want a lover who hasn't read at least one of the three.

the idea that shelley is unable to love this woman, that she is impossible, that his desire for her is pointless and endless and spirals up like moths fluttering at little flickers in the sky, that the night that never reaches the sun, that the rays can never be it, and that they are in fact, in their nature, impossible; it's a cop-out, fucker.

'the passion' is my favourite re-write of the romantics - fiction, but retold from the perspective of the women, embroiled with their selfish, and emotionally ignorant lovers. did shelley ask the woman in the poem (i think this is the one entrenches in the top of a cloister somewhere, she's sixteen or something, i dunno, memory is not serving me well right now) whether she yearned to be loved like a few scales falling of a moth's wing? what is it that 'men call love' shelley, and what makes you above this, this time: your flighty ambitions? your invisible dreams? your romance romance let me have these words and suck them dry from the orange, the citrus staining the corners of my mouth and stinging any small cracks in the lips? what's the use of poetry when ahhh, you are just an impossible flight to the stars, and the moth? does it know what a star is? does it care? it's misguided. it doesn't see a star. it sees something, and it is misguided, and it's directionless, and it too will die fast, flattened against the earth, under the tread of someone's shoe, or pinned to a board. little moth, your devotion is nothing. it's misplaced biology.

party hard....

lazy afternoon park dozing, with my amazingly great leather (sorry, cow, but it was at LEAST third hand, and a present...) jacket.

maybe not so late. i hadn't had much sleep! really! dozy dozy!

i am not sure what exactly it is that i have eaten in the last 48 hours that has caused my stomach to hate me, with a profound, badly stinking gaseous passion. but whatever it is, god, people, stay a good ten feet away. be glad loyal readers, and regular IP addresses (HI ON.NET.AU, damn you were up early, rise and shine with the birdies, singing away, 5 am?? i bet you slept alone, surely no one with a lover and a warm soft bed and arms and gentle giggles in the evening would be reading my blog so early, god, you think i write in here so constantly because i'm HAPPY with my life?) that you are kept distant through a screen and fiber optic cables. despite my (dubious) physical temptations (yes, i lose contact/one on one time with people due to mere presence ah lament) it's better to be further when the air flows like This, my dears.

my desk at work is now immaculate (by my standards). i feel my Expressing of Interest for work in another section has fallen to dust, oh i rise about my station, don't i, little bigmouth strikes again...

Like love we don't know where or why,
Like love we can't compel or fly,
Like love we often weep,
Like love we seldom keep.

WH Auden (tail end of poem keep in context remove it, repeat it, replay it, love and law and poetry - these are the things that Kill me... i could go for a walk where it's quiet and dry, oh talk to me of precious things....)

i lost my faith in (womanhood?)? in general? ah we put our faith in love and it is misguided, really. we need retreat into logic, but that often sickens me, callous logical cause and effect, i know this on hearing words chopped out of mouths, even ones i've kissed, i hear those words of cautious clarity, of stunted sense, of searching for biological fitting partners, and i know this is not me, at all, ever, and that at heart, i am not a logical creature... i've just taken refuge in it, because my heart always leans me into circles and grabs an arm behind my back, throws me face down on to the floor and surrenders up a list before me :

darling heart and romance
contextual generation
some wierd mix of words i don't think you understand (this is numerous times over)
nothing blank no chance
i cannot kiss you because then i may love you; but i can make love to you, inside inside you, breathe on my neck, please, you god, you empty hungry ghost, take me ....

i get these lists and answers and i am not a logical creature. i want flesh and blood, and hand over hand. i want that madness.

home. someone is in my kitchen...

COOKING FOR ME!

being cooked for in exhange for... fucking anything is worth it. especially N cooking, which is excellent cooking. DELICIOUS cooking. vegetarian galore cooking. bunny is glowering on the floor, a little rocking thumpy bunny.

we are outfitting kitchen - and i am moving rooms - this will be painful, but necessary. i can Do It. go team! money is surprisingly stable at the moment, spending is being responsible. house full of food, and warmth, and good things. buns running around merrily, pooping more than a little... (bless you urine off - small animals - i use it very much now...) running and running and RUNNING and jumping onto the POO COUCH which is a happy place for them... especially big bunny who loves nothing more than pooping all over it.

