She drew him a bath

It was evident when he walked in the door that the taxing day he thought he’d left behind at work had left within him a residue of bewilderment he managed to carry with him all the way home.

She couldn’t help but notice he was ill-at-ease upon entering. She hadn’t learned what ideas or emotions should be associated with his facial expressions and gestures yet, since their union was still in bloom, but she was confident in her intuitive abilities. Though she was often presumptuous, she opted to provide the sort of interactive work that is instinctive to women in her culture. She first inquired as to how he was feeling and how his day had gone and as he spoke she looked him directly in the eyes, nodded occasionally and provided supportive “mhm’s” and “yeah’s”.

At times her gaze drifted to his moving lips, to his jaw (jaws were always her weakness) and outlined the periphery of his face. She knew it well already, but even though she believed she could map it with her eyes closed, her desire to visually explore it never waned. She caught herself lost in the concavities and convexities of his face and was able to realign herself with the dialogue just in time to hear his voice trail off. Her relief that he’d not seen her doting quickly turned to frustration when she realized his countenance showed he was elsewhere, and she wasn’t there with him. And even worse, she didn’t feel invited. There was something different within him that day but she didn’t want to deduce anything irrationally.

He was distant and although her ego immediately made her think it had something to do with her–with something she was or wasn’t doing, had or hadn’t done–she decided to stop being so self-absorbed and focus on him. He hadn’t been going into terrible depth, merely regurgitating the days tasks, but she didn’t want to prod him further, not knowing how willing he would be to elaborate and not sure of her place in knowing more.

It didn’t take her long to understand he wasn’t going to be receptive to verbal communication at the time. They found each other staring at empty spaces on walls–one lost in thought, the other in search of substance, both desiring to appease one another, but failing.

The sound of disconnect had never been louder between them. She heard it like a loud gong within the recesses of her skull, the quaking emanating from the epicenter of her mind. She couldn’t bear it any longer, so she got up from the couch they’d both been sitting on and walked toward their bathroom door. She turned back to face him and asked, “Would you like me to draw you a bath?”

“Yes,” was his calm yet curt reply.

Filling their bathtub with aromatic salts and warm water, she dimmed the recessed lights to a comforting level, so as not to create any more tension for his vision. As she was slipping out of her clothes and into her robe, he remained sat on the couch thinking of how he should be focusing on how fortunate he is and letting go of what ails him. His trance was interrupted by the sight of her form revealed from the darkness of their bedroom and the reflection of light from the common area glimmering on her crimson satin robe. He watched her put her hair up with a sort of controlled sloppiness that he imagined no one else could achieve. His eyes followed the line of her forearm and elbow to where her arm met the robe’s sleeve, her eyes serenely closed all the while. For a moment, he became lost in the realization that the color red makes her skin tone look exceptionally radiant but his line of thought was derailed when he found her staring back at him, waiting for him to make a move

“Are you done gawking? It’s not staying warm forever.”

She made her way to the bathroom again and turned back, expecting to see him lagging–hopefully not too far behind–but he was staring again, still on the couch. She walked over, grabbed his hands, and led him to the tub. It seemed painful for him to look her in the eyes, but she maintained her silence.

She stood him in the center of the room and lifted his left palm to her mouth with her right hand. Kissing it gently, she watched his eyes close as she puckered her lips against his tepid palm.

She knelt before him and removed his shoes. She looked incredibly small from such distance. He wondered how many times she’d done this before.

While slowly unlacing them, she was reminded of when she’d last done this before. The nostalgia of taking off her father’s shoes in her youth made her feel small again. She felt a rippling warmth emanating from her core while she set his shoes aside. Slowly sliding her hand up his calf and down, she removed one sock, then the other. She stood up and unbuttoned his shirt. He slid it off and she folded it then placed it on the counter. His trousers and underwear were last to go, which she removed with patience. They were folded and placed next to his shirt.

He glanced at the water, frozen in place.

She reached in to check its temperature and ran the hot water again.

“You can get in now,” she said gently.

He stepped in slowly and sat down. She rested herself on the back of the tub and reached for a sponge, soaked it and began to rub it against his shoulders, arms, and back. She brought it back to his shoulders and neck, then down his chest. He caught her softly by the wrist, “When are you joining me?”

