Eros & Psyche Sketch

This is my favorite statue in the Louvre.

I need to work on the faces. Faces are my downfall.



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Cupid and Psyche
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The tale of Eros and Psyche first appeared as a digressionary story told by an old woman in Lucius Apuleius' novel, The Golden Ass, written in the second century CE. Apuleius probably used an earlier folk-tale as the basis for his story, modifying it to suit the thematic needs of his novel. Read on its own, it is for the most part a straightforward fairy tale.


Apuleius' tale of Eros and Psyche
The goddess Aphrodite (in Roman mythology, Venus), jealous of the beauty of a mortal woman named Psyche, asked her son Eros (in Roman mythology, Cupid) to use his golden arrows to cause Psyche to fall in love with the ugliest man on earth. Eros agreed but then fell in love with Psyche on his own, or by accidentally pricking himself with a golden arrow.

When all continued to admire and praise Psyche's beauty but none desired her as a wife, Psyche's parents consulted an oracle which told them to set Psyche in mourning garments on top of a nearby peak as Psyche was destined for no mortal lover but for a monster who held even gods in thrall. So it was done. But then Zephyrus, the west wind, carried Psyche away to a fair valley and a magnificent palace where she was attended by invisible servants until night fell and in the darkness of night the promised bridegroom arrived and the marriage was consummated. Eros visited her every night in the cave and they made love; he demanded only that she never light any lamps because he did not want her to know who he was.

Eros even allowed Zephyrus to take Psyche back to her sisters and bring all three down to the palace during the day, only warning that Psyche should not listen to any argument that she should try to discover his true form. The two jealous sisters told Psyche, then pregnant, that rumor was that she had married a great serpent who would devour her and her unborn child when her time came. They urged Psyche to conceal a knife and oil lamp in the bedchamber, to wait till her husband was asleep, and then to light the lamp and slay him at once if it was as they said. Psyche followed their advice. In the light of the lamp Psyche recognized the fair form on the bed as the god Cupid himself, but a drop of oil fell from Psyche's lamp and onto Eros' chest and he awoke, then fled. The themes here are very similar to the themes in the tale, East of the Sun and West of the Moon.

The god Pan, who was nearby, advised Psyche to seek to regain Cupid's love through service.

Psyche returned to her old home and told her two, jealous, elder sisters what had happened; they rejoiced secretly and each separately returned to the top of the peak, hoping that Eros would pick them instead, but this time Zephyrus did not bear them and they fell to their deaths at the base of the mountain.

Psyche searched far and wide for her lover, finally stumbling into a temple to Demeter (in Roman mythology, Ceres) where all was in slovenly disarray. As Psyche was sorting and clearing, Demeter appeared, but refused any help but advice, saying Psyche must call directly on Aphrodite. Psyche next called on Hera (in Roman mythology, Juno) in her temple, but Hera said the same. So Psyche found a temple to Aphrodite and entered it. Aphrodite ordered Psyche to separate all the grains in a large basket of mixed kinds before nightfall. An ant took pity on Psyche and with its ant companions separated the grains for her. The theme of a heroine's service to an intimidating female figure strongly evokes the Russian tale of Vasilissa the Beautiful.

Aphrodite was outraged at her success and told her to go to a field where golden sheep grazed and get some golden wool. A river-god told Psyche that the sheep were vicious and strong and would kill her, but if she waited until noontime, the sheep would go to the shade on the other side of the field and sleep; she could pick the wool that stuck to the branches and bark of the trees. Aphrodite next asked for water from the Styx and Cocytus flowing from a cleft that was impossible for a mortal to attain and was also guarded by great serpents. This time an eagle performed the task for Psyche. Aphrodite, outraged at Psyche's survival, claimed that the stress of caring for her son, made depressed and ill as a result of Psyche's unfaithfulness, had caused her to lose some of her beauty. Psyche was to go to Hades and ask Persephone, the queen of the underworld, for a bit of her beauty in a box that Aphrodite gave to Psyche. Psyche decided that the quickest way to the underworld would be to throw herself off some high place and die and so she climbed to the top of a tower. But the tower itself spoke to her and told her the route through Tanaerum that would allow her to enter the underworld alive and return again, as well as telling her how to get by Cerberus by throwing him a sop and Charon by paying him an obol, how to avoid other dangers on the way there and back, and most importantly to eat of no food whatsoever; for otherwise she would be dwell forever in hell. Psyche followed the orders explicitly and ate nothing while beneath the earth.

However when Psyche had got out of the underworld, she decided to open the box and take a little bit of the beauty for herself. Inside, she could see no beauty; instead an infernal sleep arose from the box and overcame her. Eros, who had forgiven Psyche, flew to her, wiped the sleep from her face, put it back in the box, and sent her back on her way. Then Eros flew to heaven and begged Zeus to aid them. Zeus called a full and formal council of the gods (which parodies a meeting of the Roman senate), and declared it was his will that Eros might marry Psyche. Zeus then had Psyche fetched to heaven, and gave her a drink of immortality. Aphrodite danced at the wedding of Eros and Psyche and their subsequent child was named Pleasure, or (in the Roman mythology) Voluptas or Volupta.

Search Results II

Defining Morgan

Morgan is famous.
Morgan is Celtic in origin.
Morgan is yet to be defined.
Morgan is not a prerequisite.
Morgan is the perfect solution.
Morgan is free to use any ideas.
Morgan is a multimedia tutorial.
Morgan is said to have lived here.
Morgan is in your extended network.
Morgan is piloting digital cable service.
Morgan is one of the original members.
Morgan is ready to share the next phase.
Morgan is a spirited and courageous horse.
Morgan is obsessed with Karl Marx and gorillas.
Morgan is designated a Level III trauma center.
Morgan is listed on the London Stock Exchange.
Morgan is very active in Topeka and Kansas City.
Morgan is not the publisher of such information.
Morgan is no stranger to the world of auto racing.
Morgan is in the process of getting songs together.
Morgan is proof how much she enjoys what she’s doing.
Morgan is the fifth Morgan in a direct line to be president.
Morgan is blended with soundness of limb, athleticism, and stamina.
Morgan is a perfect example of what one can accomplish with one’s life.
Morgan is a leading supplier, manufacturer, and distributor of superior quality.

Search Results

A Poem for Determining Who and/or What Danielle Is

Danielle is starting.
Danielle is an avid reader.
Danielle is my oldest friend.
Danielle is described as shy.
Danielle is moody and won’t talk.
Danielle is moving toward the west.
Danielle is very excited and hoping.
Danielle is a collection of stories.
Danielle is all of that and then some!
Danielle is some 250 miles north of us.
Danielle is curently developping as a song.
Danielle is a happy and fun girl to be with.
Danielle is fully substantiated by the data.
Danielle is not a member of any public groups.
Danielle is number 2 of a limited edition of 10.
Danielle is proud of the accomplishments of her kids.
Danielle is in an area of large ensemble perturbation.
Danielle is thrilled at the chance to broaden her horizons.
Danielle is, to all appearances, a typical 10-year old girl.
Danielle is a Category 1 hurricane on the Saffir-Simpson Scale.
Danielle is in no way affiliated with Hershey Foods Corporation.
Danielle is clear, decisive, and literal, both in your face and intimate.

I Guess I am Pretty Mad

I had a lot of fun taking the first picture of Morgan that is in my previous post. It looks like she is sitting just at the very edge of the water, without getting wet (look at her toes). Well, she is; but, what you can't tell is that between the edge of the sand, where she's sitting, and the water, which is right next to her, there's about an 8 or 10 inch drop off...