i am optimistic that the two buns are going to be Friends soon, we'll introduce them, and with n's help, they will love each other Very Much.

we are trying to work out how to turn on my oven.. i think we succeeded! we also have BANDAID's! and toilet paper! let the house training process begin!
win!

soon, i will be as useful as the bunnies! MORE useful!

also cleaned desk at work today. v. constructive. go team. oh! tea! i want tea! so will have tea. and CUPCAKES! n. bought CUPCAKES! there is a lot of win in my happy little haus tonight. the Haus of Lizards and Bunnies just gets warmer every day! and reading, reading, more reading, little paintings, must do another one... yes... what of, a cow maybe, wander wonder wonder... or BUNNIES. or people... many things. was thinking of doing some marlene dumas paintings on little canvases.

only one twitch today, it was not too bad either, fairly balanced thoughts, movin' it along, goodly every daily movin, yes you are ok now, i am a bird, now. little bird has wings i think! no, i do! i do !!
and little bunny is lying, snuggled against the couch... all is good.

i have watched this two and a half times in the last few days

this is a movie which is very special to me - cousin n. bought down a copy. the above you tube clip is but a small fragment of its glory.

i am not sure if the music in this short excerpt is not good enough to do it justice, really....

so many emotions flood me when i watch it. i laugh. i cry. i feel human.
i want a remake. i want to DO the remake.

oh yeah, it's me birthday!

photos first.

reflection later. i might get something out, i am not sure, some sort of idea of how i feel, buzzed a little, exhausted, too little sleep, warmer, i remember that warmth, that feeling of not sleeping alone is closer now, after two nights of warmth again. that different warmth - loveless sounds harsh, but is the closest i come - and it was a reminder, a remembering that i will and can get on with things, so much clearer than any other focus can, and done better than with some random stranger. i remember that i have solved nothing, but just remembered that my head is cleared. the first sexual experience post breaking up with someone you intently love is hard, for me. it breaks my heart a little, i shatter a little, because THIS was something i only wanted to do with my lover. it was the place where i felt most intently, powerfully, beautifully, sacredly loved. when i love someone intently, and our physical expressions of this take a really profound form, something that's only happened to me in my four relationships, and one time with a friend who i love, and oh god, that one was hard to recover from... i find the first movement backwards, the first time again, the first physicality with someone else horribly hard, and upsetting, and isolating.

but i was ok. i am ok. i will be ok. there was no hapless weeping, no misery, just a sadness, a knowledge, a flatness that is coming from the situation now. a sanguine acceptance, which is more cynical than i like to be. but cynicism is idealism that's been proved wrong, when idealism was proved fiction, and the gap and the truth, the waking up and looking at the reality shows nothing more than the flat words that are a myriad of difference each reflection, and oh, you say that, but you say it again differently, and each of these fictions is truth in a way. and i am tired of that. i was tired of that. that fiction is not a fiction of flickering mistruths that i want to dive through. my cynicism comes out of this, and it'll smooth out, like a folded sheet that's lifted and unfurled, flapping softly, one day. right now, it's creased and shoved in a bag, but perfectly in tact. and one day, it will softly come out, and be held between me and someone else. we'll take a few steps apart, and we'll unfurl it, and listen to that sharp thump that sheets make when stretched and moved between two people.

it'll smooth out with my future, when i am healed.

i haven't been angry since the first Not Angry post. the anger is gone. sometimes, there is a tightness, but the only time that's been bad was due to other reasons - something that deeply irritated me not because of who he was, but how i felt. having someone act in a way you find exceedingly unacceptable, for whatever reason, when you have a great deal of respect for them, is always disappointing.

my weekend has been wonderful. i've had friends and loved ones and family and urban family around me, dancing and hugging and taking me home. i've had calls from my two most loved men in brisbane, Noog and the Jule, and both are visiting in the next few months, and i am hungry for that. the subtle twitch that's always in my heart for Jule is there, oh yes, you know, it's always there, but his personal similarities to E put me off more than a bit right now. i feel deeply content to love him, openly, unquestioningly, and utterly, and continue to expect nothing from him. i never have, and when i am let down, it is sadness, not disappointment. i never came to trust him with my heart, or trust him to look after me, and that was my mistake with E. i trusted his shifting sand words, as they settled on me. they are, obviously, completely true in each moment. but then they shift, his moment gone, and he has resolution he needs over there, and everything he said about one promise, just shifts away....

