November Themes: Coffee

Coffee, it's not just a drink to me. Without its intention and ritual, I can hardly finish a cup. I'm distracted, going about my day. At work with 10 kids to watch over, the cup sits forgotten on my desk, perhaps two sips before it's cold and ignored. I may heat it up several times throughout the morning, only to set it down, once again forgotten. I laugh at the end of my short workday, the coffee barely touched and no longer wanted. I admit it, I waste a lot of coffee on weekdays. Lately, I don't make it at all.

Coffee, for me, is an experience, it's a ritual. It's quiet. It's peace and silence. Sitting at my table, or sitting outside listening to the sounds of life around me. It's that quiet sigh of relief that I have a moment to myself after my children have left for school. It's my time, for my thoughts, my day's to-do list, daydreams, or just simply sleepy silence after a night of too-little sleep.

It's gathering with a friend and catching up, sharing our lives. It's laughter and stories, updates on kids and families. Coffee is togetherness, joy, or support and comfort. It's friendship and remembering. Coffee in these moments is joy-filled, and there's always time for a second cup.

My favorite cup of coffee, however, is once shared with my lover. It's caring, love, it's gratitude for one another. It's coffee-kisses, or perhaps left ignored on the nightstand while we touch. Or in-hand while we sit side by side reading books, or checking out social media, with only our feet touching. It's "I see you. I love you. Let me get you coffee." It's thank you, my love, for letting me stay warm-and-cozy on a crisp morning while you brave the daylight to bring us back that caffeine sustenance after a night of passion. It's my turn to treat you, handing you the warm cup with a smile that shows you my love for you.

I miss coffee. I mean, I leave it there, forgotten on my desk in the mornings. Memories of the past, the cup is full, just not quite as enjoyable or meaningful as in those moments of togetherness.

Nah, I'll save my coffee for those good moments. That ritual of self-care, that connection to friends, or the best cup, shared with my future love.

November Writings: A Story in Five Sentences (take two)

She jumped with fear at the sudden horrifying crash at the door, glass shattering everywhere, the grunts of someone, something breaking in. Her own screams filled her ears, as she dashed to the back of the small apartment, as far away as she could go from this noise, this terror. Everything around her moved in a strange slow motion, sounds were hollow, and she recognized this feeling, a nightmare that felt all too real. She ran to the bedroom, certain this would be the familiar bad dream she kept having; she would find herself there, sleeping, just as before, and she would again startle awake from this horrible nightmare. As she reached the doorway, the footsteps, the heavy breathing grew closer, and she saw that her bed was empty.

November Writings: A Story in Five Sentences

Jill looked at him as though he was a stranger, unrecognizable to her despite a lifetime together. She didn't know how things had gotten so bad, all she knew is she couldn't stay any longer. She leaned over, gently touching his hair, so as not to wake him, taking in this last memory of a man she no longer knew. She turned and walked out of the bedroom, picked up her bag and her car keys and left this place one last time. A single tear fell as she drove down the empty road.

Green

This is some older writing from a few years ago. I wanted to capture it here.

______

Ahhh, to take my daughters and leap away from this concrete world, at least for a while.
Immerse ourselves in a growing and flowing world of luscious greens, blues and browns;
Leave our frowns and this town and just
                                                             keep
                                                                going.

Keep holding, keep knowing that there is something greater than ourselves, greater than this concrete world of someone else's design, and look instead for the raw, unkempt, wild world where flaws and dirt don't hurt a goddamn thing, but instead make you long to learn the deeper secrets within this luscious, living world beyond the concrete, paved over, designed, wined and dined, shallow existence we call life. 

Let's escape this day to day appointments-and-expectations driven world and let that green and growing wild flow over us and carry us away from this intersection of Running-Late and Hurry-Up.

Come, my daughters. Let's go, let's grow, let's yearn to learn that which cannot be taught by any concrete walls with nagging clocks. Let's run wild in a field, dance in the rain, roll down a hill and scream out the names of those who went before us.

Let's join those Wild Womyn of the not so distant, but long forgotten past, when we were one with this green and growing, vibrant Earth. When we honored her, and lived not in vain, but in celebration of her name. 

Noise

There are words just below the surface inside me. A constant stream of noise, sometimes arguing, sometimes full of sadness, these words linger.

I want to exorcise this from within me. I want desperately to quiet this maddening roar. 

I want to have listened to that voice inside my head that spoke for months, sometimes whispering, sometimes crying out. I want to go back, make things different.

I don't want to have regret, but I do. And this sadness fills the empty space, this void where there was once hope.
 
If only you hadn't.... Why would you...? How could you...? Why wouldn't you...? Wasn't I worth more...? Did you even see me?