There are particular things that have me down these days, as well as life in general:

1. I miss my Mom. She sucked as a Mom, until she was about 58 or 59 (she lived a few months past her 61st birthday) but I miss her, anyway. Go figure.

2. I am severely stressed about money. While, intellectually and logically, I know that that should be resolved as far as problems go within the next few weeks, intelligence and logic do not take care of things that need to be taken care of in the meantime.

3. I have been rethinking my entire psychosocialspiritual epistemology.

4. I don't want to die. There are too many things I want to do, first. Sometimes, though, I would like to stop living... Stop struggling, stop thinking, stop analyzing, stop caring, stop being me.

5. I ran out of prescriptions, and so I don't have my anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medications. Since I have to choose, I am opting for feeding Morgan before having the prescriptions refilled.

6. There are some problematic situations at work that are extremely stressful.

7. I am mad.

I am mad at myself, basically for being me; that is, for being shy, reserved, perfectionist, easily bullied, responsible (as in assuming responsibility for other people's crap; assuming I am at fault whenever something goes wrong, etc.), sensitive, sad, nervous, anxious, self aware, and conscientious. I am mad at myself for not loving certain people as much as or in the way that they would have liked me to. I am mad at myself for changing; even for making positive changes.

I am mad at other people who have wronged me and then blamed and/or punished me for their mistakes; which is what F did, by allowing our relationship to develop on the basis of lies he told me, and then lashing out at me for caring about him, for believing the lies, and for somehow allowing myself to be victimized by that caring and by having believed in the lies. Now, I am all for choosing not to be a victim of certain things, but I honestly do not see how anybody on God/Science's green Earth could expect me to consciously choose not to be victimized by another person's lies. Under the guise of recovery, I feel like he is not accepting responsibility for his actions or for how those actions and decisions can devastate other people's lives. Further, I feel that his lashing out at me for caring about him, for feeling what I felt, and for believing his lies, is nothing more than the perpetuation of alcoholic tendencies and behaviors (he's also lashing out at me for the spread of rumors that did not originate in me or my friends, but that I believe come from his ex, who seems to be a master manipulator, and whose manipulations he seems to particularly vulnerable to), is entirely unfair and unrelated to my having done anything wrong. I think that those behaviors are tantamount to the continuation of the weaving of the web of lies and half truths (at best) that comprise the fabric of his existence. While that, in and of itself, is not my business, I have been hurt by it all, and still am. I can't help but care about him and wish that he were open to anybody's caring other than that of his ex. I am mad at him for seeming not to care about any of that, and for behaviors that would lead people to believe that I had simply imagined it all.

I am mad at some of the shittiest parents I have ever heard of, for creating a life in which three little girls had to raise themselves, for torturing and abusing them physically and emotionally, and for stealing from them.

I am mad at M1 for my inability to understand or connect with her.

I am mad at M2 for living so far away (even though I am the one who moved) and for letting life get in the way, so that we haven't spoken in a while.

I am mad at myself for assuming that M1's not calling has something to do with a deficiency on my part or is evidence of her being mad at me.

I am mad at my mother for dying.

I am mad at M4 for being a hormonal adolescent.

I am mad at M3 for not being able to resist the devastations of depression and alcoholism.

Above virtually anything or anyone else, I am mad at alcohol, and what the hell good does that do?

I am mad at myself for being mad at people for things that they cannot control, basically, for being human.

I am mad at M4's father for just plain sucking, for owing me money, for treating me like shit since September, 1989, when we met, for abusing my children, for lying, for drinking, for his lack of moral fiber or conscience, and for his general weakness.

I am mad at myself for feeling sorry for myself. But, all things considered, it all seems rather wretched right now.

I am mad at weakness; my own, as well as everybody else's.

I am just plain mad.

8. My back hurts. I have had bouts of sciatica since a heifer in heat jumped on my back and pinned me against a stone manger and wall during the winter of 1985. The nerve down the back of my right leg also hurts. Because of a botched hernia repair, I also have nerve damage in the front of my right leg. So my right leg is killing me.

I could go on, but I think you get the picture.

There'll Be No Space Shuttle Rides for This Girl!

Since my recently-acquired stomach problems ave been only exacerbated by my recent bouts with acute tummy trouble, I have become more and more susceptible to motion sickness. I even feel sick in the elevator at work, now! So, I wanted to find out if there was anything easy I could change in my diet or something, to keep from feeling barfy all the time. I have dramatically altered my diet since getting sick last month, already.

I found the following list of risk factors for motion sickness on one site:

The following are the most common risk factors for motion sickness:

Riding in a car, boat, airplane, or space shuttle
Age—children between the ages of 2 and 12 are most at risk; occurrence of motion sickness declines with age (this is probably due to behavioral changes and coping strategies rather than anything inherent in the aging process)
Susceptibility to nausea or vomiting (well, duh, thought Danielle!)
Heightened level of fear or anxiety
Exposure to unpleasant odors
Poor ventilation
Spending long hours at a computer screen
Being outside of the earth's gravitational force

I must do as much as possible to remain inside of the earth's graviational force from here on out, let me tell 'ya!!!

Logical Fallacies

I don't understand things sometimes. I try, but I just don't get it. The hardest part to understand, even beyond the notion of drunks being selfish, is why would people bother to lie to other people, especially to the point where lies define their lives.

It seems that, for some people, alcohol replaces human companionship and interaction. Which, although I may realize that that's what happens, I don't understand.

To me, there is logical fallacy of some kind in seeking comfort in an altered state of consciousness, especially one that causes the out-of-control thing to be worse, and especially when that altered state inflicts so much damage on other people....

It's fine and dandy to say that those people are allowing themselves to be affected - to me, that's a cop out. If they don't even know the problem is happening, and genuinely care about the alcoholic person, and believe in their lies, for the pure and simple reason that they don't know they're lies, then how in the **** can they be allowing themselves to be victimized?! It;s not a matter of codependency or enabling, it's a matter of not knowing, of being fooled, of being human, and of having compassion.

Tristesse

Too much sadness. I can't remember ever being so down. I couldn't handle watching United 93, or any of the anniversary coverage of 9/11. Morgan has a friend who she is supposed to go to Disneyland with. The friend's little brother has Hunter's Syndrome. Well, the boy might get to spend time with Pooh Bear when they're down at Disneyland, as a gift from the Make-a-Wish Foundation. If Morgan is "approved" to go, as their cousin, she's still going. If not, then she'll go next time. That's not what I find so sad, what's sad is the little boy, who was going to Disneyland, anyway; compared to some of the people's big dreams and wishes, and compared to some of the people who take advantage of the program, it just strikes me as so sad that all this little boy wants is for Pooh to go on some rides with him. But that's not what I am so down about, either, it just exacerbates things.

I'm mostly down about me, the things I have neglected to do, the fact that I am worth more to my kids dead than alive, the fact that it takes so long, and is so damned difficult to get caught up, financially speaking. I am almost there, but I am so ****ing sick of being poor and struggling and doing everything myself. And I disgust myself for feeling sorry for myself, but maybe in a few weeks and a fewer thousand dollars, I'll feel better and more optimistic.

And I miss my Mom.

And I am angry at a couple of people, and at alcohol.

And all these things, the stress and regrets and pain build upon one another and completely take me over.

And sadness makes me lose hope.

And so does the money stuff.

And hopelessness and depression completely exacerbate my anxiety disorder.

And I am just plain tired. Frustrated, poor, sad, embarrassed, and tired.

Miss Morgan Grace

The Spirit of Fort Ord

Shoe flinging, or shoefiti, the practice of throwing shoes whose laces have been tied together over wires such as power lines, is attributed varied significance.

