R's tattoo in honor of his mother's passing.
Showing posts with label tattoos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tattoos. Show all posts
Monday, November 2, 2009
Monday, October 5, 2009
Wrecking Balm
I am a huge fan of tattoos.
I have been for a very long time.
I have many, many tattoos.
Each tattoo was chosen for a specific reason. each tattoo has a great deal of spiritual meaning to them.
I have one tattoo that needs to go--I should not have gotten this one, despite its meaning, and despite what it actually bought me at the time--I should have had the original tattoo removed outright instead of having anything put over it.
I know--I keep going over this in my head.
I am using wrecking balm to remove that one tattoo that has to go...
it's only been a couple weeks now--really--literally about 2-1/2 weeks...and you can actually see a difference in the tattoo. The one big moon that was black is now a dark blue...whereas the otehr moons were always blue...they are now a brighter shade of blue. This is a very good thing.
I am very much in favor of wrecking balm and I look forward to this thing being gone for good.
Although I keep joking that once this one is gone, I shall get R's full name in its place. I have his middle name tattooed on my wrist...believe it or not, I get more comments about that one tattoo than any other...and it's not because the others are not visible...little kids like the spider best...but then again it is very visible if you're behind me--it's on the nape of my neck (Grandmother Spider)...
We shall see...we shall see...
I have been for a very long time.
I have many, many tattoos.
Each tattoo was chosen for a specific reason. each tattoo has a great deal of spiritual meaning to them.
I have one tattoo that needs to go--I should not have gotten this one, despite its meaning, and despite what it actually bought me at the time--I should have had the original tattoo removed outright instead of having anything put over it.
I know--I keep going over this in my head.
I am using wrecking balm to remove that one tattoo that has to go...
it's only been a couple weeks now--really--literally about 2-1/2 weeks...and you can actually see a difference in the tattoo. The one big moon that was black is now a dark blue...whereas the otehr moons were always blue...they are now a brighter shade of blue. This is a very good thing.
I am very much in favor of wrecking balm and I look forward to this thing being gone for good.
Although I keep joking that once this one is gone, I shall get R's full name in its place. I have his middle name tattooed on my wrist...believe it or not, I get more comments about that one tattoo than any other...and it's not because the others are not visible...little kids like the spider best...but then again it is very visible if you're behind me--it's on the nape of my neck (Grandmother Spider)...
We shall see...we shall see...
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Rambling and Rambling And More Rambling (thanks for listening)
Yesterday was a busy day busy day…so much to get done and so much yet I did not accomplish….but not for lack of trying on my part. I did finally find E’s winter clothes. I had moved them to a smaller container, so I could use the bigger one for the denim and felted sweaters I was planning to turn into a denim quilt and a felted sweater blanket. Those plans are still in the planning stage as yet, although they are going to stay on hold for quite a bit. At least until after we move and are all settled into our new house.
I finally managed to get into the storage room and clear stuff out. I am not going through the magazines as fast as I planned…although I am going through them. It does seem the mouse issue has been resolved. Electronic pest repellers are awesome. Not to mention all the other stuff I used in that particular room. But hey—we be mouse free here now. And I think thanking the snakes outside as well is in order….since there are a bunch of newly built snake holes all over the place outside….
I had such a good month with work last month. Yes, we are saving for a house. Yes, I am still thinking about getting a car—I still think my nerves are too raw to drive, but we’ll get there when we get there. I know once snow and ice touch ground here, I won’t go near a vehicle. Not to drive it. ANYWAY!
I have been trapped in the weirdest relationships since I was a teen-ager. (Which, not counting my current bf, totals three—one of which I do not like to count because did it even last three months? Hey, rebounds are like that…that’s my excuse and I am sticking to it…) I grew up in the 80s, the decade of power suits for woman. The big broad bulky shoulders (and even then I ripped the shoulder pads out of my shirts and everything else…I’ve always hated them….). The magazines of the day always touted wearing lingerie or something under your beefy man-ruling power suit to make yourself feel sexy, feminine, so on. Other than I have always had a fetish for lingerie, this served me well. I have uhm eclectic tastes in lingerie. Fredericks of Hollywood is too trashy most of the time. Victoria
It started with a trip to Burlington
I digress again, huh? I am having one of those days. See, this is what happens when I touch the computer and play w email all day instead of writing like I am supposed to…which I did for two days now because I finally dumped the mac and went straight pc—which required I dump at&t/yahoo and go to gmail….and gmail exclusively in order to run everything through outlook…and trust me—I love it—I am just having to tweak and play with everything to get it all working and up to speed.
Why am I saying this? I get to feel like a girl again, instead of just a mom. I have been ‘just a mom’ for too long. The ex killed every bit of sexual anything in me—which anyone will tell you is hard to do—I have a reptilian aroma around me or something (this is something one of my ‘Not’ Teachers told me…I am one of those people who ooze…which is why I am a love me or hate me person, instead of the whole in between thing…so she said…although I don’t find that as true anymore….but maybe it’s more because I am above playing such childish games in the grand scheme these days…I am what you see…there is no artifice here…)
I get to feel like a strong healthy vital vibrant woman again. Not just someone’s mom. Not just someone who normally wears jeans and a tank top while she sits and works on her writing or art work or tidies the house or any of the other things I do…always in her bare feet…or in the winter, with socks on. I get to feel like a real woman, with powerful dreams and plans and goals. As if I can accomplish anything. How you dress affects the way you perceive yourself, yes. I didn’t get rid of all my business attire. Although I am always going to be the ‘artist type’. Now I can wear my wooden platform sandals and not feel bad…although I need my toes repainted before I do that….
We also bought lingerie while we were there at Burlington, because I love lingerie as much as he does, and my collection dropped to almost nil after the last ex killed my drive and desire –I mean, the man killed every little thought of sex that might cross my brain….he should work in a monastery or something, he is so good at driving every little bit of it out of the mind and body…I am honestly not trying to be mean here…he has a talent and that would be it…..gods love his soul, I tell you…
My current bf loves lingerie…and he too has been denied this pleasure for too many years. Not that he hasn’t tried. Most of the lingerie he bought his last ex was put away, never worn, never seen again. Or she might wear a thong (because he loves them—he always has—I’ve been here through, what, three, four of his women now—and at least he is consistent across the board with his likes and dislikes….) he bought for her once, and then it was gone, never to be seen again. For years the man has gone on and on about wicked weasel ( http://wickedweasel.com/en-us ) and how much he has wanted a woman who would wear them for him. Please note: these are not exactly for the faint of heart here. They have bikinis—and they give ‘itty bitty’ a whole new name…although now that I have some in hand, not all of them are as scandalous as they would come across…they are really nice thongs…although, yes, they do have some very micro stuff….there is nudity on the site, although you have to look for it…it is not a front page nudity place…but it is very suggestive….
Now, R and I have always had a very close and very open friendship. Not to mention, I used to do my laundry at his house. So, he knows what I wear, and frequently has picked on me about it over the years. And has gotten more of the same back in return forem me as well… He knows my lingerie fetish…and has always encouraged it, even if he never got anything more than glimpses of it…my one thing is I dress for me, not anyone else. I am likely to wear a ripped up pair of jeans over a long sleeved fishnet body suit and a t-shirt over it….just because I can….this is why he has never had any compunction telling me about the whole wicked weasel thing, or anything else he’s into.
I finally have fulfilled two wishes in one fell swoop—ever since he showed me the ww stuff years ago, I have wanted some. It has been his fantasy…for years. I am wondering why the bag of hammers (one of his ex’s) never got any—she I know with no doubt would have worn them. I told you, I am drifty today. Anyway. I bought some. I ordered several, because I am all about getting more bang for my buck where shipping costs are concerned. WW isn’t cheap, but it’s not too expensive either, considering what I am willing to pay for nice lingerie. I didn’t buy a bikini yet, although R and I have the agreement in place that I buy one, he’ll take me somewhere where it is appropriate to wear it—we’ve been planning a trip to Australia for awhile now anyway…among other places…
I should mention….. I am not always shy and retiring. As long as there are no children, and we are in an appropriate place, then I am hard to contain. I have an exhibitionist streak that does not quit…the ex hub used to love that, til it became unseemly for him to have a wife like that (maybe he was afraid he lose his boyfriends to me or something)…and, well, the son’s dad, there’s no helping him. He’s just a plain old-fashioned wet blanket. He means well though, in his own way. My current bf likes that, the exhibitionist streak—he always has—not just in me. I am just the first woman he’s dated that is quite as – expressive. Ok, fine, I am the first woman he’s ever dated that is not completely sexually repressed either. His words-not mine. Although K does rank up there a bit…her other oddities made things…difficult….
I bought some knickers…and ended up buying enough to get free stuff too because it’s their anniversary, I think, for their website, I don’t know. I didn’t find out about the birthday/anniversary thing until after I placed my order and had to figure out what the two birthday gifts were about … for every $50 you spend (I do not know for how long-check the website for details) you get one item free, a totally random item, last year’s or last season’s model. I got another pair of knickers…and a bikini bottom—and the bikini bottom is the perfect shade of oceanic blue….they’re mostly just thongs. Really sexy thongs, very well-made thongs, but just thongs. The micro ones are very cool, and nicely micro. On the models, they all look very tiny—but if you look at the customer pictures, they are more realistic there…although still…these be thongs….for the most part. Funny how something so small, literally, can make a man so very happy. You would think the bf died and went to heaven here. I am the first person he’s been with that wears thongs because I like them, not just to please him for a moment, or to let him know I am ‘interested’ in ‘something’ happening, and then I don’t wear them again til I am willing to have more of that ‘something’…. I like them – I wear them—every darn day usually—I have for years—because of the way I am built, even the stay put panties do not stay put—so no matter what I wear I might as well be wearing a thong—and no—buying larger sizes does not work….I’ve tried…trust me. In the Navy, wearing a white uniform, where you can see every line and detail when wearing the pants, it became a priority to find something that covered and didn’t slip or move or twist. I had help—I had half a squadron trying to help find something. No avail there. Although we all had a really good time trying some days… I quit wearing the uniform pants and stuck w the skirt—a slip can hide a multitude of things. Thank goodness.
While we are talking fetishes here, I ordered my Halloween costume. Last year, I bought the red queen costume, and spent time trying to find a longer skirt to wear under it because the hem of the dress was a good three, four inches off the ground and I wanted it to at least touch the ground. I don’t remember what happened last year, but I didn’t dress up. E and N went trick or treating w the cousins, per usual. I have no real desire to be the Red Queen this year. My Alice Alice
They have everything, every character, darn near, from Alice Alice
And speaking of things that will be here shortly, I ordered wrecking balm: http://wreckingbalm.com/ -- We’ve been discussing it for awhile. I got one tattoo to cover up another tattoo—and I should have just gotten the original tattoo removed and been done with it. I had a script “T” tattoo for the ex, gotten before I married him. I had a big fat black moon put over it. I have never really liked it – and now I have reached that place where I can do something about it. I don’t do lasers. Lasers require trusting another human—and I do not think so. I worked too long in the medical industry—and I have too many relatives who still do—not a chance. But this, I can sink my teeth into. You can go to the website to hear all the details. I am removing the big black sun—it’s a bit more complicated than that….but still—that whole thing is going…and maybe the green spiral on my wrist that didn’t turn out right. That one goes and I may replace it with the Chinese symbol for Phoenix
I will let you know how the wrecking balm works. I’ve had this particular tattoo nine years now? R went w me to get this done…the tattoo it is covering up I had done when I was what, 17? 18? I must have been 18…I have no clue….covering it up did what it was supposed to…only what I covered it up w made me think about a certain ‘Not’ Teacher…who was the reason I chose what I did…although I knew all along and said all along I would get rid of this tattoo at some point….
That alone sounds so bad. A tattoo is forever. Like a diamond, yes. It may seem that I do not put a great deal of thought into my tattoos—I just hopped up one day and went out and got a blue ringed octopus tattooed on my thigh….high enough to be covered by all by the shortest of skirts….as if hiding any of my tattoos is a priority—at any other point other than my wedding….That’s not true. There is a lot that goes on. If I just jumped up and got every single tattoo that came into my mind…I would be covered from the nape of my neck to the tip of my toes….trust me….I have a pattern in my head where darn near everything is tattooed in a pattern that flows from top to bottom in a riotous scene of utmost beauty and connection. But I won’t do that. I don’t like coloured ink that much, my octo Queen here aside….it’s been a year and a half or more…the colour in my wolf’s eyes are only now starting to actually come out and be visible---and I know that isn’t done yet….I fear for my dragon on my shoulder…one day I will have to find someone very talented to recolor him—he’s done in two shades of red…and I will drive back to WV and to Bryn, who inked him in the first place, and let her do it….otherwise, my black inks will fade into blues and I will be happy…although I wonder at the scales on my little sparrow…how those will appear on down the line…not much different than my stone washed Om, I figure….
