Hubby's left for his training stint. Left this morning, same time he leaves for work every day. We don't generally talk or text during the day, though we do email some. So, this day is so far not one bit different than any other weekday. But it feels different. I have no idea why. It makes no sense whatsoever. And yet there is this void, this hole. Maybe it would be more accurate to say that I feel "un-whole."
Six months of this. And I can't let him know how much this hurts, how frightened I am for him, how terrified I am that I'll totally mess up our finances or make some other ghastly faux pas. I have to make this easy for him - as easy as it can be. I can't let him see the panic, the ache, the overwhelming sense of lonely futility. He has to be able to go with an easy heart, certain that I'll be all right. I won't be. I won't be. God help me, I can't do this. And yet I must. I have to. I have to wave and smile and send him off with hand-knit gloves and the memory of a kiss.
And so, again, I die. Shut down everything, wrap the shawls of numbness around my shoulders, stack the dry stone cell of forced hermitage around my heart. Remember how to simply sit. Not sit and think - thinking is far too dangerous. Just sit, ticking the minutes away. And yet I can't even do that. I have to be present for Precious Treasure. Somewhere, there is a toggle within me, an on/off gate for feeling, for living. I know it's there. I remember it. I've used it many times before. But it's dark and I'm alone and I can not find it.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
When It Rains, Buy a Boat
Yeah, I missed some days. With predictable suddenness, the wheels up date for hubby's tour of duty in Afghanistan has been moved up. Training in another state all this week, wheels up Sunday. So things got really busy really fast.
And then there's the rest of the shit.
Son and daughter-in-law, who adopted Precious Treasure (granddaughter) last year, which caused hubby & me to move here rather than stay several hours away - are splitting up. Yeah, that's right. Divorce. So I've been detouring around my heart lying there on the carpet for a week now, since they told us. We knew things weren't good - there's been so much tension in that house that I'm surprised the entire state hasn't been put on alert - but had hoped they would work things out. Nope. So I'm alternating between heartbroken and madder than hell. Maybe I shouldn't have tried so hard not to be an interfering mother/mother-in-law. Right now, I'd like to shake them both and then ask them what the hell do they think they're playing at? This isn't some game. So they're miserable right now. So fucking what? It stopped being about their happiness when they said they wanted to raise Precious Treasure because we're close to 60. If hubby and I had split every time one or the other of us spent months being miserable, we'd have divorced before any of them came along.
They've probably listened to some of this bullshit about how a marriage is supposed to be 50/50. Bull-fucking-shit. Marriage is 100/100. If you marry someone because you expect they'll make you happy, you've married for the wrong reason. The right reason? Simple. Marry someone because you intend to make that someone happy. Not the other way around. Not you hope to make them happy. Not because you might make them happy. Because you intend - you expect to work at, you expect to give every plan, ambition, hope, dream, wish - all that you had, all that you have, all that you will ever have -- to make the other person happy. Yes, it's hard. Yes, it's unfair. It's all of that and more. It's also the only way it will ever work.
Understand me - I mean that both of you have to marry with that in mind. There will be times when each of you will forget. There will be times when nothing you try works. There will be times when it takes more than you ever thought you would have to even keep breathing, much less continue to work at making sure the other person is happy. But if both of you marry with that intent - not if you say that, but if you mean it from your skin right down into your soul and out the other side, if each of you gives everything to and for the other, you will each find reasonable happiness. Not always. But for the most part. Enough to stay together even in the hard times.