Some say that flung shoes are used to indicate the location of a crack house. Others believe that shoes are flung over wires to commemorate a gang killing, the death of a gang member, or as a means of marking gang turf. I doubt the accuracy of these theories, given some of the locations where I have observed such shoes over the years, and the fact that the practice seems to predate at least the existence of the crack house. The movie, Wag the Dog, puts forward the notion that this behavior is a gesture to commemorate a fictional war hero. But, that explanation, too, seems insufficient to me. Certain people hold that the flung shoes mark the end of a school year or an upcoming marriage.

Still others say that the practice was started with military personnel who would throw a pair of boots over a wire as a rite of passage, for example, after finishing basic training, completing a deployment, or leaving the service.

Fort Ord, here in Monterey, CA, was an active Army base beginning in 1917. For almost eighty years, it served as a training facility, as a staging area for units sent to war, and as the home of the 7th Infantry. In September 1994, Fort Ord completed its training mission and left the service of the US Army.

I found these boots flung over some electrical wires alongside a rarely used road on the former Fort Ord. Between their isolation, their now-wild surroundings, the base’s history, and the story of flung boots’ significance in the American military, this sight made me feel a little sad…



“In some neighborhoods, shoes tied together and hanging from power lines or tree branches signify that someone has died. The shoes belong to the dead person. The reason they are hanging, legend has it, is that when the dead person's spirit returns, it will walk that high above the ground, that much closer to heaven.”

Believe in the Miracle ~ ??

This is the dream Mikaël woke up to on the morning of his twentieth birthday, September 16, 2006....

I was walking through a strange library looking at books when i stumbled upon a wall exhibit that had a really old book and a bunch of pictures of some mountain where they thought that either the three wise men lived or was a space created by us military bombardments. I was talking to two older men (50s) when this ancient man came up and started looking at the exhibit (over the course of the dream i found out she was 102). He handed them fifty (something) bill, in a denomination i don’t know and asked if that would help and they thanked her and gave her a signed baseball. I started helping him around the library, talking to him. over the course of this trip this old man turned into an old woman, only i never even noticed it (in fact only remembered this detail when i was writing this post) Then we got to a stair (on like the 5th or 6th floor) she said she wanted to go down.

I was like, why don't we take the elevator so you don't fall. She gave me this angry look and started to try to climb over the banister to jump. I stopped her and then someone came out of the elevator and i explained the situation while i tried to force her into the elevator. That person also gave me an angry look and said i should let her. Then a security guard came up the stairs and looked at me and when i explained the situation to him I got the same response, let her. So i just gave up and left the old women with the security guard and went through the door that was right by the stairs and as i was going in saw the security guard helping the old woman onto the railing to jump.

I went into the room and there was a desk where there was a secretary and i told the secretary what had happened, and she just kind of stared at me. then the SAME old women came in with the person who came out of the elevator only she looked 50 years younger. when i asked her amazed what she had done, she just stared at me. then i asked again and she asked me how old she looked and i said that she looked 50, then she laughed and responded "the way the other one talked you’d think i looked 38". then i just stared, and i muttered something else (my memory of this dream is already starting to fade) and as she was leaving the room she turned around looked right at me and said "believe in the miracle.”

then suddenly i found myself back at the sonoma county fairgrounds (ie harmony fest which was my last tribe show) and i was talking to a friend about the festival by one of the presentation tents there. then i found myself in a square talking to the presenter from the twilight zone only he was older.

Dharma and Greg

One of my all-time favorite tv shows, if not the all-time favorite, is Dharma and Greg.

In the episode I just saw, Dharma's parents were thinking of getting married, "emerging from the ocean, like citizens of atlantis, wearing wedding clothes made of kelp."

Here are some great lines from the episode:

• if you give a hundred people at a wedding vibrators, you're never going to hear the band

  there's no way we can print a picture of you and Abby on a gross of condoms
  before Thursday

  you couldn't get a woman if you were a chocolate covered millionaire with a
  fistful of new shoes

  he went for a walk in the park ~ oh cool, where? ~ the park

  I never wanted the man to know where I was, so I don't have a driver's
  license or a social security number or one of those library cards. ~ That's how
  they get you, man.

  you didn't throw a tantrum; you did throw an organic wedding cake off the
  golden gate bridge

  I know lawn flamingos can't turn kids into garden gnomes, but I still can't
  look one in the eye

at the wedding, dharma is going to have a fertility pinata shower condoms on the guests. isn't that counterproductive

dharma's parents were going to bring dates to their wedding

CSU Chico on Self Awareness

Self-awareness is the building block to which all elements of Emotional Intelligence are built upon. It is important to gain a full understanding of your emotions and how they relate to others in order to effectively make decisions both in and out of the workplace. Self awareness is defined as understanding what is important to you, understanding how you experience things, knowing what you want, knowing how you feel, and knowing how you come across to others (Weisinger, 1998). By developing self-awareness through these five elements, you will be more prepared to make decisions that will not only increase your emotional satisfaction, but also the satisfaction of the people you interact with.

Emotional intelligence is based on the idea that you must first become aware of your emotions before you are able to alter your behavior for better results. Studies show that managers who maintain a high level of self-awareness posses more aspects of EQ and are therefore rated as more effective by both superiors and subordinates than those who are not self-aware (Harvard Business Review). Knowledge about the nature of your personality is vital to making sound decisions. Emotional awareness is knowing what emotions you are feeling and why, and understanding the links between your feelings and your actions (Goleman, 1999). In other words, its the ability to take a step back from the situation to become aware of what's happening rather than become immersed in it and loose control (Goleman, 1998).

Tuning into emotions is not easy for most people. Dr. John D. Mayer, a psychologist at the University of New Hampshire, has identified three categories that he believes people fall into when it comes to identifying and dealing with their emotions.

Self-aware. These people are aware of their moods as they are having them. Their mindfulness helps them manage their emotions. When they are in a bad mood they don't obsess about it, and are able to get out of it sooner.

Engulfed. These are people who often feel swamped by their emotions and helpless to escape them, as though their emotions have taken charge. They are not very aware of their feelings, so that they are lost in them rather than having some perspective. As a result, they do little to try to escape bad moods, feeling they have not control over their emotional life. They often feel overwhelmed and emotionally out of control.

Accepting. While these people are often clear about what they are feeling, they also tend to be accepting of their moods, and so don't try to change them. There seem to be two branches of the accepting type: those who are usually in good moods and so have little motivation to change them, and people who, despite their clarity about their moods, are susceptible to bad ones but accept them with a laissez-faire attitude, doing nothing to change them despite their distress- a pattern found among depressed people who are resigned to their despair (Goleman, 1998).

As you can see, self-awareness is not getting carried away with emotions, but rather objectively identifying them in order to take control of the subsequent actions resulting from these emotions. By acknowledging your emotions, you can manage them, deal with them and then move on. This is very difficult for some people to do. It is much easier at times to just ignore, deny or rationalize your emotions. It is crucial, however, for us to develop an understanding of what we are feeling in order to use our emotions intelligently.

Emotions can tell us through instant feedback whether a decision or act is right for us. What we call "gut feelings" or " intuition" are feelings that have been formed by experiences in our past. By tuning into these gut feelings, we are able to use information about similar situations that we have experienced in the past. This is particularly important in recognizing what is important to you, knowing what you want and how you feel in different situations. Gut feelings can identify your true intentions in a situation. If you feel happy, satisfied, or content with a decision, it is a good indication that your decision coincided with your true intention. However, if you start to resent, or feel uneasy in a situation, you probably did not go with your true intention. Self-awareness allows you to connect with emotions, thoughts, and actions (Susik & Megerian, 1999).