She smiled and removed her robe, slowly sliding in behind him. She extended her legs over his and embraced his back, resting her hands on his chest and kissing his neck. She closed her eyes and held him for a while. She broke her silence by asking, “How are you feeling?”

He inhaled so deeply, she was surprised for a moment at how much his ribcage expanded within her embrace.

She’d lost him again. To the wall—to that other place he’d been all evening long.

She squeezed him and finally mustered the courage to make a request, “Please, tell me.”

“I…can’t…”

“Let me help you”

“It’s…too difficult”

“What can I do?”

“Just keep doing this”

So she did. She did just that. But after a few minutes of silence, she felt his breathing grow more intense. His eyes were closed and he drew his body inward, slowly freeing himself from her legs. She kept her arms around his waist and pressed the trunk of her body completely against his back and cradled him. He shuddered in her grasp, then began to sob. His trembling shook her, but she didn’t let go.

The sound and sight of a strong man weeping is unforgettable.

It pained her to see him like this, but she wanted him to know she was willing to experience this with him. She rested her head on his back and was overwhelmed by tears of her own. She ached to remove this hurt from within him, but how could she if he refused to answer her questions?

Shortly after the tears subsided she dried him and put him in bed.

“Don’t leave me,” he said in a hushed whisper.

That night he slept peacefully on her bosom, but she couldn’t bring herself to close her eyes. In the darkness, her sight was fixed on where the walls would be, given some light.

[Okay, I just spewed that in about 2 hours. I'd appreciate any constructive criticism. I envision it like a film sequence. The writing style seems a bit awkward because of it, I think. Is this WORTH PURSUING?]

A contrast to an old self

So, I like to read past posts to see how I’ve evolved/changed with time.  This is a post from Dec. 2006 when I was still fresh to the medication my psychiatrist had me on.  After reading this, I feel fairly accomplished with the changes I’ve made since then.  I feel quite successful and it inspires me to continue making goals.  I’m in a much happier place now than I was then and for several reasons, one being the realization I don’t need medication to accomplish anything.  Here’s the post to remind you all of where I once was, or to open up newcomers to changes that you’ve not been aware of:

We Are Not Monogamous Creatures 

I have a problem with society.

That is the answer to the question: Why is Jennifer a loner, an outsider, or estranged from the mainstream?

I am not comfortable with organized religion, national politics, mainstream art (i.e.: music, film, etc.).

When I dwell on these things, my body inevitably freezes. I feel like I may have an aneurysm. The banality of society overwhelms me so much so I experience nausea. And then, I distract myself. I detract the thoughts stirring within my mind that are causing such discomfort and I pause; I step back and focus on one thing at a time.

I often relate to the mindset of the character John Doe in the film Se7en. Unfortunately, I have been tranquilized enough by society’s rhetoric that I would not realistically become a murderer or perform any of the disgusting acts he performed on the few gleaming examples of trite and pitiable lemmings of the human race. I often want to retch because of some of the common, predictable smalltalk I have to engage in with these sorts of people. Yes, I’m quiet, observant, and judgmental–his character in a nutshell. I have become a near shut-in, and now I will be working from home as a telemarketer. I don’t know if this will be prolific or corrosive for my well-being. What I do know is that right now, it’s what I want. This is what I desire. I want a break from society. I want to live in a cave, surround myself with what is comfortable, and be at ease.

My family thinks I am wasting away. They think of me as a bum or a leech. And yes, it is understandable. But I can justify it to myself because it is only a break. The upswing is coming. It is just another cycle in this ever-evolving life. Living the life I did in Tampa for a year alone is not what I want for myself. I became quite unhealthy; I was on the verge of alcoholism, and I was working two jobs that I did not find appropriate for myself. Right now I am living under my parent’s shelter and reaccessing my life. I am realizing truths in humanity, understanding how humans work, and why we have morals and work the way we do.