A lot of stuff goes into my tattoos. Each tattoo has a special and very certain significance to me. Every tattoo has a deep spiritual connection to me and for me. Even my beloved’s middle name on my wrist….I am drifting again, so I will stop here.
Where did I start? Yesterday. Yesterday. We can even go to Tuesday.
You will be happy to know that the bf did get the important stuff back from his ex. Although she pitched a huge screaming fit, in a public place, because—he’s just not that in to her. And as she continues to point out, she has absolutely no control over her temper—nor does she try apparently. He is done playing her childish games and she can’t stand it. Although he can now rest a little easier that he has his house key back and doesn’t have to wonder if she’s going to break into his house and steal anything else anymore. Now, he just has to worry about me, but I’ve had a key to his house longer than she did, since I have had one, oh, since his divorce, pert near. When the ex hub changed his locks for him… some days the funny things that creep up.
I’ve been cleaning. You can tell. I start on the physical plane and all the stuff comes out on the mental plane as well… I’ve been going through all sorts of stuff. Tossing things out has been making me feel so much better about things. For too long I have been hoarding things like my grandmother and her canned stuff in the basement. Stuff we swear she canned when my dad was a kid, stuff I was afraid of when I was a little kid because I thought they were weird medical experiments—hey—I’d been in the biology lab many times—these canning jars looked like the stuff in the jars in the bio lab—I was a kid—sue me. J When she died, my dad offered people money to empty the jars, because the jars were antique and worth money – and no one would go near them…as far as I know, they could still be growing and reproducing in that basement…in the house no one has lived in since my dad and sister moved out after Grandma died….when my sister was in high school (I think) …in three years…she’ll be 30! All this stuff I’ve been hanging on to…I still have stuff I can’t let go of…I have a basket full of boys clothes that I know my future sons are going to wear…N wore them some in MD, but not since…and now they are too small….and some of the stuff was bought big for him so he never wore it at all….that stuff I cannot throw out….especially not knowing I have boys coming one of these days. It’s like the diapers…can’t throw them out…the baby clothes....can’t throw them out…won’t…we are going to need them…one of these days…it is easier to let go of the other non-essential stuff now though—that is the important part. When I cannot think, hey, we will need these for babies on down the line, or the kids on down the line—if there is no reason to keep it…it is gone these days…
One thing I have been happy about the past couple weeks….the four of us go out, R, E, N and me…and even when N is at his orneriest…. it is still really good to be out all together. Now that R and I have talked, since T won’t really help us with the whole ‘boundary’ issue thing…mostly because I don’t think he has them til he thinks I’ve crossed some line w him…but then again…those lines blur and slide and slip around so much that even if he says this here is the line not to cross, that only counts for that moment…the next time he’ll be hollering at me for not crossing the line…so there is no winning there…so R and I made our own lines, blurry as they are when it comes to N because I know I over-protect and over-compensate w N…because he is my kid and no one else should have to take care of him but me…that’s not why I am dating R—he is not the other baby sitter—he is the father figure….E caught on to that as soon as he switched from Uncle to uhm…not Uncle….E will not call him Dad until we get married—she keeps saying this—over and over and over—even though she slips up, a lot…especially when he is not around….T really hurt her and made her gun-shy—R is the only man she trusts—and it is not because he is the only man I trust either….R has been steadfast and solid in her life since before she was bourn…I can say without his influence I would never have been put on bed-rest w her when I was pregnant….he has always been there. These past few weekends, going out to eat, that click has happened. Where we have gone from Mom and the kids out with the boyfriend to **CLICK** -- the whole family out enjoying a meal together, one whole integrated unit, period….it’s that sensation, that orientation, that mystical indefinable whatever it is that I always wanted to have there w T when we were together—even before N was bourn—but it never happened—it’s that milder ~click~ that has always been there between just R and me, and by extension an uncle-y sort of ~click~ when it was E and R and me….but this time…it is the real deal…and it is meant to be…
Here I do digress…it’s a wonder sometimes, to look at the things that R and I have been through, separately and together, to get us to the point where we could come together as a couple. We both seem to have needed to be in those lousy relationships where there was no communication, where we were taken for granted, where we were so miserable, in order to see how very lucky we are now that we have each other.
How pitiful is it for a grown man to call me and ask if it is ok for him to call on his way home from work and talk about his day? He has not been allowed to talk about his day at work for years, not the slightest detail—because his ex could care less—she told him so point blank. More than once. So, he was not allowed to talk about his day, or anything that interested him that didn’t interest her. And they don’t have many common interests, something he frequently complained about. She still fails to understand why that may not be healthy for a relationship…where only one party gets to talk about their day and their stuff…where the other party is made to feel inconsequential and worthless, how was it put? Beneath the other party’s notice or tolerance….
The fact I listen to his day—and I actually ask questions and get involved and don’t just glaze completely over and tune him out…I could do this for the rest of our lives and nothing more and he’d be the happiest man alive—because he has been denied these little pieces of himself for so very long. The fact that, as he says (and as I have said about him for me) that I am just about everything he could have ever asked for or dreamed of all in one….it’s just a bonus….
He asks me questions like that all along…are you ok if I do this? And I honestly look at him as if he’s nuts…and say, what could be wrong with this…only to hear someone else didn’t care about it so it wasn’t allowed to happen. The man wasn’t even allowed to eat at his favorite restaurant because she didn’t like to go there…and it’s a place for couples, not a place you run in and grab something for lunch and run out…..things like this baffle me.
I can see now and then saying, look, I had a rough day, I don’t really want to hear about yours….but that whole—I don’t really care. I don’t want to hear about it. Just don’t do it any more? I don’t get that. I don’t get dating someone and telling them if it doesn’t have anything to do with me or isn’t something I am interested in, don’t bother talking about it because I don’t care and I won’t listen….it’s insane.
I don’t care how bad a place is, unless I can really give solid reasons why this place sucks (like the last sushi place we went to—food was great…service impeccable…music was horrendous…we agreed we would not return there until they got better music J ) – like bugs everywhere, or horrible horrible food every time we go…I would still go once in awhile because he likes it—and I’d find something to eat while I was there… I would do it because I care about him and his feelings (and trust me—I’ve done it for others—I’ve done it for friends, much less boyfriends and husbands) –and I know this isn’t the only time we’re going out, so one dinner in a place I don’t prefer or like in the grand scheme of things will not kill me. I don’t get people – even though I have dated and married enough of them—who won’t let other people be themselves, who think the other party has to change everything in order to be ‘good enough’ to date/marry them. If you start to date a person and that person is one way—why do you bother dating him if you don’t really like the way he is? If you don’t like that he plays puppet games with chopsticks…walk away…don’t crush his spirit to fit into whatever form you think he ought to be in…that’s not him…and making the other party unhappy with themselves will only tear the relationship apart on down the line…..trust me—I watch it every single day w my work…I have seen in it my own life…not to mention my friends and family as well…
Ahhh….I have fallen too far off the fruit wagon today …let this piece stand as my morning—and afternoon—pages for today…my rant…my exposition….my reveling in being me.
And above all else, thank you for listening…even if you didn’t make it all the way through my ramblings. I do this for me, some days. Just to get stuff out.
I am hoping that everything that went on in June is now…settling…and I can get back to steady writing and drawing and painting again….I am looking forward to that more than I can say….
Peace…
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Fine-I Am Stalling
I have a ton of laundry waiting to be folded--and I really need to strip my bed...and it is almost 11 at night.
Am I afraid? Not in the least. :-) Which is why I am sitting here at the keyboard with fingers flying rather than toiling away over the dread laundry.
This weekend was interesting.
After scaring the heck out of me w N and his first day of "official" public school awhile back, the ex this Friday past tells me how this year of school is going to be like N's last year of school--N has been in school all year round for two years now. The kid turns six in September. My mouth is shut there--really.
T said N's day is morning with his regular 'person' there to 'help keep N in line' which means a person to shove N into a little box and turn him into a mindless automaton like every other kid around-learn the test so we can pass you and get the government money while not actually educating you--and yes--I've done the research on St Louis public schools--thanks to the ex hub's whatever he calls her (which is apparently what he still calls her, strangely enough, (his) whatever you call her) --but she actually gave me a great deal of leads on the St Louis public school system...eons ago. Anyway. Mornings for N being shoved into a narrow closed-in box. Afternoons w speech therapy and everything else they do with the --retards (I use term this in the same sense and manner Maria Montessori did in her books--I sure as heck do NOT condone my child being labeled as such--but there is no other way to put it...).
Well, this weekend I proved the kid has issues hearing out of one ear. In front of another adult witness too. And T keeps telling me there is nothing wrong w N's hearing---just like there is nothing wrong w N's teeth, which are rotting literally and visibly right out of his head. It's all me. I know. What do I know?
I watched the ex bully my son while the boy was obviously tired and just as obviously hungry on Friday at the drop off--and I know the stupid man meant well--because he can't see past the nose on the end of his face--he really thinks he's helping--what child when tired and hungry can think straight and "use (his) big boy words" when an adult is standing over top of them using the obey me now or you will be punished voice--that voice of degradation and impending doom that I have tried to tell T about when we were living together....that he is completely clueless as to how he sounds exactly like his own father and I know T hates that man because T always said so....
Now--the kid is currently five yo, ok? On Friday, I told T when N acts like that it usually means he's hungry here--and I asked him when the last time N had eaten was. He told me he had no idea. "Oh, I have no idea." Quote. Unquote.
The kid is FIVE. You have no clue when he last ate!?! A kid with blood sugar issues--like his sister--like his mother--like most people in my family period? like every other AUTISTIC child out there where NUTRITION is such a big deal in helping deal with the AUTISM--and this man, who enjoyed showing me his power over the small child, enjoying putting it to me that this is how you deal with this child, even as I was saying in my nice I'm a stupid dumb blonde please ignore me voice, we usually feed him and that takes care of the whiney-ness issue, has not a CLUE in his head about when the child LAST ATE.
Does anyone else wonder why I keep praying to every god out there to save my child?
Save my kid from good intentions--oh PLEASE! please please please
The man can't tell me how N hurts himself 9 times out of 10.
The man can't tell me when he last ate.
He blows me off when I bring up things like N's teeth.
He takes the kid to the emergency room--and thinks to call me when they go in--and swears he won't forget to call me when they leave--but does forget anyway.
The man who "forgot" to tell me how to order school pics of the kid for myself and my family, because he won't spring for even wallet sized pics for anyone in my family because they don't matter to him because he doesn't like them.
The man who to this day has YET to cough up a disk w the pictures he took of both kids over christmas in 2008--or even jsut email them to me a couple at a time or whatever is easier for him--despite the fact I still ask now and then -- until he gripes at me for asking....because he hates to be reminded by me of all his failures....
Can we say--nuff said?
Saturday was a decent day actually. N was having a rough day--but he's had rough weekends the past couple weeks. Boy ate fine. Boy played fine. Boy had an issue or two, but after we fed him, issues disappeared. I mean that--we fed the boy and his mood did a 180--every freaking time. I am not making this up for the ex's benefit. The boy needs to be fed regularly and more than just three meals a day.
Saturday night. R went home. N asked for a bath as soon as R was out the door. Which is unusual. Usually he plays in the bath water from his sister, who leaves the water in the tub when she's done w her bath for just this reason. Or he gets a bath when I put him in. He rarely asks for a bath himself. Which means--warning flag number one cropped up. So, I run the tub. The tub is full, I turn off the water. Boy gets out. Not all together un-N-like. He does that at times. But he doesn't just lay in the water, or recline in this case, and do nothing, as he did then, warning flag number 2. Usually he plays or messes w stuff or talks to himself. Sometimes he sings, which is cute.
I wrap the boy up in his towel. He crawls into bed. He goes to sleep. Almost immediately. It wasn't that late. I was not entirely unsurprised by how quickly the boy crashed. He'd had a rough time before he got to us, and then we took him out and took him shopping and everything else during the day on Saturday. Not too long after that, as I was busy checking email, the boy sat up and started coughing. Mommy instinct clicked instantly. I grabbed the boy and ran for the bathroom. Where he spent a good ten minutes heaving and puking his guts up.
I clean him up. Wrap him in a fresh towel (just in case). Take him back to bed and tuck him in. He spent the entire night barfing--every hour or so. Not much came out. Mommy instinct is a great thing. I woke up every single time just before he'd barf so I could have the rag and the garbage can ready for him. Last time he threw up was 6a. He slept in til about 9, 930a.