Emotions are not just psychological impulses; they are also physiological "feelings." One way of identifying an emotion is to understand where in your body you feel that emotion. For example, think about where in your body you feel fear. Does your stomach ache, or do parts of your body grow tight? What about love or anger (Steiner, 1997)? If you can become aware of where these emotions physically occur in your body, it will be easier for you to identify them and act accordingly.

Along with becoming emotionally aware, you must also learn to become aware of your actions. One way to do this is by examining how you make appraisals. Appraisals are all of the different impressions, interpretations, evaluations, and expectations you have about yourself, others, and situations (Weisinger, 1998). These appraisals are largely influenced by your personal filter. It takes everything you gather as sensory data, information gathered through your five senses, and interprets it through a filter of information already stored in you mind. People with a high self-awareness are conscious of the filtering process and how it affects their perceptions. Negative appraisals can lead to self-fulfilling prophecies. However, being aware of this allows you to change your attitudes and actions. Becoming aware of your thoughts allows you to understand how they influence your feelings, actions and reactions thus allowing you to alter them accordingly.

Shortcomings in Emotional Intelligence come from habit learned early on (Fisher, 1998). Self-awareness is the first step to identifying and changing your behaviors. In order to change a habit, you must first notice when you're falling into it, and second, practice a different response. "By being aware, you can do a little better each time you try" (Farnham, 1996).

Not Ready to Make Nice ~ The Dixie Chicks

Not Ready To Make Nice
Lyrics by the Dixie Chicks and Dan Wilson

Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I'm not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I'm still waiting

I'm through with doubt
There's nothing left for me to figure out
I've paid a price
And I'll keep paying

I'm not ready to make nice
I'm not ready to back down
I'm still mad as hell and
I don't have time to go round and round and round
It's too late to make it right
I probably wouldn't if I could
'Cause I'm mad as hell
Can't bring myself to do what it is you think I should

I know you said
Can't you just get over it
It turned my whole world around
And I kind of like it

I made my bed and I sleep like a baby
With no regrets and I don't mind sayin'
It's a sad sad story when a mother will teach her
Daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger
And how in the world can the words that I said
Send somebody so over the edge
That they'd write me a letter
Sayin' that I better shut up and sing
Or my life will be over

I'm not ready to make nice
I'm not ready to back down
I'm still mad as hell and
I don't have time to go round and round and round
It's too late to make it right
I probably wouldn't if I could
'Cause I'm mad as hell
Can't bring myself to do what it is you think I should

I'm not ready to make nice
I'm not ready to back down
I'm still mad as hell and
I don't have time to go round and round and round
It's too late to make it right
I probably wouldn't if I could
'Cause I'm mad as hell
Can't bring myself to do what it is you think I should

Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I'm not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I'm still waiting

Me Reading...

Morgan took this shot of me reading as I left the beach near our house this evening.

Ma fille, Morgane, a pris cette photo de moi en quittant la plage ce soir, avec mon livre à la main.

Did I ever tell you?

I thoroughly enjoyed the book, A Monk Swimming. I'd read his brother's books, Angela's Ashes, and the sequel thereto. Angela's Ashes was one of my all-time favorites, because except for him not having had siblings to die, in many ways, it told the story of my father's life, or at least of the nature of the milieu in which he grew up. I actually didn't expect to like A Monk Swimming as much as I did, though.

That has been the case over the years with other books...

Interestingly, I had refused to read anything by Vonnegut since at least 1988, because my boyfriend at the time LOVED Vonnegut, especially Creator, and because I thought he (the boyfriend) was a pompous ass. Don't even ask why I would simultaneously date a person and think that person a pompous ass!! Later, in addition to that, I grew to be even more contemptuous of Vonnegut because he went to the University of Iowa's Writers' Workshop, and therefore, lived in Iowa City. I don't like Iowa City, liked very few things about the University of Iowa (which, given my predilection for institutes of higher education, is rather shocking in and of itself), and despised the people I knew who were enrolled at the Writers' Workshop at the time. But, after Mikael's leaving Mother Night here, and having nothing else to read at the time, I finally broke down and read it, and loved it.

For that matter, I had One Hundred Years of Solitude, which is still my all time favorite book, with Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon, and Marquez' Love in the Time of Cholera, tying together for a close second, on my shelf for years and years. I knew it was assigned in many liberal arts college/university survey courses, be they of world literature, or whatever. And the book seemed dense. I tried to read it a number of times before I could. And then, again, not only could I not put it down, but I never grow tired of it.

People always ask that (perhaps silly) question, who would you want to be trapped in an elevator with, or what living/dead person would you want to have lunch with.... I usually can't think of anybody. My friend, Vicky, always says Bono. Bono's cool, too. But, I think that I would want that person to be Gabriel Garcia Marquez. That said, he'd have to start the discourse, I believe, between my shyness, having so many things running around my head in a panic to get out, and his greatness, I don't know that I would come up with anything to say. No matter, you get the point. My mother wanted her person to be Pope John Paul II.

Did I ever tell you the story about my mother's acid trip with Jefferson Airplane?

And no, that is not a joke, nor a function of the acid in question, my mother's one and only acid trip was thanks to the "dosing," as Mikael says its called, of my mother's joint, by someone in Jefferson Airplane. That said, it might be a good first line to one of the books I've been working on.

That's another thing. I like collecting pieces of poetry, song lyrics, first lines of novels, other lines of novels, etc. I guess I like collecting other people's thoughts and words - mostly because they engender so much thought and writing. Much of my blog includes that collection and my thoughts thereon.

Songs are interesting critters. When I was dating *****, especially whenever I was with him, even talking or watching a movie, there was a never-ending soundtrack running through my head. It was weird. In a good way. I'd never experienced such a thing before, or since.

At work, sometimes, I jokingly say that we should write our options to the reading and listening comprehension questions based upon song lyrics. It would probably keep the students' attention...

For example,
According to paragraph 17, which of the following best reflects the implication of the writer's assessment of the recent elections in Gondwanaland?

A. All we are saying, is give peace a chance.
B. It don't make sense, you can't make peace.
C. I'm sick of hearing, again and again, that there's gonna be peace on Earth.
D. Above the spearpoints, peace stands higher than my fragile sense of need.

Well, C wouldn't be a plausible option, and would therefore be either too frequently selected or too easily eliminated, because of the proper noun. So I need to review that one...

Talk about random musings!

I don't know if I believe in God anymore. And, if I do, I think that God equals Science, period. If I don't, I am not sure what the implications would be, except a certain sadness and a feeling of loss for what I used to believe in. Really, now, I just don't know.

This weekend

Had I not had this Gowdawful stomach flu this week, I would have gone to see Dave Matthews at Shoreline. It would have been cool. I have never been to a concert before in my life, except the symphony, and Stomp, and the like.

I have to go meet with Morgan's teachers and principal on Monday. She's having a rough time these days. I think she's had PMS for about a year now. It's definitely not easy to be a seventh grade girl. I remember well, myself!

On a lighter note, I have kept water down since sometime this morning! Yippee!! I feel considerably better now than I did the rest of the week, which cheers me up somewhat as well.

I've started going to Al Anon, and that is helping me sort things out a little bit. It's interesting, but what with *** ****, my ex-husband, and *** ****, I feel like I have had some ailment myself, all these years, that I am only now beginning to understand. I truly appreciate the sound advice of two of my friends in that.

