Name That Emotion

I'm trying to figure out what emotion I'm feeling right now. It's not shame. It's not sadness or exasperation -- though there are hints of that in it. It's more that feeling you get when you don't think you'll ever get it right. You're always messing up without even knowing it. And then when you do realize that someone thinks you've just made a mistake (or done something "totally unnecessary"), you feel .... that feeling you get when you just want to crawl back under the covers and not come out of bed. Until.... until it would be obvious to your children that you were missing and you needed to come out from the darkness of the blankets and brush your teeth and brush your hair and smile with your mouth but not your eyes and go to them on Christmas Day at their dad's house so they'll think everything is all right.

Decisions Backed By Fear and Desire Breed Uncertainty

I don't want to make any decisions out of fear anymore -- a mask to authenticity.
But here's my dilemma:

I don't want to give up on the dream of marrying Zi -- and all I have to do to attain that dream is wait a year. Maybe even less than a year. And then it's mine. Ours. Mine and Zi's. Together, at last.

And that sounds both easy -- and the hardest thing I'll ever have to do.

In the meantime we can plan a trip to India, long weekend visits from coast to coast, movie parties with my friends, rituals with my kids, ecstatic dance with a new community, energy sessions with B, and building up my massage business. Willamette Writers work and pitching my memoir. After another re-write.

I can definitely keep myself distracted with that.

I can do it.

And then -- other times -- the task seems menacing. And I look at it all askew, like: No touch for a year. (Totally not true, of course. Not with: conjugal visits to NJ and vacations together. Plus snuggle visits with my friends, and healthy professional touch with my massage clients. And nice hugs from the not-quite-snuggable friends.)

Though even still, I'm afraid. And I worry about not being able to sustain it. For reals, what if I have another meltdown in four months? Even knowing at that point I'll only have eight months to wait.

I don't want to put Zi through that pain. Again.

But.

But.

How can I make a decision that separates us and changes the direction of our beautiful relationship based on the fear that I might change my mind later? Isn't us together as a couple worth that risk?


And still at other times, I think of the benefits of moving on ... with the realization (and utter relief) that, no matter what, Zi and I will always be linked. We will always have each other and our rich history.

And without the constant "lack" factor, the loneliness and depression won't plague so much, and there will be lighter spirits and more laughter between us. In the relationship we do have.

We'll both have our physical needs met, and while it probably wouldn't be overly healthy to hold on to this thought: it might just be that in a years time -- if neither of us have found a satisfying relationship to be in -- Zi could move here after all and we could still get together in the end.

It'll be like the movie "A Lot Like Love."

maybe it's not mine after all

despair. a good day turned black fog.
Julia Stone's This Love
brings panic, a scrambling and nostalgia for a time
barely dead.

rising above the smog to the pristine crispness of your face and the firmness of your jaw
I reach for your soul
my own salvation
and turn off the lights to my hope.
maybe it's not mine after all.
maybe I'm hurting us anew.

from dark to light to dark again
my spirit fluctuates
dims and brightens with the sound of your voice
over the miles.

exhaustion is the plain unromantic truth
and sustainability is a mirage.

tsunami and drought
butterflies and grubs
mt. everest and the grand canyon
water and clay.

crushing vascillations,
doubt reproducing like
cell division.

rising above the smog to the pristine crispness of your face and the firmness of your jaw

I reach for your soul

my own salvation

and turn off the lights to my hope.

maybe it's not mine after all.

maybe I'm hurting us anew.

I'm Here With You

Hiding under dupatta

Listening to jingles when I walk

Echoes of laughter

Wonderment

Memories

Coming alive

I wish

I want

I learn

I cry

I feel

I swim

I drown

I rise to the surface.

Sleepless nights

Phone calls in darkness

After nightmares.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

Bouncing on toes

Barefeet

Fingers in the air

Sweating

And spinning

And love

And yearning

And hope

For more days

For better days

For neverending days

With you, with you, with you.

Incense billows and fills in the cracks

Ganesha smiles and reassures

Pink quartz and Namascar

Floating through it all

The room

The bodies

The anxiety

And even pain

It won’t last

It’s transient

Like all other things

Joy and peace

And contentment

With reality

The reality I’ve chosen

The one with you in it

Are coming my way

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

Transition Sounds Better Than Breaking Up

Zi is always reminding me to breathe deeply when I'm in pain or upset. And he's been talking a lot more about fate, kismet, destiny, and The Universe lately. I think it brings him peace. A sort-of explanation for this 'transition' we're now in.