I watch him. I get no information--or at the very best an infinitesimal scant bit of information about the boy or what is going on in his life or world or anything related to anything--I hear alot more about movies and comic books than my kid--from a man who barely speaks to me, except in fits and starts. After watching and talking to N these past few weeks, after watching T and his behaviour (and he is a bully --he stood directly over Nik, looming over him, leaning down and over him--like Snoopy doing his vulture routine, with that harsh demanding unsatisfiable voice of his that is just his dad incarnate)--add into it what I am sure based on things N has said is "big boy school' or going to school like a big boy or something to that effect--N is under way too much stress--add into his lack of sleep (7a to 10/1030p daily according to what T gripes at me to stick to all the time)--his lack of a regular feeding time full of solid food that sticks to him for longer than 15 minutes (yeah-all my nutritional studies and research into grains and Waldorf schools and cooking and everything else are completely without merit--except here where they obviously work --when I can get everyone to eat what I make :-) grr)--all it boils down to is the boy is stressed the heck out and I seem to be the only one who says a thing--but of course T cannot hear my voice when I speak because I am not in agreement w him at all--so he automatically and immediately tunes me out and poo-poos everything and anything I say.
Now--the man said he would agree to putting N in Waldorf school (which would so do wonders for that stress in N--before he becomes as neurotic as T and his family--according to the things T has told me and by T's own admissions--not my own personal opinion or anything-I swear)--I am almost a that point where I can afford to put E and N both in Waldorf schools. So T--watch out--I will fight for this--and you did say if I paid for it it would happen.
Of course, knowing how cheap and lazy the man is, that also means I will be driving and picking up and fetching and carrying--but to get my kid healthy and keep my kid safe--it is worth it.
Ha!
Thank you for listening to my tirade there.
Which leads me to my other bit here--because I so did not intend to get all off-track about T-or N.
I do find it funny, despite the Pavlov dog response to R's presence from N (can we go to dairy queen playground now? the second R walks through the front door), how very attached to R both kids are. It's easier to see in E, especially since R is the one man in her life who has never let her down. But N has been asking for R lately, asking about R. I also think it's kinda telling that N waits til T leaves to ask anything about R. R and T do not like each other, not that T didn't bring that down upon his own head by acting like a child--and T won't forgive R for calling him on his childish behavior. N actually likes R alot more than I've told R too. N can talk and he does talk and he does ask alot of questions. And they are not all related to dairy queen, mcdonalds, shopping or playgrounds when it comes to R.
R has been spending more time here lately, more time on the weekends. The dynamics between everyone is beginning to change now, in what I hope and what I think is a good way. We are taking very deliberate turns towards actually being a family--which I worry about from a variety of angles, no matter what R says. I worry about R taking that role, how he feels about it, especially given N as he is, and the fact that T will be there for awhile, until N is older. And w E probably more needy than I am when it comes to needing a male role model and father figure in her life. I often wish T would not have turned on her the way he did--even before MD. The way he turns on her now. I watch him try to make a play towards including her, trying to talk to her, and she isn't responding much anymore, mostly because she is far more secure w R these days. I think it's pretty sad for both E and T, some days. But T made his choice, whether he cares to admit it or not. And he refuses to see it from any other viewpoint but his own--so there is no changing him or working WITH him. You work around him and in spite of him, but not with him. That's the way he makes it. That's why he and I could never get along. As soon as I tried to be me again after I had N and T couldn't squash me -- I became obsolete and a burden.
This week R got a job offer. Not the best job offer. But a decent job offer. A job he can feel decent about taking while he is still looking for that other job we know is out there. And we all know how to find something, right? As in, I lost my cd, however do I find it, after tearing my entire flat to bits and found nothing? You buy a new one. Don't even have to unwrap the thing either. Voila--old cd pops up out of nowhere. The same thing is going to happen here. He'll take this job, be there maybe a month or so, and boom, that other job he's waiting for will show up and he'll take it--unless his current so so salary, no vacation, sucky benefits done through a temp agency as a contract steps in and says no way are we losing you-not only will we match that, we'll top it--and either way--the man wins. Period.
This also means that no matter how I feel about driving--which means I am going to have to hit the homeopathic remedies for vertigo and other issues-- I am going to have to buy a little car.
Give me something old, made out of real steel. I don't care how many doors it has, so long as it is an automatic. I can learn to drive a stick--I can drive a stick--I am just not confident enough doing it to do it with my children in the car in traffic. And right now, I am not at all confident about driving into traffic at all. The past couple times we've driven across the bridge into St Louis proper, I've wanted to throw up--and I wasn't the one driving.
E and I want to continue our lunches w Kerry every couple weeks. Plus, E and I have a plan to go out and sit in a cafe or coffee shop or something a couple times a week, have a cuppa something and maybe a cookie or something for the small fry--where we can both do our work out of the house and away from things. Which reminds me--I need to order homeschool ID cards for both of us. Going out requires driving, and we wouldn't ask R to do that for us anyway--not as far as he has to drive for us.
So, there's something on our list. And yes, I am doing well enough to buy a car, a much nicer car than the one I am planning, because I don't want a new car--I want a piece of junk that has to be coaxed and talked to and babied. Not to mention, so ugly no one would ever dream of stealing it. haha But yes, I can afford a decent car. I can afford the insurance and the upkeep and the gas. I just don't want to do it because I am still too afraid of traffic and of driving all by myself, especially with my kids in the car.
Not to mention, I really enjoy the time w R, even though I hate having to shop like this and not being able to just go out. Although circumstances have switched up and we are now able to just go and hang out places. We're getting there.
Tuesday, we are taking E canoeing for the very first time. I haven't been in ages, because T hates camping and canoeing and basically from what he told me he hates to be outside in Nature--he hates to be away from a decent bed and he hates to be away from his friends, the tv and the computer. So, no hope for me there. And the other T thought I was just saying I loved to camp and canoe and everything else just to please him--apparently he forgot all the stories about camping and hiking and everything else I used to do before he came into my life. So, it's been awhile.
We're going canoeing for a couple hours on Tuesday. Then we are going to visit the Meramac Caves, as E has never done anything like that either. I don't like being underground and I hate closed in spaces--R assures me Meramac is completely uhm modernized and commercialized. So no need to worry there.
The weekend after we are looking at going away for the weekend, the three of us, R, E and me. This is as close to that week in a cabin alone, w just E with me, as I can get. If it helps, thank goodness. If not, I don't know what I'll do. Except buy a car and drive my darned self.
At least R has reached that point where we can start doing these things together. If I can start getting out and getting away from, ya know--humans and civilization--on a decently regular basis--I might be happier. I will be happier. And more productive. And less likely to lose it when the kid pops up acting like she's 45 instead of 8......
R asked me something the other day. He mentioned something. I don't think he has caught on yet to the fact that he has the unique ability to make one comment, whether seriously or in jest, and my brain catapults off with it into a billion places. He has always had this capacity. I was just alot better about venting the myriad mazes of my mind elsewhere before we were dating.
Something about us not wanting to be here in this house this winter.
What exactly does that mean?
What does it mean when he says I am no longer happy w this house?
I am not happy w the GUESTS in my house--although the electronic thingys do seem to be helping alot in that department. I am also not thrilled w the fact the guy hasn't done the repairs I asked him to do (not R, well, not my R--the other R, the maintenance guy) --as my front window is still busted (it's double paned glass--bird hit the outside one night and broke the outer pane on one front window)--and roofing paper still hangs off the one side of the car port.....but we won't get into any of that...won't talk about the moles who have come back w a vengeance recently...or the fact that it dawned on me recently why things don't really grow all that well around here....
When I moved into this house, I was not expecting to stay in this house for very long. That's not a real leap for me. That's not a big deal for me. At my current rate, and planning for general increases in business as they do keep coming, I will be able to pay someone to pack up the house and move us, without much of an issue.
When the time comes.
But, I don't want to move right now. In fact, I am getting a bit stubborn about it. I am not moving from one freaking suburb to another, so I can go from being surrounded by one group of people to being surrounded by another group of people. Not even for the man I love. I also have no desire to move from IL to MO and have to jump through those homeschool hoops there--because the second I step into MO, T will be all over me. Because I do not live the way he thinks proper--he would see me completely destroyed and E completely destroyed, just because we are not like him. Just because we do things our own way--and we are pretty successful at it too. Especially when he's doing the same thing he's always been doing since I met him--and he has no plans to go anywhere else.
And this segue sucks, but still, thinking about that made me look at Ken, yes, the dog, and think, boy, her butt is growing back in real well these days...I can't justify shaving her for the winter. The only reason I did it this summer was because of the mud and the burs....she'll be looking way too border collie here in a few weeks...and the shedding will not stop...but that's ok too.
Yep--her butt is as big a nuisance as the ex--pretty much a match there...really...
I've had a good week-end. I got alot done. I got a great deal of baking done, which makes me feel better. Found out I need to buy deep cookie sheet style pans like my mother has--so I can make pizza where the crust is not so tremendously thick. Thick is good--but not that thick. :-) It turned out very yummy though. N rolled the dough out himself. And helped put the sauce and the cheese on. All he wanted was cheese, no pepperoni or anything. He ate up his huge piece and quite a bit of mine that I didn't finish. I miss my mother's cooking. But the pizza is a close one there.
I cleaned out alot of stuff. R fixed the one dresser for me, so my living room is in one piece again, Even though the red rug is now in the storage room, until I feel like getting something to really deep clean it, front and back. The living room actually looks bigger, even w the two chairs in there, without the red rug.
R also put together the elliptical cross trainer bicycle for us. The instructions made the job look WAY harder than it was. It's pretty cool. It also proves I am far more out of shape than I thought I was. But this is going to be a big help towards getting me back to where I want to be. And it is quiet, so I can ride it while on a call--if my phone will pick up in the den--sometimes it breaks up there--I may have to get another receiver--I have to look into that....
The den is clean. The kitchen, well, there are dishes, but the table is mostly clear...which I need to be able to mold doll faces...which is coming up here. Probably after we get back from Tuesday.
My dreams are sticking with me in the mornings again. I have more than Esmeree calling to be made permanent on my thigh. I will get a certain name tattooed on me before I get her done though--or maybe at the same time....despite protests from the man so named.
The name is R's name--and I have a strange sort of vindication there--the ex hub wanted his full name tattooed along my thigh--he actually wanted a statement--now he wanted this--while he was still planning w D to move D up from AR to live w him, while he and I were still married--and I refused the tattoo out of hand...this time I am getting a man's name tattooed at the top of my bikini line, whether the man likes it or not (which considering my wrist, ya have to wonder why his first name in a place no one but he will ever see makes ya kinda wonder....)--well, R is a much better man than T...and then again, it would be the third tattoo I got for R, which would create a tripod effect--and that is the most stable and balanced of mechanisms, which is why they use it for camera stands...but now I am starting to get too tired and loopy, so I'll stop there...
There are dolls beginning to speak. NaNoWriMo is coming and apparently my new lead character is coming to me, with whispers and suggestions and full-blown demands. And per the rules of NaNoWriMo, I can't do anything more than take notes.
The journey into Lemuria is coming along, no matter how slowly. There is more than K working there. I have alot to catch up w. Right now I have one story I really want to type up and post to the Hestia blog.....plus, I got in two books this past week, each with nice chapters dedicated to Hestia in them. Plus, with everything else I have going on, incorporating--or in my case more fully incorporating Hestia into our world is actually the path I have become far more willing to take of late.....
My artwork is slowly returning and revolving around my hand. I drew a small piece tonight that actually had to do with Hestia--it needs colour work before i will show it to anyone....but it's getting there.
I am about to take a plunge and make a pledge --rededicate myself-- to the 100 things in 100 days challenge. Only this time I was leaning more towards mandalas. Let me get some other things in line. I still am not comfortable right now drawing...I know it's me and I know where it comes from...I just have to pick up some of my art books again and re-orient myself....
and I think I have killed enough time now that I can toss the clean laundry into a pile to await folding tomorrow morning...and I can curl up for a few minutes w a good this book for writer's book and fall into a sound peaceful sleep...knowing my world is good and all things are perfectly as they should be.....
So -- until well, tomorrow probably...sleep well... peace....
Am I afraid? Not in the least. :-) Which is why I am sitting here at the keyboard with fingers flying rather than toiling away over the dread laundry.
This weekend was interesting.
After scaring the heck out of me w N and his first day of "official" public school awhile back, the ex this Friday past tells me how this year of school is going to be like N's last year of school--N has been in school all year round for two years now. The kid turns six in September. My mouth is shut there--really.
T said N's day is morning with his regular 'person' there to 'help keep N in line' which means a person to shove N into a little box and turn him into a mindless automaton like every other kid around-learn the test so we can pass you and get the government money while not actually educating you--and yes--I've done the research on St Louis public schools--thanks to the ex hub's whatever he calls her (which is apparently what he still calls her, strangely enough, (his) whatever you call her) --but she actually gave me a great deal of leads on the St Louis public school system...eons ago. Anyway. Mornings for N being shoved into a narrow closed-in box. Afternoons w speech therapy and everything else they do with the --retards (I use term this in the same sense and manner Maria Montessori did in her books--I sure as heck do NOT condone my child being labeled as such--but there is no other way to put it...).
