Writing from School...

Today I have been better focused than I have for a few days. I have been about doing tasks that need attention and am focused back on school. I dropped info off at the credentialling office (CBEST and Certificate of Clearance) which they required. This will also fuflil the requirement for my writing class. Needless to say, any one item that does not need repitition is greatly appreciated these days. I am still waiting to hear what is necessary to get my BA established to I can do subbing. I need to go to the county office to see what types of gigs I can generate.

MM and I spoke today. I was happy. She told me that she loved me. That sounded good. It has been a rough month and both of us have been stressed. I think that both of us have been snapping at each other much more than we normally would. This has caused both no small amount of duress and pain. I am glad that we are both through August. It is my least favorite month. Two divorces, one wedding anniversary, one anniversary of my first Sunday in my own parish, one ex-wife's birthday... too damn much. I am always glad to see the backside of August.

This month I will have difficulty in getting the rent paid. MM gave me a loan that covered tons of expenses that would have been paid had VUSD paid me and had two other checks that were supposed to have arrived come on time. I am still waiting and wondering which one of my instruments may go on the auction block to cover the rent. I hate the idea, but I can always find another guitar. That is just life in the big city, I suppose and the cost of the choices that I have made. My loans and other funds will be in, but not quickly enough for me to meet my September obligations. I will find a way through this.

There is something oddly familiar and comfortable about Northridge. I hate the town - too damn hot - but the campus seems like an island somehow. I have always felt comfortable in a campus library and perhaps it is something of a womb for me. At least I got out of the house! I have been so passive the past several months. It is as if an intertia fell over me and that I am having to expend a large amount of energy to become an object in motion again.

Oh well... Back to the grind. I have to convince a couple of teachers that the emotional cost of having me in their classes is well worth the benefit that it brings in terms of entertainment and conviviance.

More later...

I just got out of the Admissions and Records line. I filed a change in program to be enrolled in the MA program for Mild to Moderate SPED. This is only 12 or so units beyond my credential and is worth well over $5000 per year to do. Duh! Even a person with as limited brain power as I possess can see the advantage in writing a term paper, thesis, same thing...

I fear that my brokneness is harming the one I love

I will try this again... I was typing and did something to lose all of my copy. There seems to be a metaphor in that.

My words... maybe I should just learn to shut the fuck up, hold it in and soldier on. I really think that I may have done severe harm to MM and my relationship last night. I have been really overly sensitive for the past several days.

My greatest fear is that I may have succeded in pushing her away.

Looking at what I am writing and what vanished... it feels foolish to try to recompose what I had just said. I know that MM is not mean-spirited. That is why when something is said it hurts so damn much. I am so accustomed to being hurt by the people that I love. I have to find a way past this, a way to see that not all comments are ridicule or anger. I thought I was farther along than that. Perhaps not.

MM just wrote me an email, exculpatory in nature. I hurt her. I reread it and am trying not to read into it. My fear is that this was the final straw, that I just broke her back and she is done with me. She has not said that. I can't presume that. But the fear is real.

I don't know whether I should write back or not. every time I open my goddam mouth I seem to fuck things up all the more.

It has been a difficult summer...

What an ass I am. What a self-centered ass.

---

MM called. I am glad that she did. It was hard for her, I could hear that. She relaxed when she began chatting about the mundane stuff. I tried to say that I have become so fragile of late that it does not take much for me to get hurt, I tried to take responsibility for that. She seemed uncomfortable. I backed off. I told her that I was going to be tied up with school for through at least Thursday. Maybe its best for us that way? Some time to heal?

I know that I am still aching from her yelling at me. Not so much the yelling as the perception of isolation that followed. It took no small amount of heart for her to call. It is appreciated.

There are times that I think that I've been too badly beaten down by life to be able to love. I try. But it hurts. Looking at those words and I feel like I have become something weak, feeble, impotent. I feel so insecure most of the time, so afraid. I have never felt this frightened of my own shadow. I used to hop in the car and, for a weekend, drive east until the tank ran out just to see what was there. Now, I am afraid to leave the confines of my house. I wonder what happened to that guy who could throw off the dock lines, take a week's worth of food set sail. What happened to the guy that could take a stage and perform? What happened to...

I feel like a lost child huddling in fetal position as if that will stave off the advance of the darkness. Courage come from the heart. Where is my heart, where is my courage?

I've become a small fraction of a man.

---

I have spent almost all day sitting at my desk and have accomplished nothing. I picked up my acoustic guitar and tried to play, but there is no joy in it. MM called and I keep checking my email hoping for a word. Nothing.

I heard a knock. I ran to the door. It was downstairs.

I wish that I had just kept my damn mouth shut. We were doing so well yesterday... then I had to blow it. Damn. What a fuck up I am. It is almost as if I have a compulsive need to destroy what is good in my life.