For that matter, when I spoke to Morgan about what was going on, not only did it bring her to tears (I was crying anyway), but she was relieved to finally understand certain things, like why I don't go out much, and why I am relatively private, shy, and reserved. She said that, had she known, she wouldn't have pressured me to go out so much. I think that it was really helpful for her because, for two or three years now, she gets concerned when she does things with her friends, thinking that I will be lonely or that I am not having fun by myself. I think that she had somehow deemed herself responsible for keeping me from being lonely (whether I was actually lonely or not, she thought I was, and that troubled her). She was happy to know that I had actually made conscious decisions to isolate myself, right or wrong, that she was't responsible for my emotions or problems or whatever, and that it was okay for her to live her life and enjoy herself. She was so happy that I spoke to her directly and honestly, and that I treated her like a "young adult," if not a grownup! Seriously, and without gushing or going overboard or dwelling on this, I NEVER would have done that, and I never would have gathered up the courage to start taking proactive steps to coping with certain things that have happened in my past, and with *** ****, without the input of one of my friends. THANK YOU is all I can think to say to him, though, and for that assistance, those words are entirely insufficient. I just don't know what else to say.

Sometimes I get downright angry

I get so mad about the things I've missed.
About the things I never had.
About the love that wasn't there until it was almost too late.
My life is not what I thought it would be.
The family I came from has never even been. Rather than family, they were never anything more than people that I knew. Or didn't know. Interacted with, that;;s what they were, people I interacted with. A few of them, a very few, have come to be family.
My kids are family. So are a few of my dearest friends.
But all of those things that are supposed to give form to a life.... I missed all of them.

Sometimes I get downright angry that I missed so much, that I am missing so much.
Sometimes I get so angry that other people have the things that I have never even dared to dream I deserve.
Sometimes I get even angrier that, just when I think that that moment has come, when I think I have achieved what I wanted to achieve, found what I hoped to find, it disappears, or dies, or fades away, or something.
Sometimes I get angry for feeling so much pain, and for so damn long.
sometimes I get angry for being so jealous of other people, of their lives, their successes, their love.
Sometimes I get so angry... who am I to be angry about such things? Why would I be given anything more than what I have? Shouldn't I be happy with the way things are? So many other people are suffering much more than I am.

Sometimes I get angry because I have a right to my feelings, anyway.

Sometimes I get so angry at other people for what they've done. To me. To each other. To themselves.
Sometimes I get so angry at myself. For whatever the reason may be.

Sometimes even anger is pain. Even pain is anger.



Sometimes I don't know what to do but cry.



And, even that doesn't do any damn good!

God

I used to want to be a priest. Then Sister Regina told me that wouldn't be possible.

After that, I settled on the thought of being a nun, a teaching nun. I wanted to join the order of Saint Joseph of Cluny and go to teach in Senegal. Sister Josee talked me out of that one.

Sometimes I still think about how my life would have been different had I pursued those earliest heartfelt desires.

I thought that the Catholic Church was too lenient in granting an annulment of my marriage on grounds that neither my husband nor I was adequately prepared to take the commitment of marriage seriously. Bull. He was/is sexually deviant. He was unfaithful. He is an alcoholic. He told me to have an abortion when I got pregnant. The rationale for granting an annulment of our marriage should have been solely due to his misdeeds. I did none of those things. He did them. I should have been granted the annulment based on his wrongdoings.

Between the Catholic Church's hypocrisy with respect to annulments, because of the fact that priests cannot be married, and because of the fact that women cannot be priests, I have seriously considered converting to being an Episcopalian, for some time now, and especially since my ex-husband sought an annulment on bogus grounds, and remarried.

When I mentioned that to my mother, she said she believed the Catholic and Episcopalian Churches would merge in our (or at least my) lifetime(s).

When I told him, my mother's husband said he hoped I'd enjoy Hell.

Until recently, I fervently believed in a good, all-knowing, and all-forgiving God. Now I am unsure.

I thought that, if the fundamental essence of each human being, what makes you you, if you will, is not tangible, and cannot be assigned a physical home, then that thing, the spirit, or the soul, if you will, must not be limited to a person's physical body, and therefore, cannot die.

I believed that dream communications were not any less "real" than conscious communication.

I believed, like Picasso, that everything you can imagine is real... God, infinity, spirits, souls, ghosts, unicorns, etc.

Now I don't know.

I know that I hold a steadfast commitment to the belief that, when it comes to the measure of our lives, of each person's human existence, all that matters is love. That belief is unwavering.

I have talked to a couple of friends, read and read and read, and done so much thinking that my brain sometimes literally hurts. What is it that defines life, or living? Or really, what is that defines human existence? Not necessarily with respect to, or in juxtaposition with other living creatures, for I do not think humans superior to any other living creatures. Nor do I think that we are possessed of enough understanding of reality, or of life, to judge other living beings. Independent of such comparisons, I have come to realize that, perhaps the most defining characteristic of the human experience is consciousness.

Now, I do not believe that people in a "persistent vegetative state" or newborn babies, or other people whose consciousness is not measurable, are any less human or any less deserving of living than anybody else.

If life is consciousness, measurable or not, then what constitutes death, or the state of being dead, when the physical body is no more? The way I see it, there are two possibilities. Either life is consciousness, a consciousness that is not measurable, and that is inherent to and a "possession of" the spirit or soul of that "person." Or, life is consciousness, and death, being the lack of life, is nothing more than a lack of consciousness. And, in that case, without the consciousness being inherent to any intangible facet of a person's being, then life must be consciousness, and death must be nothing. Nothing complicated. Nothing dark. No despair. No agony. No joy. No paradise. Nothing. Just nothing. A simple lack of anything at all.

So, if God exists, as the creator of the soul, the holder of consciousness, and, therefore, of life, then the body dies and nothing else changes. It, life, the self, the soul, the person, the fundamental essence that makes one particular being real, consciousness just moves on to a different plane of reality.

And, if consciousness simply stops when the body dies, then, necessarily, that's all that there is. No heaven or hell. No God. No ultimate battle between evil and good or right and wrong. If life is consciousness and death is the absence of consciousness, period. Then there must not be a God.

I already learned that religion is an artificial construct created to explain the unexplainable. But I still believed in the soul or spirit. I still thought that who I am was not defined by my corporeal existence. I thought that, since I can cut my hair or lose my limbs, organs, senses, and still be me, then that "thing" that defines me must be a soul, and implies a spiritual existence separate and distinct for the physical body.

But what if that's wrong? What if, not only was religion created by mankind to explain the unexplainable, but God himself or herself was created by people to alleviate the fear of the ultimate unknown, death?

If that is the case, if consciousness ends simultaneously with a body's expiration, then the existentialists are right. Life is what you make of it. And that's it.

This notion does not change my original thesis, that what matters in life is love. In fact, it reinforces the necessity to treat people, all of them, well, respectfully, with kindness, compassion, and with commitment. It does, however, make me a little sad. It makes me miss my mother more.


My son told me that I have to read the book, Ishmael, by Daniel Quinn. I bought it today. I also bought a copy for a friend. I haven't yet started to read it. But I did read the cover. The Los Angeles Times said this of the book: "Arthur Koestler in an essay in which he wondered whether mankind would go the way of dinosaur, formulated what he called the dinosaur's prayer: 'Lord, a little more time!' Ishmael does its bit to answer that prayer and may just possibly have bought us all a little more time."

No matter what, what matters most is love.
And, now more than ever, either way, but, especially if there is nothing other than this, I want a little more time. I'm not ready for this to be it.

From Al Anon, on Detachment

For the friends and family of the alcoholic, the key to serenity is finding the wisdom to know the difference between what they can and cannot change. "... we discover that no situation is really hopeless, and that it is possible for us to find contentment, and even happiness, whether the alcoholic is still drinking or not."