I wish I could say to them, to each of these people whom I love dearly: It's not about you. It's not about what it takes to make you happy. It's not about what is good for you, or for you, as individuals. It's about what's good for your marriage. What's good for your family. Taking Precious Treasure from the only home she'd ever known, breaking the legal bond between her and her mother (thank Whomever they had the sense not to try to break the emotional bond), taking on the job of raising her - a job hubby and I were as committed to as we were to raising her mother, her uncle & her aunt - pulling us all apart like that -- we did that because it was what was good for Precious Treasure. God knows it wasn't what we wanted, hubby and I. It wasn't what was best for us. We agreed to it because having parents who were young enough to take her to the water park, ride bikes with her, run her to scouts and soccer and cheerleading and dance and all the other stuff without exhaustion - because that would have been good for Precious Treasure. And they love her, honestly, they do. They're just neither of them grown up enough (and you'd think they would be in mid/late twenties) to put her first. Maybe they're not able to. They're certainly not willing to. And that makes me insanely angry.
And then there's the rest of the shit.
Son and daughter-in-law, who adopted Precious Treasure (granddaughter) last year, which caused hubby & me to move here rather than stay several hours away - are splitting up. Yeah, that's right. Divorce. So I've been detouring around my heart lying there on the carpet for a week now, since they told us. We knew things weren't good - there's been so much tension in that house that I'm surprised the entire state hasn't been put on alert - but had hoped they would work things out. Nope. So I'm alternating between heartbroken and madder than hell. Maybe I shouldn't have tried so hard not to be an interfering mother/mother-in-law. Right now, I'd like to shake them both and then ask them what the hell do they think they're playing at? This isn't some game. So they're miserable right now. So fucking what? It stopped being about their happiness when they said they wanted to raise Precious Treasure because we're close to 60. If hubby and I had split every time one or the other of us spent months being miserable, we'd have divorced before any of them came along.
They've probably listened to some of this bullshit about how a marriage is supposed to be 50/50. Bull-fucking-shit. Marriage is 100/100. If you marry someone because you expect they'll make you happy, you've married for the wrong reason. The right reason? Simple. Marry someone because you intend to make that someone happy. Not the other way around. Not you hope to make them happy. Not because you might make them happy. Because you intend - you expect to work at, you expect to give every plan, ambition, hope, dream, wish - all that you had, all that you have, all that you will ever have -- to make the other person happy. Yes, it's hard. Yes, it's unfair. It's all of that and more. It's also the only way it will ever work.
Understand me - I mean that both of you have to marry with that in mind. There will be times when each of you will forget. There will be times when nothing you try works. There will be times when it takes more than you ever thought you would have to even keep breathing, much less continue to work at making sure the other person is happy. But if both of you marry with that intent - not if you say that, but if you mean it from your skin right down into your soul and out the other side, if each of you gives everything to and for the other, you will each find reasonable happiness. Not always. But for the most part. Enough to stay together even in the hard times.
I wish I could say to them, to each of these people whom I love dearly: It's not about you. It's not about what it takes to make you happy. It's not about what is good for you, or for you, as individuals. It's about what's good for your marriage. What's good for your family. Taking Precious Treasure from the only home she'd ever known, breaking the legal bond between her and her mother (thank Whomever they had the sense not to try to break the emotional bond), taking on the job of raising her - a job hubby and I were as committed to as we were to raising her mother, her uncle & her aunt - pulling us all apart like that -- we did that because it was what was good for Precious Treasure. God knows it wasn't what we wanted, hubby and I. It wasn't what was best for us. We agreed to it because having parents who were young enough to take her to the water park, ride bikes with her, run her to scouts and soccer and cheerleading and dance and all the other stuff without exhaustion - because that would have been good for Precious Treasure. And they love her, honestly, they do. They're just neither of them grown up enough (and you'd think they would be in mid/late twenties) to put her first. Maybe they're not able to. They're certainly not willing to. And that makes me insanely angry.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Serial Suicide
OK, no panic allowed. As I've said before, NOT going to do it, but ....
Was thinking the other day about how often I've had to re-invent myself, how often I've abruptly changed direction, outlook, what I do and don't do, and that phrase jumped to mind. I've killed who I was many times, but since it's *me* i've killed over and over, that makes me a serial suicide.