But the truth is, I didn't see her. I pushed so hard to see what I wanted to see, I denied the reality before me. Even when the truth screamed out loud, a deafening roar, I closed my eyes, chose to ignore.

I reassured friends, with a panicked silence of fears unspoken. In the end, I just hung my head and admitted, "I know. I'm not making healthy choices. I don't know what to do."

It's very hard to let go of a dream, even when that dream was gone before it ever really started.

There were good moments. Nearly a year ago, I wrote my last blog post about one of those such moments.

I'm now left with wonder. Did that even happen? Was it all a lie? Was it a game? Or was the damage, the illness far greater than could be overcome.

I'm filled with shame. I grow weary of this feeling. Dreams and anxiety fill my interrupted sleep. Trying to please, trying to be something I'm not, trying to fix what is beyond me, on and on these dreams go. 

I own my own piece in this. I'm in no denial about that, and I'm sure I made other mistakes I've yet to uncover. The bitterness that grew out of denying what was happening fed into a tumultuous relationship. I became jaded, mean-spirited. It isn't who I am. I'm not so angry, *I* am not so damaged. This is who I began to present within this relationship, however. This is who I became. I don't like the ME that was present within this relationship.

I thought it would be different. I guess I fooled myself into thinking I could pick and choose the qualities that fed into a good relationship.

I just kept pushing myself down that path, searching, feeling my way sideways for a panic door. At times in those long months, there felt like no way out.

How can I be so full of sadness at the loss, and so completely consumed by the ultimate feeling of betrayal.

It is hard to sit with in my head, it is nearly IMPOSSIBLE to talk to anyone about. My friends have grown understandably weary from a year of drama and upheaval. They are just glad it is over. I am too, don't get me wrong! But there is still a void, sometimes I think it is somewhat out of habit. Our communication was nonstop for over a year, texts, phone calls, then living together, then back to texts, phone calls.... to suddenly have silence once again, silence, mixed with never-to-be answered questions that remain, it's enough to drive me temporarily mad.

And that is how I've felt the past week, mad, full of fury, mad, consumed with questions. I am moving on. I've reclaimed my home once again. I'm trying to feel pride in myself. I'm trying to heal.

I know it will take time, but I long for the day that I can actually feel the quiet once again.

November Writings: Comfort

"I'm fine" I lie, trying to convince us both, but she hears the intensity behind those words.

"Come here, my love. You need to be held."

"I don't. I said I'm fine. Really." I don't want to take up space with these feelings. I want them to go away. I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat doesn't budge. Goodness, I don't need to be held. I'm tough, I need to stop this NOW.

I look at her through blurring eyes.

"Honey, come here, right now. Sit with me. Please." She gently takes my hand, guides me to the couch where she stretches out. I follow her lead, reluctantly, as she pulls me in close. I lean into her, together. I feel her arms wrapped around me, her lips on my forehead.

I take a deep breath, my shoulders drop along with my tears. This... this trust is new. I give in and sink down into it. Uncontrollably, I weep, knowing it is okay, feeling her rocking me, loving me, seeing me.

I seek comfort and refuge in her arms. I've found my soft place to fall.

November Writings: My Favorite Person

In college I met a fun girl,
who had hair that was straight, not a curl.
We went to the same classes,
we both wore our glasses,
and I thought she was really a pearl.

The Una-bomber taught us one year,
we never were filled with much fear.
He was harmless, it seemed
about roaches, he dreamed!
and his lectures were always quite clear (ly boring).

We both worked at the same lab,
and when free, we often did gab.
Her h forgot flowers,
mad for weeks, not just hours,
Understandably, she was really a crab!

We made pamphlets about birds and the bees
the project brought me to my knees.
But not how you think,
into laughter I'd sink,
It's a project that really did please.

She's my favorite one to this day,
for she'd never just lead me astray.
She has questionnaires, true
asks my dates, "WHO ARE YOU?"
and helps keep the crazies at bay.

I love when her grammar's askew,
(This is rare, unfortunately true)
I point and then laugh,
at her terrible gaffe,
then my own errors, I usually spew.

We once had a blog that we shared,
With limericks, as if anyone cared!
but the password was gone,
no more rhymes did it spawn,
no access left us both quite impaired.

We waxed on once about a dead fridge,
I admit, it amused me a smidge!
50 limericks we wrote,
though I don't like to gloat,
Paths from pain up to humor we bridged.

For years, my friend Sarah has rocked,
even though often times she does mock,
don't know what I'd do,
if she died and turned blue,
For her funeral, I'd buy a nice frock.
(but no make up.)