Well, this weekend I proved the kid has issues hearing out of one ear. In front of another adult witness too. And T keeps telling me there is nothing wrong w N's hearing---just like there is nothing wrong w N's teeth, which are rotting literally and visibly right out of his head. It's all me. I know. What do I know?
I watched the ex bully my son while the boy was obviously tired and just as obviously hungry on Friday at the drop off--and I know the stupid man meant well--because he can't see past the nose on the end of his face--he really thinks he's helping--what child when tired and hungry can think straight and "use (his) big boy words" when an adult is standing over top of them using the obey me now or you will be punished voice--that voice of degradation and impending doom that I have tried to tell T about when we were living together....that he is completely clueless as to how he sounds exactly like his own father and I know T hates that man because T always said so....
Now--the kid is currently five yo, ok? On Friday, I told T when N acts like that it usually means he's hungry here--and I asked him when the last time N had eaten was. He told me he had no idea. "Oh, I have no idea." Quote. Unquote.
The kid is FIVE. You have no clue when he last ate!?! A kid with blood sugar issues--like his sister--like his mother--like most people in my family period? like every other AUTISTIC child out there where NUTRITION is such a big deal in helping deal with the AUTISM--and this man, who enjoyed showing me his power over the small child, enjoying putting it to me that this is how you deal with this child, even as I was saying in my nice I'm a stupid dumb blonde please ignore me voice, we usually feed him and that takes care of the whiney-ness issue, has not a CLUE in his head about when the child LAST ATE.
Does anyone else wonder why I keep praying to every god out there to save my child?
Save my kid from good intentions--oh PLEASE! please please please
The man can't tell me how N hurts himself 9 times out of 10.
The man can't tell me when he last ate.
He blows me off when I bring up things like N's teeth.
He takes the kid to the emergency room--and thinks to call me when they go in--and swears he won't forget to call me when they leave--but does forget anyway.
The man who "forgot" to tell me how to order school pics of the kid for myself and my family, because he won't spring for even wallet sized pics for anyone in my family because they don't matter to him because he doesn't like them.
The man who to this day has YET to cough up a disk w the pictures he took of both kids over christmas in 2008--or even jsut email them to me a couple at a time or whatever is easier for him--despite the fact I still ask now and then -- until he gripes at me for asking....because he hates to be reminded by me of all his failures....
Can we say--nuff said?
Saturday was a decent day actually. N was having a rough day--but he's had rough weekends the past couple weeks. Boy ate fine. Boy played fine. Boy had an issue or two, but after we fed him, issues disappeared. I mean that--we fed the boy and his mood did a 180--every freaking time. I am not making this up for the ex's benefit. The boy needs to be fed regularly and more than just three meals a day.
Saturday night. R went home. N asked for a bath as soon as R was out the door. Which is unusual. Usually he plays in the bath water from his sister, who leaves the water in the tub when she's done w her bath for just this reason. Or he gets a bath when I put him in. He rarely asks for a bath himself. Which means--warning flag number one cropped up. So, I run the tub. The tub is full, I turn off the water. Boy gets out. Not all together un-N-like. He does that at times. But he doesn't just lay in the water, or recline in this case, and do nothing, as he did then, warning flag number 2. Usually he plays or messes w stuff or talks to himself. Sometimes he sings, which is cute.
I wrap the boy up in his towel. He crawls into bed. He goes to sleep. Almost immediately. It wasn't that late. I was not entirely unsurprised by how quickly the boy crashed. He'd had a rough time before he got to us, and then we took him out and took him shopping and everything else during the day on Saturday. Not too long after that, as I was busy checking email, the boy sat up and started coughing. Mommy instinct clicked instantly. I grabbed the boy and ran for the bathroom. Where he spent a good ten minutes heaving and puking his guts up.
I clean him up. Wrap him in a fresh towel (just in case). Take him back to bed and tuck him in. He spent the entire night barfing--every hour or so. Not much came out. Mommy instinct is a great thing. I woke up every single time just before he'd barf so I could have the rag and the garbage can ready for him. Last time he threw up was 6a. He slept in til about 9, 930a.
I watch him. I get no information--or at the very best an infinitesimal scant bit of information about the boy or what is going on in his life or world or anything related to anything--I hear alot more about movies and comic books than my kid--from a man who barely speaks to me, except in fits and starts. After watching and talking to N these past few weeks, after watching T and his behaviour (and he is a bully --he stood directly over Nik, looming over him, leaning down and over him--like Snoopy doing his vulture routine, with that harsh demanding unsatisfiable voice of his that is just his dad incarnate)--add into it what I am sure based on things N has said is "big boy school' or going to school like a big boy or something to that effect--N is under way too much stress--add into his lack of sleep (7a to 10/1030p daily according to what T gripes at me to stick to all the time)--his lack of a regular feeding time full of solid food that sticks to him for longer than 15 minutes (yeah-all my nutritional studies and research into grains and Waldorf schools and cooking and everything else are completely without merit--except here where they obviously work --when I can get everyone to eat what I make :-) grr)--all it boils down to is the boy is stressed the heck out and I seem to be the only one who says a thing--but of course T cannot hear my voice when I speak because I am not in agreement w him at all--so he automatically and immediately tunes me out and poo-poos everything and anything I say.
Now--the man said he would agree to putting N in Waldorf school (which would so do wonders for that stress in N--before he becomes as neurotic as T and his family--according to the things T has told me and by T's own admissions--not my own personal opinion or anything-I swear)--I am almost a that point where I can afford to put E and N both in Waldorf schools. So T--watch out--I will fight for this--and you did say if I paid for it it would happen.
Of course, knowing how cheap and lazy the man is, that also means I will be driving and picking up and fetching and carrying--but to get my kid healthy and keep my kid safe--it is worth it.
Ha!
Thank you for listening to my tirade there.
Which leads me to my other bit here--because I so did not intend to get all off-track about T-or N.
I do find it funny, despite the Pavlov dog response to R's presence from N (can we go to dairy queen playground now? the second R walks through the front door), how very attached to R both kids are. It's easier to see in E, especially since R is the one man in her life who has never let her down. But N has been asking for R lately, asking about R. I also think it's kinda telling that N waits til T leaves to ask anything about R. R and T do not like each other, not that T didn't bring that down upon his own head by acting like a child--and T won't forgive R for calling him on his childish behavior. N actually likes R alot more than I've told R too. N can talk and he does talk and he does ask alot of questions. And they are not all related to dairy queen, mcdonalds, shopping or playgrounds when it comes to R.
R has been spending more time here lately, more time on the weekends. The dynamics between everyone is beginning to change now, in what I hope and what I think is a good way. We are taking very deliberate turns towards actually being a family--which I worry about from a variety of angles, no matter what R says. I worry about R taking that role, how he feels about it, especially given N as he is, and the fact that T will be there for awhile, until N is older. And w E probably more needy than I am when it comes to needing a male role model and father figure in her life. I often wish T would not have turned on her the way he did--even before MD. The way he turns on her now. I watch him try to make a play towards including her, trying to talk to her, and she isn't responding much anymore, mostly because she is far more secure w R these days. I think it's pretty sad for both E and T, some days. But T made his choice, whether he cares to admit it or not. And he refuses to see it from any other viewpoint but his own--so there is no changing him or working WITH him. You work around him and in spite of him, but not with him. That's the way he makes it. That's why he and I could never get along. As soon as I tried to be me again after I had N and T couldn't squash me -- I became obsolete and a burden.
This week R got a job offer. Not the best job offer. But a decent job offer. A job he can feel decent about taking while he is still looking for that other job we know is out there. And we all know how to find something, right? As in, I lost my cd, however do I find it, after tearing my entire flat to bits and found nothing? You buy a new one. Don't even have to unwrap the thing either. Voila--old cd pops up out of nowhere. The same thing is going to happen here. He'll take this job, be there maybe a month or so, and boom, that other job he's waiting for will show up and he'll take it--unless his current so so salary, no vacation, sucky benefits done through a temp agency as a contract steps in and says no way are we losing you-not only will we match that, we'll top it--and either way--the man wins. Period.
This also means that no matter how I feel about driving--which means I am going to have to hit the homeopathic remedies for vertigo and other issues-- I am going to have to buy a little car.
Give me something old, made out of real steel. I don't care how many doors it has, so long as it is an automatic. I can learn to drive a stick--I can drive a stick--I am just not confident enough doing it to do it with my children in the car in traffic. And right now, I am not at all confident about driving into traffic at all. The past couple times we've driven across the bridge into St Louis proper, I've wanted to throw up--and I wasn't the one driving.
E and I want to continue our lunches w Kerry every couple weeks. Plus, E and I have a plan to go out and sit in a cafe or coffee shop or something a couple times a week, have a cuppa something and maybe a cookie or something for the small fry--where we can both do our work out of the house and away from things. Which reminds me--I need to order homeschool ID cards for both of us. Going out requires driving, and we wouldn't ask R to do that for us anyway--not as far as he has to drive for us.
So, there's something on our list. And yes, I am doing well enough to buy a car, a much nicer car than the one I am planning, because I don't want a new car--I want a piece of junk that has to be coaxed and talked to and babied. Not to mention, so ugly no one would ever dream of stealing it. haha But yes, I can afford a decent car. I can afford the insurance and the upkeep and the gas. I just don't want to do it because I am still too afraid of traffic and of driving all by myself, especially with my kids in the car.
Not to mention, I really enjoy the time w R, even though I hate having to shop like this and not being able to just go out. Although circumstances have switched up and we are now able to just go and hang out places. We're getting there.
Tuesday, we are taking E canoeing for the very first time. I haven't been in ages, because T hates camping and canoeing and basically from what he told me he hates to be outside in Nature--he hates to be away from a decent bed and he hates to be away from his friends, the tv and the computer. So, no hope for me there. And the other T thought I was just saying I loved to camp and canoe and everything else just to please him--apparently he forgot all the stories about camping and hiking and everything else I used to do before he came into my life. So, it's been awhile.
We're going canoeing for a couple hours on Tuesday. Then we are going to visit the Meramac Caves, as E has never done anything like that either. I don't like being underground and I hate closed in spaces--R assures me Meramac is completely uhm modernized and commercialized. So no need to worry there.
The weekend after we are looking at going away for the weekend, the three of us, R, E and me. This is as close to that week in a cabin alone, w just E with me, as I can get. If it helps, thank goodness. If not, I don't know what I'll do. Except buy a car and drive my darned self.
At least R has reached that point where we can start doing these things together. If I can start getting out and getting away from, ya know--humans and civilization--on a decently regular basis--I might be happier. I will be happier. And more productive. And less likely to lose it when the kid pops up acting like she's 45 instead of 8......
R asked me something the other day. He mentioned something. I don't think he has caught on yet to the fact that he has the unique ability to make one comment, whether seriously or in jest, and my brain catapults off with it into a billion places. He has always had this capacity. I was just alot better about venting the myriad mazes of my mind elsewhere before we were dating.
Something about us not wanting to be here in this house this winter.
What exactly does that mean?
What does it mean when he says I am no longer happy w this house?
I am not happy w the GUESTS in my house--although the electronic thingys do seem to be helping alot in that department. I am also not thrilled w the fact the guy hasn't done the repairs I asked him to do (not R, well, not my R--the other R, the maintenance guy) --as my front window is still busted (it's double paned glass--bird hit the outside one night and broke the outer pane on one front window)--and roofing paper still hangs off the one side of the car port.....but we won't get into any of that...won't talk about the moles who have come back w a vengeance recently...or the fact that it dawned on me recently why things don't really grow all that well around here....
When I moved into this house, I was not expecting to stay in this house for very long. That's not a real leap for me. That's not a big deal for me. At my current rate, and planning for general increases in business as they do keep coming, I will be able to pay someone to pack up the house and move us, without much of an issue.
When the time comes.
But, I don't want to move right now. In fact, I am getting a bit stubborn about it. I am not moving from one freaking suburb to another, so I can go from being surrounded by one group of people to being surrounded by another group of people. Not even for the man I love. I also have no desire to move from IL to MO and have to jump through those homeschool hoops there--because the second I step into MO, T will be all over me. Because I do not live the way he thinks proper--he would see me completely destroyed and E completely destroyed, just because we are not like him. Just because we do things our own way--and we are pretty successful at it too. Especially when he's doing the same thing he's always been doing since I met him--and he has no plans to go anywhere else.
And this segue sucks, but still, thinking about that made me look at Ken, yes, the dog, and think, boy, her butt is growing back in real well these days...I can't justify shaving her for the winter. The only reason I did it this summer was because of the mud and the burs....she'll be looking way too border collie here in a few weeks...and the shedding will not stop...but that's ok too.
Yep--her butt is as big a nuisance as the ex--pretty much a match there...really...