What am I talking about? Well, the highlights would be hiding my hippie-dom during the 60's & 70's only to drop the whole drug life for a near-decade of involvement with spiritualism. Yes, kiddies, I mean the woo-woo talking to the dead stuff, though it was never about asking great aunt Maude what the secret ingredient to her sweet potato pie recipe really was. It was asking spirit guides for TRUTH about the universe and our place in it. That me vanished overnight as I remade myself into a fundamentalist Christian. For more like two decades, during which some really "interesting" things happened. (Remember the Chinese curse "may you live in interesting times." Well, we did.) Then there was the Big Fuckover (there's really no other way to say it) that was revealed when we found out our oldest friend and pastor had lied to us, manipulated us and the whole congregation, gotten us to move across the country under false pretenses, and set us up for inevitable failure. Bye-bye Little Susie Fundie. Hello, darkness and despair, confusion and chaos. Couldn't show that to the rest of the world, though could I? I mean, I had a job - an important one supporting the DoD. Had to appear normal, more or less. So inward wounded and perplexed, outward Career Woman/Mom (leave out the soccer, he played American football instead). So, a decade-ish of that, and the Small Fuckover - got hustled out the door at work because I wouldn't play games with the Big Boys. (No, I don't mean sex, I mean office politics.) Bye-bye Career Woman, hello ... aimless, anchorless, meaningless - except there was that granddaughter whom we were raising. She was my meaning, the reason I kept on despite the physical and mental pain (I've been a chronic pain patient for the last decade and it ain't fun).
Then the biggest blow of all - though it was absolutely the right thing to happen for many reasons, the granddaughter left - adopted by her uncle and aunt. Bye-bye any hope of a life. Hello, Nothing. I cannot express the grief. I can't tell you how many times the utter emptiness, the Nothing-ness of it all overwhelmed me so powerfully that my knees literally buckled beneath me and I fell to the floor, weeping. No, weeping isn't strong enough. There is this pain, this loss that comes from so deep within that it's not weeping. It's a visceral thing, a sound that comes from your soul. It can't be held in; it forces itself out, bangs on the barricade of your teeth and your false front of Making It OK until everything splinters and it screams through the shards of who you were, taking most of you with it.
I had to search, not for a reason to live, but for a WAY to live, a means of surviving from one minute to the next. Had to - despite being 3 hours away, my Precious Treasure still needed me - still does, so I'm still here, now thankfully only 20 minutes away. But that was another re-invention. Killed the obedient, submissive Good Wife and just told the man I adore that I was going - he could come or not, I was outta there. Bye-bye, Good Wife, hello, Independent Me, on my own for the first time ever. And doing OK with it.
So, now? Well, he followed me after several months. So here I am, unwilling to give up Independent Me - for the first time in my life, I had set some boundaries, said "this is mine and no, I won't let you have it, thank you very much", carved out a place where I could find the artist that wants out, the songwriter/musician, the creative me -- but I haven't the freedom any longer. More than that, I don't have a place, a space that's mine any more. Oh, I love this man, I do, I really do. Been with him since I was 17 and he was 16. But I want ... not more per se, but different. I want a way, a place, a space where I can put out the things I want to surround myself with, the art, pictures, history that inspires me and feeds that part of me that I had discovered and was trying to gestate. Bye-bye, Who I Thought I Might Get a Chance to Be. Hello ... I don't know what. Something less. Something much less. And I don't like it.
Don't know the answer. I do know I'm sick and damned tired of being a serial suicide. Wish I had hope that there *is* an answer.
Was thinking the other day about how often I've had to re-invent myself, how often I've abruptly changed direction, outlook, what I do and don't do, and that phrase jumped to mind. I've killed who I was many times, but since it's *me* i've killed over and over, that makes me a serial suicide.
