Summation

There's only us, there's only this
Forget regret, or life is yours to miss
No other road, no other way...
No day but today

There's only us, only tonight
We must let go to know what's right
No other course, no other way...
No day but today

I can't control
My destiny
I trust my soul
My only goal is just to be

There's only now,
There's only here:
Give in to love,
Or live in fear...
No other path,
No other way...
No day but today...
No day but today

From RENT
Listen to the whole song at: www.myspace.com/humblepublicservant

To Kill a Critter

There are about 100 baby Black Widow spiders living on one giant web in my bathroom.

I know that's what they are because I've become intimately acquainted with the species over the years... my husband and children like to catch the glossy adult beauties and keep them in jars so they can watch them build their amazing egg sacs, which they then defend so fiercely. One day, the eggs sacs burst, and out zoom thousands of the little things... they look nothing like their mature predecessors and are actually quite cute, in a helpless and ultimately squishable sort of way. They egress the jar that holds their mother captive simply by cruising out of the holes punched into the top of the lid, out to the Brave New World of my garage where they hide among the clutter to eventually have copious families of their own.

Thus my fear of the garage. But I digress!

I was (well, what else??) sitting on the toilet when I noticed them... legs fine as hair splayed below the tiny signature hourglass bodies with their funny little bulbous white bottoms that will - in the females - grow to darken and sport the blazing crest of their legacy. The web - probably built by their mother - encompasses an entire corner of the room, though the lady in question is nowhere to be found (she must have a good hiding place, because I never knew she was there in the first place and I can't find her now that I'm looking). I wonder: will they know what to do if a hapless fly or lost ant wanders into the web? Are these tiny creatures already expected to sustain themselves? I am fascinated. This small colony sprung to life in the short time between my morning toilette and my return home from work.

But I again digress, because as fascinated as I am, I am about to retrieve the vacuum cleaner from its resting place in the closet and destroy the web and anything on it. I can't allow them to just... live there! Can I? Regardless, I am strangely and almost comically consumed by guilt at what I am readying myself to do. I'm fairly certain that mass arachno-infanticide will not please the Goddess, as spiders are her sacred creatures; more than that, they are so placid and unobtrusive it's difficult to view them as the dangerous and aggressive creatures they will rapidly become. Right now, they are a totem of sorts: an example of ultimate patience, a tutorial in energy conservation and self-reliance. I contemplate their demise and shudder at my own disattached malevolence: the one who will unthinkingly destroy so many just because I fear their small, but effective, power.

Yes, I know... this is a bit more contemplative thean the situation requires. They're spiders, for Heaven's sake! In my bathroom!! Hundreds of them!!! But I think I'll wait until tomorrow to vacuum. Maybe they'll be less... cute... tomorrow.

Pour l'amour d'E et de chagrin...

Je me rappèle quand nous avons agi aimons les amis. Je plains que nous avons perdu, et savoir c'est mon défaut. Je regrette.

Rage is Like Candy...

...when you've finally had enough, you're sweating and sick to your stomach.

I find that I deliberately put myself in situations that will allow me to practice self-sacrifice... situations which quickly become a weird, less-lethal form of self-immolation, as I practically light myself on fire with the friction of double-booking, overlapping commitments, and agreements made in haste.

I fear the word "no." That's what it is. I'm don't like to say it... I don't like to hear it... and I can't bear the thought of letting someone down. Even someone I don't like.

So, I propose (to myself) a small experiment: for seven days, I will be completely honest with myself (when consciously possible) and with others. If I can not be completely honest, I will not say anything at all. If the answer is "no," I'll say "no." If the answer is, "I'm so sick of picking up the slack of your lazy-ass incompetence," I'll say nothing. If the answer is,"I'd like to help, but can't right now," I'll say it as nicely as I can.

Observation du Jour

It hurts - a lot - to be deliberately and ostensibly excluded from something just because it is convenient to be exclusive. Though this is not behavior that I would typically exhibit (and thank the Goddess my mama taught me better), I stand with new resolve to be mindful of exclusion.

