Ramblings of a writer

I woke as Anthony and went to sleep as Pelgris. And though seemingly innocuous, I can’t help but think I lost in the process.

Some know my First name because it’s on my short story collection on Amazon. Some because I’ve shared it privately.

Pelgris is a public persona and very much a part of me. But it’s not everything. I hold pieces of myself back that only people who have private contact with me will see. Maybe that’s disingenuous, but I hope not.

But I woke with a hello Anthony in my inbox and went to sleep with a goodnight Pelgris. And it felt like a goodbye.

I’m probably overreacting. But emotions care little for rationality.

In a way, I dislike that my personal life is published. But this is my process and I can’t let something go until it diffuses out.

I hope they see it as I intend it. I am not sharing my feelings directly because my obsession with words should not cause you to rethink how you feel or interact with me.

And frankly, this is what I am. I write. Sometimes poetry, sometimes not, but I write. And to confine myself to public experience is to quash the internal sense that connects us.

Sounds like a excuse for incorrect behavior. I guess I can only say that I try very hard to disguise the who’s from the general public and only those in it will know from context.

And we can always talk, privately.

This went on longer than I thought. The first part is the important bit, the emotional bit. The rest is process. Anthony things rather than than Pelgris things.

Stress reactions

In the last week my left eyelid has begun twitching. This has happened before and I thought it was just lack of sleep. But I’ve been sleeping ok. So it’s probably stress.

So what am I stressed about?

I’m not in a relationship. A few friends and maybe’s but nothing solid.

My work is no different than it’s been for 6 months.

So what’s changed?

I think, uncertainty. I’m good with chaos. I can handle it and even excel in it but extend that out for months and add in some emotional shocks and I think we have the recipe for copious stress.

My usual outlets aren’t cutting it. So the stress is starting to take a physical toll in the form of eyes twitches and fatigue.

There’s little to be done beyond what I’m doing. I won’t take medication except in dire need, so that’s out. I guess more meditation is in order. More something.

I don’t know what is possible though. I mean, I want what I always do. But how realistic is that? I mean no one is going to pop out of the ether and say hey, wanna hang out and maybe more?

I don’t know. Maybe I’m alone because I need to process. Or maybe I just don’t know.

But this eye twitch is really getting on my nerves

Try again?

Looking back, I wonder
I wonder why I allowed situations where I was in so much pain
I wonder at feeling those highs when the lows lasted for so much longer
I wonder why do I want someone to eat with me when I so much enjoy sitting alone at the restaurant, eating at my slow pace, reading my book
Experiences that aren’t made better
I only dance in public when I’m not with someone I know
I’m only free from all expectations on my own

But still, I miss having someone.
To love. To kiss. To hold.
I miss sleeping next to someone.
Not all the time, but sometimes.
I miss that moment when you look at each other and everything is said and nothing is spoken

Seeing with soft eyes and open heart

If it were a year ago, I would be without reservation. I would be full ahead, all in, how to get from here to there hardcore planning and presentation. It is the unfortunate case that the me of a year ago is gone. He had a bit more faith, a bit more naivete(if that term can be applied to someone as old hat as I).
Truthfully, I miss him. He would have stormed the gates of heaven for the hint of what now may be.

That’s not to say that I’m not overwhelmingly intrigued and even hopeful. Just that now, I’m cautious. People have burned me on hoping before. And while I don’t think that will happen here, it may not work out. That would be disappointing but little would change, I think.

I’m cautiously optimistic. I think we have a good shot. But slowly and coming into each other’s lives, not the headlong rush that has been so destructive in the past. In a way, I’m just talking myself into slow. Because the gods know, I’m much more comfortable with jumping.

This as a possibility I would never have guessed. Amazing. The world is still a beautiful surprise.

Valentine’s Day 21

It’s easiest to say that we fell to a comfortable sleep. But it’s just the barest hint of the truth.

The truth is, tired as I was, I spent a good long while thinking before I slipped into the vale of sleep. Sara was facing away, buttocks pressed against me. Her soft blonde hair a bit frizzy and stirring in the eddies of the air conditioner. The muscled form of her all safe and safety. And snoring like a baby bear, soft and rumbely.