What am I talking about? Well, the highlights would be hiding my hippie-dom during the 60's & 70's only to drop the whole drug life for a near-decade of involvement with spiritualism. Yes, kiddies, I mean the woo-woo talking to the dead stuff, though it was never about asking great aunt Maude what the secret ingredient to her sweet potato pie recipe really was. It was asking spirit guides for TRUTH about the universe and our place in it. That me vanished overnight as I remade myself into a fundamentalist Christian. For more like two decades, during which some really "interesting" things happened. (Remember the Chinese curse "may you live in interesting times." Well, we did.) Then there was the Big Fuckover (there's really no other way to say it) that was revealed when we found out our oldest friend and pastor had lied to us, manipulated us and the whole congregation, gotten us to move across the country under false pretenses, and set us up for inevitable failure. Bye-bye Little Susie Fundie. Hello, darkness and despair, confusion and chaos. Couldn't show that to the rest of the world, though could I? I mean, I had a job - an important one supporting the DoD. Had to appear normal, more or less. So inward wounded and perplexed, outward Career Woman/Mom (leave out the soccer, he played American football instead). So, a decade-ish of that, and the Small Fuckover - got hustled out the door at work because I wouldn't play games with the Big Boys. (No, I don't mean sex, I mean office politics.) Bye-bye Career Woman, hello ... aimless, anchorless, meaningless - except there was that granddaughter whom we were raising. She was my meaning, the reason I kept on despite the physical and mental pain (I've been a chronic pain patient for the last decade and it ain't fun).
Then the biggest blow of all - though it was absolutely the right thing to happen for many reasons, the granddaughter left - adopted by her uncle and aunt. Bye-bye any hope of a life. Hello, Nothing. I cannot express the grief. I can't tell you how many times the utter emptiness, the Nothing-ness of it all overwhelmed me so powerfully that my knees literally buckled beneath me and I fell to the floor, weeping. No, weeping isn't strong enough. There is this pain, this loss that comes from so deep within that it's not weeping. It's a visceral thing, a sound that comes from your soul. It can't be held in; it forces itself out, bangs on the barricade of your teeth and your false front of Making It OK until everything splinters and it screams through the shards of who you were, taking most of you with it.
I had to search, not for a reason to live, but for a WAY to live, a means of surviving from one minute to the next. Had to - despite being 3 hours away, my Precious Treasure still needed me - still does, so I'm still here, now thankfully only 20 minutes away. But that was another re-invention. Killed the obedient, submissive Good Wife and just told the man I adore that I was going - he could come or not, I was outta there. Bye-bye, Good Wife, hello, Independent Me, on my own for the first time ever. And doing OK with it.
So, now? Well, he followed me after several months. So here I am, unwilling to give up Independent Me - for the first time in my life, I had set some boundaries, said "this is mine and no, I won't let you have it, thank you very much", carved out a place where I could find the artist that wants out, the songwriter/musician, the creative me -- but I haven't the freedom any longer. More than that, I don't have a place, a space that's mine any more. Oh, I love this man, I do, I really do. Been with him since I was 17 and he was 16. But I want ... not more per se, but different. I want a way, a place, a space where I can put out the things I want to surround myself with, the art, pictures, history that inspires me and feeds that part of me that I had discovered and was trying to gestate. Bye-bye, Who I Thought I Might Get a Chance to Be. Hello ... I don't know what. Something less. Something much less. And I don't like it.
Don't know the answer. I do know I'm sick and damned tired of being a serial suicide. Wish I had hope that there *is* an answer.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Aha!
Silly thing, but I had an aha moment a bit ago - watching "The Universe" on the History Channel, and for some unknown reason, I suddenly realized why I haven't ever gotten that tattoo I've wanted for more than a decade. I can't decide what to get because I can't find any one thing that defines me. Yeah, I know, obvious, isn't it? But it was a startling thing for me.
So, I'm thinking about it seriously again - and have begun to look for an image of the stars, planets, galaxies, something similar to use. My love of science and space is one of the few constants. No matter who I've pretended to be, no matter who I thought I was, no matter who I tried to be, that love has always been there. I'd like something exotic - colliding galaxies seen from the surface of an obviously other planet, maybe, or a view of Saturn's rings from the planet (if it had a surface we could stand on), moonrise from a planet with many moons -- something colorful, something beautiful, something other.