More to the Point

So much for staying under the radar.

Today's little non-event-that-was-made-into-an-event is an apt demonstration of the mediocrity that we spoke of and how it promulgates. Without delving too much into the details, I went to another building to complete a job requirement at a time that I knew I may not be able to complete the errand because of Federal regulations outlining times when certain tasks can and can't be done in certain institutions because of the scheduled activites that the residents are doing at those times. Though I arrived very shortly after the "cut off" time, I knew that it was likely that the activity itself had not commenced yet. As I hurried down the corridor, one of the staff shouted from approximately 25 yards away (maybe further - far enough that I couldn't see her face) asking where I was going. I turned only out of curiosity because I was sure the person couldn't possibly be addressing me because I was so far away. As it turns out, she was, so I turned around and walked back to meet her in the middle. She advised me that I would not be allowed to complete my task at this time. I replied that it was only a few minutes after the cut off time and the activity probably had not commenced. She replied that I wasn't allowed to go regardless of when the activity actually started. I replied that the regulation actually states that the task can not be completed specifically when the activity is being conducted, not before or after. She reiterated that I would not be allowed to complete the task. I left as requested, in a hurry, but waving to people on my way out.

No big deal, right? Wrong!!

When I returned to my office, I received a phone call from a Supervisor in the institution I had just visited. That Supervisor wondered aloud if I needed "clarification" about the rules surrounding the unavailability during certain times. The Supervisor stated that his staff were "worried" that I was "rude" and "uncooperative." I asked (in disbelief), "They said I was rude? To them??" The Supervisor clarified that this was, indeed, the case. I decided to get straight to the point and asked when the institution had decided to block off a certain time frame rather than follow the regulation (at this point I actually used the Regulation Title and Section) to the letter. The Supervisor advised that "it's actually (insert WRONG Regulation Title here)." I sputtered a moment, started to correct him, and then said "Never mind," as it was apparent to me by his tone that he was positive that he was correct in his assertion. He'll find out sometime in the future and then feel stupid without me having to point it out for him, so why fight the battle? He went on to advise me that the time frame set aside had nothing to do with the Regulation and everything to do with people from my building being in the way of people in his building during certain times of day. Which means that his staff member had just prevented me from completing a Federally-regulated task on a whim.

How much do you want to bet that that staff member has absolutely no knowledge of why she has been asked to keep people out during that certain time?? Let's have a side bet, while we're at it, about which Federal Regulation that poor uninformed staff member would cite if asked. I'm guessing that the reason that staff member felt she had to go find out who I am and report my "rudeness" to her Supervisor is because she felt unempowered to deal with statements like "The Regulation states blah-blah-blah, so tell me again why you are preventing me from completing this required task?" from people like me who are only trying to do their job. And why is she unempowered? Because even her friggin' SUPERVISOR doesn't know the regulation! Hell, he doesn't even know the Title and Section, even though it's been a catch phrase around my workplace for several years now!!

So, more to the point: I know that people gravitate to the lowest common denominator because my 1) being in a hurry, 2) being knowledgable about why I was in a hurry, and 3) asking why I was being prevented from doing something I am legally required to do was interpreted as rudeness rather than competance.

No, I'm not going to lose sleep over it. But when I am Queen, things will be much, much different.

The Song of L

Fat sister, you love him

so you never see it

and so he can haunt all those who will dance

Once you were naked

his piercing ferocious

and he squirmed delicious, deep and immense

You never knew it

how they laughed about it

how you'd embrace every secret he'd tell

Come, broken blind woman

and run through the rhythm

I will teach you to blaze, bleed, and kill

Eaten

So easy to bleed when the question is asked

my sacrifice cuts like time-smoked glass

and though I only use this will

no fever healed but mostly killed

red and slow I dance it long

and wear it like a cloud

And known have I the love he brings

he my heart devoured

The Normative Nature of Mediocrity

I'm currently practicing the art of flying under the radar. It's not natural to me, so my success is sporadic and surprising. Despite the pain to my psyche of keeping a low profile, I am finding that staying out of the spotlight has afforded me plenty of time to observe other homo sapien sapiens in their habitat away from home (the workplace).

