ars domestica

oh - maybe i understand.
maybe you've got one marriage so you don't want all the boring bits. again. just the bits which thrill.
maybe i'm the same.
addicted to intensity.
terrified of mediocrity and the mundane.

Where the heart is?

i just want to go home.
but i don't really know where home is anymore.

yes, but, the problem is

the problem is, i don't hate him.
the problem is, he ticks a bunch of boxes
the problem is, on paper it looks great
the problem is he went to the right schools
the problem is, he looks after me when i ask him not to
the problem is, he knows what the done thing is
the problem is, he knows who ross edwards, or carl vine is
the problem is he will be late, but he will be there
the problem is he can't smalltalk, but will tuxedo up for me
the problem is, he likes cassis, and eiswein
the problem is, he recites iron chef
the problem is, he adores me, just badly
the problem is he loathes bad design
the problem is, he's a snob, like me
the problem is he will rescue me, even when i fight it
the problem is he always has

the problem is, i grew to love him
the real problem is, i don't love him enough.

show me yours and i'll

when you're in love...
there's this... sweet, vulnerable bit, that is the bit of you i most want to see. underneath the masks real and imagined and layers of personality... heartbreakingly tender and almost too much to bear. and too much to bare, as well... it's the bit you're terrified of showing. the deepest you, stripped of every trapping. and you hold it cupped in your heart, flinchingly showing glimpses if you dare, because you know the what if? would shatter you apart. petrified when it's seen without you realising. but melting and going weak at the knees at the same time, because the oh! what if! tastes as sweet as life itself. and that's worth everything, isn't it? show me what feels like a soul.

...you, me. same thing.

walls

Sleep takes so long to come, and then I dream. Last night I dreamt I was tied to a cold stone wall, no, nothing delightful about it, sobbing until I retched and could barely breathe. I woke up with marks from my nails in my palms. Wet cheeked, and my mouth tasting of bile.

open

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
(e. e. cummings)

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

this one. that one. maybe.

ok, so, making choices = good, but which one do you choose when all of them feel wrong? why can't i see?

thanks!

oh. when you ignore your friends and go all silent on them for weeks, turns out they worry. oops. ta.

ow

i got home early (from a shoot) today. and sat down, and cried and cried and cried and cried and cried.

i'm not sure i can do this. smile and lie for the next six weeks.it hurts.

centred...?

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

I feel like I'm losing my focus, my centre. Scattering, coming adrift. Hardly touching or connecting to anything. Losing sight of what grounds me, a centre...I'm not sure where to turn to find it again.

reading material

Adult Children of alcoholics:
guess at what normal is.
have difficulty in following a project through from beginning to end.
lie when it would be just as easy to tell the truth.
judge themselves without mercy.
have difficulty having fun.
take themselves very seriously.
have difficulty with intimate relationships.
overreact to changes over which they have no control.
feel that they are different from other people.
are either super responsible or super irresponsible.
are extremely loyal, even in the face of evidence that loyalty is undeserved.

and/or characteristics:
Difficulty with identity issues related to seeking constantly the affirmation and approval of others.
Frightened by personal criticism.
Overdeveloped sense of responsibility. Concerned about the needs of others to the degree of neglecting your own wants and needs (a protective behaviour for avoiding a good look at yourself and taking responsibility to identify and resolve your own personal difficulties.)
Feelings of guilt associated with standing up for your rights. It is easier to give into the demands of others.
An addiction to excitement. Feeling a need to be on the edge, and risk-taking behaviours.
A tendency to confuse feelings of love and pity.
Avoidance of feelings related to traumatic childhood experiences. Unable to feel or express feelings because it is frightening and/or painful and overwhelming. Denial of feelings.
Low self-esteem. A tendency to judge yourself harshly and be perfectionistic and self-critical.
Strong dependency needs and terrified of abandonment. Will do almost anything to hold onto a relationship in order to avoid the fear and pain of abandonment.
Dysfunctional relationships, denial, fearful, avoidance of feelings, poor coping, poor problem solving, afraid that others will find out what you are really like, etc.
A chameleon. A tendency to be what others want you to be instead of being yourself. A lack of honesty with yourself and others.