For, on Tuesday, I told him the distance was too much. That it didn't feel healthy for me to be in this relationship like it was anymore. I "broke up" with him. And then the next day, when I cried with him again, he wanted to be clear that in no way was he mad or bitter. That he was even sharing this responsibility with me. He felt that, in a way (totally indirectly and not to blame, of course), he put us in this long-distance situation in the first place with his job loss and subsequent move. And that he ALSO didn't want me to be in an unhealthy place.

He believes then that we both have come to this conclusion -- that he didn't really see it as a break up, but more as a transition. And I, of course, clung to that because I felt better (read: less guilty) with those words. Transition sounded better than breaking up.

Something I told him recently (since our ... transition): "If there's any chance we can still be together I want to wait for you. I don't want to start seeing anyone else. But. I can't wait a year. If you could tell me you were moving here in six months -- I'd wait."

And then I promptly widened that to six months to a year. He said, "Then what was the point of the break-up?"

Hmm.

I don't want to dig myself a hole here. After three and half months of "good days and bad days" oscillating back and forth until it became a daily up and down swing, like I was on some kind of upper/downer drug frenzy, I called it quits. I threw my hands up in surrender (which by the way is why I felt so guilty -- "If I was only stronger" -- wreaking havoc on my work ethic and my idea of loyalty.)


It's not that he's not good for me, or that we're not good for each other. It's that the distance has beaten us down. I was going to say beaten me down, but even Zi wants to have sex with others to tide him over between our visits. And I know the distance is getting to him, too. It's true that he'd keep going in the relationship -- most likely indefinitely -- but he needs the stability of a steady girlfriend in New Jersey as much as I need companionship and touch here.

The truth is we've both been living without crucial human needs being met. For months. And it's taken its toll on us. On our minds, on our hearts, on our bodies. It's hurting us.

And there it is. The stalemate.

On the one hand, we love each other. And have for a year. Deep love that grows in our marrow. And despite staggering challenges: first my marriage, then my search and quest within to determine whether I was monogamous or polyamorous, Zi's job loss, his moving away, the whole J thing, and all the months apart. Not to mention the "little" things like: I'm not Indian or Muslim, that he's more conservative than I am, that I'm divorced twice, (and widowed for God's sake), have two half-grown children, and am ambivalent about having more. (Though at times I am completely and utterly obsessed by the idea.)

And despite all that -- there is love and worship and obsession and sex and play and laughter and culture and language and trust. There is tenderness and protectiveness. There is nurturing and comfort. There is pride and -- Sweet Jesus -- a rocking awesome brown cock.

I love the exotic, I love the differences between us, I love his accent and the way he laughs and pushes his glasses up on his nose. The way he wiggles his foot unconsciously, and wears the same outfit every day when he's not at work or going out. Blue sweatshirt, blue hat, white tee-shirt, pajama pants, black slippers.

I love his tongue and his hands. I love his words and the sound of his voice -- calming and grounding. Even when we're disagreeing.

That's all on the one hand.

On the other, we're in pain. Sometimes it rages like a slashing cut at our core, and other times a dull ache, like a low-grade headache that won't go away. We're not alive right now. We're living a shadow life. One where we only come alive when we sext each other, or when we see each other on Skype, or talk on the phone. Or plan our next visits and watch our porn videos. At those times we are manically high. Euphoric. Stronger than the Earth's gravitational pull.

But the worst part? Is sometimes, even those very things that make me feel alive -- the Skyping, the phone calls -- Don't. They make me feel worse. Because it's not happening here in body. It's only real in cyber-world.

So where does that leave us?

And, actually, I should be saying 'me.' Where does that leave me? Because these are my thoughts. My feelings. My pain. I need to own them and not project them onto Zi. He has his own and I hope he'll write them down here, too. So I can witness them, as he is witnessing mine. And then this space can be what we intended: Bare And Raw, both of us.

In conclusion (as if this were some college essay), we are in this weird transitional space. We love each other. We aren't bitter about this new place -- whatever it turns out to be. And we'll always be in each other's lives -- whatever those turn out to be. We don't know how our relationship will change -- but I think it must -- unless a miracle happens and Zi moves to Eugene within the next year.

