Saturday, August 28, 2010


I wish I had the words
To show you the inside
of my heart.
It's a place that
some days
I don't even get to.

I think I've realized
the difference
Between life here on earth
and life after.
There, there is no fear
Here, we breathe it in like air
and expel it out
Only to draw it in again.

I once thought
a few words and
some paper
Would solve all the problems
But words can be erased
and paper can blow away.
It can get ripped,
and shredded

Land in the water
and drift away there.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Recover Me

The light flits into the window
slatted by the blinds.
Same light (I suppose) as last night,
as last year.
My arm holds onto the window ledge
same arm, it's been here all the time.

It's dusk, the sky is that August blue,
azure, alight,
dark and light.
The buildings stand
solid and real
Pretty much
the same buildings as before.

But those are the only familiar things
Because inside my head
inside my life
Everything is different.

I'm marooned on my bed, with a book,
and a glass of water.

And then a friend calls.

Sunday, August 22, 2010


Over the bridge is where I split in two,
Above the road, away from you.
Away from me, and away from my thoughts
They swirl around but then get lost.

On the pavement I had them lined up in a row
All my beliefs about how life should go
This thirty-sixth year they all blew away
Nothing I can do makes things any other way.

My life continues to morph to another shape
From the one I had before
Its the one I'm supposed to be living I imagine.

Knowing this doesn't make it any easier, but it could.

When I try to control my thoughts,
it's easier to accept that I don't have control,
Over anything, really.
I just have this soul.
Carrying me over the road
Someone else's route?

I think about karma, it's unbending rules
And wonder exactly what did I do
The examined life, I know I chose it all

Knowing this doesn't make it any easier, but it should.

From another poem, Later got older
But I don't see the future,
In a way that makes me afraid.
Because fear of life never got anyone anywhere.

This thirty-seventh year is looking at me curiously
Telling me I wanted to be here, despite my desire to crawl back in time
And fix things to what I think they could be or should be.

I can't do that.
I have to live my life forward.

Knowing this doesn't make it any easier, but it will.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Nothing New

I was listening to a radio program on the way in to work this morning.
Yes, I know, that in itself is disconcerting, as I have rejected all news media in recent weeks, because hearing news, sensational stories, tragedies from around the world, and an endless stream of negative information raises my anxiety levels to heights I didn't know possible.
Anyway, there I was, flipping through the stations, when I hit upon a program that spews out 'studies', cleverly sandwiched between songs, contests, and commercials, just random news items that they pick out and read aloud, in a condensed version, on the air.
In a nutshell, they had found a study by someone with a PhD in Sociology (and this makes it all the more 'credible') that men who were in cohabitating relationships with women who made more money than them, or who were more successful than them, asserted their masculinity by cheating on their partner.
Wow. It took a STUDY to figure this out?
Well, here's some more food for thought. Successful men cheat too. Know why? Because they see women as perks, as possessions, like a new car, and they should be able to get one any time they want.
So. It's like my Dad said a few weeks ago, when I was sitting in my parents' backyard, my Dad comforting me as I cried; "All men are hardwired to cheat. It's just that some of them are able to control the impulse better than others".
Thanks Dad. I think your information is more reliable than the PhD woman.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sway your house
empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honourably.
He may be clearing you
out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

A poem by RUMI
translated by Coleman Barks with John Moyne

Monday, August 16, 2010

For No One

For Monday
For coffee
For green tea
For getting out of bed
even though there was no one beside you all night

For being on our own
For thriving, not just surviving
For always having a little something on the go
For going on vacation at will, at whim, to an unknown place, alone

For taking one for the team
For not just letting them get away with it
For not turning a blind eye
For using your brain (to figure it out)
For using your heart (it will heal)
For using your voice (sometimes silence speaks volumes...)
For using your feet.

To walk out of his life.


