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Even God seems to know what day it is. And he's acting on it. Snow. Lots of it. Rain and snow. A perfect April Fools joke from above.
I thought about writing something funny today- but I'm not in much of a funny mood. Not sleeping well- things on my mind.
Missing you uncontrollably- can't stop talking about you. Or thinking of you.
Tadpoles still legless.
Kitten still annoying.
THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE RA!!!!
No further grandmother updates.
One hundred words is occasionally not enough- next big thought will span a few days...
The next one's for the children.
My parents were young when they had me. Twenty two and twenty one, dad being older. As a result, my grandparents were reasonably young, and five of my great grandparents were still hale and hearty. As a result, I got to know them well. Dad was young, full of energy- not an old man- as I grew up. I've counted myself fortunate for this- and wanted it for my children. Now, it doesn't look like that's going to happen. And it vexes me. At this rate my children may not know any great grandparents, and I think that sucks, badly.
My maternal grandmother is a wonderful person. Always, she puts everyone else first- a truly selfless person. My maternal grandfather has devoted much of his time to others via Boy Scouts- they are excellent influences, examples I know I'll never live up to. My paternals are the same way. And that's what really aggravates me on the whole kids thing- I want my children to know these people. And even if the world changed, and she suddenly wanted to and a child was born tomorrow- it's really too late. Realistically, by the time s/he'd be old enough, they'd be gone.
And perhaps I'm being just being selfish- but I'd like to think that's not really it- see, I don't want this for me, per se, I wanted it for the children. Knowing these relatives was a good thing in my life- and I want good things for them- I want them to have it better than me. And already I've allowed them to be deprived of this chance. By giving in, by letting it go, I've let something be taken from them- a thing they should have had. And it really, really bothers me. Eats at me. Tears at me.
And she doesn't care about it- it isn't a big deal to her. "My great grandparents were all dead when I was born"- so it isn't important to her- and like anyhting else that isn't- she doesn't care if it is important to me. It doesn't even matter that it was a thing I wanted for our kids- oh, wait- what kids- like we'll actually ever have any. I am such a fool- I thought it all would just "work out"- idiot. Now I'm here, upset about this and bound to a person who couldn't care less about it. Good job.
A good thing happened- A prayer was answered. I checked my email- and you had written. A simple message- but it was so good to hear from you again. I know this doesn't mean a formal end to the no contact- but it sure was great to hear from you. I must have read it a hundred times- and I will probably read it more yet. It matters not what it says- it matters that it came from you. And that makes it precious to me. Every single thing I have that is of, or from, you is precious to me. Everyone has treasures- and things like the frog bracelet are mine.
It may be my fault- I've set this tome. I have tried hard to be an us- but, I have come to discover that I am apparently alone in that. I have given- sacrificed so much- my desires on our wedding- graduate school and my career as a professor. The first job I loved, I lived in the gulag- an opportunity I wanted to pursue, children young, children at all, it seems... The dream of shaking the dirt of this misbegotten state- There are place I want to live- she won;t do it. I've suborned my desires, and for what?
There's no hope for change- we're right where she wants to be. About a mile from "mommy"- In her hometown. And we'll never leave, not together, anyway. I've compromised my needs and wants- and she's gotten hers. There's no incentive for her to change anything now- and I'm out in the dark. "don't brood on it" she says- yes, let's control my mind, too! I want to talk- she says "i'm tored- I don;t want to talk now" and goes to bed. Like she has a fucking monopoly on being tired! Well, I'm tired too- of all this crap!!!
Every night I see it, burning in the sky, evening star, glowing, shining brightly. Forever fixed to light the night- a beacon throughout the ages. Since ancient times is has been there, and for thousands of years it will continue to be. What has it meant, to how many people? A guide to ancient mariners? An omen before a battle? Inspiration for a legend? And how many times has it been what it is to me, a symbol of faith, of hope, of love? A visual reminder of a loved one far away, giving comfort and solace on the long lonely nights? How many times?
What is home? A commercial on the radio here would have you believe that it is a two letter word- "MI"- the name of their company. Is it a place? A building? No, that is just a house. It takes more to be a home. Home, perhaps, isn't so much a place, as it is a feeling. Perhaps a feeling one gets when they are where they want to be- a feeling when they are happy, safe, secure? A feeling of being, well, at home? No, as the saying gose, home is where the heart it. So my home is you.