just some things

i bite the skin off my lips when i’m concentrating or stressed (ditto the quicks on the sides of my nails, until they bleed and i don’t notice, ugh). sometimes i think i do it ‘cos the sting keeps me awake, or alert or something.
i hold pencils between my teeth and forget they’re there until someone points them out.
i poke pens into my hair and forget they’re there until someone points them out.
i bend paper clips while on the phone and usually end up chewing on them idly (jeez, orally fixated much?)
i watch people’s hands when they speak.
i feel naked if i leave the house without earrings in (wtf)
i love the smell of snow.
i crack my knuckles.
i love the click-clonk sound of walking across a room in high heels. (i am getting more and more addicted to higher and higher heels.....hmm).
i drink too much coffee and forget to eat most of the time.
i sleep curled on my side with one arm under my head.
i am a poetry nerd; i still get a kick out of knowing something's in trochaic tetrameter. (oi vey). i like onomatopoeia, too, and words that rattle on the tongue.
oh, i like semi-colons, too, speaking of word nerdery.
i love flying (in a plane...duh). especially taking off. ooh, and turbulence. i looooove turbulence, whee!
i run my fingers along walls and railings and fences when i walk somewhere. i pick leaves off street trees and crush them to see how they smell, too.
i was terrified of skeletons when i was little. (one specific "skellington" behind my door, actually. i think it was probably so that i could con my folks into leaving the door open so’s i could listen to their conversations….brat)
i have annoying hyper-flexible muscles that stretch too far.
i doodle spirals when i'm on the phone, or listening to someone. if i'm at home and don’t have any paper i’ll usually end up with an elaborate biro-tattoo on my leg.
i like drawing on skin :)
i like stripes. stars, too, just not together.
i add things up on my fingers when i don't think not to.
i have a stationery fetish (actually, lots of journos i know do); i love the smell of something newly printed.
i fold little cranes if i find a square piece of paper.
one of my my best friends died when we were both 20. i still reach for the phone to call him. often.

you know that secret little bit that you don’t tell everyone 'cos they'd think you're a braggart, where you look in the mirror and think yeah, that's ok?
i remember...
a friend (remember george?) who used to ponce about in front of the mirror... "see, if I put a bit of meat on, and squish these (hoiks boobs) up like this, i reckon i look a bit of alright!"
you wandered around naked in my flat, marvelling at how unselfconscious you felt when you were with me.
you danced excitedly in your new dress, hugging its folds around your curves.
you giggled and showed off new underwear while we were stopped at the lights.
you stood on my balcony and sang silly ditties to me in your underwear.
you agreed with me when i said you were pretty.
when i dig underneath, i ... don’t have it. that bit. oh, i have it about work things; i'm great at my job. i'm a excellent writer (if i pull my finger out), i'm an even better COS. i can juggle stuff and deal with people. i can even say i'm good at all that with some pride, without cringing too much. there's not even a smidge of me that can do the same about how i look. just ugh, all the time. i can get by if i don’t look in mirrors. in fact...there’s not really very much of me as a person that i happily look at and think yep, that’s me, and that’s a bit of alright. i am sure there used be some.
is not very healthy. needs to be changed.

eh?

well, that was unexpected, and mildly frightening.
still, the world frightens you, so ... so what, eh? once more into the breach?
i think so :)

sometimes

i wish, i wish, i wish, sometimes, that i just did not love you so much.

what is this thing?

...that sits on my chest and makes it hard to breathe?
...that clenches my throat and pricks my eyes with tears?
...that makes me bite my lips; press nails into my hands; stifle a cry; shake my shuddering spine.

strange. when i write that down on the page, how close it looks to joy.

damn

damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn
damnit all

Here's what my whore escape (horroscope, too) said today. Unusually appropriate. And quite good advice. *boots self back into optimism* there. better :)
How did you end up where you are now? What choice did you make? What contract did you sign? Now, where's your get-out clause? What's the Plan B? How come, if life is supposed to be all about the exercise of free will, that you seem to face so many closed doors, done deals and irrevocable rules? A loophole in one particular law is about to reveal itself. You, though, are so caught up in what's not possible, that you may not be of a mind to recognise your opportunity when it arises. Be optimistic.

love&fear

I bought a Leunig book the other day. It fell open at this.
There are only two feelings, love and fear
There are only two languages, love and fear
There are only two activities, love and fear
There are only two motives, two procedures, two frameworks, two results
Love and fear
Love and fear

...it's good advice. Which motivates you?

blank

things have been so dark lately that i can't even bring myself to write.
and the start of the month came and went.