I miss MM... I want to call but said that I would wait for her. DAMN Nearly five hours since I first posted this at 12:30... 5:22 p.m.... time just hangs on the walls and boredom is sorrow's best friend...

---

I spoke with MM later in the day (once I got home I played my guitar and then went to bed). She invited me over for dinner. I went. She was a bit aloof, but that is to be expected I suppose. She would not say that she loves me - I am trying not to read into that. I've learned that she does not always say it; the invitation was more telling than her words. I left earlier. She may or may not have called, as I was playing with my headphones on. There was an IM on Yahoo.

Shall have to take time to rebuild. On ward and upward? God, I hope so.

Flakes, Space Cadets, and Musicians

I am growing to hate musicians. I love music and it is a sad reality that music does not exist apart from the egomaniacal, air-headed, primping peacocks that make the noble art. Assholes, all of them with the possible exception of myself.

MAS, I mentioned in an earlier post that he was being difficult, called to announce his desire to be removed from the project. I had worked with him from the beginning. I know that there are issues with stress, but damn. I am at a point of saying, "Fuck it, I'll do it myself..."

I like my music. I hate musicians.

Death by 1000 Cuts

Nobody dies of AIDS; It is the secondary infection, usually something like a cold, that kills the victim. If they were not ill with HIV, the body could fight off the infection, but as it is, it cannot. Something small, something insignificant finally executes the coup de grace.In that context the seemingly "insignificant" infection of a mundane stripe takes on a significance that it would otherwise have never had warranted. Because the body's defenses are otherwise occupied and weakened, the cold goes thermonuclear and claims the life of the sufferer. Dead. It was not the AIDS that killed him or her, it was the cold. But that cold could have done nothing of the sort had the sufferer not been ill with AIDS.

I know that there is no comparison between my issues and those that are so life-threatening. I have simply hit an emotional nadir. It feels like all of that shit that I have suppressed for so damn long is pushing its way out; memory being one source of the cuts that are draining me. For me it feels like a death from 1000 pricks. I could withstand a body-blow; I would even prefer a body-blow, I know where to fight back and who my adversary is. I feel like I am bleeding from 1000 cuts. Each, on its own, would be insignificant. Together they are a life threatening hemorrhage, a crimson tide that ebbs slowly away from the shore of life.

As I write those words I feel like I am engaging in histrionics or hyperbole. I don't mean to diminish the suffering of persons with AIDS; indeed I have lost at least five friends to that plague. When I think about persons that have severe issues like AIDS and I look at myself I feel shame. Another cut, another drop. I worked with a woman whose estranged lover came back to her. She made love to him, got pregnant. When she went to tell him, she found his home being clearned by the family. They informed her that he had died of pneumonia, secondary to HIV. Years later, she and her baby died of AIDS.

I suppose that depression is the triumph of the subjective. Freud says that it is anger turned inward. I don't know that this is the case. For me it is feeling overwhelmed and lacking the strength to respond. All of the little things are having their way with me, like secondary infections that otherwise would have been defeated by the body's defenses become bullies when T cells are gone. I don't feel the steel any more. I used to be made of such strong stuff.

When a man comes to the abyss that stares into the darkness, there he finds his character... I'm afraid to open my eyes.

Bureaucracies of all strips suck

I am caught in the thrall of lesser mortals and petty suzarains. Almost a quarter century ago - that places my life into its perspective - I completed work for my bachelors degree. I went on to do other advanced work. There was a paperwork glitch that resulted in my degree not being awarded. This was not discovered until I applied for a position with VUSD, nearly twenty five years later. What happened was that a transcript from C college did not get to my undergrad instituation. How this happened is beyond me. Two units shy of graduation... what bullshit.

NOW... My attempt to clean up this mess has become the equivalent of a superfund project for the EPA. I may have to reapply to my undergrad instituation, complete my degree anew, and do whatever they want to have a BA dated 2004, when I completed work in 1980. Go figure. This is odd, considering that my MA is dated 1984!!!!

I've always done things bass-akwards, but DAMN.

Meanwhile, my payment for work done already for VUSD is being held as it is predicated - wait for it... - upon the completion of a BACHELOR'S DEGREE. My MA does not matter, even though they have that transcript and are aware that that is above and beyond the BA.

There has to be an easier way to get this done. I shudder to think that this may be the easiest way to do it.

But I am only a fool...

Things that make me happy...

I have always said that I am a very simple soul: the damndest things make me happy. My new toothbrush makes me happy. That sounds silly, I know. I replaced my toothbrush last night. My new one leaves my teeth smooth and clean, you know the feeling when you rub your tongue against the teeth and they feel smooth and polished. I really like that feeling. My other toothbrush had worn out. It was time. The new one makes me happy.