I've had a good week-end. I got alot done. I got a great deal of baking done, which makes me feel better. Found out I need to buy deep cookie sheet style pans like my mother has--so I can make pizza where the crust is not so tremendously thick. Thick is good--but not that thick. :-) It turned out very yummy though. N rolled the dough out himself. And helped put the sauce and the cheese on. All he wanted was cheese, no pepperoni or anything. He ate up his huge piece and quite a bit of mine that I didn't finish. I miss my mother's cooking. But the pizza is a close one there.
I cleaned out alot of stuff. R fixed the one dresser for me, so my living room is in one piece again, Even though the red rug is now in the storage room, until I feel like getting something to really deep clean it, front and back. The living room actually looks bigger, even w the two chairs in there, without the red rug.
R also put together the elliptical cross trainer bicycle for us. The instructions made the job look WAY harder than it was. It's pretty cool. It also proves I am far more out of shape than I thought I was. But this is going to be a big help towards getting me back to where I want to be. And it is quiet, so I can ride it while on a call--if my phone will pick up in the den--sometimes it breaks up there--I may have to get another receiver--I have to look into that....
The den is clean. The kitchen, well, there are dishes, but the table is mostly clear...which I need to be able to mold doll faces...which is coming up here. Probably after we get back from Tuesday.
My dreams are sticking with me in the mornings again. I have more than Esmeree calling to be made permanent on my thigh. I will get a certain name tattooed on me before I get her done though--or maybe at the same time....despite protests from the man so named.
The name is R's name--and I have a strange sort of vindication there--the ex hub wanted his full name tattooed along my thigh--he actually wanted a statement--now he wanted this--while he was still planning w D to move D up from AR to live w him, while he and I were still married--and I refused the tattoo out of hand...this time I am getting a man's name tattooed at the top of my bikini line, whether the man likes it or not (which considering my wrist, ya have to wonder why his first name in a place no one but he will ever see makes ya kinda wonder....)--well, R is a much better man than T...and then again, it would be the third tattoo I got for R, which would create a tripod effect--and that is the most stable and balanced of mechanisms, which is why they use it for camera stands...but now I am starting to get too tired and loopy, so I'll stop there...
There are dolls beginning to speak. NaNoWriMo is coming and apparently my new lead character is coming to me, with whispers and suggestions and full-blown demands. And per the rules of NaNoWriMo, I can't do anything more than take notes.
The journey into Lemuria is coming along, no matter how slowly. There is more than K working there. I have alot to catch up w. Right now I have one story I really want to type up and post to the Hestia blog.....plus, I got in two books this past week, each with nice chapters dedicated to Hestia in them. Plus, with everything else I have going on, incorporating--or in my case more fully incorporating Hestia into our world is actually the path I have become far more willing to take of late.....
My artwork is slowly returning and revolving around my hand. I drew a small piece tonight that actually had to do with Hestia--it needs colour work before i will show it to anyone....but it's getting there.
I am about to take a plunge and make a pledge --rededicate myself-- to the 100 things in 100 days challenge. Only this time I was leaning more towards mandalas. Let me get some other things in line. I still am not comfortable right now drawing...I know it's me and I know where it comes from...I just have to pick up some of my art books again and re-orient myself....
and I think I have killed enough time now that I can toss the clean laundry into a pile to await folding tomorrow morning...and I can curl up for a few minutes w a good this book for writer's book and fall into a sound peaceful sleep...knowing my world is good and all things are perfectly as they should be.....
So -- until well, tomorrow probably...sleep well... peace....
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Self-Portrait Two
This is the lone wolf that lives inside my heart. Almost a year, if not more, later, after getting it done, we are still waiting for the eyes to finish healing and the red to leave and show the yellow-green.
Self-Portrait One
This is the symbol of my freedom from lies and oppression--when I got my divorce.
It had to be Oriental in cast...the tattoo artist is the one who suggested colour. It was my first colour tattoo...other than all black.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Tattoo Artist Recommendation
Highly recommended.
As in, I think Bryn has been replaced for the most part....
Jason Conrad
Cheap TRX Tattoos and Piercing
3207 S Grand Blvd
St Louis, MO
314 664 4011
Everyone we saw and talked to there, from the store to the tattoo and piercing part, was absolutely stellar.
There is so much art work everywhere too....
And clean....very very clean....
I love it there.
But Jason, Jason is awesome.
To say I would willingly replace Bryn, even though I have to drive 9 hours one way to reach her, that is saying alot. :-)
As in, I think Bryn has been replaced for the most part....
Jason Conrad
Cheap TRX Tattoos and Piercing
3207 S Grand Blvd
St Louis, MO
314 664 4011
Everyone we saw and talked to there, from the store to the tattoo and piercing part, was absolutely stellar.
There is so much art work everywhere too....
And clean....very very clean....
I love it there.
But Jason, Jason is awesome.
To say I would willingly replace Bryn, even though I have to drive 9 hours one way to reach her, that is saying alot. :-)
Nineteen
So, I got another tattoo. It is not an unimaginable stretch for me. I have all these other tattoos. It is not a new thing. It is not a new thing for me to jump right in to getting a tattoo with what seems like very little thought, even though things always turn around to show that I indeed gave it far more thought than I realized, only after the fact. It is not a very new thing when I find that a particular tattoo means so much more to me than I could have ever realized.
I did the one thing you are just not supposed to do. Sort of like knitting your new boyfriend a sweater-the boyfriend sweater curse. Usually, according to legend and way too many stories, the sweater making process either barely outlasts the relationship or the relationship ends right after the sweater is completed. Well, you hear the same thing about getting names tattooed on your body, unless, of course, the names are of your children, or someone in your family you want to remember. Boyfriend/girlfriend names you just do not do. Even husband/wife names you are not supposed to do, what with marriages being what they are these days. I did it. I got my boyfriend’s middle name tattooed on my wrist. There is a plethora of reasons I chose his middle name. It means a lot to him. It means a lot to me because of how much it means to him.
Now, before I had it done, after a great many weird conversations with my Guides, I knew this tattoo would hurt worse than the other tattoos I had gotten. I also expected it to bleed when none of the others had. Not even the dread water rat symbol on my ankle that is just a little too long and too far back for the sake of comfort bled or hurt too badly. I have had lymph come up during the tattooing process. I have had red blood cells come up after everything was over. I have had some incredible swelling incidents, most notably the octopus. Never much red blood cell action. I have some tattoos in some very vividly painful places. My first tattoo was in the bikini region. And it was more—involved when I had it covered up.
Let me talk about that first tattoo there. I was, what, seventeen, eighteen? Enter this man I knew would change my life. Such that I was, my assumption was that he would change my life for the better. Maybe he even did, in some arenas. All I know is that, overall—it is a far far better thing he be gone-and stay that way. I got his initial as my first tattoo—but his initial was also my initial, so it was not such a difficult thing. It was a bit funny. I had this huge biker dude between my legs, tattooing me and talking, and that ex held on to my toe and watched. It was not the first time I had thought about getting a tattoo. I had in years prior to that been much closer to getting a brand than a tattoo—please do not ask me why. I had a couple friends who had gone that route. I am no longer that person-and I have no desire to return to that. I was committed enough to my destiny or whatever you wanted to call it to get his/my initial tattooed in a hidden place that no one would ever see and that no one would ever know about unless I spoke up and told them. That pretty much sums up exactly how I felt about him the whole relationship. I spent the entire time in hiding myself, much less hiding him.
Back to current day. When I got the triple swirl on my left wrist, it was a donation-it was a breast cancer charity tattoo run-the first The Ink Well in Weirton, WV, had ever done. It was a small tattoo and it was for a good cause. It did not take too long to ink. It is also the one tattoo I want to have redone because I think it could look a lot better—and one of these days I am certain I will have it redone, probably in a darker green no less. Nevertheless, I do like it, actually. It is weird and quirky and just--me. In addition, there was not much pain involved at all with getting it. It is actually higher up than number nineteen on my right wrist.
I am so dedicated and so intense and just beyond all doubts about this current relationship—I got the man’s middle man—his clan name—tattooed on my right wrist, not just where I can see it every time I do anything, but where everyone will always see it, no matter what. In this relationship, there is simply no hiding whatsoever. Period.
The tattoo artist hand-drew the name out for us. He added some terrific flourishes. I had had dreams of the tattoo before I got it, where the ink flowed like vines growing, twining around my wrist and up through my hand, curling its way up my arm and over my shoulder. And even beyond that. It was rather an involved dream. There was a lot more to it than just that. That is where the dream started. The tattoo is not centered on my little two and a half inch wide wrist, but slides off on either side. It does look cool and one day I will post pictures of it. I love it. When the needle first hit my skin, I was not really ready for it to go so deep or hurt that much. I made the mistake of watching the needle go up and down in the gun. I usually watch the tattoo artist’s hand that holds the gun, because I like to watch the energies flow. My brain flipped and I watched the top of the needle, not the end of it that was in my skin. Time slowed down and I watched the needle go up, then down, as if each movement were slow and separate, each motion deliberate. That made it hurt more, watching the needle work, in slow motion. It also forced me back into the whole concept of Celtic tattooing. I could see the ancient tools used to tattoo centuries ago. There is far too much spiritual content some days for me to really go into it. Every single tattoo I have is holds the utmost spiritual meaning to and for me. This one is something different. That seems to be the theme of our relationship currently. This is something completely different from anything else.
And it truly is.
There was some bleeding when the tattoo was being done. Especially in the beginning. Since I am a mother, my mind tends to drift down weird paths. Not to mention, the whole shaman angle these days sometimes leads me down similar paths anyway. There is always blood in the beginning. We enter the world covered in blood. Blood clears the way. Blood binds the method. Blood shared and blood given. The symbology and mythology involved there can be pretty daunting to most when you get the whole tale. I will leave it at that. Basically, we can say that this symbolizes a fresh start, shall we?
The pain angle was a little different. I have a weird pain tolerance. I used to have an extremely high pain tolerance, but that has been shifting a lot of late. Not just within the past few weeks. It has been shifting for a couple years now. Pain tolerance is not exactly what I want to say either, although that is where I most notice it. I am more aware these days. I can literally feel more--deeply. Look, I was watching the Secret of NIMH with my son yesterday and I cried, I mean, sobbed and had real tears falling down my cheeks, when the house sunk beneath the mud. I feel more these days. I was surprised by the pain of getting the tattoo, surprised I felt it as much as I did. I was surprised I felt that the ink and needle where being worked in more deeply than other tattoos I have gotten. Yet, I was also convinced that this was as it should be with this tattoo.
Not to mention, it turned out beautifully.
What I did not count on was how deeply it would affect me on a day-to-day basis. Yes, I have only had the tattoo for not even twenty-four hours yet. There is a huge difference between the thick dark lines of his name twining around my wrist and the tiny little green spiral cluster on my other wrist. I hardly notice the spirals any more. Since it needs to be re-touched, I tend not to look at it. I do not really mind, and I have not since I first got it, even before I realized how much it needed to be touched up, had any issues with covering it up, either with jewelry or long shirt sleeves or whatever.
I cannot walk past a mirror without stopping today. Even if I cannot see the letters clearly. I pace when I am on the phone for work. Back and forth, up my hallway, from my bedroom to the kitchen and back, depending on what garbage is on tv and how loud my daughter has the television jacked, and how loud the bird is screeching, since the bird likes to be very loud when the phone rings. Although we can say I am not wearing my bracelets because this is a fresh and healing tattoo, that is not the reason. I do not think I will wear bracelets on this arm again, except for the one silver one that will not interfere with reading my wrist. I have no desire to wear long sleeves that cover the tattoo, even though I am freezing at the moment and want to go find my sweater somewhere. There is only so much credence I can give to the entire healing tattoo declaration. I want to be able to see this one. I want everyone to be able to see this one.
Even with the green spiral, I had had plans to cover it. Wrist warmers. Jewelry. A watch. The only offer I made to cover this tattoo, number nineteen, was when I first meet his family, out of respect for him and them. I do not think it will be necessary by then, but the offer stands. Otherwise, I will not hide this one. Not ever.
Do you know the best thing about being a free-wheeling writer-artist-poet, the weird hippy chick, the complete unfettered wild child, that I have always striven to be? You can be pierced and tattooed and still be happy, and do whatever you want to in life. I do not have to fret and worry about my day job, cramped in a cubicle, dealing with the ignorant cube people, unhappy and unhealthy, or how they would or could react to the tattoo—or anything else. I get to be who I want to be and do what I want to do—and everyone will just shake their heads at me and expect nothing less. It is just me, after all. I am that person. I am that strong-willed and self-confident. And if I am not yet that self-confident to trust that the Universe will provide-I at least fake it till it comes. I never lose my faith or my focus. At least not for very long.
How can I not believe when all my prayers have so radically been answered of late?
