Pumpernickel

I woke up at 4:20 a.m. The alarm on my cell is set for 8. Breakfast was an onion bagel and coffee leftover from Saturday. Yes, I saved it because I’m out of beans. Made my last pot yesterday. It is Monday.

This post is titled “Pumpernickel” because the lines of a poem run through my head:

“I can’t take care of you
 because I can’t take care of me,
so tonight I’ll just have toast
and enjoy your company.”

Old words, different day, same tune. I’m not good at being anyone’s girlfriend, and certainly not of the marrying kind. I tend to treat men like men treat women… don’t call all the time, don’t text too often, and I don’t want to hang out 24/7. This doesn’t mean I don’t care… just means that I have other stuff going on.

Thing is… I don’t know how to do coupledom. I don’t know how to be half a couple. I’m a whole person in my own right, be it a slightly messed up person, but still a whole person.

I expect a man to be a whole person, with his own stuff going on, too.

Half a couple men get on my nerves… they tend to be clingy, insecure, constantly in need validation or reassurance, and can’t do much of anything without consulting their “better” half – as if every minute decision must be approved by another human being. Problems occur when they expect ME to consult them over every little stupid thing, as if I need their permission or want their approval before I do anything.

So basically, I treat men the way I want to be treated. Two people CAN remain individuals, each a whole person in their own right, pursue their own interests, and still enjoy each other’s company now and then.

Sometimes, I do try to be more… oh, IDK… caring?

It doesn’t come naturally… hits me like an after thought. Like oh, maybe I should stock his favorite flavor of coffee creamer or cook something that he likes to eat.

I also believe that a man tend to be where they want to be, so I am not insecure in my own relationships. This also means that I don’t know how to chase off women who hit on a man I’m seeing. Am I supposed to go all possessive and catty? That makes no sense to me. If a woman hits on “your man” and he goes for it, was he “your man” to begin with? We do not own each other… there is no obligation here. We spend time together because that is something we both want to do. Yes, it would deeply sadden me if he chooses to be with someone else, but he’s not under lock and key. There is nothing I can do to stop him. My only choice in the matter would be to decide what I do next, to what is best for me. Odds are that I would have to say good-bye if he hasn’t already said good-bye, as I’m selfish… I don’t like to share.

LATER:

It’s been ye 21 hours since I woke up this morning (or yesterday, if your days go by clocks). I got a little bit of a few things done today… didn’t work on my button shop (supposedly a main priority) but did design and upload a couple new graphics at CafePress.

I bailed, saved this as a draft earlier as I had a shrink appointment.

I don’t know what’s with that girl in the office as this was my second session there and we agreed to a 3 week schedule. That’s 3 as in THREE, or ye 21 days between sessions. This time, I know for sure that he told her to make my next appointment in 3 weeks. She says, “how’s September 3rd (or was it 4th?) and rattles off times like I’m to pick one. I said, “that’s not 3 weeks” and she looked at me like I was stupid. So I flipped through the little well worn calendar (obviously flipped often by other clients, patients, or whatever they call us there) and counter-suggested a date 3 weeks out. Last time, I did not pay that much attention. She gave me an appointment 2 weeks out, so when I realized it an hour later, I called to reschedule for the following week. Does she have a problem with calendars? Does the entire concept of “three weeks” blow totally over her head? There are REASONS for scheduling my sessions 3 weeks apart. Part of it is money, as I have to lay down a $35 co-pay every time I go. I can afford $35 every 3 weeks, but not every two. I also need time to process the session, to think about what I am doing, plus think about anything the shrink wants me to think about. This is not my first psych rodeo… I know that I’m the one who has to do the work on me, a shrink is just a mentor or guide to help you do it.

I do have things to think about. I’m not ready to write about it yet… thank goodness, eh? This is long enough… a tad too long, but odds are no one will read it anyway. People like short and sweet. I’m not there yet. If you actually read it all… thank you!