Everything seems to be basically about making a choice. But why the choice is made is what is most important. Now, am I saving my virginity because I am not attracted to someone enough to have sex or because I cannot find a consentual partner or because a religion or a book says it is wrong to do out of wedlock? Am I not having sex with as many people as I desire to because a document or book or ideology says it is wrong, and if I do these things I will go to a terrible place once I am dead or be cursed with bad luck for a lifetime?

Why are people living their lives based on a ‘What if?’

There are no guarantees of heaven or hell, but a lot of illogical people in this world work with their senses. They sense things or feel them. They practice blind faith and working on a ‘hunch’.

“I feel like I should not go to that meeting because I sense something will happen on this outbound flight to Chicago.” “I am not walking down that dark alley because I feel like I might be raped.” Superstions seem backward enough, but we engage in these acts or have these beliefs even today.

Everything is a random act of occurence. Tell the christian a mother was run into by a Hummer and killed with her infant in the backseat and they may tell you it’s a tragedy and that God works in mysterious ways. The next guy will say it was bad luck. And the next will think it was bound to happen sometime. But what if the driver of the Hummer was intoxicated? Was it still God’s doing? Was it karma because the mother had an affair with her husband’s best friend when she was 2 months pregnant?

My point is that silly beliefs don’t really provide a real explanation for occurrences in our lives.

My mother always tells me God will punish me when I do bad things. Why should I live in such fear? That can really fuck a person up if they believe it strongly enough. Why should anyone live as if they have no control over what happens in their lives? I think THAT is wrong. I am not going to worry about getting burned or scarred by hot oil because I had impure thoughts earlier in the day; I am going to be cautious while handling hot oil because I don’t want to be burned if I act carelessly.

I am not going to worry about what members of society think of any facial peircings I have or permanent marks on my body, or haircut style or clothing style–this is how I am a rogue citizen. I am not going to worry. Now I do function and behave as well as I can so I do not attract too much attention or break too many nauseating rules and laws. That is a choice I have made.

Now, I entitled this entry “We’re not monogamous creatures”, and I don’t believe we are. I have seen too many cheaters and unfaithful people to believe such a statement is false. Someone or some group decided long ago that this is how things should be between a man and a woman and still, today, we carry out their wishes. Why? Why do we get married if in 2, 4, 9 or 34 years later we will get divorced? Why get married if in 4 years you realize you have stopped loving this person and you are merely going through the motions of a 2. 4, 9 or 34 year marriage? Yeah, some animals are instinctually monogamous, but human behavior doesn’t display us as the same. Religion encourages marriage. The government encourages marriage. And right now I am not going down that road because it induces too much rage.

We are slaves. We are slaves to our government and to a backward mindset that should have been abolished long ago. When are we moving forward? When are we really going to advance? I don’t have the patience to see it slowly evolve over centuries or millenia and neither do I have the lifespan. And because of the realization that society isn’t so driven to advance as my thoughts would like to be, I am depressed. I can’t think of one thing that isn’t depressing in one way or another. Maybe I need help, but I am upset that the only catharsis for people like me believes to be through the alteration of physical chemistry. I have to take pills to keep myself from not wanting to exist in this dimension (a word so close to ‘dementia’, but I won’t tangent).

Existence for me is an exercise in homicidal restraint. If I could get away with the removal of all that taints this beautiful planet, I would (maybe Hitler just practiced the right idea in the wrong way). Fortunately for them, I have been tranquilized enough thanks to pills and repetitious rhetoric to not indulge such fantasies.

I have wanted a revolution since I hit puberty. I have wanted massive change ever since I realized I was the square peg in the round hole. But knowing I am swimming against the stream exhausts me, and I am sullen because of it.

I am so sad
all the time.

I now rely on pills to make me feel better. My chemistry is being altered so that I become a more sedated and upstanding citizen in society. I am such a cog.

I am done. It’s time for my pills

Love Letters

I want to ignore my last posts. I’ve been myspace blogging a lot more and my poor wordpress blog has been neglected. I’m really only here because myspace won’t let me post. DAMN THEM.

