Hallowed Ground

I really do not know what it is about cemeteries that speak to me.  It has never been a place of fear, it has always been a place of comfort and serenity.  Perhaps one reason has something to do with the fact that my mother would take us to a cemetery (gorgeous in bloom) for picnics in my hometown.  It was a past time to sit and talk and read the headstones.  And nap.  

To this day, I still love them.  Whenever I feel upset or down, I find the nearest cemetery and take a little walk.  There is one close to our new house, and I have walked there a couple times, thinking, reflecting, clearing my mind completely.  Stress builds up, and its almost as if the ground itself soaks it up out of your feet like a sponge.  

Sometimes the best and most creative ideas come to me on these walks.  Stories, poems, dreams...  I wonder sometimes if the thoughts and lives of the deceased all around me are leaking up and into my head.  Energy is neither created nor destroyed, as decreed by science.  So where does the life force go once it leaves the body?  Who knows what lingers and stays; who knows what passes away and to where.

I walked the cemetery today, the weather gorgeous, not a cloud in the sky.  I took pictures of the interesting tombstones, stopping to read them, wonder about the person that was once living, now tucked away safely underground.  And realize that one day I too will be lying under that dirt, people walking above me, reading the basic statistics of my life.  

Just the birth and death dates are not good enough.  You need an inscription, a legacy, a word to the generations coming up, something to stand out.  My favorite grave of the day:

Uncle Billy's grave.  He was a steel worker, and with this intriguing headstone, is an I-beam as a foot marker.  The inscription at the bottom (besides telling us he was on the honor roll) gave his life's creed:

"I love my Lord, I love my home, I love my job."

That is the kind of thing that stands out, shows everyone a piece of what you were, your character.  These are the graves I find most interesting.

A rule of thumb, a rule of safety if you do enter a cemetery.  You may find me silly, but I grew up in the Deep South, and we all have our beliefs.  Graveyards are not to be taken lightly.  Today, walking through, pollen and dirt clung to my shoes and toes.  I made sure to wipe them off completely before entering my car.  You never take ANYTHING from a graveyard, unless you know what you're doing (such as graveyard dirt - many things to be done with graveyard dirt).  You only leave things at a cemetery.  A sign of respect.  

If you forget to clean your shoes before entering your car, the most important part is to never allow any cemetery dirt to hit your own front porch or cross your threshold.

Pictures, since I took a few today, I am hoping are still alright to take beyond the gates.

American Gods: A Novel 

World's Largest...

Adult Bookstore and Sex Shop.

Doug, being the room mate of Patrick and I, graciously hung out with me last night.  We went to The Flying Saucer, to work on our U.F.O. club allotment of 200 beers before we get a party.  We've got almost thirty knocked out a piece.  Be nice and perhaps we'll invite you to our party with free beer and food, but mainly beer.

We finished up there and got in the car to drive home.

On the way... we were sidetracked by the Muse, a music venue in Nashville that is pretty cool.  We weren't sure about the bands on stage that night, so we continued on...

Right past the "World's Largest Adult Bookstore and Sex Shop".

Now, honestly, we had to go in.  The first thing Doug said was,"We should probably measure it."

We spent around 20 minutes inside.  Looking, inspecting, judging.  We actually saw a dildo in the shape of a human fist.  And the thing was freaking heavy, too.

So the judging.  I did not realize how loud we were actually being until I realized there were creepy older guys in the porn section, seriously inspecting copies and reading the backs of the cases.  They would not make eye contact with anyone.  Which is probably for the best, because I most likely would have laughed out loud.  I'm sorry, I love all things sexual, but some of it is pretty funny.  And if you can't laugh at yourself, then life is going to be harder than you want it to be.

Oh, did you know you can make molds of your private areas for (hopefully) a loved one to take when they are away?

Hmmm...

Over the Deep End

Patrick returns Wednesday.  But for all practical purposes, it might as well be Thursday.  I will dutifully be sitting at the airport at 11PM, awaiting his descension, probably in my pajamas.  How did he do this to me?