Ropes (the long poem)

There is a line in the sand I cannot cross,
Drawn so long ago.
There’s a million fears I cannot touch,
Steeped in crimson woe.

My fortress became a prison,
I hold the only key.
The door stands wide open,
But I have fears controlling me.

Facing the demons,
The haunt of the past,
The night of no endings,
The dawn has been cast.
Rumbles of thunder,
A crackle, a flash,
Goblins are thirsty,
I hear teeth gnash.
I cannot stay here,
The wall’s crumbling fast,
The only way out
Is not a quick dash.
The winds are a howling,
Crude branches do thrash,
The road is ablaze,
Atop shards of glass.
It’s a walk through fire,
How could I last?
Oh God, can you hear me?
I need a free pass.

“Remember the ropes?”
Huh?  What ropes?  Oh….

My mind wanders back
To a time of dispair,
When winds of change
Raged tornatic warfare.

Oh… wait a minute.
Did God just speak to me?
A stray thought?  Birdie whisper?
Call it what it be.

I saw the ropes
No one else could see,
Draped across aisles
In front of me.
Call it neurosis,
A temp psychosis,
Past maximum stress
What else could it be?
I studied the shadows,
Light patterns on beams,
But found no logic
To explain what it means.
So I took it as a sign,
I took it as a warning,
They were there some days,
But not every morning.
I saw thick cords,
Thought of ships at sea
When ropes crisscrossed
In front of me.

Illusions continued
Till someone hung a noose
And I deflied work rules
To go cut it loose?
Did they write me up?
No, bosses let it snooze.
But the old walrus saw
And spread the news around,
Then the hanger wandered in,
Thanked me for taking down
His alternative exit plan
From a company leaving town.

I quit seeing ropes
Crossed in front of me
After hacking down the rope
Everyone else can see.

We talked of despirations,
We were all biding time,
Of accidental suicides,
And clarity of mind.

Now I may be crazy,
Just a little out of joint.
That is a true story,
But not quite the point.

The thing about ropes:
They looked as real as can be,
But when I approached,
They vanished in front of me.

Remembering the ropes
Revealed the secret I need,
My fears are delusions
And faith is the key.

There’s a line in the sand that I must cross,
Drawn so long ago.
There’s a million fears that I must face,
Steeped in crimson woe.

N. ©2013

Tell Me

Tell me a story to weave into dreams,
Snuggled safe in soft moon beams,
Let me listen to your voice awhile.
Do you find my request too juvenile?
I’m not asking for a fairy tale,
Children’s books nor ghostly wail.
And this is not an erotic fantasty,
Tho your words shall comfort me
As we ride the crest before the wave
To sink alone into slumber haze.
Your voice could be the last I hear
Speaking words I hold so dear.

Shadows pass by in the night,
Regrets may steal dawn’s early light.
Please tell me a story, I beg of thee,
To ease the pain and stay with me,
So recite a poem or make up lies.
I feel you smile and close my eyes.
And should life offer another day,
My appreciation shall find a way,
To convay what words fail to share,
So you will know how much I care.
Thank you dear, my friend, sweet love,
May you be blessed by heaven above.

If could say these words out loud,
A story would put me on a cloud.
But silence holds me in her grasp,
As you are not here, I cannot ask.
Haunting dreams do rise and swirl,
Alone I sink into the whirl,
Trains to nowhere explain too much,
Yet I wake up longing for your touch
In my traveling boots trimmed in fur,
Too sad to be jealous of a someday her.
It makes no sense, I don’t know why,
Attempts at companionship go awry.

So tell me a story will you please,
To curl my toes and melt my knees.
Cloaks of solitude drop to the floor,
Those boots can wait outside your door.
Naked, so vulnerable, I come to you,
Make up lies or tell me true,
Pretend for a minute that all is well,
Hold me under an orator’s spell.
Rock me, love me, through the night,
Snuggle near and strike the light,
I want to bask in your candle’s glow,
To feel alive and kiss the snow.

N ©2013