So, I came across these gorgeous love letters. I think I want to devote a season of my life to strictly reading love letters. After reading these, I fell a little more in love with Beethoven:

Letter One:

July 6, in the morning
My angel, my all, my very self - Only a few words today and at that in pencil (yours) - I shan’t be certain of my rooms here until tomorrow - what an unnecessary waste of time is all this - Why this deep sorrow when necessity speaks - can our love endure without sacrifices, by not demanding everything from one another; can you alter the fact that you are not wholly mine, I not wholly yours - Oh God, look at nature in all her beauty and calm your heart with that which must be - Love demands all and rightly so - thus it is for me with you, for you with me - But you forget so easily that I must live for me and for you; if we were wholly united you would feel this pain as little as I do - My journey was a dreadful one and I did not reach here until 4 o’clock yesterday morning. As there were few horses the mail coach chose another route, but what an awful one; at the stage before the last I was warned not to travel at night; attempts were made to frighten me about a forest, but that only tempted me to proceed - and I was in the wrong. The coach broke down of course on the wretched road, no more than a country track. Without those two postilions I had with me I should have been stranded on the way - Esterhazy, who took the normal road here, met the same fate with eight horses that I had with four - Yet I got some pleasure out of it, as I always do when I successfully overcome difficulties - Now let me turn quickly from outer to internal experiences. No doubt we shall meet soon; and today also time prevents me from sharing with you the thoughts I have had during these last few days about my life - If our hearts were always closely united, I would entertain no such thoughts. My heart is full of so many things to tell you - oh - there are moments when I feel that speech is quite inadequate - Be cheerful - remain my faithful, one and only treasure, my all as I am yours. The gods must send us the rest, what for us must and shall be -
Your faithful LUDWIG

Letter Two:

Evening, Monday, July 6
You are suffering, you, my most precious one - I have noticed this very moment that letters must be posted very early on Monday - or on Thursday - the only days when the mail-coach goes from here to K. - You are suffering - Oh, where I am, you are with me - I will see to it that you and I, that I can live with you. What a life!!!! as it is now!!!! without you - pursued by the kindness of people here and there, a kindness that I think - that I wish to deserve just as little as I deserve it - man’s homage to man - that pains me - and when I consider myself in the setting of the universe, what am I and what is that man - whom one calls the greatest of men - and yet - on the other hand therein lies the divine element in man - I weep when I consider that you will probably not receive the first news of me until Saturday - However much you love me - my love for you is even greater - But do not ever conceal yourself from me - good night - As I am taking the baths I must go to sleep - Dear God - so near! so far! Is not our love truly founded in heaven - and what is more, as strongly cemented as the firmament of heaven? -

Letter Three:

Good morning, on July 7
Even though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear our prayer - To face life I must live altogether with you or never see you - Yes, I am resolved to be a wanderer abroad until I can fly to your arms and say that I have found my true home, and enfolded in your arms can let my soul be wafted to the realm of blessed spirits - alas, unhappily it must be so - You will become composed, the more so as you know that I am faithful to you; No one else can ever possess my heart - never - never - Oh God, why must one be separated from her who is so dear. Yet my life in V at present is a miserable life - Your love has made me the happiest and the unhappiest of mortals - At my age I need stability and regularity in my life - can that coexist with our relationship? - Angel, I have just heard that the mailcoach goes every day - therefore I must close at once so that you may receive the letter at once - Be calm; for only by calm consideration of our lives can we achieve our purpose to live together - Be calm - love me - Today - yesterday - what tearful longing for you - for you - you - my life - my all - all good wishes to you. Oh continue to love me - never misjudge the most faithful heart of your lover.
ever yours
ever mine
ever ours

L.

Who needs food when you have earl grey and cigarettes?

When he told me ’sometimes love is not enough’ it shattered the foundations I’d built my perspective of reality upon.  He broke me in that statement and suddenly the humanity of adulthood became all too clear.  So too became clear my opposition to assimilation.  I wanted to retaliate.  But I am not capable of entering a new relationship within the week of extricating myself from the last.  I’m not that jaded.  But I suppose if more of what occurred recently happened regularly, I might be more willing to bend to such human behaviors.  But as of yet, I am not on that sort of level.  And I pray I won’t become so desensitized from life’s hard knocks that I change dramatically so. 