The first time a friend or family member of an alcohlic hears these words -- read at the opening of virtually every meeting they seem too good to be true. [...] For the alcoholic family reality can become one crisis after another. Pain, heartache, agony, stress, pressure, and emotional turmoil, we've got -- but happiness? [...]
One of the keys to that reality is detachment. [...] "Detachment is neither kind nor unkind. It does not imply judgement or condemnation of the person or situation from which we are detaching. It is simply a means that allows us to separate ourselves from the adverse effects that another person's alcoholism can have upon our lives." Many times the family members find that they have become just as obsessed -- and perhaps even more -- with the alcoholic's behavior than the alcoholic is with the drink. The Al-Anon program teaches us to "put the focus on ourselves" and not on the alcoholic, or anyone else.

If we put the focus on ourselves, we will no longer be in the position to:

Suffer because of the actions and reaction of others.
Allow ourselves to be used or abused by others.
Do for others what they could do for themselves.
Manipulate situations so others will eat, sleep, get up, pay bills and not drink.
Cover up for anyone's mistakes or misdeeds.
Create a crisis.
Prevent a crisis if it is the natural course of events.

But what about the alcoholic? What happens if I stop doing all of these things that I have done all these years to "help?" Has it helped? Al Anon members learn that no individual is responsible for another person's disease or recovery from it.

Serenity

Last week, or earlier this week, a friend of mine reminded me of the serenity prayer.

From Wikipedia,

The Serenity Prayer is a prayer written by Reinhold Niebuhr on July 1, 1943, for the Union Church of Heath, Massachusetts. However, the prayer is reported to have been used before that date at Alcoholics Anonymous early in 1942. It is used in Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous and other 12-step programs.

The short version that most people are familiar with goes as follows:
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Alternate versions of the Serenity Prayer exist. The following version is said to be the author's favorite version in a letter supposedly written by his wife:
God give us grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed,
courage to change the things which should/must be changed, and the wisdom to distinguish the one from the other.

The full version of the prayer is as follows:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time; enjoying one moment at a time; accepting hardship as the pathway to peace.
Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it. Trusting that He will make all things right, if I surrender to His will. That I may be reasonably happy in this life, and supremely happy with Him forever in the next.

Now, I don't know about God anymore, or right now, for the time being, anyway. But the notion of serenity is interesting.

In Latin,

Deus, dona mihi serenitatem accipere res quae non possum mutare, fortitudinem mutare res quae possum, atque sapientiam differentiam cognoscere.

Webster says that serenity is,

the quality or state of being serene,

and that that is,

1 a: clear and free of storms or unpleasant change b: shining bright and steady
2 : August -- used as part of a title
3 : marked by or suggestive of utter calm and unruffled repose or quietude

Serenity. Serenity? Hmmmmm...

In thinking about life, as I mentioned earlier, I have come to two personal realizations:
1. When it comes to the measure of our lives, all that we have is love.
2. Human existence is the experience of a state of consciousness.

Webster defines consciousness as,

1 a : the quality or state of being aware especially of something within oneself b : the state or fact of being conscious of an external object, state, or fact c : Awareness; especially : concern for some social or political cause

2 : the state of being characterized by sensation, emotion, volition, and thought

3 : the totality of conscious states of an individual

4 : the normal state of conscious life

5 : the upper level of mental life of which the person is aware as contrasted with unconscious processes

Could it be then, that, to achieve the balance of a trinity of sorts, that, therefore, the goal of that life is, the ultimate end stage of that consciousness, might be the achievement of serenity?

Achieving wholeness

You do not have to be perfect, to be whole.

Helping (an) alcoholic(s)

1. Acquire an approriate attitude. It is difficult to help someone who is given the notion that you despise him or her.

2. Develop a thorough knowledge of alcoholism's symptoms. You can't help a person with a disease until and unless you see that he or she has it.

3. Alcoholism is an addiction. Willpower is insufficient to its cure. Necessary, but insufficient; proper therapy is needed.

4. Confront the alcoholic with the fact of the disease. When doing so, suggest a possible solution. Alcoholics never get well unless given a chance. As in many things, if you come to the table with ideas for change, you are more likely to achieve that change. If you come to the table with resentment and accusation, you are likely to achieve resentment and defensiveness.

5. Help alcoholics accept responsibility for their actions.

6. Make use of available resources on alcoholism. It is a complex illness.

7. Never give up hope; to the extent possible, refrain from being discouraged. Even if the alcoholic does not recover now, so long as there is time left on the clock, it is not too late.

8. Alcoholism is a disease that affects all members of the family; all of them need treatment.

Al Anon Q & A, Part 1

Al-Anon is for families, relatives and friends whose lives have been affected by someone else's drinking. What about when your life has been affected by (almost) everyone else's drinking?! Seriously, sometimes I start wallowing in self-pity, but really, I need to figure out a way to resolve some things and move past them.

The following questions are from Al-Anon, and might help in determining whether alcoholism affects your life(ves)...

Do you constantly seek approval and affirmation?
Not so much anymore, but still a bit. But, in my case, many, many, years, if not most of them were spent worrying about other people's approval of my actions, my words, and, most importantly, me. And, affirmations? Don't even go there!! My life has been a constant quest for external affirmation...

Do you fail to recognize your own accomplishments?
Until very recently, yes, always. Even now, I still have trouble with it, but I am slowly but surely getting better at realizing and acknowledging who I am...

Do you fear criticism?
Yes. I have a tendency to take things personally. I find it difficult to distinguish between criticism of who I am and criticism of what I do.

Do you overextend yourself?
Yes. I am learning two important things: 1. To recognize when I take on too much, and, 2. To say "no."

Have you had problems with your own compulsive behavior?
Somewhat. Especially when I was first out on my own.

Do you have a need for perfection?
Absolutely!

Are you uneasy when your life is going smoothly, continually anticipating problems?
Not so much. Uneasy, once in a while. However I generally fail to anticipate probems, stubbornly preferring to see the best in things....

Do you feel more alive in the midst of crisis?
I wouldn't say "more alive," per se, but "more in control," definitely.

Do you still feel responsible for the problem drinker(s) in your life?
All of them, yes.

Do you care for others easily, yet find it difficult to care for yourself?
Yes... to the extent that I often forget that I even deserve to be cared for!

Do you isolate yourself from other people?
More than most anyone I have ever met.

Do you respond with fear to authority figures and angry people?
Definitely. I fear authority figures, primarily insofar as they caninfluence my well-being. And angry people arouse such deep-seated fear that I alost immediately shut up, take whatever their anger entails, blame myself, and then punish myself for my real or imagined viscissitudes!

Do you feel that individuals and society in general are taking advantage of you?
No.

Do you have trouble with intimate relationships?
Yes. I have an extremely difficult time allowing myself to be vulnerable, accepting that I am himan, and letting my guard done far enough and long enough for me to even meet other people, mch less create an environment that is conducive to the development and maintenance of intimate relationships.

Tune in tomorrow, same bat time, same bat channel, for the continuing adventures of Danielle's Al-Anon question and answer session!

Bisous!!

Do you confuse pity with love, as you did/do with the problem drinker(s)?
Do you attract and/or seek people who tend to be compulsive or abusive?
Do you cling to relationships because you are afraid of being alone?
Do you often mistrust your own feelings and the feelings expressed by others?
Do you find it difficult to identify and express your emotions?
Do you think parental drinking may have affected you?

A beautiful song....

