There are certain places that are escapes from the every day.. escapes from the malign forces in your life. Mine are: going for walks, playing World of Warcraft, and meditation. Lately these things have been polluted by outside forces that have brought me down to a level of flare up that I haven't yet experienced. There's no place away from Them. Them is a generalized term for invading forces into the land of escapism.
Walking, I meet up with smokers, inconsiderate off-the-leash dog owners, retarded teenagers ( I mean no disrespect to actual retarded people), and just plain rude people. Smokers give me asthma attacks. Off-the-leash dogs try to fight with my puppy or they jump on me and get my pants all shitty. Teenagers regularly block the route I'm taking and taunt me. And rude peope, well I think that covers a wide range of things.
Online, I encounter dozens of rude kinds of people. I am an online shrink apparently, as well. People dump their problems onto me, then when it comes to my side of the conversation, it's magically time for them to leave. Of course there are nice people, who will gladly listen to my end of the conversation, they'll talk with me and care what I say, they'll help me out and I'll help them out. Nice! Those people should stay, and then my perfect little escape would be complete. Of course it's filled with politics, rules, demands, expectations... like highschool but you're paying for it. I get 200+ Spam emails a day. I can't use instant messaging anymore... that was just way too much intimacy.
Now in meditation, it's so hard to focus. I feel crowded by people. I feel sickened by proximity to them - both online and off. Sometimes I'd just rather be alone on the planet with my loved ones, and just live my life quietly.
I live a very simple life. I think that's important. Not many people I know like simple lives. It's all about complications, added problems. If something is superfluous in my life - if something is costing me peace of mind.. well it's time to cut it out. And perhaps it's time to cut out my game, and find a new place to walk.
I hate dating. I hate the idea of marriage. They've soured me on it. Especially the last one. Disclaimer: this is not about all men so don't get touchy. It's about what I feel would happen to me. I suck at picking men. 1 out of 14 men was nice.
Here's an epic poem for the ages I wrote some time ago:
TOILET SEAT ROMANCE: Portrait I - Sept 30th
Fall in love - glowing heart
Kiss, cuddle, touch, meld
Linger, talk, massage, smiles
Can't wait to see you, don't be gone long
"Where were you? Why are you an hour late? I've been waiting.. all dressed up."
Kiss, shifting eyes, heavy heart, forgive
Move in, happy, wallpaper, wood screws
Plaster on your face, I wipe it off
We collide on the drop cloth and explode
So happy playing house, playing love
"Put down the toilet seat please"
"Put down the toilet seat."
"I've told you a thousand times, please!"
"I see you haven't put down the seat.."
The seat is up, he peed on the floor. How old is he?
CLANG as I put down the toilet seat and sully my fingers.
"Would you shut up about the toilet seat?"
He's not home yet: she's a nag
He doesn't care anymore: she's boring
I can't take it, will he leave: gotta shut her up
"Marry me, my darling" midnight bended knee in the park
Marry.. Marry? It's the answer! "Yes! Oh yes!"
White dress, black tux, tears of joy like crystals fall
Proud fathers and hesitant mothers
Bridesmaids rotting on the inside wondering when it's their turn
"It's cute when we argue about little things, like when he leave the toilet seat up.."
Honeymoon - home again.
He's so handsome: she's so sexy
Sex, oral sex, kinky sex; sex, oral sex, kinky sex, sex: Fulfilled, fun.
Sex, sex, oral sex, sex, sex, sex, kinky sex, sex: fulfilled, fun.
Sex. Okay. Fun.
Sex, ok. Issue.
Sex as an issue.
Sex is a regular issue
Sitting on the couch staring out the window...
Silence. Clock ticking in the background, echoes the toc, echoes the tic
He criticizes: she sneers
Personalities seeping away, lives deteriorate
Anniversary brings smiles and joy: "I will always love you"
"Could you just once put the toilet seat down?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Make-up sex, kinky sex. Fulfilling, you remember the fire.
"Could you at least flush each time you shit?"
He raises a hand, eyes flushed
The only thing that regularly gets flushed.
Awkward sex, like strangers forced to kiss.
Learn to cook, learn to sew, learn to fix everything he doesn't
He smiled today: she didn't cry today
Dinner date, ice skate, beaver tail pastries under the moon
Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter
Mortgage, overdue, payment, bills, legal fees
Day trip to the beach, holding hands
"You're fat" he jokes: she runs and hides under denim
Echoes of the clock in the living room
Empty, try to fill up
Full of stress, try to unload:
"What is with you and that toilet seat?"
Three steps back, bracing herself against the wall. Eyes wide, blood frozen.
The clock stops.
"I'm... so sorry," he can't believe
She understands, she tells no one
Diamond necklace, wrapped in promises
Of better days, and hotter nights.
Weight gain, wrinkles arrive right on schedule.
Why won't he have sex with me, she thinks pacing
Unkind washing machine tumbles on as she's holding his boxer shorts
Silence. Silence. Deafening silence. Horrible silence. Cold floor under bear feet.