A beautiful chord played well... that makes me happy. There is something about a well chosen chord that emotes beyond words. I know that my music has been described by some as "quirky" because I resist simple resolutions of chords or choose to surprize the listener with a key change or by playing a note that is part of the chord rather than the root. I like that. It makes me happy.

My new blue jeans make me really happy. I love blue jeans; left to my own devices, I would live in blue jeans. I needed a new pair. I went shopping and found a nice pair that fit me well on sale for $20.00. That makes me really happy. After a few washings and when the obligatory break-in period is over, in a few months, they will be super comfortable. I like that. It makes me happy.

My webpage for music: I have gotten props for the work that I've done on it. It is a hand-made page, done without a template, using HTML. This is the first real project that I have taken on. I am happy with all of the good comments that I have heard. It is nice to hear that my work is appreciated. That makes me happy.

My computer is working again. That makes me super happy. I like my 'blog. I like my webpage. I like to cruise the net. Not to mention all of the other stuff that I do with my computer. When it was down, so was I. It is now working and I feel good that I was able to make it happen. That makes me happy.

The chart on this blog that indicates the phase of the moon. When I looked outside and saw the moon as it was here, I was happy. It seemed to say that there is a beauty and order in the cosmos, however idiosyncratic or quirky it may seem. And I am happy indeed.

I am a simple soul: the damndest things make me happy.

Ah, but I am only a fool...

Out of Sorts...

This has been a difficult several days. The least - but in some ways most - challenging issue has been my computer. Know that I am a Gemini amongst Geminis. WE LIVE TO PLAY WITH OUT COMMUNICATION TOOLS. Cut off, I feel completely out of sorts. I suppose that one could extrapolate a greater metaphor for my life: the quickest way to send me into a panic is not to communicate, to isolate me. It feels like sensory deprivation.

The compu is now working, after its own fashion. Still, I am aware of just how dependent I have become on having a computer that functions and allows me to be in touch and to communicate with others.

Maybe the metaphor of a functioning computer will extend to other parts of my life?

It is late, I need my beauty sleep... too late, I know!

Recovering...

It is safe to say that I spent the worst four days of my life last week. It all began with an argument that turned into a grotesque series of miscommunications. The end result was that I was convinced that I was being dumped by MM and was in grief that I did not even feel at the end of my first marriage.

In looking back I really don’t want to rehash the events unless there is something to be gained. The wounds are healing, but are still fresh. What became clear when the smoke had cleared is how much I love MM and how much the thought of losing her was more devastating to me than almost any other loss of which I could conceive. We have become so close that both of us have to learn to be more caring and careful for each others’ hearts.

MM came over yesterday – thank God for that – and we held each other, made love, and realized that what we have is made of tough stuff. I don’t give up on the people that I love. Because these people can play havoc with my well-being – not because they choose to, but because I love so deeply and completely – I am very guarded about who gets that sort of access to me. MM and my daughters are the three that have that unfettered access. Obviously, there is a different quality to the love, but it is complete and profound.

Today my eyes still hurt from crying. I am still deeply exhausted (not physically but emotionally). I still feel somewhat tender, but recovering from the shock. MM is not a cruel person. That is what threw me when she began yelling on Thursday. Looking back, I know that I was the occasion, not the issue. At the moment all I wondered is what I did. That is a throwback to my childhood. I was regularly beaten for “good reason.” If I cried as a child my father’s line was, “Stop crying before I give you reason to cry…” Needless to say that inculcated a sense of fear that still haunts me. There are moments that I still feel like a crying child wondering why he was beaten again…

I knew I that I had to have done something, I just knew it…

MM assured me that I did nothing. She was gracious in owning up to her part in the events of the past couple of days. What more can be asked? It was difficult for me to believe that I had done nothing, though. That child is still afraid to be held because it has been mistreated so many times. He knows that he is worthless, so why not be an object of scorn and derision?

The poem by Wordsworth comes to mind: “The child is the father of the man.” I hope that his child has been a more compassionate parent than those that sired and birthed him. I try. Damn, do I try…

I was blog browsing... I came across a random generator that could make me into a mixed drink! I always thought of myself as a very dry vodka martini, with three olives. Here is the recipe to make me.

How to make a Pablo

Ingredients: 3 parts anger 3 parts courage 5 parts instinct

Method: Add to a cocktail shaker and mix vigorously. Top it off with a sprinkle of caring and enjoy!

Username:

Personality cocktail
From Go-Quiz.com


More accuarate than I would have thought
- tdf

Desolate

I hope the gods are happy at having crushed me yet again.

MM won't talk... the isolation is killing me. I took down a posting believing that it was inapproriate; now I wished I'd have left a record. I don't know how much more I can take. I want to give up, life sucks and then you die. This ride just ain't worth the price of admission. I live in a shit-hole apartment, on very limited funds. I have come through the storm but fear that the vessle was compromized beyond seaworthiness. And now, it seems, I've fucked up the one thing that gave my life any beauty and hope. It almost seems better just to pull the plugs and go down with the ship.