jule, well, he'd never make a promise, because he knows his mind shifts rapidly. that's more now what causes the flatness- the inability to stop and reflect and go 'maybe i won't mean this one day, maybe i should not make this promise...'. i am slowly more indifferent and blank, because the discomfort has passed, and it's just disillusioned now. but i need to remember it's disillusionment with one person, not relationships, not love, not all of this. i need to remember times where things worked out. i need to look at patterns and recognise this earlier. if i'm protecting my heart, well, it's probably closed for a reason - don't open it, no, don't give in, you had good reason, and you knew it would happen, little heart. there was not a single part of surprise in me, only solid, sick knowledge that it would happen. oh i knew.

and i know that some librarians don't know fiction from non fiction. i know sometimes, we don't have any idea at all if what we say is true of our own hearts. but the inability to know that we do not know, that frustrates me, saddens me, and makes me feel slightly let down, even now, even with the slow burn recovery, little better yes, each day, well, not even sad so much as there are dreams i had and now they are dead in my bag with all the scrap paper and dirty receipts. i mourn them now... little dreams falling away, little dreams you'll be ok now.... we'll make new ones.

it's my birthday, and i'll dress like an idiot if i want to!!!

this outfit confuses me.....




as too does the colour of the sign......



this hat is too big. i am still confused.....

i had a wonderful night and day leading up to birth time, including some very dirty dancing with some very lovely ladies, bunnies in cafes (snuggling in boobs... bless) wandering civic, drinking and films, drinking and drinking, drinking and dancing.

and no hang over! thanks, Kali! (this week is Kali worship week. bought to you by my retarded outfit).

bunnies and chocolate and movies Oh My!

big bunny is adoring n. being here. she's got an incredible gift with animals, like no one else i have met. it's her beautiful, strong, but amazingly gentle soul. she is the woman who cares for animals - they know deeply how much she loves them, and that she will protect them and care for them and know what to do. the bunnies adore her. well, little bunny is just neutral, but big bunny is overjoyed. some animals connect profoundly with some people and little bunny is a little too... soft... to have that sort of human connection. he likes licking some people more than others - but big bunny, you really get the sense of it, and he knows n. is someone who can be trusted, and who loves him.

right now, n is on skype with her dad, his wife helen and n's lizard, Kali, in toowoomba; he's looking after Kali - she's watching Kali have dinner right now. (kali = bearded dragon). you can see her on the skypes behind me in the photo, as i huggle little un, all shedding away, his little loops of hair floating up and catching on the tip of your nose and tickling it. she's showing them the bunnies, through the internet.

friend b is on couch next to n.

both bunnies out, resulted in a wonderful chase scene around the apartment. it was delightful, neither seemed too upset; little bun is now sitting on the bottom shelf of an empty bookshelf, staring at the shelf's edge, very intently, very still, as though he is a book. it's amazingly adorable.



one needs to classify what one needs. and i am learning, oh yes, i am seeing and defining, people teach us this, and we see deeply unfavorable things in many people, and there is so much one can see is acceptable... i know i need to look for what i need, and i am learning more and more what i want, and not, and loves and losses follow one another, and i am free in this, free in this, and hand over hand, i'll not fall again, now.

international act like a t-rex day

rarrwwwhh.

act like a t-rex, everyone. rawwhhhh.... rawwhhhh... RAWWWHHHWHHWHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

getting back on the horse after a bad fall is important.

though takes you back. but not in a bad way, no. not in a bad way.

face face face.

1.
TIRED.

2. cousin n is here! win!!!

3. i have PIE still.

4. n is giving bunny reiki and he LOVES it. he is a good bunny like that, mr tumbles. he is also enjoying n's purple hair.

5. cousin m. bought me BATH BOMBS from lush. oh god. Oh God. i am weeping with joy at lush bath bombs.

6. one arrived visitor, one to go.

7. neck is killing, would probably cut off three, maybe four toes for a massage right now.

8. again with the re-definitions, i am pleased with things now. today was illuminating for me in many ways.

9. mr tumbles is very happy in himself. he's a little buddha of a creature. he makes me warm and safe and loved, that bunny. the bunnies are getting a new haus ... decisions now must be made as to Which bunny will get the larger haus. oh god, i think i am going make a poll for my blog! yes, i stole this idea from a colleague's blog. as he never mentions my name, i believe it would be utterly unfitting for me to mention theirs.

