Just as I pretend to be confident and sure of my decision to stay away from him, I wish we could pretend that sitting on a couch holding hands, laughing all night on the phone, or kissing like high school teenagers would last forever. Every time we're together, we could pretend that we would never suffer the consequence of tomorrow, so that when he would look at me, he would know that behind those eyes would be no tears. And I would know that when I run my hands down his back, he would sigh with pleasure instead of hesitance.

The thoughts I circle around in my head are leading me to boredom from the repetition. Straight to the brink of insanity. No matter how much I try to justify our situation, no logical reason will ever penetrate our solid separation. There's no way in. No chances, perchances, happenstances. You'd think it'd be simpler. We're not into this lovey dovey crap. Somebody please disconnect me from this lifeline that never existed so that I can restart and reboot my thinking pattern into something healthier.

His presence disturbs me. His mustache bothers me. His accent irks me to the last living and dead cell housed by my organism. His whistle-while-you-work attitude triggers my dormant violent condition. While I respect every faith and religion, his beliefs impose that respect. If I cared not for my freedom in this pitiful country, I would slice his head off with an ax and turn myself in. But it would be enough to have him deported. May he never clean another toilet in this country again. PMS brings me this hatred. Poor miserable Mexican janitor. He'll never see it coming.

The most trying days are Mondays... mornings to be exact. Lack of sleep, weekend remorse, excessive dehydration, overflow of epiphanies and life-changing decisions. All too much for only one cup of coffee to handle.
It's mostly about ‘him', about economics and survival, and it's mostly about my relationship with the Almighty and my spirituality falling short and shorter.
Every corner invites to crawl up in there in a fetal position and cry myself to a vegetative state.
Then Tuesday creeps in as Monday did, and all is fine and dandy again. Not the most desirable cycle, but it works for me.

The day will come when he is ready to tell me his sin, and with who it happened. My suspicions may be way off, but right now they're keeping me from digging deeper into his life and getting stuck. I already feel trapped with no outlet for escape. And until that day comes, I will be training my brain, a lobotomy, if you will, on how not to forgive any crass offenses committed by him. By anyone really. Whether it was against me or not is not the issue. The issue is I need to be more heartless to survive.

He continues disappointing me after having blind faith in him. At times, he doesn't even seem beautiful and I can't stand the thought of his touch. But his beauty always returns. I swear he's being sincere. Only time will tell...how I hate that trite clichÃÆ'©. What I can't differentiate is if my pardoning of his wrongdoing is my weakness, if I'm settling, or if it's a true manifestation of how much I want to be with this man. In the end, if he wants me, I'll let him prove it.

Come and get me, cause I'm not moving another inch.

My pattern shows I'm proactive, organized and determined only when I infuse my bloodstream with those fat-burning-ephedra-free-loony-inducing pills to support my workouts. Got the oil changed, air filter replaced, washed car, bought laundry essentials, paid some bills, worked out hard, cleaned house spotless. Although I was superwoman for a few hours, I wore it all out before dinnertime. As always, no motivation to cook for one. Uninspired, I still managed to create an inventive concoction of protein shake, yogurt and Slimfast drink. When I finished all, I almost had time to feel lonely, but thankfully, I passed out from exhaustion.

Time taunts me, sliding slower, stretching seconds and minutes until they frail away into nothing. My metabolism is skyrocketing and I'm layering impatience over anxiousness. This weekend couldn't happen any sooner if the timeline were on fast-forward. It's not 100% worry-free uncontainable excitement like when I was 7 years old going to Disney World. Now I know something is bound to go terribly wrong. Despite harsh reality, my childish excitement is busting loose. I'm trying to control the glowing red numbers on the digital clock to progress with more haste. It will be 80% enjoyable, never mind the leftover 20%.

Don't think I'm gullible, that you have power and control over me. I know exactly what I'm doing when I give in. I'm weak. I allow myself to take these falls. But I know your secret. You're just as weak. That equals two people who stumble around on the floor, get up back, only to continue tripping and falling. As long as we can alternate turns, we can keep picking each other up when we're down. If I were ever to fall and not be able to get back up, I'm taking you down with me.

Let's fall in love ...how's that?

My willingness to forgive and forget I think is a gift I was given to balance all those bitter people out there that hold grudges, that judge and do not let go of the past. Although I am one to visit the past often, I do not allow others' imperfections to surface. I don't mention it anyway, if I do think of it. But I figure there is a fine line between being forgiving and being extremely permissive. Being walked all over. That's my other problem. I've never been good at drawing lines. I let others define them for me.