LIFEHOUSE LYRICS

You And Me


What day is it? And in what month?
This clock never seemed so alive
I can't keep up and I can't back down
I've been losing so much time

Cause it's you and me
and all of the people
with nothing to do
Nothing to lose
And it's you and me
and all of the people
And I don't know why,
I can't keep my eyes off of you

All of the things
that I want to say
just aren't coming out right
I'm tripping on words
You've got my head spinning
I don't know where to go from here

Cause it's you and me
and all of the people
with nothing to do
Nothing to prove
And it's you and me
and all of the people
And I don't know why
I can't keep my eyes off of you

There's something about you now
That I can't quite figure out
Everything she does is beautiful
Everything she does is right

Cause it's you and me
and all of the people
with nothing to do
Nothing to lose
And it's you and me
and all of the people
And I don't know why
I can't keep my eyes off of you
and me and all of the people
with nothing to do
Nothing to prove
And it's you and me
and all of the people
And I don't know why
I can't keep my eyes off of you

What day is it?
And in what month?
This clock never seemed so alive

The Wrong Reason ~ Merrit Malloy

It is not always the absence of love
That makes me seem alone.
Often it's been too much love
Given to me by the wrong people
For the wrong reasons
That keeps me here.
Gladly alone.
Rather than have the life sucked
Out of me by the violent needs
Of other minds and bodies.
That does not mean
That I'm not grateful
But I am sad.
Not to be able to put my arms
Around those who truly love me
And give them something more
Than polite indifference.
Oh, how I tried.
I think they should know
I tried.
And I choose to be alone
Rather than wrapped in arms
I could never need.

Sept 11 responders suffer lung ailments

By Gertrude Chavez-DreyfussWed Sep 6, 8:36 AM ET

About 70 percent of the rescue workers who picked through the toxic debris of the World Trade Center after the September 11 attacks suffered respiratory problems, a study released on Tuesday said.

The Mount Sinai Medical Center study found police, firefighters and other responders had high rates of lung abnormalities for years after the attacks.

One-third continued to have abnormal lung function, many more than expected, when the study was concluded in 2004, and severe conditions including pneumonia were significantly more common in the six months after September 11 than six months before, said Robin Herbert, a professor at Mount Sinai School of Medicine.

About 70 percent of those who responded suffered new or worsened respiratory problems during or after their work and some 61 percent developed symptoms while working at the World Trade Center site, the study said.

"There is a strong correlation between World Trade Center work and respiratory illnesses," Herbert said.

The study is based on medical examinations conducted between 2002 and 2004 on close to 12,000 of the 40,000 September 11 responders, who breathed air tainted with the dust created when the Twin Towers were pulverized upon their collapse.

Mount Sinai, a private hospital, said its report is the largest multi-agency study to date of September 11 responders. Besides firefighters and police, responders included construction, utility and public sector workers.

Separately on Tuesday, New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg called on the federal government provide more funds to confront World Trade Center health issues and to reopen a compensation fund that stopped taking applications from victims in 2003, even though some discovered symptoms after that date.

"We're concerned looking down the road that the liability could be substantial," Bloomberg said. "No one city can possibly afford do it all on its own."

(Additional reporting by Joan Gralla)

Confidentiel....

Parfois à midi, je fais de la marche avec une amie. Hier, on parlait des hommes. Je lui ai parlé un peu du dernier homme à briser mon cœur……

Elle a aussi lu ma note de blog, une lettre que je lui ai écrite mais que je ne lui ai pas donné. Du moins, pas encore. Après l’avoir lu, elle m’a envoyé un courriel dans lequel elle m’a dit que cette lettre et ma peine lui seraient un cadeau qu’il ne mérite pas. C’était une nouvelle perspective, et elle n’a peut-être pas tort !

J’ai passé si longtemps à éviter de m’ouvrir envers les autres, surtout les hommes, et surtout les alcooliques. Mais lui, il m’a surpris. Je ne m’y attendais pas. Je suis tombée amoureuse de lui comme jamais de ma vie. Et vite, et fort. Et la chute m’a beaucoup blessée. Comment se peut-il que, la seule fois où je me laisse ouverte envers un homme depuis bien longtemps, que je suis sortie non seulement de ma chambre, mais aussi de chez moi, de ma zone de sécurité, tout s'est tourné au mal?

Je me suis laissée devenir vulnérable. Pour lui. Avec lui. Et tout m’a échappé et à cause de l’alcool et à cause de son ex, qui voulait de retour être avec lui, et qui lui raconte des histoires pour le manipuler. Et il s’est laissé faire. Après tout, comme ils disent, au moins en anglais, mieux vaut le diable qu’on connaît… elle est la diablesse qu’il connaît… et moi, eh bien, moi, je suis… je suis…. je n’en sais rien de ce que je suis.

Il ne me reste pas assez de moi-même pour me décrire sans larmes. A chaque fois que j’essaye de me remettre, le choc de ses actions me détruit de retour. Et puis, ma mère me manque. L’enfance que je n’ai pas connue me manque. Certaines personnes me manquent. Et lui, et lui, quelle joie qu’il m’a apportée, et quelle peine. Je n’y comprends plus rien à ma vie. Il me manque tellement. Et je ne comprends vraiment pas du tout ce qui s’est passé dans son cœur et dans son âme pour qu’il ait pu nier non seulement notre amitié mais notre amour. J’ai comme l’impression que j’ai tout imaginé… qu’il n’existe pas pour de vrai. Qu’il n’a jamais existé et que je me suis inventé une histoire d’amour à moi toute seule….

Et puis, il y aura toujours mon Stefan. Peut-être que, s’il n’a pas eu de Stefan, si je me serais pas trompée avec les mots que j’ai manqué de dire et les actions que j’ai manqué de prendre…. S’il n’a pas eu Stefan, je n’aurais jamais su aimer ce dernier…. et je ne l’aurais pas perdu non plus.

Quelle affaire !!

Confidentiel ~ Jean-Jacques Goldman

Je voulais simplement te dire
Que ton visage et ton sourire
Resteront prés de moi sur mon chemin
Te dire que c'était pour de vrai
Tout ce qu'on s'est dit, tout ce qu'on a fait
Que c'était pas pour de faux, que c'était bien.

Faut surtout jamais regretter
Même si ça fait mal, c'est gagné
Tous ces moments, tous ces mêmes matins
Je vais pas te dire que faut pas pleurer
Y a vraiment pas de quoi s'en priver
Et tout ce qu'on a pas loupé, le valait bien

Peut-être que l'on se retrouvera
Peut-être que peut-être pas
Mais sache qu'ici bas, je suis là

Ça restera comme une lumière
Qui me tiendra chaud dans mes hivers
Un petit feu de toi qui s'éteint pas.

Kites

Kites
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

There were a number of kites, in addition to the flag, flying over and around the Monterey Beach Hotel this afternoon. I thought it looked really cool.

Swimming Makes You Hungry

Swimming Makes You Hungry
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Maddie, on the other hand, had run and gone swimming ~ she was downright famished!

Stop Moving!

Stop Moving!
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Chanel couldn't sit still after the dogs and Morgan walked the beach today.

I saw you and adored you from the start. You showed me things I’d never imagined. I felt emotions long dormant, locked away, to keep me safe. You loved me. We loved each other. Or so I thought. We were supposed to marry, to share life, from here on out, for the duration. Three weeks from now, we were to be as one, facing forward, together.

You promised never to leave. You promised the rest of your life. You promised me love, and security, and caring, and tenderness, and passion. You promised your love. You promised a lot of things, *****. You promised never to hurt me. Not on purpose, not on purpose, anyway. I trusted you. In spite of everything, I trusted you.

I had spent years trusting no one. Hiding away. Never letting my guard down. I’ve been hurt too many times. By too many people. Mostly men. Mostly alcoholics. I never intended to allow myself to be vulnerable, again. Never again. I never wanted to let myself feel the feelings, to love openly, unembarrassed. Freely. I planned to stay away from people. I planned to stay strong, but alone. Not vulnerable. Especially not vulnerable. Until I met you.