Because of course, that's what I am - something other, not within the normal range, something dropped through a crack in reality perhaps. I certainly don't fit in, don't belong here. Even as a child, I had the dream of stars, the deep longing - the need to stand under the influence of unearthly gravity beneath a green or purple sky, watching double moons crossing the sky. I'm not from here. And yes, I know how crazy that sounds. I'm not about to start wearing tin foil or telling people I've been abducted by aliens. I'm not, in that sense, nuts. I am, however, not at home in this world, never have been. I've always in moments of stress cried out (at least to myself) "I want to go *home*" and yet I've never been able to say where home is. I still don't know. I just know where it's not. And it's certainly not here.
So, I'm thinking about it seriously again - and have begun to look for an image of the stars, planets, galaxies, something similar to use. My love of science and space is one of the few constants. No matter who I've pretended to be, no matter who I thought I was, no matter who I tried to be, that love has always been there. I'd like something exotic - colliding galaxies seen from the surface of an obviously other planet, maybe, or a view of Saturn's rings from the planet (if it had a surface we could stand on), moonrise from a planet with many moons -- something colorful, something beautiful, something other.
Because of course, that's what I am - something other, not within the normal range, something dropped through a crack in reality perhaps. I certainly don't fit in, don't belong here. Even as a child, I had the dream of stars, the deep longing - the need to stand under the influence of unearthly gravity beneath a green or purple sky, watching double moons crossing the sky. I'm not from here. And yes, I know how crazy that sounds. I'm not about to start wearing tin foil or telling people I've been abducted by aliens. I'm not, in that sense, nuts. I am, however, not at home in this world, never have been. I've always in moments of stress cried out (at least to myself) "I want to go *home*" and yet I've never been able to say where home is. I still don't know. I just know where it's not. And it's certainly not here.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Wondering
So, when someone does something that kinda hurts, we get told not to take it personally. How are we supposed to take it, then? I mean, I'm a person - at least I was at one time - so there's not much other way I could take it, is there? What that usually means, it seems to me, is more like "oh, that bothered you? If I acknowledge that, then I'll have to apologize and face the fact that I screwed up, and I don't want to do that, so I'll just tell you you're being too sensitive and not to take it personally so I can go on my merry way and feel smug and somewhat offended myself because you dared to let me know I might have affected you negatively." It somehow works out that I end up apologizing to people because *they* hurt *me.* Doesn't seem right, does it?
What am I talking about? Well, I have ... I would say "friends" but these days I'm not so sure ... I have people I know on FB -- not only people I've met online, but also people I really know out in the maybe-real world -- and the other day after a long time of not posting on FB, I decided to give it a go again, wrote one of these folks a message, wished her a happy birthday, and then later, much later, she appeared online, so I used the chat to say hi and she instantly dropped offline. Not a word in reply to my message, not a thanks for the birthday wish, and then vanishes when I say hi. OK, so she's done this kind of thing before, but at this time when I've been so withdrawn and isolated, depressed to the point of having to consciously fight against Darkness (with a capital DARK), to have her - one of the few people I felt I could talk to on more than a small-talk level - ignore me completely for a day and then drop out of sight HURT. Like hell. So after crying a while, I went off to bed. And then there's today. A very long-time friend, whom I haven't had a chance to talk to for a while, is online at FB when I took a deep breath and signed in, determined to give this reaching out thing another shot. She's online, I say hi ... and yeah, she ignores me, too. This is someone I've given years of my life to, sacrificed a lot to do things with and for, someone I let dictate the terms of our relationship (there's that "be in stasis until I decide you're worth bothering with for a few minutes if it's convenient" thing again), someone I had forgiven over and over (to be fair, I'm sure she's forgiven me a lot, too), someone I *LOVE* - and she's got to know that the man in my life, the man with whom I've spent more than 40 years, is about to ship out to a fucking war zone. And nothing. Not even a "hi, I can't talk right now." Not even a "go screw yourself". Nothing.