And by year I mean closer to eight months.

And by eight months I mean a scenario like this: he thinks for a couple months on how it can work, and then has a move-in date I can write on the calendar for six or so months after that. Or gets a job in the NW in next couple months. Maybe he'll find out that his green card process will be far enough along by, say, July, that he could move to Eugene and look for work around here without any marriage. Then we could just live together. No pressure.

I could wait until July.

If I had that month to focus on. An ending to this.
"I can wait. I can handle this distance. It's only for a few more months. And then I can be relaxed and happy and have my man back."

Yes. I could wait until the end of summer, if I was actively planning and preparing for his arrival. It's the not knowing and the indefinite-which-literally-feels-like-forever that I can't last through anymore.

And I still feel sorry for that. Like I've let us down. Let Zi down.

But it seems I've hit my limit. I didn't know I had one. I've never been good at boundaries -- but here is one erected almost all by itself.

Zi says this is an ultimatum -- but that it's fine that I've placed one on him.

But I don't think of this as an ultimatum. It's just a limitation that I've discovered I have.

I can only wait for something (even if it's the most important thing in my world) for a really long time, if I have an end date. Some idea of when it'll arrive. Otherwise, I simply can't fathom it happening. Ever.

I love you, Zi.
I'm still getting that tattoo.

Trust and Sex

I'm feeling pretty good in my relationship with Zi. We're in a good place. Well. I'm in a good place; I can't speak for Zi (and he never writes on here anymore). ;)

Just had Skype sex with him, so maybe my opinion is skewed right now.

At any rate, I'm feeling in a good place because of lots of reasons. Somewhere in the last two months I've reached a place where my trust in Zi has solidified. I know with all the cells in my body that he won't ever intentionally hurt me. I know that he loves me, that he wants me. I know that he wants to hear my truth -- and here's the kicker -- and that when he hears it (whatever it is) he'll accept it. He loves me unconditionally. Whatever I need to tell him, even if it might be painful, he wants to hear. And I finally get that. I trust him enough to get that. And that's huge for me. That's something I only have with my friend T. That's something I didn't have with my ex-husband. Or any of my other friends, ever.

And. I can almost pee in front of him.


So one of the things I felt comfortable telling him this morning was that in order for me to maintain this relationship, to sustain on what we have, I need to see him once a month. I clarified by saying, "If we aim for seeing each other every month, and once in a while it's not realistic and it stretches to two -- I can handle that. My joy at our relationship can carry me through to the next month. But if we aim for every three months and it stretches to four, I can't do it." I did preface the conversation with a question. I asked him if he thought it was feasible: financially, mentally, time-wise/schedule-wise to see each other once a month. He said if we plan ahead, sure. So I felt that saying what I did wasn't unreasonable. (And it just shows how far I've come in my self-confidence that I'm able to admit that even if what I said was an unreasonable request/statement, it still would've been ok to say. Oftentimes love, or life, is not reasonable.)

So our new intent is, before we part on one of our visits, we will pick out the dates for the next time we can get together and see each other. To smell each other. To fuck each other. To be naughty together. To walk down the street together.

He took my statements and our intention very seriously. And I appreciate that. Immensely. It takes a huge block of fear off my head, too. Before he got his apartment, every day I would wake up and think, "I don't know when I'll see Zi again. Will I ever?" Each day got more and more internally dramatic. And now, because Zi is respecting this "deal-breaker" as we've come to call it, I know that almost every day I wake up I'll know, "I get to see Zi in six weeks." "I get to see Zi in ten days." Or, more importantly, "Today sucks ass. I can't stand to live like this anymore. I'm spiraling down. I can't see the sky. .... Wait. Breathe. .... Tomorrow will be better. And I get to see Zi in four weeks. I can make it. We can make it."


Zi expressed some concern today (or maybe chagrin?) at his seeming focus on our sexual connection -- that that is what keeps him interested in our relationship through the time and distance of our forced separation. I tried to reassure him, though wasn't sure if I was successful. I like our sexual connection! It feeds me, too. It keeps me in this relationship despite the challenges we face, too.


