He is muddled

Let's just play in the muck instead...

I could say he is muddled and has been for a long time.  I could say he hasn't yet started an adult life. And I think part of him might agree, to a point.  Can I accept that he feels his point of view is clear while I know he lives in a cocoon of his own making?

More silence

He texted me happy new year, and then the line went dead.  No more communication since then.  Why is it the first thing I believe as soon as he is unavailable in any way -- no matter how dramatic or undramatic, no matter whether he is silent but in the house or silent and living at a friend's -- the first belief I have is that he doesn't want me anymore?  It is rather egotistical; more likely is that he is upset, stressed, conflicted or even just asleep.  What if he likes the silence?  What if he wants to stay apart completely?  What if he doesn't want to fix things?  Wednesday, I guess I will hear on Wednesday.  Interestingly, I think I was born on a Wednesday.  I will hope for yet another birth then, a re-birth. 

Dancing babushka

I have a photo of us -- I think it's the first Hallowe'en -- and it's rather unflattering of both of us.  The angle of the shot manages to elongate my nose and chin in such a way as to turn me into the babushka I shall become, and for some reason his face is puffy and a bit red, and his hair looks like it could use a wash.  But oh, the happiness we generate in each other beams through.  His arms clench my waist, my hands cradle his arms, and he looks straight into the lens with merry eyes that say "This is my woman."  My gaze is locked on him, inviting him to turn back and engage the intimate dance that awaits each time we look at each other.  The pose says: meant to be, meant to weather all storms, a dance for life.

Echoes

My life is guided by echoes of the past repeating themselves in new forms -- this time, could it be that I won't just repeat the past; could it be that these echoes signify a fresh start with the possibility for a different, more fulfilling, end?  Russian Love and I consummated our love for the first time the day my sister gave birth to her first child.  Now, almost four years later, she is about to give birth to her second -- and my love and I have a chance for a second consummation of a reborn love.  That's what I yearn for.  Dear Universe, can you communicate my heart's desire to his?

Last year, at this exact time, I wrote a difficult paper on the enzyme OGT that was due the first week of January -- and this year?  I am writing another difficult paper on the same enzyme, due at the same time, written while enduring similar pangs of doubt in my abilities.  I hope for another fulfilling end -- that I may ascend to the next level of the gyre of my life:  spinning but ever expanding...   

Peaceful January









Tomorrow night, you can find the kiddies and I (and the spirit of him) holed up in that cabin in the woods, underneath the hushed snow...peaceful January...









The remainder of 2011 I will live my own Mushaboom...

For chic-a-dee-dee-dee number one and two

I was hunting around in my soul for the strength to finish this paper by 2 p.m. tomorrow, and the first and strongest inspiration came in the shape of my chic-a-dees number one and two -- being my kiddies.  My grandma used to call me and my older sister chic-a-dee; I loved it.  It made me feel so warm and happy inside to be known by such a term of endearment.  I have never been a disappointment to my grandma in my whole life, not once through any of the many shocking mistakes I've made.  She has always been my number one fan, and I want to give that to my kids.  I fucked up our time together this holiday by allowing school and the intensity of my relationship to use up the precious minutes.  Though they are both important areas of my life, my time with my kids is finite.  They are growing and making memories of their childhood at lightning speed and I must catch up with them.  So, I will finish this paper now, that by tomorrow night at this time I am snuggled up with one chic-a-dee under each arm, watching the last evening of our holiday set, together.