Obsession

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I just wanted to muse for a bit on how much I love you… and how surprising it is that you don’t creep me the fuck out.

What I mean by that is to say that you take me by surprise in many ways.  One of these is in the  many ways in which you fit the “profile” of a stalker.

After all… you’re obsessive. Invasive. Highly focused. Extremely protective.  And in someone else?  These things being directed at me would absolutely set off a crap load of triggers and freak me out.

And yet with you?  Not at all.  You’re all mine, including that intensity with which you set your focus upon me.

It took me a long time to be comfortable with the sheer volume of attention you wanted to direct my way, though. Then again, it probably helped that I was a bit oblivious as well.

I remember being shocked at some of the things you remembered that I would have never thought to even notice. Quirks, shoe size, preferences on various innocuous things, and so much more. If I had not been so oblivious, you might have scared the ever living shit out of me.

As it was though, I became aware of the obsession gradually, only discovering more and more as you snuck your way deeper and deeper under my armor and before I knew it, you’d taken root there in my heart.

I love you.  Always.  All ways.

 

Revisiting Fear and Indecision

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I wanted to revisit the topic of fear after my post from yesterday and the topic of the meditation that I did yesterday.

Yesterday’s meditation was about indecision, which I definitely do not have a problem with in any way, shape, or form.   But I feel like my post made it sound as if I don’t have fear, which is definitely not the case.

I do, absolutely, have fear.

I fear losing my home to the point where I obsess over work and push myself beyond my limits at times in how much work I should take on. (Thank goodness that I’m also someone that likes their creature comforts, or that fear might rule my entire life.)

I often have issues around fear when it comes to some of my scars (particularly the one on my face) and how people react (or may react) to them, which has gotten better over time as I am no longer trying to seclude myself into my home… but I know I still have a long way to go on this.

I fear my ex and the day he will be released from prison.   I fear my ex, as well, in his conniving “other” ways of trying to reach me even while he IS in prison.

I’m goddamned well -terrified- of spiders, even though my logical mind tells me I shouldn’t be.  You can add piranhas to that list, too, ever since as a kid I saw that first original Piranha movie.

The point is, I do have fears, and I didn’t want my post from yesterday coming off as some kind of bravado or something.  It’s just that fears do not inspire indecision for me.

For me, indecision doesn’t come from fear.  It appears when I am feeling extremely vulnerable, which can put me in a place of “I dunno, you choose”, and it appears when I have not managed to gather enough information or had the chance yet to think something through.

Something To Say – An Emotive Rant At No One In Particular

So I watched an episode of the show “What Would You Do?” tonight, which I shared with you a bit in IMs earlier. But… I really wanted to write a post about it because, as you know, this is a really big issue that hits close to home.

On the show, it made me cry. Literally cry while I watched the kindness of some strangers… and the very realistic representation of the hurdles involved with this issue.

Although not deaf, in being mute I have a serious hurdle to overcome when out in public. It is a part of the reason that I often choose to have someone with me when I go out.

Still, I do plenty of errands and tasks out and about on my own, and you cannot imagine how often I run into problems. Whether I go out with paper and pen, my tablet to type messages on, or my phone that has multiple text-to-speech apps to use… there’s just some people that are completely intolerant to the hurdles involved with being non-vocal.

These people? Lift my chin and show them the scar so that they can understand I have no voice? And all you get is an “EW, WTF MAN?? That’s gross.”

There’s no empathy. There’s no understanding. No compassion. There’s no -effort- at all on their part.

I’ve had people I’ve tried to communicate with just snort at me and walk away. I’ve had them literally call me a “retard” and tell me that I shouldn’t be allowed outside my home alone.  These are people that work in a customer service industry.  Waiters, cashiers, retail employees…. people that should have SOME sort of temperance and make some sort of effort to understand and communicate.

I’m not a goddamned cripple.  I’m not mentally handicapped.  I don’t need a babysitter. I’m a grown fucking man that was attacked, died on my kitchen floor, and was brought back by paramedics to find myself forever  irreversibly injured in that attack.  I can communicate just fine as long as the other person is willing to put in a little effort beyond using their ears.   And yet?   That kind of behavior shown by the waiter in that show?  Is so very common.

It was really nice to see the people that stepped up, but as someone that deals with this issue on an everyday basis?  I can tell you from first hand experience, those kind souls are few and far between.   In my experience?  Most people would rather turn their head and pretend it’s not happening.

I don’t know why I’m posting this.  I think I just had to get it out.

 

#MyBestAdvice a (non) VR to Brian Cormack Carr

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So this will be an easy (and short one) for the questions thing.   Brian Cormick Carr over on YouTube introduced the hashtag #MyBestAdvice on his channel recently, where he shared what the best advice was that he has ever gotten in life, and where from, and then asked others to do the same.

For me, this was advice given to me by Z.  Growing up, I spent a great deal of time at her house because she was 1) my parent’s “Pagan Parenting” coach of a sort, 2) she kind of ended up functioning as my sister and I’s “godparent”, and 3) she did a LOT of babysitting of L and myself.