I ask myself that question a lot.  And by "this", I mean, how did he turn me into someone that NEEDS someone else.  I never needed anyone before.  It was NICE to have people, certain people, a short list, around.  But when they left, they left, and I was ok until they turned back up again.  Now, Patrick goes on a week and a half business trip, and I am sick as a dog missing him until he returns.  I had empty bed syndrome.

What made it worse was the big dog, George, the AmStaff, the big freakin' baby, is about as solid as Patrick.  Definitely snores like Patrick.  So in the middle of the night on Thursday, the dog had wormed his way under the covers and curled up against my back.  Hearing the snoring and feeling body heat, my heart jumped thinking he had came home early.  But upon turning, no, just a snoring dog.  Who loves being allowed to sleep in the bed full time while his master is gone.

I can feel all of you judging me...  I'm trying to ignore it.  Its ok, I judge me too.  Its hard to believe someone has changed me like this, and that I willingly allowed it.  

I protested to Patrick last night, "You made me needy, damn you!"

And his response was just to laugh and say, "That's how you know you finally found 'The One.'"

See?  Do you see what I have to deal with?  How could you not get all mushy and gushy after that?  Or after he tells you you are the woman of his dreams, or that he can't imagine anyone else he'd rather be with, yada yada yada.  And before, those things felt like lines to me, as they slipped meaninglessly from between the lips of liars.  But from him, they feel so damn genuine.

Enough of the love crap now.  He'll be back Wednesday, and I'll be back to my old self again.  If I post anything else mushy like this, I give you all permission to throw slanderous comments my way.

That is all, for now.

Teardrops Fall Like Rain

Tears come in all different shapes and sizes, kinds, types, viscosities.  If the Eskimos have multiple words for snow, then I have a million different words for crying.

Some tears well up and spill out of the lids of your eyes, like water flowing out of an over filled bucket, without a single sniffle or cry.

Others are dry tears, with gasping sobs.

Other times those gasping sobs are accompanied by tiny drops that squeeze from the corners of your eyes.

A leaky face is one of the worst, where your nose turns red and runs along with your eyes.

Then the giant, perfectly formed, globes of water that drop slowly, one at a time, no matter how many times you wipe them away.  They reappear, same as before, and with reinforcements.

I hate tears.  They give you away.  No matter how hard you try to disguise your emotion, be it happiness, sadness, devastation, fear, or love, tears give you away.  I do not trust them.  And I do not like them.  I prefer hiding my emotions (except of course here, but this me on here, its not really me, or maybe its even more me, the me I keep inside and only myself or Patrick really knows... either way, I'm much more candid.  Which isn't completely me in person... But I digress) and tears ruin my camouflage effect.

So I swipe away at the couple still lingering on my face.  I sniffle, and I say goodnight, a watery smile upon my face.

Fail

I'm still in school.

Its been 7 years, and I'm still in school.

Now, yes, some things came up in those seven years - mental disorder diagnoses, marriage, divorce, death, change of majors, change of schools. But the fact of the matter remains.

I am still in school.

And as much as I pretend I'm glad I'm still moving forward and working toward my degree, every time I do a homework assignment, every time I study for a test, every time I drive toward campus, the extreme disappoint in myself shines through. And hurts.

The only thing I wish to change about my past, my only true regret, is not finishing and graduating on time. There isn't much I could do to change it, but I wish I could.

I am 25, and I have yet to get my bachelor's degree, even though I have been in college since my high school graduation. I feel like a failure.

I love myself. I love me as a person, my character and my thoughts and my beliefs and my loves.

I just hate that I cannot do this one simple task. Something that everyone else from my graduating class, and now younger, have done. How can I not feel like a failure, even slightly.

Most of the time I move past this, but as of late, I can't. I can't focus on the task at hand because I am so focused on the disappointment. Which I know in itself is hindering me. I want to pull my own weight, but I can't support myself; I need someone else to do it. I want to be independent. Can love survive a dependent relationship?

I don't want to lose what I have because of my inadequacies. Sometimes I feel I'm not good enough for anyone.

Someone pull out the violins. Its a pity party for 1.