You.
You.
You.

You were different. You were ‘the one.’ You brought me to life. You awakened a passion in me, a passion heretofore unknown. You taught me to trust, in myself, and in you.

But you lied to me, *****. And in your lies, you hurt me.

All I ever wanted was to love you. To care for you. To support you. To share life with you. To sleep in the warmth of your aroma. To awaken in the strength of your arms. To trust in you, in me, in us. To look forward to the rest of our lives, together.

But you lied to me.

The alcoholism, I could handle. I didn’t know how, but I was willing to do anything to love you and support you. I wrote you my words, my thoughts, my feelings, my love, not to scare or intimidate you, not to overwhelm you, but to support you. To let you know that I was there, here, for you. That my love, my dedication, my commitment to you was unwavering. But you rejected it, saying that wasn’t friendship.

What the fuck?

I thought that’s what love, and marriage, were all about.

You lied to me, *****. And through those lies, you hurt me.

Even in the letters you wrote from **** ********, you lied. You told me you still loved me. You told me it was going to be alright, between you and me, that the alcoholism had nothing to do with me. And in that, you were right. It didn’t. It doesn’t. That problem existed long before I came into your life.

You promised to come home and to make time for me. You promised to explain what had happened. You promised to make amends.

And then, you came home. And you rejected me outright. You betrayed our love, my love, and my compassion and caring for you. You rejected everything I had given you. You threw it back in my face, in anger and resentment, claiming that I had spread rumors about you to people I have never even heard of. That wasn’t me, *****, and your behavior towards me was unfounded and unfair.

And it hurt me.
You hurt me.
******** hurt me.

Morgan wants to go boogie boarding. And so do I, but I don’t go because I am afraid of running into you or her, or both of you.

It isn’t true. And there are no excuses, because I did not do what you have accused me of. I never spoke of you to anyone. Not really. Just superficial things. Like taking a walk or sharing a meal. But, I speak that way of lots of people. Of ****, of ***, and of *******, none of whom I am interested in, or marrying, or in love with. ****, or ***, or *** or ****** come over. We eat together. We talk. But I am not marrying them, either. And somehow, with all of the others, the rumors aren’t spread. All the more reason for me to believe in my heart of hearts that those rumors come from her. I wish you would have chosen to believe me, and to believe in me.

I wish you’d been a promise keeper.

The meaningful stuff, the ‘you’ that I had fallen so deeply in love with, in spite of myself…… I never spoke of that, *****, to anyone other than you. He was mine, mine alone. It seemed that even mentioning him would cause him to disappear. And he disappeared, anyway. Or maybe, he was never real to begin with. Who knows? Who cares? Only me. The believer.

I did not tell my friends that we were still seeing one another. I barely ever mentioned you at all, except in that email to ****, and he is a therapist, a crisis intervention counselor, and lives in Tucson, and would never speak of such things, to anyone. To this day, the three friends that even know of your existence do not know your last name. I did not tell my friends we were getting married. I truly and honestly believe that those rumors, that that manipulative behavior, that all of that negativity came from ********. Ensuring that she would get you back. Ensuring that you would turn your back on me and my feelings. That you would dishonor our commitment to one another, claiming that I did not act out of friendship, and that it was too much for you. Maybe it was too much, *****, but it was pure, and honorable. It was the purest, most genuine love I had ever felt. Neither it nor I deserved to be dishonored. Neither it nor I deserved to be portrayed as something dirty or manipulative or unworthy. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t fair. That was hurtful and unkind.

She told me she wanted you back. She told me that she thought you were going to be your dog. She asked me so many things. And I answered. Stupidly, I answered. In that, you are correct, I did not owe her full disclosure. I did not owe her anything at all. I thought that she was someone else who truly cared about you. But I have come to believe that she only cares about her. That she is the one who, upon seeing us walk the dogs, spread whatever rumors were spread, and/or said something to you about them.

What kind of question is “Do you do porn?” What in the hell does she care what I do? And what did it mean? Do I make porn? Or do I watch porn? Either way, what the hell kind of question is that??!!! I have never, ever, in my entire life, even thought of asking anybody such a question. Who does she think she is, anyway?

Since you last called me, on July 20, two days before my birthday, two days before the day that you wanted to marry me. Or, at least, two days before the day that you said you wanted to marry me. Anyway, ever since then, most of the time, when I take my dogs to the beach, I go out over the dune behind my apartment building. For fear, of seeing you, or of seeing her, and of feeling the dull ache of sadness, the welling up of tears…. For fear of being forced to mourn the loss of you, your love, our relationship, your friendship…. For fear of being forced to confront my own anguish, to face the betrayal… You have hurt me, *****. And, even more, your ‘best friend’ has hurt me.

I do not deserve this. I did not do any of what you have accused me of. Except love you too much, when it was hard to handle. That’s all that I did wrong. I loved you too much, and I believed too much in your words, in your touch, in your kiss. And all of it was lies. It isn’t fair, and it isn’t right, *****.

Whatever happened to commitment? Whatever happened to promises? Whatever happened to love and compassion, support and understanding? Whatever happened to the brilliant, gentle soul I fell in love with? Whatever happened to making amends? To explanations? To the rest of our lives?

I made this for you. It was to be one of your birthday/wedding presents.

I will always miss you, *****.

Be well,
Danielle




Title: The Late News
~Merrit Malloy

No, clearly I have been the jerk . . .
To think that I could leave myself on pages
And not be crumpled up and thrown away . . .

I will go away
But not with you
And I leave not because I didn't love you
But . . . because I did . . . Because I did

If there is a competition here
of sadness
or rightness
or who has been the most misunderstood
I concede . . .

because I find it hard to explain my life any longer
I'm tired . . .

And perhaps . . .
I have always been wrong

So . . .
with only compassion for both of us
Some charity
No more faith. . .
or hope

I give up to my weakness
I let it take me

It will not forgive me
And . . . neither will you

Think only of yourself now
of the injustice
because I am a stranger again
A prisoner of freedom
A hitchhiker . . .

I'll pray for you . . .
for us

And with useless love
I will say
unwillingly
Finally
Good-bye

The War for Peace ~ Merrit Malloy

© Merrit Malloy

He'll tell you
That we loved eachother deeply
But that I fought too much
...and that's true...I did
I didn't make it easy
I wouldn't let him change
That part of me
That he loved...and feared
I wouldn't let him deny
That part of him
That I saw...and wanted

I did fight, that's true
But I didn't fight with him ...I fought for him
And maybe I fought so hard
...and so much
That it changed...
His feelings about me
But better that
Than to change...
My feelings about myself

Something You Can Count On ~ Merrit Malloy

I want to tell you
in a few words
what I could not tell you
in too many
I want you to know
that it will be hard
to live without you
again
You will always be the one
I'm thinking about
when somebody asks me
who I'm thinking
about

An Argument for Absolution ~ Merrit Malloy

He thinks his honesty redeems him . . .
he thinks telling the truth will change the facts
He thinks confessing his crimes and giving you
their brutal details will change everything

But honesty
has never changed
the truth

Considerations ~ Merrit Malloy

How thoughtful of you not to come over
And point out my loneliness
With an invitation to dinner
You have distinguished me
With your affectionate silence...
Your voice became more remarkable
The more you chose not to speak
You did not come to me (as others have)
With theatrical kindness... you did not use my grief
As an opportunity to compare your own sorrow...
No you stayed your friendly distance
Assuming my pain did not need a guardian...
And you were closer than any
Who came with open arms
Forcing me to review my life
And detail its tragedy
My dear friend
How thoughtful of you
To give me support and not help
And how wise you are to know the difference