Fuck me for the idiot that I am.

It feels like I do nothing but code...

I have been updating my music webpage and it feels like I have been doing nothing but code for the past several days. This has been the project of the better part of a week. This is harder than doing the music itself. Still, I am pleased with the outcome. I have to admit that there was more than a bit of frustration that attended to the project. My photo album, for example, would simply refuse to line up. I looked at the table codes... they were correct. So why did it not line up correctly? It had to have been the table demon. To say nothing of the nice java demon that lives in cyber-space gobblilng up bits of script and making applications act like madmen wanting for haldol. It is done... for now. I have no intention of doing more on it until the CD is released.

Speaking of the CD... I finished the tracks. Or so I thought. I found a glaring error on one cut. It is one verse too short! I was sick the day that I recorded the acoustic guitar and, well..., It seems that I could not count. No worries... I shall simply rearrange the song a la George Martin and Strawberry Fields Forever... just splice a new ending on.

MAS is being a major pain in the ass. He is not returning my calls nor is he available when he says that he will be. I am getting frustrated. Especially given the fact that when he needs somehting I am available. I am seriously thinking of dropping him from the project. More rearrangements. The guy does not get the idea of quid pro quo and tends to see everything through the rather warped lens of what he should get out of something. He came over here to do his recording on my compu, offered no assistance and took up lots of time. When I need his assistence it is the answering machine that I get and then his standard bullshit: "Can we get together next week..." But next week never comes.

Yeah, I am pissed off.

But my webpage looks better than his does!

Late at night, early in the morning...

It is late at night, or early in the morning; I’m not certain which. On the radio Eric Clapton is preaching the blues with a conviction and articulation that goes beyond the power of words to speak of the soul…

I have been listening to music since coming home at 1:30 from MM’s home. We made love three times today, sat in her hot-tub, spent time with the kids: it was a good day. A and I went to see the Princess Diaries II, a waste of time. She enjoyed it. I found it plodding and predictable. The truth was that the “love interest” for the princess was a boy so cute I wanted to fuck him. He was pretty, beyond any reality. This juxtaposed to her - the princess’- painfully ordinary best friend. I wondered if there are any ordinary looking people that fall in love, live their lives, fail or succeed. It seems that the standard of beauty is unattainable and airbrushed. Everything revolves around what “I” want and that “I” am satisfied is all that ultimately matters. I was disturbed by the implication that puerile romance is the ultimate canon of what is “right” or “good.”

MM and I talked about loving today. I told her how I see us: we are truly in love, no doubt there. But we are also committed to each other. Love makes commitment possible; commitment gives love a ground upon which to stand. Emotions come and go, ebb and flow. If our relationship is only predicated upon how we feel it is built on feeble stuff. No, the loving makes commitment possible that frees us to love, even when love is not felt as powerfully or as presently. Commitment makes possible the trusting that loving will again flow.

The movie missed this point: It is all about how “I” feel. That whole idea seems masturbatory to me. I don’t always feel what is. I often miss what is. I am wrong much of the time. That does not make me less perceptive than most, neither does it say that my feelings are not valid. It does, however, place them in a context that allows for greater emotional stability and growth. Passion can flourish and become even greater in a context of trust. Commitment makes that possible. The truth is that I consider that MM and I are life partners. I am committed to her and I believe that she is to me.

A liked the movie, she thought it was cute. I wondered what message it sent to my daughter who stands on the brink of womanhood. What does it say about love, duty, commitment, or keeping faith? Is this the mythology that I want to form her worldview?

Now it is John Mayer playing "Any Given Thursday"… He is a gifted musician. He does not speak to my soul the same way that Clapton and the blues do…

I wonder about the idealized man in these films. He is pretty, sensitive, and ultimately weak. This character found his way – because he fell in love with the princess – but was ultimately defined by some other elder character whose nefarious agenda was too great for him to grasp. What has happened to men? There was a time when a strong man was a good thing. I don’t mean the "compensator characters" like any of Schwarzenegger or Rambo; I mean the characters that had internal struggles and moral fortitude. Theirs was a power that rested as much in their minds as their hearts: a soul that seeks what is right. I miss Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. Somehow I can't imagine a real man having to be violent to prove that he's got cojones. It seems to take more guts to choose not to be violent; more inner fortitude to remain in peace and be an agent of compassion.

I think that a compassionate humanity must be a strong humanity. Compassion is a virtue of strength that can choose not to oppress or do harm. Strong people - men and women, gay and straight - have no need to hold others down. Ethnicity has no place in the conversation. All are part of one common clay, one common humanity. Strong men need to stand for intelligent compassion that is honest and visionary. The weak-willed pretty boys may make fun toys for equally weak-willed women; they are ultimately dangerous as they are prone to aggression when they learn that their balls are in a jar.