Back to the tattoo. I have spoken before about how mind-blowing and incredible it is to have a partner in your life that actually gets you, that understands, that accepts you, that loves you regardless, that stands by you. I never said I was not completely insecure and free from worry—I said I was striving for such. Now I have a constant reminder of my partner—almost as if I have a piece of him sewn into my skin, sewn into me, constantly on display and always reminding me of his love. (Ok, that does sound creepy, even though it is not meant to be, really. Think more in terms of sewing a quilt together rather than, say, Strangeland.) When I walk by a mirror or I glance at my wrist while typing or writing or anything, that is what I am hit with—not how much I love this man—but how much he loves me. That is why I am not hiding this thing. That is why I cannot. There is no way I will ever deny such a thing.
I am happy. Is that not what honestly matters the most?
Do you want to know the absolute worst part about getting the tattoo? Having my arm shaved—the razor burn hurts worse than the actual tattoo healing. Although, again, it is nice to be with a person who understands and does energetic healing, because everything is a lot better today, since he worked on me a bit yesterday.
The strange little tidbit is the correlation between number eighteen and number nineteen tattoos. I can feel twitches from eighteen, like when you first get the tattoo, how it reacts as it heals. Eighteen is reacting to the integration process of nineteen. It is pretty interesting.
Funny thing here. All the spiritual tattoos. All the dream catchers in my bedroom and in my life. This is the one tattoo that can keep the scary monsters and the scary dreams at bay and far from me. It keeps me safe. Just as he does.
The frightening thing is all I ever knew or expected was that this man would be my friend for this entire lifetime. Despite everything that people and Guides and everyone else keeps telling me, even the things he keeps saying that floor me, about the possibilities of us getting together, I never dreamed that things could go this way-nor that they could be so very good. I am certainly glad they are though. We are very much blessed.
I did the one thing you are just not supposed to do. Sort of like knitting your new boyfriend a sweater-the boyfriend sweater curse. Usually, according to legend and way too many stories, the sweater making process either barely outlasts the relationship or the relationship ends right after the sweater is completed. Well, you hear the same thing about getting names tattooed on your body, unless, of course, the names are of your children, or someone in your family you want to remember. Boyfriend/girlfriend names you just do not do. Even husband/wife names you are not supposed to do, what with marriages being what they are these days. I did it. I got my boyfriend’s middle name tattooed on my wrist. There is a plethora of reasons I chose his middle name. It means a lot to him. It means a lot to me because of how much it means to him.
Now, before I had it done, after a great many weird conversations with my Guides, I knew this tattoo would hurt worse than the other tattoos I had gotten. I also expected it to bleed when none of the others had. Not even the dread water rat symbol on my ankle that is just a little too long and too far back for the sake of comfort bled or hurt too badly. I have had lymph come up during the tattooing process. I have had red blood cells come up after everything was over. I have had some incredible swelling incidents, most notably the octopus. Never much red blood cell action. I have some tattoos in some very vividly painful places. My first tattoo was in the bikini region. And it was more—involved when I had it covered up.
Let me talk about that first tattoo there. I was, what, seventeen, eighteen? Enter this man I knew would change my life. Such that I was, my assumption was that he would change my life for the better. Maybe he even did, in some arenas. All I know is that, overall—it is a far far better thing he be gone-and stay that way. I got his initial as my first tattoo—but his initial was also my initial, so it was not such a difficult thing. It was a bit funny. I had this huge biker dude between my legs, tattooing me and talking, and that ex held on to my toe and watched. It was not the first time I had thought about getting a tattoo. I had in years prior to that been much closer to getting a brand than a tattoo—please do not ask me why. I had a couple friends who had gone that route. I am no longer that person-and I have no desire to return to that. I was committed enough to my destiny or whatever you wanted to call it to get his/my initial tattooed in a hidden place that no one would ever see and that no one would ever know about unless I spoke up and told them. That pretty much sums up exactly how I felt about him the whole relationship. I spent the entire time in hiding myself, much less hiding him.
Back to current day. When I got the triple swirl on my left wrist, it was a donation-it was a breast cancer charity tattoo run-the first The Ink Well in Weirton, WV, had ever done. It was a small tattoo and it was for a good cause. It did not take too long to ink. It is also the one tattoo I want to have redone because I think it could look a lot better—and one of these days I am certain I will have it redone, probably in a darker green no less. Nevertheless, I do like it, actually. It is weird and quirky and just--me. In addition, there was not much pain involved at all with getting it. It is actually higher up than number nineteen on my right wrist.
I am so dedicated and so intense and just beyond all doubts about this current relationship—I got the man’s middle man—his clan name—tattooed on my right wrist, not just where I can see it every time I do anything, but where everyone will always see it, no matter what. In this relationship, there is simply no hiding whatsoever. Period.
The tattoo artist hand-drew the name out for us. He added some terrific flourishes. I had had dreams of the tattoo before I got it, where the ink flowed like vines growing, twining around my wrist and up through my hand, curling its way up my arm and over my shoulder. And even beyond that. It was rather an involved dream. There was a lot more to it than just that. That is where the dream started. The tattoo is not centered on my little two and a half inch wide wrist, but slides off on either side. It does look cool and one day I will post pictures of it. I love it. When the needle first hit my skin, I was not really ready for it to go so deep or hurt that much. I made the mistake of watching the needle go up and down in the gun. I usually watch the tattoo artist’s hand that holds the gun, because I like to watch the energies flow. My brain flipped and I watched the top of the needle, not the end of it that was in my skin. Time slowed down and I watched the needle go up, then down, as if each movement were slow and separate, each motion deliberate. That made it hurt more, watching the needle work, in slow motion. It also forced me back into the whole concept of Celtic tattooing. I could see the ancient tools used to tattoo centuries ago. There is far too much spiritual content some days for me to really go into it. Every single tattoo I have is holds the utmost spiritual meaning to and for me. This one is something different. That seems to be the theme of our relationship currently. This is something completely different from anything else.
And it truly is.
There was some bleeding when the tattoo was being done. Especially in the beginning. Since I am a mother, my mind tends to drift down weird paths. Not to mention, the whole shaman angle these days sometimes leads me down similar paths anyway. There is always blood in the beginning. We enter the world covered in blood. Blood clears the way. Blood binds the method. Blood shared and blood given. The symbology and mythology involved there can be pretty daunting to most when you get the whole tale. I will leave it at that. Basically, we can say that this symbolizes a fresh start, shall we?
The pain angle was a little different. I have a weird pain tolerance. I used to have an extremely high pain tolerance, but that has been shifting a lot of late. Not just within the past few weeks. It has been shifting for a couple years now. Pain tolerance is not exactly what I want to say either, although that is where I most notice it. I am more aware these days. I can literally feel more--deeply. Look, I was watching the Secret of NIMH with my son yesterday and I cried, I mean, sobbed and had real tears falling down my cheeks, when the house sunk beneath the mud. I feel more these days. I was surprised by the pain of getting the tattoo, surprised I felt it as much as I did. I was surprised I felt that the ink and needle where being worked in more deeply than other tattoos I have gotten. Yet, I was also convinced that this was as it should be with this tattoo.
Not to mention, it turned out beautifully.
What I did not count on was how deeply it would affect me on a day-to-day basis. Yes, I have only had the tattoo for not even twenty-four hours yet. There is a huge difference between the thick dark lines of his name twining around my wrist and the tiny little green spiral cluster on my other wrist. I hardly notice the spirals any more. Since it needs to be re-touched, I tend not to look at it. I do not really mind, and I have not since I first got it, even before I realized how much it needed to be touched up, had any issues with covering it up, either with jewelry or long shirt sleeves or whatever.
I cannot walk past a mirror without stopping today. Even if I cannot see the letters clearly. I pace when I am on the phone for work. Back and forth, up my hallway, from my bedroom to the kitchen and back, depending on what garbage is on tv and how loud my daughter has the television jacked, and how loud the bird is screeching, since the bird likes to be very loud when the phone rings. Although we can say I am not wearing my bracelets because this is a fresh and healing tattoo, that is not the reason. I do not think I will wear bracelets on this arm again, except for the one silver one that will not interfere with reading my wrist. I have no desire to wear long sleeves that cover the tattoo, even though I am freezing at the moment and want to go find my sweater somewhere. There is only so much credence I can give to the entire healing tattoo declaration. I want to be able to see this one. I want everyone to be able to see this one.
Even with the green spiral, I had had plans to cover it. Wrist warmers. Jewelry. A watch. The only offer I made to cover this tattoo, number nineteen, was when I first meet his family, out of respect for him and them. I do not think it will be necessary by then, but the offer stands. Otherwise, I will not hide this one. Not ever.
Do you know the best thing about being a free-wheeling writer-artist-poet, the weird hippy chick, the complete unfettered wild child, that I have always striven to be? You can be pierced and tattooed and still be happy, and do whatever you want to in life. I do not have to fret and worry about my day job, cramped in a cubicle, dealing with the ignorant cube people, unhappy and unhealthy, or how they would or could react to the tattoo—or anything else. I get to be who I want to be and do what I want to do—and everyone will just shake their heads at me and expect nothing less. It is just me, after all. I am that person. I am that strong-willed and self-confident. And if I am not yet that self-confident to trust that the Universe will provide-I at least fake it till it comes. I never lose my faith or my focus. At least not for very long.
How can I not believe when all my prayers have so radically been answered of late?
Back to the tattoo. I have spoken before about how mind-blowing and incredible it is to have a partner in your life that actually gets you, that understands, that accepts you, that loves you regardless, that stands by you. I never said I was not completely insecure and free from worry—I said I was striving for such. Now I have a constant reminder of my partner—almost as if I have a piece of him sewn into my skin, sewn into me, constantly on display and always reminding me of his love. (Ok, that does sound creepy, even though it is not meant to be, really. Think more in terms of sewing a quilt together rather than, say, Strangeland.) When I walk by a mirror or I glance at my wrist while typing or writing or anything, that is what I am hit with—not how much I love this man—but how much he loves me. That is why I am not hiding this thing. That is why I cannot. There is no way I will ever deny such a thing.
I am happy. Is that not what honestly matters the most?
Do you want to know the absolute worst part about getting the tattoo? Having my arm shaved—the razor burn hurts worse than the actual tattoo healing. Although, again, it is nice to be with a person who understands and does energetic healing, because everything is a lot better today, since he worked on me a bit yesterday.
The strange little tidbit is the correlation between number eighteen and number nineteen tattoos. I can feel twitches from eighteen, like when you first get the tattoo, how it reacts as it heals. Eighteen is reacting to the integration process of nineteen. It is pretty interesting.
Funny thing here. All the spiritual tattoos. All the dream catchers in my bedroom and in my life. This is the one tattoo that can keep the scary monsters and the scary dreams at bay and far from me. It keeps me safe. Just as he does.
The frightening thing is all I ever knew or expected was that this man would be my friend for this entire lifetime. Despite everything that people and Guides and everyone else keeps telling me, even the things he keeps saying that floor me, about the possibilities of us getting together, I never dreamed that things could go this way-nor that they could be so very good. I am certainly glad they are though. We are very much blessed.
Number Nineteen
I didn’t realize it til after you left
How much I had been holding in
Trying to be brave
For you
Trying to make you see
This was something
Meant to be
So definite am I
Still that it is
But oh blessed things
I did not know
Such a thing would so
Profoundly
Rock me to my very core
Such a huge step
For little old me
The one who never quite
Gets to score
Enough
To win the war
And now I am here
To stay
I cannot lie
It freaks me out
It took me twenty minutes
To stop shaking
I had to eat
I had to pace
And still there was that silly smile
Glued to my face
I am ever so proud
Yet feel
So unworthy
I wouldn’t take it back
Of this I am most proud
But the fuller implications
Astound me
How much I had been holding in
Trying to be brave
For you
Trying to make you see
This was something
Meant to be
So definite am I
Still that it is
But oh blessed things
I did not know
Such a thing would so
Profoundly
Rock me to my very core
Such a huge step
For little old me
The one who never quite
Gets to score
Enough
To win the war
And now I am here
To stay
I cannot lie
It freaks me out
It took me twenty minutes
To stop shaking
I had to eat
I had to pace
And still there was that silly smile
Glued to my face
I am ever so proud
Yet feel
So unworthy
I wouldn’t take it back
Of this I am most proud
But the fuller implications
Astound me
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Number Eighteen
Bushido. The way of the Samurai. There are eight virtues of this Code: justice, courage, benevolence, politeness, sincerity, honor, loyalty and self-control.
Some days, I often have to wonder about my best friend, in a good way. He thinks I got this tattoo for me. The man absolutely believes I represent all these traits. Then again, he also knows me like no other. Were I to stand trial to be judged, he is the one person in this world who would be truly and uniquely qualified to give his opinion and it would be a True one, the closest to the actual me that can be. It rather frightens me that he knows as much about me as he does. I have told him things—that I don’t even tell myself. I trust him that much.