Sara would never come out and say it but she is giving me time to sort my feelings. Of the two of us she is the more practical whereas I am the more ruthless. She would say that I should just give it time. That if we push, we’ll cause problems. She’s not wrong. But I am almost constitutionally incapable of not pushing, so she gives me the gift of time.

I had planned this whole elaborate honeymoon scene. Rose petals and whips, sensation play and edge. And I just can’t work my head around it not being a true honeymoon. But laying here, with Tara curled into me, I can’t help but admit the truth. I could adapt the scene, more black leather than the specially bought white, cinnamon instead of vanilla. But I can’t seem to let it go. I had my heart set, I believed that Tara would say yes and, I’m not a fool, I can see that she’d run or break and undo everything we’ve done if I push. And I don’t know how to not push.

The fear says let it slide. Get up. Make dinner. Do some chores. Watch a movie. Just be for awhile. And it’s terribly tempting. But I’ve neglected Sara trying to be primal for Tara. She deserves better from me. And how do I reinforce that we value Tara without ignoring her while I serve Sara’s needs. This is the dilemma. If it were just Sara and I, I would tie her up and use gentle touches coupled with slaps of the riding crop as foreplay. And so an idea forms. Of how to incorporate all of us together into the scene. All serving our individual purposes.

A slow smile breaks across my face. Tension pours out of me and I cuddle down next to Tara. And reaching my right arm behind me, cup my hand on the smooth soft of my wife’s thigh. Somehow, this always soothes me and I drop off to sleep.

To name a thing

Some say I am brave to love
To gamble heart and sanity
On chance and flame

Mayhap, my sight is flawed
I know myself for broken
And perhaps in breaking further
My pieces will align and I will be whole

perhaps the flame will forge me
And I will rise anew

Is it bravery to love?
Rather, I think, it necessity.

Reoccurring hope

I find myself thinking about you.
And, of an instant, the flash as you are in my arms and I’m kissing you
Lips pressing and holding the words left unsaid
Tongue slipping against tongue
like a dam breaking
The torrent
the flood of might have been collapsing down to this moment
where our choice is each other
and a fierce joy for each future minute
we will face unafraid
Secure in the knowledge
that we will face it together.

The too quiet morning

I recently told a friend that I anticipated that this September would be a bad one. Last year I was distracted by relationships, failed or otherwise. This year I, now, have no such distance. She said there was still time, that some relationship might start up. She was being kind, maybe a bit fearful of my state in the weeks that lead up to that dreadful anniversary. I find myself less than optimistic concerning the same thing. The possibility of anything seems so distant. And my efforts seem to not make a bit of difference. Like fighting a tiller in a storm, even though the seas seem calm. I just keep moving forward, swept along the current. Unable to find home or shore.

My call to arms

I’ve heard it said that the benchmark for love is whether or not you would die for someone.

It’s not. Death is Easy. We all do it. It’s going to happen.

No, the benchmark for love is whether or not you will live for someone.
Will you wake each day with the intention that today you will be as good to them as when you were courting. As when you were dating. As when you first saw them blush with their body. As when you first touched and your heart sped up a little.

Love is a emotion, yes. But in a relationship, it’s also a choice. The choice to love completely. To not allow all of the noise and fury of this chaotic, beautiful, mad world we live in, to not allow it to take over and intrude where it is not welcome.

But, people call me crazy for opening my heart so wide. And I won’t pretend that I have not been hurt. But, if I allow that pain to make my choices for me then I am not living. I am hiding.

I choose to not hide. To not be ruled by pain. By fear. I may not always know the way. But I know that love is my guide

Love and relationships

Love blossoms for the most absurd reasons. A word, a look, a deed or a need.
But to grow it always takes the same things. Consistency, not boredom, not in a rut but doing the things you say you’re going to do.
Respect, not obedience or abasence but seeing in them your equal, your partner.
Honesty, voicing your concerns and your joys.
Communication, constant communication, not always talking but always trying to get to understanding.
Learning, each piece of them and yourself with them.
Growing together until entwined you are more together than singly.

Those are the ones that I know, that work.
Love is infinity, but a relationship is the bloom that grows from the spark. It must be treated as a growing living thing.