My humble observation: People will gravitate to the lowest common denominator.

My humble theory: People will gravitate to the lowest common denominator because it is somehow better to "fit in" than it is to "stand out."

My humble gripe: People will often posit one thing as a personal value and demonstrate something completely different in their actions.

My humble conclusion: Unfortunately, it seems that people who've previously purported and demonstrated themselves to be utterly competent and completely dedicated will renege when put into a position where their co-workers do not demonstrate the same capabilities. Perhaps they wish to seem less threatening; perhaps they just wish to be accepted. Either way, there is a tremendous amount of personal potential wasted for a social presumption that probably isn't even true.

Young Women Beware

When I married my current (and absent) husband, we were both recently divorced. My first marriage lasted only a year, produced no children or significant debt, and was shed fairly easily. My husband's first marriage lasted eleven years, produced two children, and was born out of the fabled status of "high school sweethearts." The breakup itself was nasty, the history that led to it even nastier. I was 22 when we wed, he 32.

I thought long and hard before agreeing to marry him, as I was very young and was not sure if I could handle the responsibility of existing children and the inevitable weirdness that goes along with having a wife-in-law. When I finally acquiesced, I was certain that I had thought of every contingency and was prepared for the journey to come. Ha ha.

Though the pitfalls I hadn't thought of are legion, by far the most difficult thing about being a second wife is... well, being second. And though we will be (presumably) celebrating our 17th anniversary this year, being second just never ends.

Young women beware: the things you now, in your haze of being-in-love, look forward to sharing with your husband-who-has-been-married-before, have been already shared by he and your wife-in-law. Your first pregnancy and first child? Ho-hum. Momentous and amazing for you, but not for him... he's seen it before and every little change your body and mind suffers, he'll be able to say something to the effect of, "Oh, yes, I remember that. You'll be fine in a couple of hours," or some such rot. The birthing process? He's an old pro! No one has to show him how to clamp the cord!! This particular miracle is old hat and maybe even - yes, I'm going to put it all out there for you - tedious to him. First steps, first tooth, first haircut, first day of school - the same. And don't think for a second that you've got some sexual trick up your sleeve that he hasn't seen before - whatever kink you can dredge up from the abyss of your mind, he's been there and done that. And it was was much better for him then than it ever will be with you because 1) it was his first time, 2) he was young, and 3) he's already memorialized it in his head as the be-all, end-all of sexual experience. You'll even get to deal with the darker side of being second, especially in the sexual arena - he has baggage to spare and those trunks of horror seem to open up and spill their poison at the most inopportune times, often without explanation or even a sense of context. And there you'll be, victim of some long-ago sexual power struggle that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with how you are allowed to relate to your husband. Your wife-in-law may live thousands of miles away from you, but don't think she isn't in bed with you and your husband every single night. She is. And he still wants her. Why? Because she was first. It doesn't matter how horrible their marriage was. It doesn't matter how badly they fucked each other over. He will always want her because she was first and all those memories revolve around the excitement, the fear, the thrill, the ecstasy of the first time.

Being second means that you're never sure who your husband is talking to, and find yourself reminding him, "hey, it's me you're talking to, remember? Remember, me, the sane one? The one who isn't out to screw you over and take your money? The one who doesn't use drugs and screw your best friend just because?? The one who's still here???"

If you have the blessing (and the curse) of being a step-mother, being second means that you never quite fit in as a parent. You won't have to sign permission slips - in fact, you aren't allowed to sign permission slips - and you won't be pressured to participate in the PTA. You won't be part of the major decisions regarding the children - despite the fact that those children may live under your roof - and you won't be able to dispute any amount of child support paid regadless of how often they're physically with you. You will, however, be blamed for any books that were read while at your house that were expressly forbidden at their mom's house (critical information which, strangely enough, wasn't passed on to you, the fifth-wheel-step-parent), for any bad habits or expressions suddenly demonstrated, for forgetting to bring a child's favorite pillow back with them from weekend visitation, and for "being inconsistent." You will be expected to drive the children to whatever activities they have planned without your input or permission. You will be expected to pick them up from friend's homes, school, daycare, church, or some hotel where their mom left them and forgot they were there. You will be expected to learn how to be a fair authority figure to children you didn't raise for the first ten (or however many) years of their lives, and to bite your tongue when the children you've come to love as your own are subjected to petty games played by their "natural" parents. You will be expected to mediate rifts between households, and you will be expected to help pay for field trips, movie passes, orthodontia, AP examinations, and college. The good (and somewhat surprising) news is that it will all be worth it... eventually.