The ex introduced us. The ex wanted another couple for us to hang out with as a couple. But the way the ex worked is he wanted someone he could be in control of and in who would be in awe of him and just think he was some amazing person who had done so much and who knew so much. He picked the wrong guy. The ex thought he’d found a country bumpkin. Well , he did, but not in the way he thought. Country, yes. Bumpkin, no. My friend can be a little naïve—and I spring some really weird stuff on him at times. But he’s not stupid, and he has never since I met him allowed anyone to hold sway over him—other than the women in his life—and then only marginally. Which is to be expected when you’re in a relationship anyway, to some degree.
I have dragged my best friend through all sorts of training with me. Magical training. Sweat lodge. Rituals. Unified Field Therapy. We have one of those connections that I knew went far beyond this life, nearly from the start. It took me til recently to realize he had glamour on me in this life, to protect us both from other things. I still to this day DIE laughing at the fact that, while we were both still married to our significant others and both in the process of getting divorces, we were in one magical session and I told him he is the one man I genuinely had no sexual attraction for on any level. For me, that is bizarre. I was taught from a very early age –we’ll just say taught by society and leave it at that--sex is a powerful tool and a good way to –get what you want, control people, whatever. Everyone –well, adults anyway—not ever anyone underage—is a target. My friend was never a target in that way. He started out as my friend and he has stayed my friend, through some of the weirdest, most bizarre, unspeakable lunacy. And after making that comment, let it be known that since we’ve started sleeping together, the glamour has dropped and he can say one single word to me and I have to sit down because I am so weak with hunger and need. It’s mind-blowing. Of course, I’ve never had anyone use some of my own stuff back on me. Whether he means to or not, he uses a great deal of energetics when we’re—together. I’ll just leave it at that. It also doesn’t hurt that he and I literally go back to the very Beginning together, our souls almost like mirror images, closer than twins. I often want to say closer than God, when I start going Back and Back and Back.
He has watched me go through the most horrible times in my life, and been there to help me through them. He always lets me be myself. He is the one person I trust to tell me I am an idiot, but who will let me be the idiot and will still back me up while I am being an idiot. I trust him so implicitly and – yes, blindly. This man will never hurt me. Ever. Not if he can do anything to prevent that. I mean that on so many levels, it is just not funny. This guy gets me. Do you have any idea how very WEIRD I am? Yesterday, my mother’s spirit guide came to pester me to tell her something. My friend’s guides pester me all the time. If it weren’t for his guides, I wouldn’t work with my own guides as much as I do. Have you ever seen the tv show Wonderfalls? (it is terrific, by the way) Inanimate objects tell Jaye what to do—and they will sing all night or bother the bejesus out of her, until she does what they want her to do. Usually she gets into a lot of trouble doing these things. People think she’s nuts. But in the end it always seems to turn out to be a very good thing that she did what she did. That is pretty much my life in a nutshell. I go by Intuition. I have always said my friend is the logic to my emotion. Then I scare him by letting him in and showing him I have a logical practical side—not to mention of all the people in my life he has more of a clue than anyone else how my brain works and how darn smart I really am. And I am scarily intelligent, because my brain holds on to so much. It took me nearly this long to remember the clarity of my memory after living with ex one and ex two—both of whom told me I made things up and twisted them around. I do have my own way of seeing things—who doesn’t? But when it comes to facts, I usually keep them straight—like linear straight, straighter than a ruler straight. I am a walking trivial pursuit game, quite literally. How many sets of encyclopedia did you read when you were younger? I read five sets, because I like to see where the older ones have bad information. It’s quite an insight into the past. That should say way too much about me right there. I read encyclopedias for entertainment.
Yet, I digress. This is supposed to be about my best friend.
He is the one with the Way. Not me. He is all things Samurai, and then some. He has that wicked sense of humor. That darned leprechaun-like energy and presence. He lets me be myself in all ways—and he accepts me, completely, totally, without exception. He encourages my forays into piercing—which have since ended—unless I do get another nose piercing, on the same side as the one I currently have. He encourages my tattoos—no, no end in sight on those. Heck, he’s taken me to get most of the tattoos I have gotten in St Louis. He lets me be a whiner and a baby. He lets me be the strong over-powering over-bearing control freak that I can be. He of all people can actually keep me in line. Which for me is scary. Really freakin’ scary. He may not always get what I say and do, but he supports me, regardless. Do you have any idea what that is like? Someone caring about you and trusting you enough to let you truly genuinely be yourself in all things? Although for the rest of my life, he is not going to let me live down several things. Like my inability to walk after we’ve been together—you know, in that way. It’s only lately we’ve started this facet of our relationship. I am still rather stunned by the entire thing. I thought I was broken. Very very broken. Before ex, I had known myself to be one way. Every guy I had ever been with said this about me. Then there was ex. And now I have proof. He could turn a porn star against sex—turn a porn star into a nun for whom celibacy would not be enough of an escape from all things sexual. It wasn’t me. It was him. I am so so glad to know that. I wouldn’t know it or understand it to the level I do if not for my best friend. Merely one of the countless revelations this guy brings me all the time, whether he knows it or not.
I know—I keep repeating this—do you have any idea how spectacular it is to show a person every single side of yourself, good and bad, happy and sad, metaphysical and mundane, fecund and anorexic, and still find complete acceptance? He honestly is like my own Personal Jesus. I am completely and utterly blown-away every single day by that fact alone.
Now, number eighteen. My newest tattoo. We got it last night. We decided in the end that the chest was not the best idea. Plus, this tattoo had to be on the left side of my body—so much for symmetry there. The wolf is there, on my chest. Since the bushido tattoo would give too much attention, too much precedence, too much—power, we decided to put it on my arm under the Welsh dragon. The poor man still has no clue why I had to involve him so deeply with this tattoo. Now, I do love the juxtaposition of the Welsh dragon atop the Japanese kanji.
Here’s what’s strange. I have a tattoo for each of the men who were important in my life. Ex hub. The ex. Please don’t give that a lot of attention or energy. I got the tattoos to symbolise that they were gone, out of my life, and no longer connected to me in that way anymore. Especially since ex has custody of my son at the moment, I have to make sure the not connected to me personally thing is out there, because I am so not giving up anything that has to do with my son.
I have a Chinese butterfly, the first tattoo I got that had any colour in it, to represent the new life I was bursting into after the divorce, even though it took me a couple more years to really be done with him. Truthfully, we divorced in 2001. This year, 2009, is the very first year I have been able to actually know that the connection is truly gone, despite the fact the man still has energetic tendrils around me. The emotional content is gone. My heart is pure where once this man ruled and burned. The butterfly is on the inside of my ankle. It also represents a karmic tie that has been broken. I am no longer his sacrifice. Never again. King Kong has relinquished all rights to me and mine. I am truly free there.
I have the eternity knot on my shoulder for my son’s dad. All black, shaded grey. At least things between us could be worse and aren’t. That’s about the best thing I can say there. It would be nice if he could act like a responsible parent in conjunction with me. Maybe act like I am actually a human being, with a life of my own. This one won’t let go karmically, even though he is supposed to, in this lifetime—maybe before this lifetime is over. I won’t be playing with him in any other lifetime. This is the last time for him where I am concerned. His last chance to heal the breach between us that he caused before I move on and leave him behind forever.
The Bushido kanji is the first tattoo I’ve gotten for a man, a man with whom I have an on-going relationship –friendship is a relationship—and we are going to be friends all the way through this life-time. How scary is that? The things we know we are going to do and be together—for the rest of our lives. Have you seen my track-record with men? I am more scared about losing him than I have ever been with any other person in my life, simply because he is most trusted person in my life. A person who completely trusts me and believes in me. I really hope I don’t mess things up with him at any point. I don’t think he’ll let me though. That’s a good thing. I know how weird I am—and I see the way I am doing things. But thank goodness, he knows me and knows how weird I am—and he won’t let me hurt myself—which is also such a blessing.
Don’t ask why we aren’t dating or getting married. Other things have to happen first. Then we can do there. Today is just not that day.
I got this tattoo, after some really deep Past Life Retrieval episodes between us. How strange that I often describe myself as a Vessel, only to step back and realize that, yes, I am a Vessel. I am the Receptor and the Carrier, the Keeper, of so many things. I returned ex hub his things long ago. Well, more I returned them to the DL he serves (it doesn’t mean what you think it does, really). For the other ex, he does what he does best, refuses to claim his own stuff and refuses to accept responsibility for his own stuff. So I do what I do best. I stick the stuff on a shelf and say, here it is, bozo. I am not carrying it anymore. It’s no longer my burden, and neither are you. I have carried stuff for friends, so-called and genuine. I have carried things for strangers. I have surpassed bonds I had no clue were there. Found people who once lived their lives for me and vice versa, and released them from their circumstances just by being me. For this man, my friend, I carried, and I still carry, a great many things. I am not the one who is in charge of when or how these things come up. Not usually anyway. When it comes to his stuff, I am nothing but the Vase, really. He pulls things up as he desires them. He has me hold them – that last bit that I held in my throat that whole week was – a pain in the neck—so literally. Yet, he accepted it. He took it. He sealed a fate between us by taking these things. Many paths are laid out in front of us. Us as a whole, not just him and me. If I make this choice in my life, then it frees you up to make this choice in yours. If I had never gotten away from drugs or alcohol or other self-destructive behaviours, of which I am sure there are many more left (for one, I know I am still fighting my eating disorder to this day), I would never have met him in this lifetime. I would have been dead long ago. If I hadn’t let the ex drag me to St Louis as the last chance for our marriage –wish he had told everyone else that instead of just me—then he and I would never have become friends. If I had not become pregnant with E, our friendship together would have been twisted and mutated by the Coven that still makes vague vain attempts to screw with me. If I hadn’t done this—this would not have happened. If I hadn’t gone before the White Council as counsel myself, if I had not let go of the Grey in me, if I had not turned aside as much as I did, he would have never turned to me in the capacity he has turned. He would not have dredged up the things he did, he would not have accepted them as he did. We would definitely still be friends, but we wouldn’t be – this close. Nor would the future between us be so – set and so clear. A future I am not going to talk about because—well—mostly it freaks me out, the magnitude of it—and it will freak him out because it’s not somewhere he wants to go or think about at the moment. He has enough stuff to worry about at the moment as it is.
I think it is very interesting to note though. Remember the 333 issue I have with darn near every big event in my life, which does indeed seem to coincide with – me having a child and/or some man? I am still getting signs – 808 is just funny to me, I’m sorry—the whole Lazytown thing—but the 333 thing seems to be done for the moment. Ever since he removed the thing from my throat. So—that means big momentous event. And no, we are actually tres tres careful, because of all the things I want a baby with him right now—so not the thing.
What is so funny is I keep thinking—the Dragon and the Rat—Chinese astrology—oh what fun. How can two people who on the surface seem so very different be so well and evenly matched? But we are.
And this tattoo is the concrete cementing (did I really say it that way on purpose?) of my acceptance of the contract now in place. Not just my acceptance, but his as well. That, I think, is the big difference with this tattoo. Why I was able to get the tattoos for the other guys when I did in relation to where things stood between us at that time. I could not have gotten the eternity knot for ex if he had not changed his space somewhat. He changed enough to allow me to do my thing, whether he wanted to or not, whether he realized it or not. But my friend changed his mind about certain things, certain issues, and he made some choices. He gave me the space to embrace things and open up other things between us, in this life and things from other lives. This tattoo is a symbol of both of our acceptances of the path we are currently treading.
Plus, as an additional benefit, I must also take on some of the attributes I wear beneath my skin. He says the tenets of Bushido are already there within me. He sees them. All my tattoos have very strong spiritual significance. I am under obligation to respect that significance and to uphold the meanings intrinsically set out by each mark. Some days I really do think, thank god I let my friend eons ago talk me out of branding. I am not into pain, by any means, but there is a price to be paid when doing something like that. I have been meaning to research Celtic tattooing for a very long time—and I have done some very basic research, but never gone in-depth. Since tattoos are objects of Power, imbuing the flesh and the spirit with certain attributes. Between the Native and the Celtic paths I wander, I am often awed by the immense responsibility I have accepted by way of my tattoos. Not to mention, this tattoo means a great deal to me, not only because it represents the love between my best friend and me, but because of the connection between us in this life and another life of which this tattoo speaks volumes. One day I will find more information of the Samurai and the little Princess.
Until then, I accept my responsibility to this new tattoo, the new level of our friendship, the Past and the Present and the Future it represents. Besides, I love my friend, no matter what happens, no matter how things turn out, no matter which way we go. Not to mention, I am glad I can say it again, even the way I say it, just because it makes me feel better to let him know—even though I do that to everyone.
So, basically, it really is all good.
Some days, I often have to wonder about my best friend, in a good way. He thinks I got this tattoo for me. The man absolutely believes I represent all these traits. Then again, he also knows me like no other. Were I to stand trial to be judged, he is the one person in this world who would be truly and uniquely qualified to give his opinion and it would be a True one, the closest to the actual me that can be. It rather frightens me that he knows as much about me as he does. I have told him things—that I don’t even tell myself. I trust him that much.