Ok. Now I know this day is crazy! It's surreal! I was just thinking in Spanish and in my dreams last night...I saw distinguished faces as opposed to faceless strangers.
Despite my tattered mind, tormented by the one man who picks at every emotion I've experienced and have yet to experience, I'm exuding sunshine from every single pore. This is the day to love my enemies. Or just plain murder them without feeling remorse, and carry on with a careless stride. It's so wonderful how this day can feel perfect, without any reason at all.

It just is.

I consider it failure on my part every time I disregard my practice for self-control and call him instead. Momma said a gentleman should be the one to make the call. That's about all momma told me about love. All other lessons about love I've learned the hard way, or through songs. Can't hurry love! I heard that one a little too late, after trying to speed my way through a relationship with him. His last girlfriend (and her whole family) told him he was impatient.

So here we have two impatient people with no self-control.

Match made in heaven.

You know those automatic hand dryers attached to the walls public restrooms? The one I came across in the grocery store was freakishly extreme! I put my hands under the metal device. The air blew so hard on my fingers, it caused a rapid ripple effect down the excess skin hanging off the bone, flash drying the dewy skin into a paper like feeling. Without looking around, I sensed other ladies in the room, so I fought the urge to lift my shirt and position my belly under the blast of air to see it jiggle like jell-o on steroids.

The more difficult he makes it, the more he turns me on. He sparks my intrigue. Same for him, he likes the challenge I present. But he knows he's won this fight. I'm still wearing myself out trying to win. I don't handle defeat well, but I know I've lost. I don't mind taking the fall and have him carry me to safety, into someone else's arms. He's not even that smart...why am I swooned? It's in his little tactics and techniques, so subtle when he hits my weak spot. He hits it well. Ay me! Will I ever learn?

Down the hall, traveled the high-pitched cooing and ooing that baby lovers make (puke!). Right away I knew who it was, the baby bragger with the ugly baby. It seems every week she has new pictures of him in holiday backgrounds, ridiculous hats, sleeping, eating, walking, breathing...... She'll hold the film paper in front of you and wait for a compliments of any sorts. I've become quite skillful at pleasing her without having to say,

"YOU'RE BABY LOOKS LIKE A BUTT!!!!"

I thought of dashing to the bathroom when I heard her coming my way, but it was too late.

The brilliance of the ivory still haunts to me. I close my eyes, lightly curving my fingertips and slide them over the keys. When I hear it's song, I fight the tears and the past. It was a time when my song for passion and ambition was not far from reality. Then the music faded away. I let the melody slip away from the notes. The song I once played is out of my reach. I see others set themselves free as they master the gift of music on those magical bones. But for me they're skeletons of a better yesterday.

1 Missed phone call the LCD phone screen read. I was proud of myself for not answering. Eternal rings before you went to voicemail. But not too proud, considering I itched for the beep of a message. I always wait for any possible message he can give me. Nothing!

½ hour. The agony melted whatever attention span and concentrated I had achieved. I called back, tone aloof, shuffling about so I would sound preoccupied, not waiting to see what he had to say. "What do you want?-

"Hey, can I call back in 5-10 minutes-.

Here we go again...another eternity.

The bass string slaps the large wooden instrument. And so begins the resonance that sets the mood. It reaches her in the middle of the room. It reminds her of a sunset she's never seen. A song she's never heard. The soft vibration opens her eyes. Amidst the clinker and clatter of the dishware, the clouds of cigarette smoke, and lip-locked lovers in dim-lit booths, she can feel his presence. The rhythmic beat accompanies her pounding heart in her discreet, desperate search for him. She finds him...they lock their glance. She casually glides toward him.

"Hi! Can I join you?-

Never had I imagined finding his imperfections so perfect. I lifted his shirt up slowly with my fingertips, revealing the small of his back. I found myself saying a prayer of thanks for such a beautiful, delicate piece of skin to grace this earth. It could've been a bad tan, a childhood scar, or a shadow through the broken light. But that one minor fault on his smooth flesh tempted me to explore every piece of him. I brought my lips down to him, to see if I would feel heaven when I touched him. I could've died right there.

A half-moon in the blue sky of the early afternoon is curiously beautiful. It looks like a shiny new otherworldly quarter poking out of a giant jean pocket, about to fall out and land on top of my head, with a musical ‘pling'! I was having a hard time balancing down the sloped road, looking up while telepathically begging the moon to come join us. I looked at the others, then straight at the toddler in the stroller, bent and whispered to him, "The moon is going to fall down tonight." His tiny mouth got stuck wide open with fear.

"Remember that time in Europe, when you dropped the map over the bridge, and we never found that cafÃÆ'© you promised to take me to?-

He looked up from the menu, almost confused. "Uhm...I've never been to Europe-.