10. guest two arrived.

white feather

i considered sending it up in a blank yellow envelope with your name on it. slipping it onto your desk carefully, quietly, and slipping away in turn, carefully, silently. you'd maybe think it was from me, i know, but likely not, likely not, it could be some of your other 'fans'.

disclaimer. as this is a BLOG, rather than an accurate recording of history, the events retold in here may reflect more of my own Feelings on an event, than the actual situation. regardless, i feel that my own idea is valid, and my own feelings are valid, and that you, loyal readers, are fully able to work out for yourself if my position is biased. clearly, anything relating to someone i have feelings for who i am no longer in a relationship with is going to be a little volatile, and biased. i am assuming that you, loyal readers, can understand this.

the reliance on the audience, on the adoration of women, the submission of men, of the posture, of the stance, of the 'this is MY man territory, other man' even over tables, at people who seem to be taking up more space, is a little sad. you made your choice, so don't posture. don't lean forward, don't stretch those arms back, eyes threatened, narrowed, body language is clearer than words.

you know what, loyal readers?

i don't think everyone hates grads. i think my idea of this has been undermined by repeatedly being Told it. emphasized that i am loathed on the basis of my job. i've heard before that i've been incorrectly informed about people hating me, and i'm choosing to go with the angle that i am NOT hated because of my job. people may NOT think it's fair that i get privileges, and you know, that's ok. however, maybe i'm not as hated as i've been lead to believe. maybe, just maybe, this was a little bit more about undermining my self confidence in the organisation, when i was already more than a little insecure. sometimes, it's better to be gentle.

oh it's so easy to laugh, it's so easy to hate,
it takes strength to be gentle and kind.
and it might just be a smiths quote, but i also think it is profoundly true. it's a lot harder to be kind and gentle to people. you are taking a risk. it's so easy to laugh at people, so Easy to be sarcastic and cynical, and negative and bored and indifferent. to be open, and joyous, and gleeful and gentle, and kind to others is hard. it takes strength of character to be so vulnerable. and i would rather be strong and vulnerable. i would rather say 'i love you, and sometimes this is hard, when you shut off and act cold because it is Easier than being raw and open,' rather shutting off and being cold myself. i would rather be kind. i am going to try to be kind, and not taunting. i am bigger than proving that i can be attractive to others. i know this. i am bigger than taunting. i am bigger than proving things. i am bigger than mocking and making light of the situation.

the reason i want to is because i was made to feel small, and i want to be big again. however, i can be bigger, much bigger without the small. i can be big through being open, and kind, and gentle. of showing that yes, my feelings haven't changed. i still have that ring around my finger. i still love you. only it's changed, and the change is difficult to negotiate in the workplace. it's not even so much about her, but about the oddness, the newness, and the distance. and it's hard, and i feel vulnerable. but i am Strong in that knowledge, because i can use that vulnerability to be bigger, and stronger, and MORE of an amazon warrior. warriors have soft parts, they know where they are, and they appreciate it. they make themselves stronger though, they learn about their limitations and strengths, and they work to them, defend what needs defending, and hold what matters close to the heart and not give in.

i stand tall. i am good, and i am kind, and i am open, and that is a beautiful thing. i'll not become harsh and cynical and sarcastic, or bitter and negative and believing the world is out to get me. it is not fair or unfair. i am very, very lucky. everyone is.
i will not try and match behaviour to what i think you must prefer, actions speak louder, so much louder. there is nothing wrong with who i am, and i refuse to hold that to be true, that it is better to be harsh and bitter and cynical and laugh at the world, rather than to wonder and see the beauty and the magic and the open and the hope and the goodness as well as the harshness.

talking in bed.

it is poetry time, boys and girls...

Talking in bed ought to be easiest,
Lying together there goes back so far,
An emblem of two people being honest.