She asked me that, on her sectional couch; 'What is your closure on this, what does it take for you to get that'.
Me; pulling no punches. "It's not going to happen in a civilized conversation. It's too late for that. My peace, my closure, L, is never having to hear from him again; in a text, in an email. In a phone call. And never having to see him again. To allow myself the luxury of letting myself think he no longer exists". (and to me, he doesn't).
I have, and continue to have, vague memories of the last few months, reason being I am convinced that what my sister said is true. This bandaid needed to be ripped off in the most disconcerting of fashions, so that no old patterns could be renewed. IE, we couldn't fall back into our same unhealthy, insane relationship when he was living with another woman. Whose kidding who? Maybe, as a newly-single heartbreak-beat type of girl, you'd want to text the person/call them-- who caused you pain. Not so-when another woman is involved; when your lover went 'the third way' as it is so aptly described in some literature I've been reading; you get no so such wallowing luxury. It's one thing to let a man you cared about, loved, cherished, wanted to marry, see you in heartbreak state; quite another to involve his third party in your two-person-only vehicle of pain. And my sister and I broke this down in a quality that seems to permeate in women who like to trail after men who belong to other women; They don't have the scruples to give a good goddamn about any other woman in the first place, and that will not change now. The reminders of you (should you let them be there) just make her uncomfortable, in a way she will be unable to identify for long periods of time. But bottom line she (and he) are selfish. Self-focussed.No use in letting them feed off your own pain so they can try and claim their own adversity--so hard done by, struggling to keep it together, as a couple brought together in the 'third way', and somehow lending them some righteous indignation. No such luck friends. You will have to do without the external drama. Go ahead; make your own fun.

Insight is not their strong point. Coveting and acqusition are where they focus. Once the package arrives, they have a hard time getting the paper and strings off. They are still somewhere else. They will always be somewhere else. Because sometimes, things sent through to you are not ones you were really ready to receive; the same way that things taken away from you, you were not ready to give up. Benevolence indeed. A greater plan in motion? Maybe. You (I) tell yourself this at the darkest moments.
As my friend A says:
"You are, where you are supposed to be."
I hope so. Moving through the where I'm supposed to be of right now, to the lovely one I am supposed to reach after I Learn this Lesson and re-evaluate why I even wanted this thing in the first place.
Ah autopsies in relationships. We don't get them. We can create them for ourselves, we can piece together the facts to solve the unsolvable.
Closure. That you have to give to yourself. This idea you had with a person no longer exists, for either one of you.
But it won't be anything nice and frame-able in the emotional world. It will be tattered, stained, upside-down, and if you're me, subtly torturous at least a few times a day in the beginning.

I look at this way, this time; I didn't fail.
I will continue to grow, one closure at a time.

thank you A and L for your thoughts....

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Lost and Found

As my last blog post indicated, the list format helped me overcome some writers block that I've been encountering over the last week or so. Amazing, really---I'd come to depend on the writing to get me through whatever situation I was facing for the day, the week, and suddenly, I did a bit of dealing with it on my own; without testing out the feelings here, first, and I felt..a bit better. Not in the sense that my writing wasn't helping me; unload, renew, take another look at; but just in the sense that when I wrote it out, I would deposit it into the blog, like money at a bank, and not give it too much thought afterward, until I re-read it again, with some perspective.
And I did, I have, I continue to do. I continue to heal. Thrive? No, not in this vein right now. Date? Under no circumstances. As one very recent post dealt with, I can't even TALK about relationships without, ok, how do I say this..."going Off". That's what happened tonight, when my sister and I went to meet up with an old friend of hers for a quick drink, and conversation turned, aptly, to his relationship and how it was going (or wasn't). I was short. I was blunt. I raw description mode, unwilling to indulge him in helping him feed his fantasy about how things are gonna go in this thing he's in. I didn't get upset (until I was out of his sight) but I did let him know, kindly, keeping in mind my slight bias, that what he was doing was emotionally objectionable in it's most benign form.
But, as always after a conversation/rant like this; I bring it back to me. Is this a mirroring aspect for me? Or am I being tested on my conversational skills to see how well I stack up to a man of my own generation this week, spewing off about relationships, and expecting me to swoon that he's doing the best he can and she's crazy. No dice my friend. No dice.