How can we live in love without commitment? How can we commit unless we have the moral fortitude and strength to dare to draw a line that defines ourselves in terms of the needs and welfare of another, creating limits that are freely embraced? I know that I could go on another sexual bender. Why would I want to? I know that I could see other women. What would that prove. I choose monogamy; hell, I embrace it joyfully. My manhood is not proven by the number of women I have penetrated. My manhood is defined by my ability to keep faith.

MM is strong, loving and wise: there is nothing sexier than an intelligent and compassionate woman whose power is expressed in loving commitment. Her beauty is greater than her mere form (which I have to say is devastatingly sexy and pleasing to the eye). She is a strong woman. She needs a strong man who sees compassion, kindness, beauty and grace as masculine virtues. I am no metro-sexual. I am not pretty. I am not easily fooled, nor do I suffer fools lightly.

But I am a strong man…

Waiting… waiting… waiting…

I hate waiting. In the Christian liturgical tradition there is a season dedicated to waiting – Advent – during which time the church prepares for the coming of the Lord, both in the eschaton and in the past as the incarnate logos. I suppose that the point is that this interim moment is all spent waiting. The point of advent was purposeful waiting, spent in tasks that not only passed time but gave it meaning. I think that is why I hate the sort of waiting that feels as if I am simply passing away the time of my life with little to gain on the investment.

Right now I am waiting on a phone call. I have a phone appointment for this morning, Aug. 11. between 10:00 and noon. Two hours to wait. I can spend that time doing tasks that feel like they have some meaning, perhaps not nearly as profound as the preparation for the apocalypse, but certainly better than just sitting. But it is the waiting that seems to enforce boredom. And boredom breeds despair.

I have several tasks that I need to be about today, that will need to wait until this call is completed. I have to fill out some paperwork for my schooling; I really hate to do this but it is in my own interest to do so. I have difficulty attending to this sort of task and never feel as if I have done it well. It is 10:20 in the morning; my daughter is still sleeping and I am disinclined to wake her. She has been so drowsy of late. But I digress… that is just the sort of thing I mean. It is difficult to attend to the tasks that require simple concentration with little us of my mind. When my mind is engaged, I am laser-like in focus, but the mundane stuff makes me crazy.

“Boredom breeds despair…” That may be a profound thought (I am almost certain that it is not original). What comes of despair? This is incendiary stuff: I am not so much convinced that it is the noble ideals of humanity that brought about the great revolutions in history as much as it was an attempt to relieve the despair that gnawed at those in its thrall. I think that it was hindsight that brought about any judgment of nobility to the complaints of those who beat back their boredom.

There are times that I feel that I have fallen into a sort of emotional stasis.

I know that I have become very passive, overly so in my estimation. I used to be such a man of action, decisive and resolute. Truly, I could be a force of nature. I guess the climate changed. I have a desire but not the will to overcome this inertia. The inertia is what is causing me more difficulty than anything. I need to start doing. It occurs to me as I write that much of my life of late has been spend “watching” as if I were a spectator, a member of the audience rather than the star of my own life. “The play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king…” I think I want my money back. This play has no plot and too much conflict.

Overcoming inertia… An object at rest tends to remain at rest, the opposite is true that an object in motion tends to remain in motion. So what happened? I hit a wall three years ago and am still recovering from the impact. Three years is a long time for a guy whose tendency was to recover within three hours. Impact. The idea seems violent. Some force so great as to arrest motion acted upon this object. I think of a rock rolling down a hill. Its own mass is acted upon by gravity. Finally, the combination of the forces causes the stone to begin to move. It is not the mass alone that makes the stone move, but the force that is brought to bear, combined with its own mass, that causes it to overcome whatever held it still. I think that this happens in small increments until, finally, it bursts forth. Sometimes it is a slow motion that continues to accelerate.

All of this is good, but I don’t want it to become masturbatory. I need to think, this is true, but more than that I need to do. And that means that I have to overcome my stasis, my inertia.

---

I have just spoken with the "gentleman" from EDD (11:10 am). The fellow could hardly speak English and I am not convinced that he understood what I told him. When I restated what he said, so my notes would accurately reflect the conversation, was very curt. I asked for his name and extension to note the conversation and he hung up. I understand that State employees are busy, but damn...

On to face the day.

Ah, the women I have loved.

Last night I wrote about the “psycho-babes” that I dated. I gave a couple of examples of the psycho-babes that I had met over the past several years since my first divorce. The list was far from all inclusive; indeed several were left out. For a while I was convinced that I was a “psycho-babe” magnate; perhaps the only time in my life that I have ever been a babe-magnate of any stripe, I suppose.