A new dream. Walking down a beach, you at my side, waves rolling in, the wet sand squishing between out toes. The water washing up, over our feet. A cool ocean breeze blowing in from the sea. Off shore, seals played in the surf, calling to each other, barking over the roar of the sea. The sun shone overhead in a clear blue sky, warm on our skin- and you looked radiant. A simple dress, hair flowing down your back, falling around your shoulders, your hand in mine. And the I woke- cold and dark and quiet, and so alone.
Alone. So alone. I'm always with someone- her, a co-worker, cats, what have you, but I always feel alone. Except with you. The I feel like I'm not alone. I feel alive, complete, whole. At peace. Happy. It's kinda nice, really. And I just realized how inadequate my words are. "Kinda nice, really". It doesn't even come close. But I will keep at it. I will someday find words worthy of you. I hope I at least make sense- that my ramblings can be made into a cohesive form. That I can be understood- despite my often inadequate words.
And Susan said at the end: "All love is unrequited." Strong, sad words. And I used to believe it. Used to think it was true. But it isn't. I have learned that thanks to you. "Love is an endless commitment to pain". There's some truth here- but it says nothing of the hope, the joy, the wonders of it- of us. Why does the sun shine? Why do flowers fade? Why can't it be simple- why couldn't we have met first? Why can't it be "around 100words"? If this is wrong- I don't want to be right. I need to see you.
Spam, in a can
NO SPIN ZONE
Yabba Dabba Doo
Hoobastank? What kind of name is Hoobastank?
Seventy Four Ninety Nine
I have the power of sunglasses- take that, sun!
A side order of whoop ass
Scrappy doo is right out
Lonely among us
All the good porn names are already taken
A very special friends- what, is this Blossom?
I need you
I'm burning for you
I'm home when I'm with you.
I am becoming addicted to Bill O'Reilly. This is not a bad thing, I think, because there is much to like about Bill. His keen wit and penetrating acumen are admirable. His total lack of fear of offending people in pursuit of the truth is, in the modern media, quite outstanding. He is looking out for us all, and we need it. What with all the leftist media elites and all. He reminds me of my old master. I get surly now when I miss the factor. Thank you for introducing me to his work, dearest. He kicks ass.
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?
Drink like a fish, baby!
Sleep and I have a poor relationship these days, it seems.
Do you dream of me, still?
Counting sheep doesn't work, at all- neither does watching Insomniac Music Theater.
Still alone, even in company
Secret, Agent Man!!!
My faith in you, is my strength.
What would be the best time for a Cylon strike?
Ah, advil, blessed advil!
If it looks like a trap, smells like a trap, it is likely a trap.
A measuring cup of water in her hand. Me, on the far side of the kitchen, minding my own business. A slip of the hand. The cup falls. Mercifully, it doesn't shatter (good pyrex stuff), but water spills out, droplets of it cascading though the air, falling everywhere on the floor. The cup rolls about on the counter like a wounded animal. There is a momentary silence. Then, she rounds on me, fury in her eyes. "Thanks a lot", she snaps at me. Like it was my fault! I get blamed for everything- and it angers me.
If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is there to hear it, will she still blame me for both the tree falling and the lack of listeners?
The incredible edible egg.
Beer- it's like bread, only liquid.
If it looks like a cannibal is about to eat you- tell him you are a clown- he'll let you go because he'll think you'd taste funny.
I need a robot dog in the worst way.
Yeah, she'd blame me for it- who am I kidding?
Bigger, Longer, Uncut
I miss you.
No, I really miss you.
This day is one soaked in blood. In seventeen seventy-six the American revolution moved past spoken words to a clash of arms in the battle of Lexington and Concord. In the Civil War, a Union gunboat was sunk by the Confederate ironclad Albemarle. More recently came the assault on the Waco compound of David Koresh- an action I agreed with, but resulting in much bloodshed regardless. Then came the related bombing of the federal building in Oklahoma- more casualties. I'm sure there have been more incidents. This day seems bound in tradgedy. And I am bound to it too.
Dragonfire, burning bright, scorching the ground for my delight!
I don't normally use this space for this sort of thing, but I recently got a new game for the playstation called "Drakkengard". It kicks total ass! You get to fly around on a dragon, tearing through armies of enemy troops. Usually in games like this, the dragon is the bad guy, and cooks your goose. In this one, you get to do the grilling. It is remarkably satisfying, if a little sick, perhaps. But, if you are into the whole fantasy action genre, this game is for you.