Larkin.


i am sleepy, sleepy, sleepy now. i hope this leads to sleep. i am slowly reading poetry, the mind race ended somewhat, i am slowing to sleep, to dream, i hope, little lands, little pieces time forgotten. lazily reading poetry, non-committal. lazily belligerent, sloppily dozy. languid languid, frustrated, more than a little, switching things over a little, frustrated.

we've got this idea of love as some all conqueror. what wisdom is there but that of the heart, eh? and what, oh what, are we left with when that is disposed? when we slowly ease into logic and sense, snidely looking over the past, and present, and realistically asses the situation, and are left, contempt, metallic, passage of adolescence in a loop over loop, drama and theatrics and a surrender of control for desires? and i'm a child? it's behaviour, behaviour, easy not hard, loll about and luxuriate in a place of control, your hands are free now, you think you have the keys...

the anger is still gone. i think it is finished. i think i understand, half holding a question or two. and it's a lazy sort of feeling i am left with, like an overweight cat on a couch, eyes half shut, that cynical glance, and that fluffy apparition moving from room to room under your feet, between your feet, brushing the tail idly up your leg. let us sublimate for logic, let's pass it out, let's see what happens. let's wait. let's wait. but i am not waiting oh No, i'm not sitting back, claws tucked in, adoring at your feet. my teeth are able, and i'll hunt as i please, hungry cat, long soft whiskers, don't look so frustrated now.

i've got quiet expectations of happiness. i like to lead myself into slightly less uncomfortable situations, but end up constantly caught taut ribbons around legs, oh i tripped, there's egg on my face, it tastes like chocolate and that sugary white and sugary yoke, and you just do it for attention, right, like a child throwing a tantrum to the air, well, i'm stronger now, and i'll not stand back, hands to the sky and flag falling, arms out, take me, your life is mine, because it is not. my life is mine, my soul is mine, and i live for myself. my pleasure comes, my desire comes not from anything or anyone else, it is that pulse, it is that instinct, it is that freedom. i have those little claws, and i am speaking from myself again and able to defend the borders to the edge of the map; lines drawn clearly in white oil paint, fingers dug into the soft texture. my name is here, and my place is marked, and do not violate an inch of it. oh you won't now, because i am where i belong, the control is mine, that little lead, that little line, and i'll follow it where it goes, curious now. i am watching that madness to see it doesn't slip back. i hold the cards. it's my game.

poink! poink! sing!

singing along, singing along, i feel gloriously merry tonight.

just had the divine ms N over for dinner, we ate the Typical Elizabeth Feast - pasta. cheese. garlic. chilli. oil. it's amazingly delicious. n. and i would both live off it if we had our way.

am tentatively starting photo a day up again. and, i like to let my readers have pictures... all words, no pictures, i don't want to bore you, my loves.
what i guess is now medically classified as Mania is glorious. i love these phases. they happen after storms, the light comes out, and i am so refreshed, so glistening after the darkness, that the sun is the most incredible sight. my eyes swell and i breathe it in, and i hold it tightly closer inside, oh god, yes, that air, so delicious slowly flowing out that oxygen. i feel music differently, i smell the air and it's completely new. the colours, oh GOD colours are just a never ending source of delight.

and movement. and moments. and places. i don't care what this is, because i feel so human, and so happy. i think it comes from the contrast of misery. but at the same time, i can identify other things. the still no food. the no sleep. the energy. the glee. the playfulness. i feel bouncing and spirited and alive. alive again, more to the point, like i have woken up, and there is life and love again.

the leaves are turning, the leaves are turning! the colours blush around me, they flood my retina. bunny runs laps around the apartment, his glee coming out in the way he flies, flies flies.
and i don't need anyone or anything to feel like this. i feel alive. i feel so fucking alive. i feel freed from that taunting ear worm now, it twittered a little at me today, but then, things were clear. so clear, and i am free again, and i am an all powerful amazon warrior and i am strong. as. fuck. mister.

knitting. knitting.

dancing in loungeroom

with the table pushed forward, the lights off, the couch out of the way, my oversized lounge is the best place to put music on as loud as my mac will play it ( not very ) and dance like an idiot in your underpants. i dance badly, well, clumsily, but almost nothing in the world makes me happier than the feeling when you are lost in music and body, music and body. it is like sex only more internal, more taken away, more alone, but in a divine way. it is soft and heavy, and oh god, you feel so alive.