But there have been those women that I will always remember with gratitude and kindness for having crossed my life at an important juncture and having given me something that helped me through that time to be a better person. It is those women that I wish to salute. I am limiting my list to those people that I have dated and have enjoyed a meaningful relationship with. There are three that stand out who deserve note and wishes for continued well-being.

• KJS was the first woman that I loved. We were both young, indeed I was only 20 and she was 18. What I recall most is that for the first time I did not merely have sex, but made love. She taught me that lovemaking is qualitatively different than fun-sex. She and I were together for a short period of time – my stubborn will meeting hers – made this an intense and short lived relationship. I think of her fondly now nearly thirty years hence I hope that whatever gods there are will bless her with peace and joy. She is married, has been for over 20 years, and has two daughters in college.


• DP the first relationship that I had after my first divorce. DP was in a position that required a woman with the patient endurance of Job. The girls and I were all wounded. We were distrustful and looking for reasons to be betrayed. That had been our reality. That became our expectation. R, in particular, hated her. A was too young, being only 2 years old. She was kind to us and gave us the lesson of hope in healing. We all learned that there could be life again because she lavished us with unrequited love.


• AW, a sweet woman whose quiet heart and loving manner always reminds me to seek peace. AW was a psychologist and a student of the soul. She was a non-confrontational woman who, following the dissolution of her marriage, became my friend and later my lover. She was in that infamous “transitional” phase of life where she was discovering life anew. I was learning that I could find peace in the maelstrom of my emotions. She lived quietly and by example gave me the gift of peace and the enjoyment of solitude.


• PC with whom I discovered passion for life. She was 13 years younger than I was when we met. She carried herself with grace befitting an older person; I still seemed callow. We loved with a love that was enduring, if not peaceful, and came to an end when she was offered her dream job working in the capital. I have passively followed her career and have seen her climb the party’s ladder. I am certain that she will run for office. I’d vote for her. She helped me to understand that I was indeed worthy of love, even if I could not understand loving.

MM, my enduring love, has come into a place that has been prepared by these women. Following both divorces and all of the pain that appertained to them, I had to learn that I could live again and trust again. MM loves deeply and with a depth of emotion and commitment that I would have run from in the past, but now humbly embrace. She sees a man worthy of love and care. I have hope of one day being what she sees.

There have been psycho-babes in my past, but the women that have loved me have had such a profound influence on my life, immensely more than the momentary freak-outs that the others caused. Love is its own reward. It brings us to see the potential of hope in life and makes possible dreams of a better world. Thank whatever gods or goddesses there are for all of these women…

And I am a fortunate fool.

Psycho-Babes

I was chatting with MM a couple of days ago and the subject of past relationships came up. I noted that my greatest dream was to love and to be loved, my criteria was that my lovers baggage be compatible with mine…

All of this began an inventory of memories, looking back at some of my past relationships. I’ve made reference to my two failed marriages. I’ve chatted about the significant relationships that I’ve had. I made reference to my prodigal daze when I indulged the flesh is a frenzy of fucking with no emotional content attached. The baggage issue: that is a pressing issue. It is the reason that I did not date for quite a long time. I had come to the conclusion that my baggage was unique and therefore not easily matched.

Let me say this now: I believe that at my age there are proportionately more psycho babes and dudes than there were before. That is because the options are fewer and the majority of “healthy” people are in healthy relationships. That leaves a greater preponderance of psycho-babes looking for their man. Here, then, is my proem to psycho-babes with no regard to chronology. Meet some of the psycho-babes from the past 12 or so years of my adult single-life:

• There was “L” who got a tattoo with my name on her ankle before our third date. Fortunately no sexual relations occurred with this individual. I told her that I would have preferred that she not tattoo my name on her body, ankle or elsewhere. I didn’t check to see if there were any other odes to what she imagined might have been. She did say that we were lovers in several former lives and that she knew that I was the one when we met because my soul told hers that it was content to have finally been reunited. I was the "dark-haired man" and she was certain that we were being brought together. Now, I have to say that I thought that this relationship might have had some potential. The tattoo was a bit more than I could deal with, as for the metyphysics... too wierd.


• There was “R” who divorced and lived with her ex-husband, sleeping – platonically – with him and their daughter there between them both in the same damn bed! She said that she preferred to live this way so her daughter could have both parents. He beat her physically, she beat him emotionally. Both claimed to be "highly evolved spiritually" and able to live in a "spiritual" way for the sake of their daughter. Apparently they both held some very idiosyncratic ideas about family life. We had been friends for nearly two years before dating. She was always private about her home-life and I chose not to pry; when we started dating I learned of the unique perimeters of her life.