Back to me. I'm getting out more. I have, just this week, reached my end-August-goal of 25 kms a week, running, today, mid-August, mid-thunderstorm, every cell begging me to turn back, but I finished the run in my best 10 km time today, 48 minutes, limping the last few yards.
I'm back to some restless, night-owl tendencies that very much point back to my happy singleton self peeking back out from behind the curtain, a mischievious smile on my face.
I'm focussing on me, mine, and not that, them. They have receded alot as I sail through my summer, buttressed on all sides by people who seemed determined to engage me in events.
I've made travel plans, solo ones, and feel no trepidation as they approach. I've kicked it a few times at work, where some ideas and energy came at me from somewhere, something, I didn't know I had.
Bad days? Ha. OF COURSE. Last Monday I think I had a lying-on-the-floor moment for a minute when I was trapped in tv land watching a man describe himself, on live tv, as his middle name being "Lying and Deceiving".
But the setbacks bring me to conclusions. No, not ones carved in stone. Rather, conclusions that I arrive at when I face the peace I want to attain. A close friend was over for lunch. We have frank discussions, and it's on the table in our friendship that we are honest with each other, and feel the ability to share private thoughts with each other, no hint of judgment, despite the different lives we leave.
I'm sitting on my gray couch, N across from me, we are each having a nice glass of Saturday afternoon chardonnay, and I say to her, aloud "If I never find anyone, if I do end up by myself, I'm okay with it. I've made it there. I'm at peace with it".
She nods, sagely, says, simply "I know you are". We both nod slowly, we don't need anymore words than that.
At least I don't. The thought came at me, at that moment, across the universe, and I felt it through, beginning, middle, to end. The way I do everything, clumsily, the exact same way.
The thing was, I really meant it. It no longer matters. I've made some discoveries that maybe my emotions and psychology just don't mesh well in romantic situations. I'm not saying I failed, that I have failed, that I may continue to fail--I'm just saying that there is not one shred of me that would concede to someone because he's a man and I should go and get one. Or would give up any opinion, dream, or value of space to let them have what they feel they should get, because somehow, someway, it's still a man's world.
As my aunt says, no bother. You should be so lucky to get to forty, unmarried, (she actually used the word "unshackled") but I digress.

The title of this post is Lost and Found.
And here's what I lost--an unreliable, dishonest, free-loading boyfriend.
My last set of illusions about the world of love.
Some company, mid-level, checked-out emotionally, at the best of times.
My footing, just a bit, at the beginning when I so innocently found it all out.

Here's what I found;
That people are inspired by courage, however whispering and shivering.
I am going to be much more okay on my own.
That God did me a favour;
that they did me a favour;
That I was biding time, waiting for my ring, so I could marry a man who was already
all wrong for me.

I found, myself, my courage, my voice, my living space back, my rational mind, my cohesive self-image.

My dreams are not on hold, they are re-directed to the self of me that has experienced more personal growth in this watershed year than it has in the last five.
In the tarot cards of my head, the key word that resonates is Transformation.
It's a new life, with new rules, and tomorrow is not even on the table.
That's what you get when you are given the opportunity to live another day.
When that is given to you.
Given to you.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

The Past is Over

I read this phrase on a Louise Hay "Power Thought" card.
Wonderful thing, isn't it, sometimes? Especially when the relationship you thought was 'the one' pulls the rug out.

Before you roll your eyes (I would have, years ago), this is not nearly as new-agey as it sounds.
I'm not going to regale you with tales of why I'm glad 'the past is over'. I'm just going to make a list of reasons why. Some you might relate to; some only apply to me. As Madonna said, so sagely "this is my religion"....My blog. My therapy.

1) You never have to live that bad day over again. Ever. You can go there in your head, you can re-create the pain, you can make yourself feel it, those miserable sensations; but you never ever have to physically experience the shock, the cold dawning of a realization, the utter devestation of that particular day again.
2) You can let it go. It's not easy. You don't have to let all of it go. But you can let go of some of it.
3) Those torturous memories, the happy ones, when you had fun together, when you roller-blade, buy furniture, spend time with each others' families--they can recede. They won't happen again. And one day, you won't think about them anymore (you'll focus on the names he called you, how he tried to drag you down, how he attacked your soul.)
4) You're free. I am, anyway. I don't feel it every day, but I feel it when it counts.
5) It's a new day. It's a new life. Every Single Day.
6) You can smile sardonically at young love. No, you're not bitter. You're a grown up. You know how it goes.
7) SSB. See previous post. I'm still enjoying the little things about what I missed most about living alone--like putting music on in the morning. Like leaving my clothes all over the laundry room. Like always knowing where I put something, because no one's moved it. How nice it is to not live with a hoarder anymore. The lifting of negative energy. The pure silence of no TV. Not having to dread football season. No one snoring in the bed beside me, ruining my rest.
8) Ok, so I was at a party on Saturday night and my friend's husband, after I went on about recent occurances in my personal life, said to my friend "Wow. She HATES men". My friend, (rock on...) replied "Wouldn't you?" So, number 8 is: getting over the hate and the anger.
9) Three Words: Break Up Diet. I didn't even weigh this in my TWENTIES.
10) The Future is Waiting.

Happy Monday.

Friday, August 6, 2010

On the Sidelines

Last night, a Thursday, I meandered over to my sister's house, post-dinner, to have a drink on her front steps with her, after she'd put her children in bed, and I had endured my long commute home.

We sat on her front steps, at her house, watching the traffic of her urban street wind by, some on foot, with dogs, some in cars, speeding a bit, we remarked, and sipped wine.