True, all of this I considered - though not in the huge way it manifested in reality - and somewhat expected when I chose to marry again. What I didn't anticipate was the outright resentment I feel that I was not able to experience the man that was to watch him grow into the man that is. Perhaps the man that is would be different if I had been first: less bitter, less unsure of himself, less insensitive, less blaming, less deceitful. Perhaps not. The hard and cold truth is that I'll never know. I picked up the pieces of a broken life and I put it together the best way I could, considering that I didn't know the original configuration and the fact that some of the parts were missing. I trusted that the bitterness, the deceitfulness, the whining, and the self-pity would disperse along with the memories of the horrors of before. I honestly believed that my love would change everything, that everything that was broken would be healed by the force of my will alone. It didn't, obviously. Would I be writing this if it did?

I didn't get to know the young man, the one who was joyous and filled with the wonder of first love. I didn't get to experience five or six years kid-free and spontaneous, filled with friends and parties and romantic getaways. I wasn't able to share the triumphs of his younger years, or know him as an honest, faithful, giving, and trusting person. I wasn't allowed to enjoy the years of constant full-time employment and the benefits thereof. I married the man who gave away 66% of his paycheck to child and spousal support and allowed me to buy him dishes because he didn't have enough for the two of us to eat together. I married the man who had weekly telephonic screaming matches with my wife-in-law until I put my foot down and took over all communication between the households (much to my wife-in-law's chagrin). I married the man who - still! - struggles with the memories of being young and carefree and of the joys of living kid-free and spontaneous, and seeks out the experience whenever he can (and sometimes - don't be shocked!! - with the ex, who - don't be shocked!! - welcomes his attention despite the fact that I have treated her as family since Day One). I've continued to pick up the pieces through unemployment, constant out-of-state travel, car and motorcycle accidents, excessive drinking, serial irresponsibility, and now a job across the Pacific Ocean so he can "find himself" while I attempt (rather unsuccessfully) to work full-time, care single-handedly for a house, a yard, two younger children, two grown children, two large dogs, two tortoises, and two households' worth of bills while completing a bathroom remodel, motorcycle overhaul, and garbage disposal repair.

My consolation: I'm the first to stick around. I'm the first to do it for 17 years. Even his flippin' mother didn't put up with him for this long.

My conclusion and warning: Being second is a LOT of work. Being second is a LOT of heartbreak, some of which blindsided me and knocked me for a couple of really good loops. Beign second is a LOT of responsibility, because you have to take responsibility for things you aren't necessarily responsible for (like the children, unsubsidized student loans, your wife-in-law's bail, and your husband's penchant for talking to you like you haven't been here for the past 17 years).

I know you're wondering: Would I do it again if I could do it over?

Probably. I loved him awful. But if I'd known then what I know now, I sure as hell would have killed off the ex first.

Heart of the Matter

Thee would point thou at another and cry, "Deceiver!"
But those who witness point them at thee and whisper, "Sucker."

The Lipstick Talisman

the color on my lips is Fear
chosen not for its shade or compliment
but in memorialized mindfulness
of hope improperly placed
and investment with negative return
carefully applied, is Fear
with a slick coat of gloss as camoflauge
a warning to and defense against
those with clear advantage
and my own sacrificial habits

when I find the color Bloodlust

I'll buy that too

Hidden

It's been several weeks since I've posted, in general because I've been less-than-inspired. The heat and humditiy have been oppressive, and I have done little except lay on the floor under the fan and try to avoid being stepped on by the dogs.

