Repentful Reminisce

I’ve grown slack in my personal writing. I used to keep a diary most every day.

Although my entries were mostly dull… laments of loneliness and drawn out tales of my dating adventures. I am amazed at how detailed I got about a one night stand… but lacked that similar style in other, probably more important places… “On the way to the car he tackled me in the garage. By the time we arrived at my Sonata he had me pegged to the hood, his finger slipping inside me and I squealed, “Ryan, we’re in public!” but made no real effort to stop him because why the help would I? I’m tipsy, more intoxicated by his touch than the beers we had.”

My mind certainly was poised in one direction.. if not there, then depressively down, “Lately I can’t make myself get up. I know I probably could if I tried harder…”

Then, but now.

Now I’ve had this one diary for almost a year now and its not filled. Usually I do two in a year. What is wrong? Is nothing wrong? I am happier than I was then, though I suppose I haven’t had better luck waking up in the mornings….

That’s just life. Or not life. Illusion. Reality. Dreams.

Now it’s, “floating where the river kisses the coast on rented kayaks. We’re drifting near the beach by a canel, far from shore. We’re paddling. We’re yelling over the splash of water against the boat, over the giant gulping sound it makes. We’re glaring into the sun, but really just glaring. I could stop paddling and just be rocked by the waves. But I don’t, I keep up with his furious pace until we reach a rocky, muddy shore near highway 80 where oyster shells littered the sand and would prove to be hard to walk on. With each stroke I released some anger, but not my hurt. H- was ahead, drifting, arms crossed and paddle up, letting the shore pull him in…”

Now its… complicated…

Today I wrote a nice entry about me and H- we have lovely times together. With him I lose myself. I become like wax when heated. He gives me joy and I feel like this post is not shining him in a good light…

This evening, after writing a nice entry about our nice time together, we got in another argument. I guess it’s idealistic to expect no arguments ever. They occur. Not too often. But when they do, they’re rough. I am highly sensitive, I cry and find it hard to express myself in the moment so I bottle it up. He is emotional, too, and gets angry. Today i told him I wanted to foster the baby kittens beneath our house, domesticate them and find them homes and he just freaked about it. I mean, maybe they will bring in fleas, he has a point, suuure, but why the hell freak out so much? I know you just got off of work, but chill. You’re the one who taught me about being aware and “not being our thoughts and emotions,” so why the hell can’t you do that now and every other time you intensify a situation?

Why can you pick up any little project but I can’t help the kitties, thus helping the stray problem, thereby helping the community? I know I’m freaking out now, but you freaked out first.

And it is just within the female nature to sit back, sob, say I’m sorry.

I’m not writing as often because things are complicated. Much more complicated than one night stands. I’m standing face to face with male ego, mano e mano, and honestly and more importantly, my ego. I am figuring out what it means to be me. I am embracing the sorrow and happiness. The divine and shadow.

It’s in H-, but it’s in me, too. There are so many different sides. So many different emotions and feelings. I have been allowing the complexity to silence me. But I’m not scared… I want to express myself, or at least to try.

5 thoughts on “Repentful Reminisce

  1. I’ve always said fiction is the one place that you can actually tell the truth. If you’re not filling LG’s diary fast enough, buy another book and put a pseudonym on the cover. Reality can be so limiting. When you put your story in the world of fiction, the very landscape becomes a metaphor. Your characters become mirrors. We are, in part, who people think we are, and that can be hard to admit without the veil of fiction.

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  2. Holla if you want an editor. My services are very affordable. I would say payment in the form of H-hugs is acceptable, but I’m moving soon.

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