In mourning I was reminded of a scene from Breakfast at Tiffany’s, when George Peppard tells Audrey that she belongs to him because he loves her.   It made me think of how involving yourself in relationships is like buying stocks.  And the longer you invest yourself, the more stocks you gain in that individual.  I know you can’t own others, but if there is a lot invested, it seems it should take a while before you can invest in someone else.  Am I wrong to think those who do are…well, not very nice things? 

I always found relationship hoppers detestable.  How do I change my perspective to maintain friendship?  Do I want friendship with a person like that?

Although much of my innocence is gone now, I am steadfast in not losing my imagination, my ideals, and my resolve to see my goals through to achievement. 

I’ve spent the day fasting and attempting to not sink into the depths of depression.  It is such a bleak day out and it does nothing for my ominous mood.  My primitive mindset wants me to believe that all the hurt I’ve experienced in the last 20 hours was partly expelled into the firmament and it is reacting accordingly.  It is like a friend who is willing to bear your burden with you.  I’m grateful for the lighter load.  But it is creating an atmosphere of thick humidity that bogs one down.  Firmament, if you hear me, please open your vaults and let the sun kill the toxic dampness.  Let your bright, blue skies and refreshing breeze remind me life is beautiful.

The Quaking

I woke up just after 5Am, about an hour or so after I finally went to sleep, with an intense chill.  My whole body was trembling so violently in bed I could barely breathe, I was so terribly cold and the temperature outside wasn’t below tepid. 

I’d had a constant tremble in my body since sometime after 9pm and it hadn’t subsided until I spewed my latest myspace blog entry.  The tremors emanated from my core and they completely exhausted me.  I was so cold and tense I couldn’t relax my body enough to fall back asleep for about ten or twenty minutes.  I focused my breathing and steered my thoughts from the horrible images that had woken me up. 

I’m trying to distract myself.  I have a lot of work I need to complete, but I just can’t focus.  I haven’t been able to focus for a couple weeks now and finally found out last night why.  Though it was known all along.

Sometimes I don’t want to be female…this would be one of those times.  My stomach is in knots and I feel sick. 

I’m afraid of looking in the mirror.  I’ve noticed people looking at me strangely.   A girl from Russian Club I ran into at Starbucks asked me what was wrong and if I was sick.  I just said yes and that I have a lot of work to do.

I don’t know how I am going to manage getting through today.  I don’t want to lash out at inquisitive strangers. 

This would be a lot easier to get over if I didn’t feel sick.  Someone cut me some slack.  Just for a little while.  Until I stop feeling like death.  I could use some love and maybe some hot cocoa.

I love babies

When they’re not mine

Cuteness 

I HAVE REASON TO BE SAD, BUT THIS WAS A MOOD LIFTER UPPER.

=[

I think I need help.

So, I’ve been known to have an acerbic tongue.  The worst part is, I don’t realize how foul some of the things I say are until after I say them(usually after someone has pointed it out to me).  When it’s spoken, I think it’s a matter of not thinking.  But if it’s written, I KNOW thought goes into it before typing/writing it so I don’t know how to explain it then. 

It is a matter of miscommunication and I have never really concerned myself terribly with it because those who misunderstood me didn’t matter much to me. 

Today, I became quite concerned.  My professor of Religious Studies actually commented on something I said saying basically that I should communicate my message differently because it wasn’t a good way of getting what I wanted.  Even after he said it wasn’t a ‘big deal’ to him, I still felt horribly.  I felt like a dog with its tail between its legs.  I attempted to clarify myself in my response and hoped he understood I by no means meant to be offensive in my original e-mail. 

He, I think, at one point asked if I understood what I was communicating and I had to reply ‘no’.  I sat in front of my reply for 10 minutes with mixed emotions of feeling upset, chided, misunderstood, and…alienated.  I felt like I could cry over the whole situation(this is amusing because despite my being known to be acerbic/cantankerous, I often shed tears quite easily).  My lowest grade is in his class and I have a sinking feeling I will not manage an A in his course.  This is really crushing for me because it’s not because I am slacking.  I have attended every class(sans 1 because I fractured my toe), done all the readings, and the homework.  But this is not enough.   He is requiring something of me that I have not be required before and his refusal to aid in the transition process is very frustrating.  I feel like I am making a horrible impression on him.  And it’s possible he may not think I am as serious of a student as the others who are actual Religious Studies Majors. 