I'm on vacation. It's warm here. Far different from "home". The pollen hangs here, a yellow dust over everything. Thank God for the miracle of anti-histamines. We're out here to, in theory, try to reconnect- no distractions, just spending time, but it doesn't seem to be working. All I can think of is you, and I wonder how amazing it would be to be here with you. I do like it here. I wonder if you would fall in love with it too. I've got it bad for you, and I like it. And that is good.
My birthday was the other day. I didn't write about it then- I knew not what to say about it, but I know now. It all goes back to the days before, and the constant badgering about what I wanted for gifts. I could not think of anything in particular, other than to be left alone about it. "But you must want something" yeah, to be left alone. To not be older- to be free of this crap. That's what I wanted. But no one could give me that. Time doesn't stop, and the rest is up to me.
I have a serious problem staying on topic, at times. I often find myself unable to keep it, to quote Bill, "pithy". I have gone from writing a serious letter to someone to rambling about the current climactic/atmospheric/paranormal conditions at my location and back to serious all in a matter of a few sentences. I sometimes change tacks within a sentence. Occasionally I do it in spoken conversation, confusing the hell out of the person I was talking to. It can be confusing even to me, at times. Thankfully, you don't seem to mind my ramblings too much.
What do you write when you can't think of a blasted thing to say? Do I ramble on and on and on and on like some stupid foolish droning, skipping record? Or do I try to find some kind of topic to do a half assed job on? Do I try to wax poetic, or do I just wax? Look for the lyrical, or churn out the blasé? Try to tell an amusing anecdote? Try to revise and extend earlier remarks? Rehash an old rant? Bust out the soapbox and comment upon the news of the day?
That's a wrap.
Took delivery of a box from my parents today. It contained some minor odds and ends, most significant of which were my high school yearbooks. It's interesting to look at them, now, and see where I've come from, and see the faces I've left behind. Friends long lost, one dead, now, most simply not seen since graduation. The silly band uniforms, the all too serious senior pictures, the lame school pictures. It brought back some memories, I must say. I have seen all of your yearbooks- I can't wait until you see mine. I am interested to get your reaction.
It's quite peaceful here, now. Alone in the house, the kitties asleep, the TV off. The soft strains of Mozart's Violin Concerto Number Three, Third Movement float throughout the house, courtesy of the computer's built in compact disc player. Sometimes, the loneliness of being truly alone is preferable to the loneliness I feel around others. But that is neither here nor there. I sit, relaxed, looking at pictures of you. I need more- I want the ones we took when I was there, before I had to leave.
Judicial activism is a big problem. B-B-B-B-Bill had a story on about a child molester. This guy was let go by an appeals court because his victim had committed suicide over the incident, and as a result the molester could not "face his accuser". So our villain goes free while his victim lies dead. This isn't justice. It also sets a dangerous precedent. Can all murderers go free because they can't face their deceased victims? Think about it- that's what these judges have told us. No live victim, no guilty verdict.
A bit about what I'm up to these days:
Listening to: the Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World soundtrack.
Reading: From Fields of Fire and Glory: Letters of the Civil War.
Modeling: A Chesapeake and Ohio SD50.
Eating: Donatos works pizza.
Drinking: Samuel Adams Boston Lager.
Driving: Jeep, or Monte Carlo.
Watching: The O'Reilly Factor- I am a total fucking addict, anymore!
Writing: these hundred words- and reaching to get enough.
Looking forward to: talking to you.
Irritated by: the cat. (if he gets on the table one just more time…)
This is out of character, but I am going to plug something again. This time it is the book I mentioned yesterday. It is called "From Fields of Fire and Glory: Letters of the Civil War". It's made up of letters written by soldiers during the Civil War. It has letters of both common soldiers and officers alike. There are simple stories of camp life, and letters written upon the deathbed to loved ones far away. Those are the most moving of all- words from men who were trying to say goodbye, trying to comfort those they were leaving behind.
End of the month again. Wrapping it up for another month. Another three thousand words written. A year older- perhaps a year wiser. Not much richer, fiscally. After today, only fifteen days until the sixteenth of May and the end of the no contact period. I cannot wait to speak to you. It has been vastly too long. Hopefully you do feel the same way.
The evening star shines above me as I write this, and as always it reminds me of you. I wonder, does it remind you of me as well? Does it comfort you too? Make you happy? I truly hope it does.
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