Is it any wonder I feel alone?
I'm not sure I've got the strength left to keep trying to break out of this isolation. It's too painful. And everything I try (and, hey, I'm not out there being a whining sniveling pest, ok? I'm waving cheerily) just confirms that the outside world isn't a good place for me, that the best thing for me to do is just crawl back into the cave and whimper by the fire by myself. I go back and forth between hurt and anger. I've spent years growing more and more inward-turned and I'm not sure I can continue to try to move out of that state if I keep getting hurt like this.
In my bleaker moments over the last couple of years, I had re-defined some things:
Trust - handing the jar of vaseline to the person standing there with a broom handle saying "bend over"
Faith - a way to deceive people in large groups
Friend - a traitor who hasn't seen the right opening yet
Family - "friends" with more chances
I don't like being this way. I really don't. I've been fighting SO hard to turn myself around. But I'm not sure anymore that it's even worth it.
No, nothing bad is going to happen to me. I'm not going to do myself a mischief. At my very deepest level of despair (guess what, kiddies, this is me *better* than I was months ago), when that thought was a constant companion ("Hello, darkness, my old friend..."), I stopped to consider the effect that would have on other people - puts the whole "don't take it personally" thing in sharp relief, that -- and determined I would NOT under any circumstances let my granddaughter grow up thinking I didn't love her enough to live. So, yeah, I'm here until someone else punches my ticket. I'm trying to find a way beyond the old hillbilly thing (sometimes I sits and thinks and sometimes I jest sits) to do that, to live, to have a life that isn't confined to the space inside my skull. So far, it's not working so well.
What am I talking about? Well, I have ... I would say "friends" but these days I'm not so sure ... I have people I know on FB -- not only people I've met online, but also people I really know out in the maybe-real world -- and the other day after a long time of not posting on FB, I decided to give it a go again, wrote one of these folks a message, wished her a happy birthday, and then later, much later, she appeared online, so I used the chat to say hi and she instantly dropped offline. Not a word in reply to my message, not a thanks for the birthday wish, and then vanishes when I say hi. OK, so she's done this kind of thing before, but at this time when I've been so withdrawn and isolated, depressed to the point of having to consciously fight against Darkness (with a capital DARK), to have her - one of the few people I felt I could talk to on more than a small-talk level - ignore me completely for a day and then drop out of sight HURT. Like hell. So after crying a while, I went off to bed. And then there's today. A very long-time friend, whom I haven't had a chance to talk to for a while, is online at FB when I took a deep breath and signed in, determined to give this reaching out thing another shot. She's online, I say hi ... and yeah, she ignores me, too. This is someone I've given years of my life to, sacrificed a lot to do things with and for, someone I let dictate the terms of our relationship (there's that "be in stasis until I decide you're worth bothering with for a few minutes if it's convenient" thing again), someone I had forgiven over and over (to be fair, I'm sure she's forgiven me a lot, too), someone I *LOVE* - and she's got to know that the man in my life, the man with whom I've spent more than 40 years, is about to ship out to a fucking war zone. And nothing. Not even a "hi, I can't talk right now." Not even a "go screw yourself". Nothing.
Is it any wonder I feel alone?
I'm not sure I've got the strength left to keep trying to break out of this isolation. It's too painful. And everything I try (and, hey, I'm not out there being a whining sniveling pest, ok? I'm waving cheerily) just confirms that the outside world isn't a good place for me, that the best thing for me to do is just crawl back into the cave and whimper by the fire by myself. I go back and forth between hurt and anger. I've spent years growing more and more inward-turned and I'm not sure I can continue to try to move out of that state if I keep getting hurt like this.
In my bleaker moments over the last couple of years, I had re-defined some things:
Trust - handing the jar of vaseline to the person standing there with a broom handle saying "bend over"
Faith - a way to deceive people in large groups
Friend - a traitor who hasn't seen the right opening yet
Family - "friends" with more chances
I don't like being this way. I really don't. I've been fighting SO hard to turn myself around. But I'm not sure anymore that it's even worth it.