So, with all those factors in place, it’s not really much of a surprise that this advice comes from her.   I think I was around twelve?  Maybe a little older.   Perhaps she was worried about how I would turn out, or perhaps it was just another guiding step on teaching us values.  Whatever the reason, her advice was to read a poem named “The Dash” by Linda Ellis.

Here it is…

The Dash

I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on the tombstone from the beginning… to the end.

He noted that first came the date of birth and spoke of the following date with tears,
but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time they spent alive on earth
and now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own, the cars… the house… the cash.
What matters is how we live and love and how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard; are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left that still can be rearranged.

To be less quick to anger and show appreciation more
and love the people in our lives like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile…
remembering that this special dash might only last a little while.

So when your eulogy is being read, with your life’s actions to rehash,
would you be proud of the things they say about how you lived your dash?

By Linda Ellis, Copyright © Inspire Kindness, 1996, thedashpoem.com

This poem changed my life in a very literal way. It made me conscious of my effect upon others and the world at large in a way that nothing previously ever had and created a “community perspective” that reached way beyond just my immediate family and friends.

This poem is the best advice that I’ve ever received, and holds a framed place above my altar in the bedroom where I stand to do my devotional each day.  A daily reminder to always look beyond myself and be mindful of the influence I have upon others and the world around me.

The Aliens Among Us

Today, I was tagged by Normal Happenings in a writing challenge.

“They”

Detail an experience of yours (real or fiction) so bizarre you think you might have encountered an alien from another world.

So, as usual, when I get put on a spot, my mind draws a blank.   Don’t you hate that shit?   Anyway.  After half a day of contemplation I finally decided to share what happened to me a few months ago while on the road.

When I first came home from this experience, I shared it with you.  I was shaken up (and feeling a little triumphant) and poured it all out.   Now I’m going to reflect back on that experience here.

So essentially, it boiled down to an experience with road rage.    I was on the highway (two lanes in either direction) on my way back to Seattle from a trip up north.   The traffic wasn’t particularly heavy and flowing fine, and as usual, I was driving a good ten or fifteen mph over the speed limit.  (Yes, I know.  I know.)

This speed allows me to move smoothly past cars in either lane without “whipping” from lane to lane like a nutcase.  It’s a comfortable speed for me when dealing with a minimum of four to five hours of driving.  (I really need teleportation.  Seriously.)

Anyway.  I had just passed a black truck going a good deal slower than myself.  I glanced over my shoulder at the truck as I passed, confirming I’d passed him and was pulling away, then changed lanes.     Apparently…. he sped up to try and block me from changing lanes (some people are just assholes and love an opportunity to show it?) and I ended up accidentally cutting him off as I hadn’t realized what he’d done until after the fact.

I had a moment’s grimace and a mental “shit, sorry” moment.  It happens.

rage4But this guy took things to a WHOLE new level when he then began first riding my ass, and then trying to change lanes and whip around me to get in front of me.

When I wouldn’t let him in front of me (because hello, erratic behavior at high speeds on a highway is a BAD idea) he then tried running me into the concrete median, then into the ditch a bit later.

I knew letting this guy in front of me on the highway was a bad idea, and I knew that losing him on the highway would be impossible.  He was…. I mean, just wow.  Erratic, enraged, violently aggressive with that truck of his, and he was going to cause an accident.     So, I decided to take an exit and get off the highway in the hopes that maybe I’d be able to lose him somewhere.

Instead, he followed and, in the middle of the street, whipped around me by going into oncoming traffic and then blocked the road with his truck, forcing me to stop in the middle of the street.   He then proceeded to get out of his truck and start in my direction.

I felt this was a really BAD idea, so I backed up (in the middle of the street).  A semi started coming our way, and I guess he figured the current situation was untenable to him, so he got back in the truck.   While he was getting in his truck, I quickly passed around him and hurried ahead.

He caught up, of course.

To keep hmi from getting in front of me again for a repeat performance, I used the left lane and got right up behind a car.  I felt bad riding their ass, but I didn’t want to let him get in front of me again because this had definitely become an issue in personal safety.

For just over 2 miles, I rode this car’s ass while he drove beside me in the right lane with his window down, screaming obscenities at me, flailing out his window, giving me the bird, etc.    TWO MILES!

I then (finally) managed to lose him as, while he was stuck in the right lane (and traffic was becoming more busy so he was definitely going to be stuck in that lane) I used a last-minute redirect before a traffic light to slip into the left turn lane and turn off.   He was forced to go straight.

Fortunately?   I have a very innocuous car in a very innocuous color, so once I was away from him, even if he saw my car again there’s a good chance he wouldn’t be able to be sure it was me.   Just to be safe, though?   I took an alternate route back to the highway to be back on my way.

In the time since this happened, it has been suggested I should have driven to the police station and pulled into the lot to sit there for a bit.   And you know what?  I really like that idea, and I think that’s exactly what I should have done.  Unfortunately, I didn’t think of it at the time.

That said? The focus of this post is on the driver of that truck.  He left me shaken and a little freaked out.   And reflecting back now?   I sit here wondering… How does anyone get -that- angry?  Where does that kind of anger come from?  How does someone allow anger to enrage them to the point where your actions are violently aggressive danger to not just yourself or the person you’re upset with, but the population at large?

