This Weekend

Alo Maria,

Long post alert. It's about freaking time.

This weekend was extremely pleasant. A small milestone in my personal realm. Maybe things better left unsaid than made permanent ("permanent") on the inernet, but would really be lost otherwise. So here I go.

(PS: As I write this I notice the struggle I'm having with myself, the lack of ease with my thought and the instafilters that have immediately clicked into place. via our last convo, re: is that what I felt when I suddenly became aware of my audience?: I definitely feel you on that. I can relate to a certain degree. The difference in our struggle is that I never valued my writing for its extremes or anything like that; I lost more than a voice... I valued my writing for its ability to stroke my core, the core that I kept hidden from even myself, and its ability to stir something in strangers who held a similar dissonance on the tips of their tongues. It's that disconnect that I adored; writing was therapy for me in a way no other form of self-reflection could possibly brush against. It was this completely personal, private, raw, open, honest conversation I had with myself, a conversation with my subconscious, who clearly knew better than I did. Once that bridge of awareness formed, connecting the two, and my conscious attempetd to overpower the other, I lost it. I lost the friendship, I lost the blind intimacy that I had with my emotions, and I haven't been able to regain it on a steady, pure level since.

There was the tiniest switch that flicked once censorship slipped into my radar. I can compare it to a virus that I rebelled against, shut down against, and am now learning to adjust to and live with. Perhaps its curable, but my life completely free from it might have to fade into the fond once-upon-a-times of 'childhood.'

It's funny because, I interrupted my post to send you a parenthesis. And within these parenthesis, outside of the context of the 'real world' which I plan to present to you, here is the realest and flowingest train of thought I've had thus far. My filters stepped aside. The best truths do come whispered in undertones, don't they?)

I've rewritten everything I originally had here. Let me try to maintain this clear point of view while I got it.

A few updates. One of my closest's lost her grandmother on Christmas. Last year this time, there would have been a desperate uncertainty gnawing at the caves of my belly on how I was supposed to be that "good friend." This year, cooler heads prevail. There's a calm belief that giving her wide space before meeting for tea tomorrow is the best for her right now. Overwhelming her is the last thing I should do. I hope I can be there for her as wonderfully as she has been there for me.

I'm slowly regaining my confidence in myself, as a friend. For the longest time I believed that I was terrible at knowing how to judge my closest, how to smoothly understand their needs and adjust them to present situations. I can't tell you now if that's a mindfuck residue that Toxicity left behind, from her steady and open and weeping frustrations at my inability to properly cater to her, or if that's who I really was prior to this shift in perspective.

I saw Divo (male diva) this weekend as well. I'm sure I've mentioned that story (stop me if I haven't.) I remerged with the bouncers that night, joining them as their shifts were ending - it's been so long since I've done that. In the past I would have been huddled in their cipher, laughing deeply while weed thickened the air, capping the night with one last act of comraderie before parting ways. But I was perfectly content watching the strip of sky lighten between buildings, lost in my thoughts until we head for the morning train to Newark.

We had an extended-family "dinner" at Owl (by far my favorite)'s home. All of us ambled in at 8am to heaping plates of turkey, egg salad, yellow rice, mac and cheese. It was delicious. Their baby was awake, an adorable terror who took one glance at us walking in and blurted, "Oh, shit!" (His father's expression, a greeting of happy surprise.) They let me claim the one air mattress and Divo warned that he'd be joining me. I didn't deny it, as I was strangely craving a bedfellow - not sex, and please God, not with him - but a pleasant partner to sleep next to.

What I didn't expect was his insistence on intimacy. The finger-caressing kind. He pushed it onto me in waves, and at first I didn't mind it. His sexual advances were easy to turn down because they were indifferent, he merely nudged me with questions of permission ("Can we make out?" "No." "Aight. I'ma ask you again in 15 minutes."), and I knew that it was not sex he really wanted. What strange creatures men of insecurity make.

Believe it, we ended up talking for hours. His hand resting on my stomach, my legs tossed over his hips, my arms crossed. His arrogance, and my hatred for it, was a familiar presence between us. ("Hey J, remember when we used to make out?" "Yeah. Remember when we stopped?") All in all, it was wonderful until my cuddle-tank dripped past full. I sat up as soon as I became uncomfortable and did not want to be held anymore. His persistence bothered me, but he's a boy used to getting what he wants if he keeps trying. And I am fickle as I like to chase my happiness. Can I really be mad? Heh.

Our conversation turned from apples and religion to... lol. He murmured against my shoulder about how he's been different, how he regrets the direction we took, how he thinks about me a lot nowadays. I either laughed or stared at the ceiling. Whether it's because I don't desire him enough to search for truths in his statements, or because I've watched him enough to doubt his sincerity as a person, (or because I just don't trust romance in general? LOL) I listened to my soul shut down. My discomfort grew as he beamed at me (and made sure I saw it) later, sneaking pictures of me while I cradled Owl's newborn in my left arm, his older baby chillin & leaning against my right - didn't we three make such a pretty image? As much as I loved the group, and as much as I adored those kids, I found myself so far from my zone that I had to gtfo. And gtfo I did, with a huge sigh of relief.

The ultimate success of this weekend, and the point buried in the folds of this rambling post somewhere (also used to fill you in on my happenings!), is that I've come to trust my instincts without a hitch in stride again. It's been so long since I've allowed myself to absorb the sudden injection of intuition, and to pause in action to heed and consider. Somewhere among the debris of my past years I'd started believing that my impulses were wrong, that they led me to this mess in the first place, that I could no longer take them seriously because they only led to destruction. (Thus began my long, long road of delaying self-gratification and quitting everything I loved, from meat to sex to smoking to giving unwanted advice). It's wonderfully refreshing to have faith in myself again. The difference now is knowing which instincts to follow, and which to credit to uncertainty. Amazing to once again walk away from my actions without much regret; I have been plagued with them, and the weight is lifting.

Kryptonite got into a car accident yesterday. Exhales. He is alive, and no bones are broken; an SUV hit him and he flew back a few feet on impact. This intense stir in my belly cannot be soothed. When I found out last night, I felt the tender side of me -- which had rebelled so violently from house, kids and cuddle earlier that morning -- explode into action, grabbing for its keys and running to the door, making plans for care packages, soup and stories.

I can only chuckle. Some things never change, and some things will never be free of doubt.