• There was “D” who, during a sexual encounter began yelling, at the top of her lungs and in anger, that I was not being attentive enough to her pleasure. I pride myself in attending to my partner’s needs; I may have several shortcomings, but being greedy in bed is not among them. I had just had one of those big orgasms that leaves you unable to move. If you are smiling as you read, you know the type to which I refer. Apparently, I did not recover from my ecstatic paralysis quickly enough to suite “D” and she stood up yelling that I was a “lousy, greedy fag who didn’t know how to fuck a woman…” Needless to say, there was no return engagement. She did send me an email a day or two later telling me that she was "wet, thinking of me, and touching herself..." All of which is fine, but on a semi-public server at work?


• There was “SE” who was going through a divorce, would come to my desk and eat the chocolates I had there while complaining that they were going to her all too generous ass. All the while she was narrating what a lousy lover her (soon to be?) ex-husband was, but since she needed “some” she would do him, even though he was – from her viewpoint – apparently less than suitably endowed and ineffectual at that. Generally, I would find some reason to excuse myself and direct her away from my workspace. She was a temp at our workplace and I was pleased to see her leave. If this was a fliration, she was going about it in the wrong way; if not, then I am not certain what to have made of it.


• There was “LL” who, after undergoing gastric-bypass surgery, decided that she would have more sex than was healthy and began to do whomever was walking. The problem was that cheap sex did not mean an engagement to marry, quite the contrary. There are women you fuck and women you make love with; the former are not marriage material. I became the object of her affections despite my protestations of disinterest. So, instead, I became – and against my better judgment – the friend to whom she would narrate her peccadilloes and then listen to her crying when she did not find Prince Charming: "Men are all pigs... you sleep with them and they leave you... I thought this one was the one... could you just hold me?" I suggested that her prince probably did not live in a sewer and that she shouldn't look for him there. What is the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing, the same way and expecting different results. We haven't spoken since (to my great relief, I confess).
  
• There was “SY” who, following a couple of overnight visits, informed me that she had given notice to her landlord of her intention to leave her apartment and she was moving in with me as of the next month. This particular episode was difficult for me to understand. To this day I can think of no indication that I was extending an invitation to live together. She was a year older than I was (having just turned 40), and was anxious to settle down, have a family, and all the rest (as was “LL”). We met on-line, had sex the first night we met and continued playing. She was fun to play with, but there was no other connection. We never had a lot to say beyond compliments and expressions of thanks for the evening’s entertainments. The whole thing seemed to be completely mutual and fair. We were good fuck-buddies, nothing more. When I told her that I did not want a live-in lover, especially with my daughters in the house (whom she had never met), she seemed crushed and ran out crying.

Let me say here and now, that there are as many psycho-dudes as there are psycho-babes. I am not a misogynist; I love and adore women, though they remain to me a delightful mystery. I have simply come to the conclusion that dating is much more complex in my forties than it was in my twenties.

Now I know that it is possible to read my inventory and say, “Dancing Fool, you are not taking responsibility for your own behavior…” Not true. I am careful to be honest and clear with my intentions and to take care for the feelings of those about me. I came to realize that I am a man with whom women easily fall in love. This is qualitatively different than being in love or loving a person. It is the stuff that comes from being attended to, being treated well, being valued as a woman. There is a line in “Frida” about Diego Rivera. He was said to find beauty in the imperfections in a woman. The implication is that this is what made him beloved. I resonate with that. I am able to see beauty in almost any woman (heartless ice-queens notwithstanding). But seeing that beauty does not mean that there is a lifetime in the offing.

In looking at this text, I almost feel that I need to list how I might be a psycho-dude. I know that after a long period of being commitment minded that I became something of a pig. This has been discussed in previous postings. I make a great boy-friend and a lousy husband. I think that it is because I feel trapped by vows that seem to be more the creation of a culture of containment than the expression of love between two people. For me, I don’t believe in marriage. I do believe in commitment. I have no plans to leave my current relationship and am committed to MM for the long-haul. We may someday live together, but we will never be married in any legal sense. I love her too damn much to do that to her. That I consider marriage to be a cage says something about my psycho-dude tendencies, I suppose. Burnt twice leaves one with scars and painful associations.

I have my baggage. It is well packed and abounds with the life experience of 47 years of broken promises. It is true that I have been very reticent to commit to anybody. This brief tour of past encounters should give some idea why. My bags are packed, to be sure. But the truth remains: I do love MM . She is beauty incarnate; stong, loving and wise she is. Yes, I love her. With all that I am I adore and worship her. I want to grow old with her and be by her side as long as she will have me. I think that we have compatable luggage.

Surely, that has got to be worth something.

But I am just a fool…

Playing Webmaster Today

I’ve enjoyed the past several days immensely. Perhaps that is why I have had so little to say. MM accompanied A and me to Santa Barbara’s Fiesta Days. We had fun. I heard lots of good music, ate good food, and spent time with people that I truly love. How much better can it get?