The ex introduced us. The ex wanted another couple for us to hang out with as a couple. But the way the ex worked is he wanted someone he could be in control of and in who would be in awe of him and just think he was some amazing person who had done so much and who knew so much. He picked the wrong guy. The ex thought he’d found a country bumpkin. Well , he did, but not in the way he thought. Country, yes. Bumpkin, no. My friend can be a little naïve—and I spring some really weird stuff on him at times. But he’s not stupid, and he has never since I met him allowed anyone to hold sway over him—other than the women in his life—and then only marginally. Which is to be expected when you’re in a relationship anyway, to some degree.
I have dragged my best friend through all sorts of training with me. Magical training. Sweat lodge. Rituals. Unified Field Therapy. We have one of those connections that I knew went far beyond this life, nearly from the start. It took me til recently to realize he had glamour on me in this life, to protect us both from other things. I still to this day DIE laughing at the fact that, while we were both still married to our significant others and both in the process of getting divorces, we were in one magical session and I told him he is the one man I genuinely had no sexual attraction for on any level. For me, that is bizarre. I was taught from a very early age –we’ll just say taught by society and leave it at that--sex is a powerful tool and a good way to –get what you want, control people, whatever. Everyone –well, adults anyway—not ever anyone underage—is a target. My friend was never a target in that way. He started out as my friend and he has stayed my friend, through some of the weirdest, most bizarre, unspeakable lunacy. And after making that comment, let it be known that since we’ve started sleeping together, the glamour has dropped and he can say one single word to me and I have to sit down because I am so weak with hunger and need. It’s mind-blowing. Of course, I’ve never had anyone use some of my own stuff back on me. Whether he means to or not, he uses a great deal of energetics when we’re—together. I’ll just leave it at that. It also doesn’t hurt that he and I literally go back to the very Beginning together, our souls almost like mirror images, closer than twins. I often want to say closer than God, when I start going Back and Back and Back.
He has watched me go through the most horrible times in my life, and been there to help me through them. He always lets me be myself. He is the one person I trust to tell me I am an idiot, but who will let me be the idiot and will still back me up while I am being an idiot. I trust him so implicitly and – yes, blindly. This man will never hurt me. Ever. Not if he can do anything to prevent that. I mean that on so many levels, it is just not funny. This guy gets me. Do you have any idea how very WEIRD I am? Yesterday, my mother’s spirit guide came to pester me to tell her something. My friend’s guides pester me all the time. If it weren’t for his guides, I wouldn’t work with my own guides as much as I do. Have you ever seen the tv show Wonderfalls? (it is terrific, by the way) Inanimate objects tell Jaye what to do—and they will sing all night or bother the bejesus out of her, until she does what they want her to do. Usually she gets into a lot of trouble doing these things. People think she’s nuts. But in the end it always seems to turn out to be a very good thing that she did what she did. That is pretty much my life in a nutshell. I go by Intuition. I have always said my friend is the logic to my emotion. Then I scare him by letting him in and showing him I have a logical practical side—not to mention of all the people in my life he has more of a clue than anyone else how my brain works and how darn smart I really am. And I am scarily intelligent, because my brain holds on to so much. It took me nearly this long to remember the clarity of my memory after living with ex one and ex two—both of whom told me I made things up and twisted them around. I do have my own way of seeing things—who doesn’t? But when it comes to facts, I usually keep them straight—like linear straight, straighter than a ruler straight. I am a walking trivial pursuit game, quite literally. How many sets of encyclopedia did you read when you were younger? I read five sets, because I like to see where the older ones have bad information. It’s quite an insight into the past. That should say way too much about me right there. I read encyclopedias for entertainment.
Yet, I digress. This is supposed to be about my best friend.
He is the one with the Way. Not me. He is all things Samurai, and then some. He has that wicked sense of humor. That darned leprechaun-like energy and presence. He lets me be myself in all ways—and he accepts me, completely, totally, without exception. He encourages my forays into piercing—which have since ended—unless I do get another nose piercing, on the same side as the one I currently have. He encourages my tattoos—no, no end in sight on those. Heck, he’s taken me to get most of the tattoos I have gotten in St Louis. He lets me be a whiner and a baby. He lets me be the strong over-powering over-bearing control freak that I can be. He of all people can actually keep me in line. Which for me is scary. Really freakin’ scary. He may not always get what I say and do, but he supports me, regardless. Do you have any idea what that is like? Someone caring about you and trusting you enough to let you truly genuinely be yourself in all things? Although for the rest of my life, he is not going to let me live down several things. Like my inability to walk after we’ve been together—you know, in that way. It’s only lately we’ve started this facet of our relationship. I am still rather stunned by the entire thing. I thought I was broken. Very very broken. Before ex, I had known myself to be one way. Every guy I had ever been with said this about me. Then there was ex. And now I have proof. He could turn a porn star against sex—turn a porn star into a nun for whom celibacy would not be enough of an escape from all things sexual. It wasn’t me. It was him. I am so so glad to know that. I wouldn’t know it or understand it to the level I do if not for my best friend. Merely one of the countless revelations this guy brings me all the time, whether he knows it or not.
I know—I keep repeating this—do you have any idea how spectacular it is to show a person every single side of yourself, good and bad, happy and sad, metaphysical and mundane, fecund and anorexic, and still find complete acceptance? He honestly is like my own Personal Jesus. I am completely and utterly blown-away every single day by that fact alone.
Now, number eighteen. My newest tattoo. We got it last night. We decided in the end that the chest was not the best idea. Plus, this tattoo had to be on the left side of my body—so much for symmetry there. The wolf is there, on my chest. Since the bushido tattoo would give too much attention, too much precedence, too much—power, we decided to put it on my arm under the Welsh dragon. The poor man still has no clue why I had to involve him so deeply with this tattoo. Now, I do love the juxtaposition of the Welsh dragon atop the Japanese kanji.
Here’s what’s strange. I have a tattoo for each of the men who were important in my life. Ex hub. The ex. Please don’t give that a lot of attention or energy. I got the tattoos to symbolise that they were gone, out of my life, and no longer connected to me in that way anymore. Especially since ex has custody of my son at the moment, I have to make sure the not connected to me personally thing is out there, because I am so not giving up anything that has to do with my son.
I have a Chinese butterfly, the first tattoo I got that had any colour in it, to represent the new life I was bursting into after the divorce, even though it took me a couple more years to really be done with him. Truthfully, we divorced in 2001. This year, 2009, is the very first year I have been able to actually know that the connection is truly gone, despite the fact the man still has energetic tendrils around me. The emotional content is gone. My heart is pure where once this man ruled and burned. The butterfly is on the inside of my ankle. It also represents a karmic tie that has been broken. I am no longer his sacrifice. Never again. King Kong has relinquished all rights to me and mine. I am truly free there.
I have the eternity knot on my shoulder for my son’s dad. All black, shaded grey. At least things between us could be worse and aren’t. That’s about the best thing I can say there. It would be nice if he could act like a responsible parent in conjunction with me. Maybe act like I am actually a human being, with a life of my own. This one won’t let go karmically, even though he is supposed to, in this lifetime—maybe before this lifetime is over. I won’t be playing with him in any other lifetime. This is the last time for him where I am concerned. His last chance to heal the breach between us that he caused before I move on and leave him behind forever.
The Bushido kanji is the first tattoo I’ve gotten for a man, a man with whom I have an on-going relationship –friendship is a relationship—and we are going to be friends all the way through this life-time. How scary is that? The things we know we are going to do and be together—for the rest of our lives. Have you seen my track-record with men? I am more scared about losing him than I have ever been with any other person in my life, simply because he is most trusted person in my life. A person who completely trusts me and believes in me. I really hope I don’t mess things up with him at any point. I don’t think he’ll let me though. That’s a good thing. I know how weird I am—and I see the way I am doing things. But thank goodness, he knows me and knows how weird I am—and he won’t let me hurt myself—which is also such a blessing.
Don’t ask why we aren’t dating or getting married. Other things have to happen first. Then we can do there. Today is just not that day.
I got this tattoo, after some really deep Past Life Retrieval episodes between us. How strange that I often describe myself as a Vessel, only to step back and realize that, yes, I am a Vessel. I am the Receptor and the Carrier, the Keeper, of so many things. I returned ex hub his things long ago. Well, more I returned them to the DL he serves (it doesn’t mean what you think it does, really). For the other ex, he does what he does best, refuses to claim his own stuff and refuses to accept responsibility for his own stuff. So I do what I do best. I stick the stuff on a shelf and say, here it is, bozo. I am not carrying it anymore. It’s no longer my burden, and neither are you. I have carried stuff for friends, so-called and genuine. I have carried things for strangers. I have surpassed bonds I had no clue were there. Found people who once lived their lives for me and vice versa, and released them from their circumstances just by being me. For this man, my friend, I carried, and I still carry, a great many things. I am not the one who is in charge of when or how these things come up. Not usually anyway. When it comes to his stuff, I am nothing but the Vase, really. He pulls things up as he desires them. He has me hold them – that last bit that I held in my throat that whole week was – a pain in the neck—so literally. Yet, he accepted it. He took it. He sealed a fate between us by taking these things. Many paths are laid out in front of us. Us as a whole, not just him and me. If I make this choice in my life, then it frees you up to make this choice in yours. If I had never gotten away from drugs or alcohol or other self-destructive behaviours, of which I am sure there are many more left (for one, I know I am still fighting my eating disorder to this day), I would never have met him in this lifetime. I would have been dead long ago. If I hadn’t let the ex drag me to St Louis as the last chance for our marriage –wish he had told everyone else that instead of just me—then he and I would never have become friends. If I had not become pregnant with E, our friendship together would have been twisted and mutated by the Coven that still makes vague vain attempts to screw with me. If I hadn’t done this—this would not have happened. If I hadn’t gone before the White Council as counsel myself, if I had not let go of the Grey in me, if I had not turned aside as much as I did, he would have never turned to me in the capacity he has turned. He would not have dredged up the things he did, he would not have accepted them as he did. We would definitely still be friends, but we wouldn’t be – this close. Nor would the future between us be so – set and so clear. A future I am not going to talk about because—well—mostly it freaks me out, the magnitude of it—and it will freak him out because it’s not somewhere he wants to go or think about at the moment. He has enough stuff to worry about at the moment as it is.
I think it is very interesting to note though. Remember the 333 issue I have with darn near every big event in my life, which does indeed seem to coincide with – me having a child and/or some man? I am still getting signs – 808 is just funny to me, I’m sorry—the whole Lazytown thing—but the 333 thing seems to be done for the moment. Ever since he removed the thing from my throat. So—that means big momentous event. And no, we are actually tres tres careful, because of all the things I want a baby with him right now—so not the thing.
What is so funny is I keep thinking—the Dragon and the Rat—Chinese astrology—oh what fun. How can two people who on the surface seem so very different be so well and evenly matched? But we are.
And this tattoo is the concrete cementing (did I really say it that way on purpose?) of my acceptance of the contract now in place. Not just my acceptance, but his as well. That, I think, is the big difference with this tattoo. Why I was able to get the tattoos for the other guys when I did in relation to where things stood between us at that time. I could not have gotten the eternity knot for ex if he had not changed his space somewhat. He changed enough to allow me to do my thing, whether he wanted to or not, whether he realized it or not. But my friend changed his mind about certain things, certain issues, and he made some choices. He gave me the space to embrace things and open up other things between us, in this life and things from other lives. This tattoo is a symbol of both of our acceptances of the path we are currently treading.
Plus, as an additional benefit, I must also take on some of the attributes I wear beneath my skin. He says the tenets of Bushido are already there within me. He sees them. All my tattoos have very strong spiritual significance. I am under obligation to respect that significance and to uphold the meanings intrinsically set out by each mark. Some days I really do think, thank god I let my friend eons ago talk me out of branding. I am not into pain, by any means, but there is a price to be paid when doing something like that. I have been meaning to research Celtic tattooing for a very long time—and I have done some very basic research, but never gone in-depth. Since tattoos are objects of Power, imbuing the flesh and the spirit with certain attributes. Between the Native and the Celtic paths I wander, I am often awed by the immense responsibility I have accepted by way of my tattoos. Not to mention, this tattoo means a great deal to me, not only because it represents the love between my best friend and me, but because of the connection between us in this life and another life of which this tattoo speaks volumes. One day I will find more information of the Samurai and the little Princess.
Until then, I accept my responsibility to this new tattoo, the new level of our friendship, the Past and the Present and the Future it represents. Besides, I love my friend, no matter what happens, no matter how things turn out, no matter which way we go. Not to mention, I am glad I can say it again, even the way I say it, just because it makes me feel better to let him know—even though I do that to everyone.
So, basically, it really is all good.
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