No, nothing bad is going to happen to me. I'm not going to do myself a mischief. At my very deepest level of despair (guess what, kiddies, this is me *better* than I was months ago), when that thought was a constant companion ("Hello, darkness, my old friend..."), I stopped to consider the effect that would have on other people - puts the whole "don't take it personally" thing in sharp relief, that -- and determined I would NOT under any circumstances let my granddaughter grow up thinking I didn't love her enough to live. So, yeah, I'm here until someone else punches my ticket. I'm trying to find a way beyond the old hillbilly thing (sometimes I sits and thinks and sometimes I jest sits) to do that, to live, to have a life that isn't confined to the space inside my skull. So far, it's not working so well.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Tired of Being Told Who to Be
I know they don't mean it - at least I hope to hell they don't - but all my life, nearly 60 years now, people have told me what to think, how to act, who to be. Some of the people who've told me this the loudest are people who actually love me. Weird, right? I mean, if anyone should let you be who you are, it's the people who love you, yes? Well, not so, at least not for me. I get told I'm wrong to feel what I feel - hey, I don't mind being corrected if my facts are wrong, or being told there's another viewpoint that maybe I hadn't seen, but dammit, what I feel is what I fucking FEEL already - I get blasted for political views (yeah, so I'm a Democrat, OK?), get yelled at by family when I get so stressed that I finally decide to say "you know, I could use a little help here". I make people uncomfortable. It's easier for them if they can pretend I'm just a nice grandma who's basically in stasis until they want me around when I come to life magically and hand out cookies or listen to their problems or agree with their views.
So, here I am, me. If you find this without being invited - and you might - and you figure out who I am - and you might - and you don't like it, too damn bad. If I've invited you here, I trust you. If I'm trusting you and you start in with the "you're wrong to feel like that" bullshit, I'll just delete this and start another and not let you know. Feel free to *talk* to me about anything, as long as you respect the fact that I have a right to BE WHO I AM, thank you very much. Unless you're my granddaughter - and you're not, since she doesn't have unmonitored internet access - I don't try to tell you who you should be, so I expect the same consideration.
I'm opinionated (like that's a surprise), intelligent (IQ scores available upon request), have a kinky sense of humor and am interested in almost everything from quantum theory to knitting. I love cats, music of most kinds (though country doesn't thrill me and I could go the rest of my life without anyone reminding me that there was once a guy named Lawrence Welk), Monty Python, and good books in many genres. I've seen a lot of life - and death - and lived in a lot of places in the US. I'd sacrifice fairly important body parts (my own, of course) to be able to live in the UK, even though I'd have to give up my Beretta .25 Panther.
I have no idea what I'll write about here, or how often. This is who I am, hidden away.
So, here I am, me. If you find this without being invited - and you might - and you figure out who I am - and you might - and you don't like it, too damn bad. If I've invited you here, I trust you. If I'm trusting you and you start in with the "you're wrong to feel like that" bullshit, I'll just delete this and start another and not let you know. Feel free to *talk* to me about anything, as long as you respect the fact that I have a right to BE WHO I AM, thank you very much. Unless you're my granddaughter - and you're not, since she doesn't have unmonitored internet access - I don't try to tell you who you should be, so I expect the same consideration.
I'm opinionated (like that's a surprise), intelligent (IQ scores available upon request), have a kinky sense of humor and am interested in almost everything from quantum theory to knitting. I love cats, music of most kinds (though country doesn't thrill me and I could go the rest of my life without anyone reminding me that there was once a guy named Lawrence Welk), Monty Python, and good books in many genres. I've seen a lot of life - and death - and lived in a lot of places in the US. I'd sacrifice fairly important body parts (my own, of course) to be able to live in the UK, even though I'd have to give up my Beretta .25 Panther.
I have no idea what I'll write about here, or how often. This is who I am, hidden away.
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