"Why don't we go out anymore?" She asks, thinking: does he love me?
He sighs, thinking four letter words: needy, familiar, married
Sexy outfit - a secret bought during her lunch break
"He'll love it," says your friend
"He'll want you," says another
Take it home. Fluorescent lights. Mirror.
Blubber, veins, cellulite, mole; freckles? Or age spots?
Belly isn't flat, never was, but now it's an issue in that gear
Bulges, weird shapes, he's coming home any minute - "do I dare?"
The spirit of courage blossoms in her chest
Queen Latifa's wearing herself like a Goddess,
Margaret Cho's got the right idea,
Doubt: Elizabeth Hurley says she'd 'kill herself if she was as fat as Monroe'..
Monroe was skinny compared to me, compared to most...
doubts doubts doubts
"You're Fat" he said that year ago
Courage: Elizabeth Hurley is attractive for a transvestite
Wonder if she'll go all the way..?
Laughing in spite of the cellulite, blubber, folds, and moles
Courage: taking myself too seriously
He's opening the door, she hear his keys, lock, footfalls, briefcase on the couch
Lay on the bed, the Toilet of Venus except with a Negligee
Sexy face, sexy attitude
Up the steps.. he's coming
Eyes meet. His eyes survey. Disgust on his face.
"Hi honey..." his voice trails off, tries to hide the scowl. She's crazy. She's lost it.
"Hey," her smile fades with his, "you like?"
"Oh.. yeah, sure," he starts undressing!
Sex? Touch? Will he spoon? Will he massage? Bring the toys out? Handcuffs.
"Wait.. what are you doing?" She asks as he puts on some jogging pants
"Getting changed," he says as if she asked 1+1
Frown. What can I do? What's he thinking? Why isn't he turned on? He loves red.
Birds outside chirping. A car honks its horn enthusiastically.
Bed is no longer comfortable, neither is skin.
She sits up, cold and aware of her flaws once more
Cold and aware of his scowl as if it were ten miles wide
Wife: Husband. Silence.
"What's for supper?" he's still scowling.
What's for supper? What's for supper? What's for supper?
"Are you serious?" she can't look him in the eye.
"Yeah?" he's angry, "you know what, fine I'll eat out."
Sexy outfit is now a prison. She tears it off.
Late home, her tear stained eyes open as he unlocks the door
He's been drinking, he's been eating garlic
Pyjamas, into bed, tugs on covers. Goodnight.
Wrinkles, diets, exercise.
Toilet seat is up. Pee on the floor.
Anniversary, forced smile, forced dinner
Watch tv. Work. Sleep. Eat. Clean, cook.
Washing windows. Washing the full length mirror. Who is that?
She's hurt, beautiful, sexy - and covered in dust and cobwebs.
Courage. Confidence. Not so bad!
Anger. Disappointment. Frustration.
"It's been over a year.." she suggests: he tries to say kindly "I'm not attracted to you anymore."
What? Frozen again, but the armor of the Jaded covers her.
She doesn't ask, but he continues: "you're just too fat, honey."
"Fuck you," she points at his belly, "you're fatter."
His eyes flare again.
He doesn't ask, but she continues, "you're cruel and useless."
His eyes flare hotter than she's ever seen.
She walks into the bathroom. Back to the mirror.
I love him: I love her.
In the mirror stares a vacant lot
We're in the waiting room for death
Work stress, home stress, family stress, house stress
Hugs, hand holding, love.
Maybe this could work out...
Compromise, cooperation, sacrifice
"I make more sacrifices than you!"
"Why should I have to...?"
Dirty socks on the table.
Hug, kiss, he's home
Who is he?
Required sexual intercourse.
The toilet seat is up.
Sacrifice, frustration: mitigation by flora
Cycles, routines, wheels turning
Sick: chicken soup
Period: he buys pads at the store
Fired from longtime job: he makes her dinner.
Aromatic herbs - he's making her favorite.
Peck on the cheek.
Holding hands as a treat.
I miss the beginning.
You forget the beginning. You now remember the slap.
Hold it against him. Nag. Hold it against him. Nag.
Why am I nagging?
She's dead tired.
Work on it, work on it.
Oh... but wait....
He put down the toilet seat.
Anything is possible.
I love him: I love her.
They smile wisely.
Of course I had to finish it optimistically.. I have to believe that one day some man will be able to put up with my baggage of sickness, tentative skepticism, paranoid fear, and history. And that maybe I'll get a man who I can have hope and courage in. A man I can cooperate with. A man I can live with.
The toilet seat, btw, is not literal. Each relationship has a toilet seat or two. Mine, with the exception of one, usually have about 10. Makes for good stories.
Why are my relationships so dysfunctional? Nature or nurture. I've given up looking. Too man sputtering starts this year. Too many men not interested in my heart, soul, and brain. I try not to look good... don't want to attract someone who'll only like me till I'm wrinkled and saggy. Then onto the next young thing. No, I want a man who'll like ME.