i did dance classes for years. i was shit, yes, a crap tap dancer and an even worse ballerina. but i loved it. it was a strange sort of freedom, like singing along to music in the car, or loudly when you are home alone... like dancing in your underwear with the lights off in your lounge room to new order and pulp and morrissey and monaco, kate bush and the cure, the smiths, oh yes, how soon is now... sometimes sitting and just moving from the hips up, other times, whole body fluid, sloppily over the mattress on the floor, sloppily around the harder carpet, dancing up against the wall like it's your lover, and eyes closed, slipping open to the darkness, alone alone with the music, it sounds so good, just your body and the movement, there is a slipperiness there that words don't allow for. it's a place i am always at home, movement and music, music and movement, in between and over and under and senseless i need no narrative here, oh no, i have skin and bones, and muscles that are loose not taut but softly untrained, not in this movement, and i will feel tight in my shoulders because i sit at a desk, and i am so rarely in touch with my body, only with music, and painting, and sex...

good-day!

good-day indeed.

strangely good.
psychiatrist = bipolar aparently. this is, strangely enough, amazingly comforting to have an idea of what happens in my head. even just reading through bloggity blog, it's fairly clear there is something... shall we say... erratic about my thinking. the lapses in and out of sense, from joy to madness, from sleeplessness to sleeping all day. there is a comfort in knowing what is wrong with me, and how to battle it better. and bipolar fits like a glove. anyone who knows me intimately can recognise that, the flipside, the energy the lack of food and sleep, the energy, to the dead, the sleep, the lack of movement, the solidity.

i've been tentatively diagnosed as bipolar about four times before. this psychiatrist spoke to me for an hour and a half, and that's her tentative conclusion. it's in writing, and on my medical record now, that little sticker, that little marker. that place that makes me ... well. not what i am. but contextualized behaviour that taunts me. the fucking everything, the spending, the movement and the dancing and the fluctuations. that... wild wild sense of lack of control that i get, the beauty in that. the sliding from word to word, shape to shape, imagining to imagining....

the main focus for me is sleep. psych says that it's important i sleep, sleep, sleep and sleep irregularity can massively move the mania into danger, which is something i've intimately noticed. the danger times for me are when i am staring at the roof, unable to sleep, mind racing racing in some sort of hideous cage....so we have our Friends the Sedatives, to help out when i need to. new fight, new rules, new game, little mind, let's see how this round goes....

i've also lost a lot of weight. i'm visibly thinner, verging on gaunt, from what i was even weeks ago. but, aparently the light is back in my eyes, they are brighter again. i stand tall again. and i feel human. i am Amazon Warrior again, i am fighting again, i am in the midst of the battle and i shall find my way home, into arms, into warmth, into love once more, into an embrace where i feel safe and loved.

the anger remains ... dissipated. slipped backwards a little. fading out. i am every day, moving how i feel into other spaces. i love him, oh god, i love him, you mad beautiful human, e, you wonderful beast, but i lose that sense of need, and ownership that somehow struck out. the desire is still there, heady in my gut when i see him, or think of him, but no longer a blackness when i think of him with someone else. that bitterness is gone, and i am ok. he is free, and i am free, and i still love him, and want him, and it taunts me a little, but not badly. it is more like an itch in an area i cannot easily scratch now. frustrating. and a little disappointing. time has slipped us far apart, time has taken us from each other as partners. we'll never have that. i need to state this to remind myself, to let my Self know and remember solid-like each day that what we did, he and i, well, i, then him, was right.

the presence of the new lover stings. but not so sharp now, he is free to do as he pleases, and i am free to love him regardless. the love will move and i will be comfortable with it, and i am ok with loving him and not sharing that with him as we used to, and finding new ways for us to love each other, while we are partnered with others. because, inevitably, i'll also find love in another, as he has in M, and we'll have to move through this. still stings, the weight of what i am missing does seem heavy and needless sometimes, craving past moments, past touches, past places of being together, oh yes, hurting, but not aching, not so physical now, just softly, softly, a little twitching memory flickering under the skin, deeper some times, lighter but no less physical at others.

his life is his, and he can do with it as he wants. i'll not fight this. i'll just be his friend, slowly letting it grow easier as we get used to the new positions. his choices are his, as are mine. i am, as i said before, looking forward to this new life with him. hand in hand, just differently, just differently.

dinner with N and T, well, dinner with N, oh GOd i have missed her, beautiful goddess that she is. i swear i will make much more time to be with her... and T is wonderful too.
happyday. it is good.