"I know."I smiled, unfolding the napkin on my lap. "Remember when you made me breakfast in bed, and when you brought it to me you caught me snooping in your underwear drawer?-

He set down the menu, " You've ... never been to my place. (pause) You realize this is our first date?-

He's gonna have to work hard to figure me out.

Another road trip. Don't know why I continue to bother packing a book light, and an action-thriller book, borrowed from my brother-in-law's collection. Maybe its disinterest that leads me to wander off in thought, or the unexplored possibilities the new adventure brings, or the man I hope is thinking of me while I'm gone. I'll slump myself in the backseat of the car against the window, legs squishing the luggage, look up backwards at the power lines swaying as we drive. Or the constant stars, faithful to their assigned spot. There are comforts amidst the uneasiness of a road trip.

Peeled and chopped up the last medium ripe banana. First layer to be dumped into my swirly parfait glass. Spooned a messy layer of sugar-free, Jell-O chocolate pudding mixed with fat-free milk. 2 tablespoons of crunchy peanut butter (recommended serving size per day). Topped with aerosol original whipped cream. Cannot fathom why I didn't buy the light one. Repeat the delicious sequence!!! Ingredients all squished, folded and displayed over the other, through the dish, looked appetizing yet healthy and low-calorie. Perfect parfait! The type of redundancy I don't mind! I could make a habit out of this dessert for dinner.

Be careful not to voice the fears and worries menacing around in your head. With your attention span, the undeveloped ideas trying to bust out of their shell will fizzle out before they mature. Hush girl. Shhhh. There you go. Just keep it inside a little longer until it falls asleep. Then take an ax to the thoughts endangering your sanity. It's not that nobody will understand you or at least pretend to sympathize... just ... don't poke at the beast when its trying to rest.

Yeah... I have to give myself these pep talks more oft than naught.

Her hand's engorged veins branched out, yet the grip of her fingers could not open the jar containing the chocolate-chip cookies tantalizing me. She shrugged her shoulders, gave it back to me. My fingers slid clockwise, but the steel lid wouldn't budge.

"I guess I'll call Bob to open it.-

She magically flashed before me. Pop! One hand held the lid, the other my cookie.

She smiled at me proud, "I would've cracked it open for you before we called a man for help.-

What opposite goals we have. I crave immediate satisfaction, involving sweets and men... she resists it.

Everclear was once faithful to me. I trusted it's ability to burn the brain cells retaining my stupid actions of the night. But last night, all it accomplished was a sharp lasting sting, bursting my bottom lip, flowing painfully down my esophagus. Dawn pounded my eyes open, and I tentatively waited. Before I settled in ease, the memories came into focus. Shame or embarrassment are not the precise words to describe what I felt (because as in the past, he disregards my faults when under the influence) But more like...exposed. I just said too much. He's getting used to it.

Knowing this woman could jabber on countless hours without stopping to inhale, and my brain growing weary of her pointless waste of breath, I decided to force my way in and grab reins of the conversation. I didn't wait for her to allow an opportunity. I snatched it, leaving her mouth agape. It was all over her eyes and face, searching and twitching for a gap where she could jump back in, but I had won. And I made sure to bore her out of her wits so she can see what it feels like to be on my side.

It's funny the way we back and forth, every groundhog-like day, silly banters of ‘beautiful day', ‘hang in there', or ‘let it rain'. Our cycling and recycling of clichÃÆ'©s, and the ones we make up as we trudge through our good/bad days, breaks us through shocking epiphanies when we're about to yank the last hair off our swollen heads. You write me a poem, I'll reciprocate with some proverb and we'll diddle-dally along our day, instead of moping through it. We sound like old ladies who read Chicken Soup for the Soul, but we're just two chicks escaping the pen.

When I want to stress and point out one of my thoughts or expressions...I use "quotations-. I use the simplest of adverbs, nouns and descriptions: really, very, etc. Ya'll get fancy and you bust out with your long, complicated, educated, college-dictionary vocabulary. You take twist and turns, use puns and play with words, rhymes, you really pour out those emotions. You strut about your skillful abilities. I cannot do it, sorry. I will continue sharing my 8th grade vocabulary and checking my dictionary. Can't afford to go back to school just to sound intellectual. I'm not as "smart"as you.

Sometimes I get the sudden urge to run. To run, fast and free on top of the world. I can exceed and surpass all the expectations I have set for myself. What a rush to believe in yourself and have firm confidence in your abilities. But as I pick up momentum I realize the truth of it all. The goal I set to reach the horizon transcends my limitations. No one can reach it. My hopes were in vain. Panic sets in, out of breath I put my hands on my knees and wait for the world to stop spinning.