This type of overwhelming rage is something beyond my scope of understanding, no matter how many times I try to wrap my mind around it.  How does the human condition even have room for this type of rage and resulting behavior?

Alien?  Absolutely.

 

Sensory Overload

I think I’ve figured it out. Or at least perhaps a part of it.

Whenever I come here to visit my mother, I have a negative reaction to the time here. It’s not anything she says to me. After all, she has the same judgmental litany of complaints to share whether it’s in person or over the phone.

It’s not the memories of Dad, or the unpleasant memories of living in this house, either. Yes, they are all there, and yes, sometimes they affect me… but something in this house has in the last handful of years caused my visits here to turn even more negative than normal.

And… I think I figured it out.

It’s the noise.

It’s the constant incessant noise. The floors are wood, and since Dad died, Mother doesn’t require the removal of shoes in the house anymore. The living room has a high ceiling and a few years ago, she had all the carpet removed and wood flooring installed.

The TV is always on. Even when it’s not, every step, every movement, every voice, every SOUND is amplified and echoes. There’s no softness to absorb any of it, as much of the wall art and softer furnishings have been sold off or given away since Dad’s death.

It’s hollow and loud. Even when closed off in a different room, you can hear everything, just at a lower decibel.

It is a constant barrage on the senses… all of the senses, in my case. Or, well, four out of five at any rate.

It’s not just exhausting, or irritating, but feels like some insidious sort of violence, secret and subtle that works it’s way in and leaves you raw.

Out of Line

OK, before I do my meditation today, I need to get something off of my chest that’s been weighing on me all morning.

I was really out of line last night, and I am so sorry for it, and for hurting you.

Other than during the last year before coming back to me in full, you have always been the most selfless person I know when it comes to me. You always put me first, you always pay attention and watch closely, you always see so much more than I’m usually trying to show. You always push for what’s in my best interest.

To accuse you of trying to make something “all about you” was so grossly out of line. I don’t know why my temper flared like it did, but the words that came out of me… they were just wrong. On so many levels.

I’m so sorry. I hate that I said that to you. I hate that it will be there between us now and forever, no matter how much I wish I could take it back.

I love you.

The Crap-Ass Thing About a Good Economy

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Finding employees. That’s the crap-ass thing about a good economy.

So, you know how sometimes you just have to bury your face in a pillow and give a good yell?

Here it is….

I prefer to have a housekeeper. I LOVE having a housekeeper. I pay cash, and only need someone to come in 2 or 3 hours a week usually… sometimes another hour or so but really, it’s not that big a job. Two bedrooms, two baths, 1050 square feet of home lived in by two people who are relatively clean.

Hell, they don’t even have to do dishes OR laundry, because I prefer to take care of the laundry myself, and my best friend “pays” for the food he eats when he visits by doing my dishes. I even provide all the cleaning supplies for the job.

So there you go. You would THINK, being that I’m offering $13 an hour paid in cash, that I’d have people jumping for the job.

When you work for one of those house cleaning companies, they cleaners don’t even get paid that much because most of what they make goes to the company, and what’s left is taxed.

And yet… not one person with house cleaning experience has contacted me about the job. Not one. The guy I almost hired didn’t have any experience at all in cleaning, which was a huge drawback for me because it means I’d have to -teach- it all. I don’t really have time for that, and so I really want someone who already knows how to clean a bath tub. Is that so much to ask?

I’m frustrated. I’ve had ads out there for 2 weeks now.

Back when the economy was bad, finding a housekeeper was -easy- as pie. I put the ad up and had multiple replies within hours.

[End of sulky, frustrated rant.]

Self Reflection on Prejudice

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I’ve never really considered myself a prejudice guy, yeah? I mean I guess I am in some ways, but it never really stood out to me until I decided to hire this new worker to come in and work for me as a housekeeper and helper.

I feel all kinds of awkward about him being East Indian… or, maybe you’re right and it’s about the whole “it’s a strange guy that will be coming into your house and touching your things. I know you’ve had housekeepers before but they were also females”, thing.

But what does it matter if the person working for me is a guy or a girl as long as they do the job? Hell, what does it matter if they’re East Indian or whatever, for that matter?

It doesn’t.

So the question is… it either of these things? Neither of these things? Am I making excuses for that internal instinct of mine that likes to speak up a warning when someone is bad news?

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Now that I think of it, I wonder if it’s neither the guy thing or the East Indian thing. It has that “fighting my instinct” feeling.

Damnit.

Considering that I know better than to ignore my instincts, I guess that means I’m still looking for a housekeeper and helper.

Love is…

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When there’s a big scare on your routine oncology check-ups, but then you find out (after more bloodwork) that your T markers are perfectly normal and you take a deep breath of relief not because you’re (probably) okay…….. but because you know HE is going to take a deep breath when he hears the news.

Today was good news.  Not totally in the clear, but good news all the same.  If the PETscan comes back good, then there’s no surgery, just a close and watchful eye for the time being.

I love you, Gideon.