I don’t know why I am struggling so.  I find him likable.  But I think I’d prefer to have a conversation about Religious Studies with him than be taught by him.  I chose to minor in RS because of the profound impact DeChant had during my semester in his class.  I now find myself missing him greatly.  There was something about his lectures and his style that fueled and nurtured my learning process.  It was not the content, but his interpretation of the content that revitalized my interest in the academic study of religion.  Unfortunately, with this class,  that interest is more comparable to a dying ember. 

I will trudge through this class as best as possible and lower my expectations of myself(in just this class) so that I do not have an emotional breakdown over not getting my A once the semester ends.  I find myself wishing his goal was to help his students grasp the important points rather than to reward those that naturally do and just leave the rest of us behind. 

I feel like this is karma teaching me that I won’t always be a top tier performer and that I need to stop putting my foot in my mouth. 

I wish I could just study under DeChant for the rest of my collegiate career.  I hope I can still work with him in a seminar even though I may never get the appropriate GPA.   I am going to have to kick ass in his class this summer, which I am prepared to do, and will happen (crossed fingers) since I already know his teaching style favors my learning style(unlike my current professor’s)

On that note, I will look forward to my summer classes(which BETTER be offered despite budget cuts) and the cessation of the classes I am actually acing.  And I will look  forward to my weekend.  Which starts once I hit ‘Log off’. 

Okay, I need a cigarette.  Poka! (Informal ‘Bye’)

What is life without a bit of poetry?

“We liked people of any race who smoked incessantly, drank liberally, wore complexion and morality as loose garments, and made fun out of anyone who didn’t do likewise.” - Langston Hughes

Warning: Airhead Ahead

I’ve been smoking more.

 I think it’s nerves.  I went through 2 packs in about 10 days.  So, one pack in 5 days.  So, 4 cigarettes a day.  I’m slowly killing myself.

 HELP (Not now, later)

These Parliaments suck.  The store I stopped at didn’t have Camels.  Not even one pack.  Nada! Isn’t that ABSURD?

Since I’d never resort to Malboro(Ok, maybe in the past), I went for the Pfunks that I smoked casually onceuponatime.  They suck.  I should have picked up a BOLD back.  I have to sucksucksuck to still not get anything out of it.  And, the first pfunk I lit burned a hideous hole onto my driver’s side visor.  Ugh!  My baby’s blemished =[  Someone fix it!  I have thought about sticking a Batman bandaid over it to hide it.  Seems cute, right?  But once my dad sees it he’ll know and raise HELL. 

 *SOb*

Internal Peace

Walking from my Cultural Anthro class to the Marshall center I periodically noticed I had a soft smile on my face.  I couldn’t help but smile on my walk because today we received our grades on our first exam of the semester. 

There were 40 multiple choice questions, 4 short answer essay questions with 5 topics to choose from, and 3 extra credit questions. 

I got 37 out of the 40 MC questions.  The essay questions were worth a total of 40 points (10 each).  I answered all 5 in fear of screwing one (or more) up and also just in case the grader had it in his/her heart to give me bonus points for answering more than what was required.  Unfortunately, I got no bonus points for it, but it turns out I didn’t need to.  I got 40 out of 40 on the first four essay questions.

I got 1 out of 3 bonus questions right.  I wanted to kick myself for not remembering what country Dr. Zarger did her research work in after her mentioning it at least once a week since the semester started. 

There was also a curve.  I am not sure why…the class average was already a B.  But guess who set the curve?

DUH

Hahhaaaaa, wheeee!  So, this is what I needed.  Dr. Zarger hit REFRESH on my academic spirits and I am once again in gear for kicking scholastic ass.  Hearing I got the highest grade in the class on this exam reminds me I am still the person who managed the highest score in Professor DeChant’s World Religions class of 200+ students last year.  I am a top tier scholar.  Want to argue that?  Be my guest, wenches!  Bwahaha

Jen’s a happy lass.

 To be continued…

*MWAH*