But today I was once again slapped in the face with the reality of caginess. I've tried to think of antoher word for what I mean, but cagey is what I keep coming back to, though I teasingly call one of the people I know who has mastered the art of demonstrating it in the most frustrating manner possible "obtuse." But don't misunderstand! The reality is that he's anything but dense, stupid, or thickheaded. He's... cagey. And the question that constantly occurs to me is: Why?

Why do people spend so much time and effort hiding? If we fail to acknowledge something within ourselves, does that make it go away? Does ignoring a feeling, situation, or dilemma somehow make it disappear? And why do those of us who have the gift of self-awareness all too often hide our insight from others, as if our humanity is somehow more fragile and vulnerable than everyone else's?

A rather tragic and confusing situation comes to mind to demonstrate:

As we all know, first-time sexual encounters can be a bit challenging and awkward, so after the age of twenty-five or so, no one expects the first time with a new partner to be mind-blowing. Good sex takes practice, and that's part of the fun. Agreed?? Keeping this simple concept in mind, we continue....

During one such encounter with someone significantly older than myself, I noticed that he spent an inordinate amount of time - especially for a first encounter - performing orally on me. Though I wasn't complaining, I'm more of a "rough and tumble" type, so after about 20 minutes I was getting a bit bored. As I moved him into a position more to my liking, I noticed that he was not demonstrating any physical manifestation of the arousal he was very obviously feeling. Which continued to be the state of affairs despite all efforts - even some of the more advanced ones - to reverse the trend. This was a first for me: though I've dealt with occasional dysfunction due to fatigue or alcohol consumption (which was my first assumption in this case), I've never met anyone so far in denial that they actually continued on as if the opposite was the case.

Was his consistent state of semi-flaccidity a problem? Of course not, unless I was sure that I was going to die the next day and this would be my last hurrah, which I wasn't. The problem was that he refused to acknowledge it, and thus did not allow me to acknowledge it in any socially acceptable way. It was like being assaulted with a dishrag. And he kept saying things like "I'm holding it back, baby," and "don't make me come too soon," and he was clamping my legs so tightly together (presumably to keep me from noticing that he was nowhere near fucking me or even approaching a point wherein he would be able to) that I couldn't even move and after about an hour of this it was all I could do not to shout, "God, just STOP already!! This is not going to happen tonight!!! Let's go watch a movie and try again tomorrow before we've had seventeen beers apiece, okay????"" It was the weirdest sex of my life and has yet to be topped... and all because he was trying to be cagey. Wouldn't it have been easier to just fall asleep and try in the morning? Wouldn't it have been more intimate to laugh about how many drinks we had and play a game of nude gin rummy?

Granted, this is an extreme example, because it's tough to be cagey about a situation that anyone can see is not the way it's being portrayed to be. But, the question remains: Why???

Certainly acting in a cagey manner is a way to avoid honesty. But someone with whom I was discussing this concept insightfully pointed out that acting cagily (here I go making up words again) might be a way to avoid blatant dishonesty as well. But it does seem that in both cases, acting cagily means that the cagey one has an agenda that the asking party 1) doesn't know of, and 2) wouldn't support if they did, and 3) would probably be hurt by? In the situation that comes to mind and, indeed, spawned this blog topic, perhaps the cagey person is avoiding blatant honesty (and blatant dishonesty) because they have not yet used me to what they believe is my full potential for being used?

That's what it comes down to, doesn't it? Being cagey is a way to ensure that the person you're using - for whatever purpose - will continue to allow you to use them until they are all used up. Being cagey will ensure that the person being led down the Primrose Path doesn't have enough information to make a decision to protect themselves, but has enough information to - no doubt wrongfully - believe that there is a win-win future in the association.

So, it seems that when we encounter caginess, we really do have enough information to make the decision that needs to be made: go no further down the Primrose Path. Anyone who is expending that amount of energy attempting to avoid dishonesty is probably spending the same amount of energy in attempts to avoid honesty as well. Yes, you guessed it - once again it comes down to an issue of trust.