borrowed bits...

"Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism.  
It is not the conviction  that something will turn out well, 
but the certainty that something makes sense, 
regardless of how it turns out." 
 --Vaclav Havel

This feels really, really, profoundly true.

I saw two movies this month that felt really real: 1) The Descendants, and 2) Jack Goes Boating.  And I read Where Men Win Glory, and even though I knew the story, Jon Krackauer broke my damn heart, anyway.

Spring seems to be hovering, waiting to settle like some layer of magic fairy dust, and I am excited to see what Happy Valley looks like in the full flush of spring.

mil besos,
rmg

...it's an egg...hold it like an egg...

i finally finished putting my clothes away.  it only took six weeks.  i've done laundry three times.  but somehow, i could not bring myself to sort out drawers, separate the pants/skirts/tops into a workable/wearable format, arrange the shoes, etc.  stephen king is right--it is hard to know how to begin.

i love the new job.  i love the people i work with, and i love the people i work for.  there hasn't been a single day that i felt something was wasted.  now, i know some of that is just the newness of the place, the otherness of this adventure.  but i also think it's just a really healthy, reasonable, growing, and lovely place to land.  and that kind of scares the crap out of me.

i mean, sure i put all my clothes away.  but...i haven't hung a single picture or unpacked a single knickknack.  like at all.  i have two frames up--one my grammy painted, and a notecard my dad had pinned over his desk for years.  it's like i almost don't believe i live here, in my little apartment, in this funny little town.  there's a part of me that is scared to believe that i live here, for a whole variety of reasons.  i'm realizing more and more how hard the last year was, how lonely and frightened i was for so much of it.  i'm learning every day that i don't ever have to go back to that place, that i can do different.  i'm learning every day how lucky i am, how lucky we all are.

grace is a funny thing.  it finds us in the most unexpected places.  you know, i have never been a good sleeper, at least not on the regular kind of sleep cycle that most of the world enjoys.  i have an internal clock all my own.  but you know, since the first night i unpacked in happy valley, even on nights when i don't get a whole-whole lot, i have slept like a baby.  no bad dreams.  no staring at the wall.  no sheer and consuming panic.  no tears and sobbing.  and when i remember that, not having pictures on the wall or knickknacks on the end tables seems like pretty small potatoes.

mil besos,
rmg

theories, suppositions, and further nonsense

dear modern american heterosexual males,

let me break the news to you, as simply as i can...

i don't need anything from you. i really don't.

there may be a laundry list of things i'd like to have from you, would LIKE TO HAVE, or share, but my needs are utterly and completely met. i like the way you smell. i like the way you look. when you don't have your head shoved up your ass, i really like to spend time with you. also, most of the time, you are a really good kisser.

you don't have anything i need. i realize this is hard for you to understand and deal with. you've been raised to believe that you have to provide, and i have to need.

but neither of those things is true.

i'm sorry you are bound to a world where you can tell someone how much you love them, want to disclose all your secrets, spend your extra time with them, and crave time and attention from them, but can't manage to see a world where all that actually equals a vibrant and vital relationship. it all comes down to packaging for you, and frankly that further illustrates why you don't have anything i need, why i have such a hard time being still and confident around you.

i'm not a dude-princess. i'm not your sister. i'm not a substitute mother. i'm not your young aunt, or the girl from down the block. i'm what i was always intended to be, the person God and my parents helped make me into. and you want to know why spending time with me feels so fucking great?

it's because i'm the girl you've always wished you could meet, hang out with, kiss, marry, and have babies with. there you have it. i am that girl. you won't find much better. and you've done a whole lot worse. we both know you have. it's ok to admit that, here.

and because you can't see the self-sufficient, world-wise, and seriously funny girl in the size sixteen jeans as anything other than a dude-princess, your best friend, your favorite "sister", your go-to girl Friday, the person you call to troubleshoot your bullshit, to paraphrase one of your own, you've got 99 problems, but this bitch ain't one.

see, when the power structure is challenged, like how i do, and it becomes clear to you that i don't need anything from you, that i'm choosing actively just to hang out with you, that i can take or leave it, etc. when you realize that i can take care of myself, figure out tight jams on my own, make shit happen, etc., you won't let me be an authentic female, anymore. you turn me into this valkyrie, who you're afraid of and attracted to, at the same time. but you can't deal with the fact that ultimately, i could make it without you. i don't want your soul. or your last name. i don't need your help. i can do it on my own. but i'd sure like for you to be around, and cheer, and hold my hand, and brush the hair back from my face.

it's true, i'm not like a lot of girls, or even the vast majority of them. i'm ok with that. in fact, i'm proud of it.

and sometimes, on chilly and tired mondays, i wish you were, too.

weak sauce, brah.

weak. sauce.

end of rant,

mil besos,

rmg