A hot, humid night, cicadas droning on, us laughing, talking, and discussing, in funny terms, my recent break-up, as I've mentioned here, before. We weren't analyzing it, just making jokes like we do, in order to keep things light and not bring ourselves down.

Along comes my sister's Russian neighbour, who lives across the street.

So much for keeping it light.
I can relate to her neighbour, an older gentleman who has a fondness for the ladies, and although I normally can engage him and tolerate his stories, last night was particularly trying, as my sister offered him a beer, which he graciously accepted. When my sister went in to get the beer, he remarked that, although my sister and I look similar, she's the 'diver' and I 'stay on the shore' or something like that. Yeah, because I haven't heard THAT before.
He said, "You need to take RISKS."
I stared at him blankly. Not unkindly, but rather, in disbelief. Yes; I am an introvert to a certain point. No, I don't blithely talk to people I don't know with ease and open-ness. But believe me; recently I have felt like I've risked it ALL.
My sister came back out with the beer.
He then proceeded to enthrall us, at length, with stories about men and women, and matters of the heart, my sister, god bless her, cautioning him before he started in that I've recently fallen on heartbreak; he gave no heed.

On and on he went, until I couldn't take it anymore.

I mean, I DO get it. Despite my numerous failures in relationships, I'm a passionate creature, I care with my whole heart, and I suffer with the whole thing too.

I picked up my purse and my bag, in his mid-sentence, and announced I was going home.
My sister asked me not to go; her neighbour stopped, surprised.
I left.
I went home and cried.
I will file this one under "Setbacks" and leave it alone for now.

Because I DID dive. And there were sharks in the water.
For now, I'm staying on the shore.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Where to Begin it

I've never had a gift for self-illusion. There are times when I long for it, I must admit. Where I wish I could just crawl under the proverbial rock and psychologically have a rest. But I have one of those minds that simply will not leave me be.

So I have to indulge it with books, with information, with lots of new thoughts every waking moment to tame its' unruly quest for knowledge otherwise.

The Memoir has been taking up alot of headspace lately. It's part of that "idea that won't go away" (not that I want it to) so I've decided to start writing it, partially here on my blog.

All of my previous posts, while relevant and important, have been good writing 'practice'. It is when I start connecting the dots that I will finally begin a narrative, something that has been a little off-centre and random here.

Again, perhaps this was my 'where to begin it' playing field....

The Memoir, as I call it, and I do call it that, has a file in my computer, labelled Memoir #, dated, usually, much like my twenty-something handwritten journal entries. The main difference is I tend to 'title' the entries, sometimes with just a name, the person on whom I'm focussed on in that 'entry'. Or a title such as "Phonecall" or "Eating" or "Setbacks", and I can flash to where and what I was thinking of or aiming for in the entry.

I have to admit here that my blog does not even scratch the surface sometimes of my thoughts, tangled as they are in this watershed year; does not even reach the depth of how I am really feeling sometimes. I mentioned to a friend, via email a couple of weeks ago, that it often feels like they are a) writing themselves, and b) that it is stream of consciousness; I edit later.

I also talk more about my personal relationships. Not that I expect these to be 'exposed' by publications--clearly as a private person myself I heavily respect others' privacy. And this is MY memoir--I have to admit things about Myself, My life, what I do with My time, My private life. The people in my life, my relationships, are obviously the most enriching part of my life, aside from the time I spend in my own head; but I have to deal with Me in this Me(moir).

Another thing I don't like to do on my blog (lying, cheating exes are exempt from this rule) is discuss others' situations, except often in veiled terms, general terms. It's not fair to the people in my life. Reader, you may disagree and I do point to family posts as proof of your objections; but never will I expose something personal about someone that is theirs alone, unless it is previously discussed.

My blog goal has been, for a time, my most basic writing practice, streamlined into a set format. It has also forced me to open my writing up to critique and opinions, which I love hearing. It has also, as I've mentioned recently, been a huge source of comfort for me, an outlet to allow the sad energy to flow out of me; and let myself heal.

The pure, distilled version of living alone (as I call it Phase 2) has removed all distraction from my focus (as well as removed a 48" TV that droned on CityTV as though I was in a "Newsflash Hell" for 10 months). Anyway. That's for another post.

For now let me tell you I am writing, I am observing, I am living my life. Thriving? Not yet. Eating, yes! Yes! Talking about male-female relationships? No, thank you. Taking a long look at the ones who have stayed around me during this time of intense strife? Yes, and thanking the Universe for their presence and constant caring. Taking a slash-and-burn approach to those who can't cope? Absolutely.

I can cope.

Every keystroke is proof of this to me.