My major project today was to launch my White Sage webpage. This is intended to be, along with www.pabloplasencia.com, a marketing point for my music. I’ve included a Pay Pal link along with an offer for a special price on an early release of the CD. I am thinking of doing some special event for the people that do the early release, maybe invite them to the release party and have the band play some of the tunes live.

There is so much more that I have to do on the webpage… not to mention complete the recording process. I have to admit that I’ve learned a lot of code today. Not bad for a first attempt at something new, I’d say.

Take a few moments to visit www.white-sage.net to see what all of the hub-bub is about! I believe in my music and have even included a couple of links to works in progress. These are my closet tapes, I suppose.

Not much more to say today…

- tdf

The Dancing Fool Had Nothing to Say...

It is unusual for me to walk away from my 'blog for an extended period of time. I really don't like to make entries just to make entries, however. I dislike the perfunctory quips and trivial three line entries that I have seen on so many 'blogs. I tend to read the ones that have some substance or are well written. Mine, today, may be more trivial than not.

I took an online quiz... results below.

You speak eloquently and have seemingly read every book ever published. You are a fountain of endless (sometimes useless) knowledge, and never fail to impress at a party.

What people love: You can answer almost any question people ask, and have thus been nicknamed Jeeves.
What people hate: You constantly correct their grammar and insult their paperbacks.

What Kind of Elitist Are You?
Brought to you by Quizilla

Turns out to be pretty accurate, with the exception of my correcting grammar and insulting paperbacks (most of my books are paperbacks!) I wonder why I did not become a foodie or musical snob.

The last couple of days have been spent with R and A. R is confused about her relationship with G. She says that she loves him but will not move back east for him. He says that he wants to spent the rest of his life with her. She is not certain. I told her that she should not uproot her life just for this relationship. It is somewhat fragile and I fear that she could find herself in a new city with no one to care for her. That is not intended to be patronizing: she is only 18 and while she has the all of the legal rights and responsibilities of an adult, she has only the experience of a child to guide her.

She did not do as well in school as had been hoped. I am concerned about this. She is brilliant. She did not perform up to her potential. Too much alcohol and grass? No, I think not. She is able to manage herself and to be very disciplined when she needs to be. She could not really give a good reason, other than to say that she wanted to take a year off. I recall offering to subsidize a year of sloth last year. She turned the offer down. Now she wants to be a flight attendent for a year. I reminded her that her aunt had applied -and was rejected- for one of those positions with a major carrier. They are very competative. R is very callow in many ways. She presents as having an old soul; I sometimes forget that she is only 18.

I cancelled my last recording session. I have a problem with my right ear: it is filled with fluid and I cannot hear. Not good for a musician!

A is beautiful. She is here for two weeks. I love my younger daughter. She is very different than her older sister. It constantly amazes me how they could have come from the same gene pool. MM came to visit yesterday. A had to have some sort of nibblie to meet MM. She went to the quickie mart and purchased a chocolate bar for her. This is very A. R would have been there to greet and to chat, being a loquacious sort; A likes to have something to express herself.

MM just called... off to have breakfast with her and her son.

It is Monday...

I had a great weekend. As I said, I chatted with my cousin in Mexico who I had lost track of for a couple of years, my buddy DG came up from Torrance, I got to be with MM, my daughters are coming up today. All the makings of a great time.

Today I am completing resumes for teaching in Ventura County. I hope that this will pan out. I am practicing for my session on Wednesday, and I am cleaning house for R and A's visit. MM said that she wanted to go to Instrumental Music to buy a sustain pedal for her keyboard.

I had a great time with MM and DG yesterday. I baked some chicken and made couscous, DG brought the beer, and MM provided ambiance and salad. We just hung out, had fun, played with the doggies, and listened to MM play her accordion. DG suggested that we jam some. I think that would be fun, but two bass players? He and I will be trading off between guitar and bass.

That's all the news that's fit to print today... so far! I expect that I'll add more later.

An Extraordinary Day...

It was was one of those days that you remember... I was on Yahoo.com and got an IM from my cousin CPF, who lives in Mexico. We have an interesting relationship, CPF and I. We can go years not seeing each other and then meet and it is as if no time had passed at all. Of all my relations - not including my children - CPF is my favorite. She and I have a close relationship. She was covering a marathon inVeracruz and was sad not to be running but was chatty and we made a date to chat on Monday.

I had a nice dinner with MM and then we spent several hours languidly making love with an intensity of emotion that the gods envy. She is a passionate and tenderhearted woman. I do love her with all that I am. Great sex and great love, what more could a man ask? This is a woman that inspires me to be what she sees in me.

My friend DG is coming up from Torrance later today - Sunday - and we will catch up with our friendship. My daughter A is coming on Monday and I am recording on Wednesday.

I came home and realized that life is good... very good indeed.

I am, indeed, a fortunate man...