When I feel like the lack of close companionship and lack of sensual and comforting touch is too strong for me to endure, when I feel like my needs are not being met in this relationship, I remember that one of my greatest fears in this remaining lifetime is not ever having this strong of kinky sexual connection with another person again. So when I feel like maybe it's time to move on ... I remember this huge fact in my life. This huge *important* fact. Yes, it may be shallow. Yes, it may be crass. But, .... it's ok to say that sex is vitally important to me. A great sexual relationship is a deal-breaker for me on my current path. I am in the sexual prime of my life. (So is Zi, and oh do we make beautiful music together...)


Speaking of sex ....
while I was visiting NJ in October, we had a pregnancy scare. For about two days and two hours.

I was two days late, so I took a pregnancy test. It came out negative and two hours later my period started.

This has started a series of other conversations for us.

But I'll save that for another blog post.

Secret Lessons from Grief and Books, and the Traditions You Pass On To Your Children

Strange.
Emotional spilling over.

While reading a book, I move from one scene to the next -- one sentence to the next -- and start to cry. With no hint of a reason why.

"... 'Don't worry so much, my dear," [the doctor] says reassuringly. "There's no such thing as being allergic to India.'


One night, I dream of Nana. ..."


My chest tightens and I feel warm all over. A distant observer part of me thinks, Here's your emotional pms showing up. That's good. Let it come then.

Not really expecting that it would.
But it did.

The hotness wells up to my throat and then eyes. I feel the moisture and with even breaths I exhale through open mouth repeatedly until I can gain control.

What was wrong with me? Where did that come from? Pms might (ok, does) make me tender and sensitive, but there's always a catalyst. Where did this come from? I was just reading. About nothing emotional. A follow-up trip to a doctor and 'one night I dream of Nana.'

I look up, holding the tears in my eyeslids like little bowls. I'm still pushing the heat out with my breath.

Why did those two unrelated sentences cause me grief?

The eyelashes of my right eye stick together and poke my eyeball. I blink rapid staccato and the light from the NJ windows looks like a strobe light for a few seconds. I continue blowing the emotional pain out.

I used to hold my breath when I'd cry. But then I learned that our muscles hold memories, and holding our breath while crying did something similar. It made the dense emotion of grief to stay within. No I struggle to breathe when I cry. To let it out. For realsies.

Compassion!
Being taken care of.
Love.

I blink the eyelash straight and two solid fat globs of tears drain down my cheeks.
Like twins.
Separated at birth but still unknowingly doing things simultaneously, across the country.

The doctor had compassion and kindness for his patient. A tenderness.
The Nana the author dreamed of loved her. Shared a special bond with her. The author was going on a quest for her now departed Nana.
Love.

I look to my own life. Past and Present. And feel loss and emptiness. Loneliness. No one to care for me now. No grandmother figure in my life. Nor mother figure really either. As mine has geographically and , I fear, emotionally drifted from me. And the woman I associated as my other mother figure for years has done the same. Only I am to blame, if not solely, for that. For divorcing her son.

Feeling ever much the victim, I wallow, and my stomach sours and my lungs harden.

I am not blowing anymore.

I am in my lover's house.
He cares for me.
Nurtures me.
Holds me.
Aches for me.
Does anything and everything for me.

Is this why I love him?
Is that a good reason to love someone? Because they love *you*?
(No. Otherwise I'd still be married to my ex.)
But somehow N's love for me and mine for him feels different. Newer. With more promise. More possibility. More passion.

I'm distracted by the blue sky and the sticks of branches that have lost their leaves to autumn, and the Arabic French music of Souad Massi fills the apartment. I wonder if it contributed to my mini-meltdown.

N. and I spoke yesterday of tradition and heritage. Ancestry. What to pass on to your children's generation. What do I want to bring? What can I bring?

Certainly this love. This love and compassion and caring that I spontaneously cried about. This delicate reminder of the importance of life and love.

And my love of books and words.
And magic.
The seasonal changes.
The Full Moon song.
And reading in bed at night.

I can bring those things to my children.

What can you bring yours?
What reminders have you found in books lately?

Day Three of Vacation

O My God.
The sex.

Zi picked me up from the airport on Saturday morning. We drove to his apartment and he showed me around. There were boxes and recycling spewed everywhere and no furniture to sit on, but he'd clearly been moving in like a mad-man this week. The kitchen and bathroom and bedroom were set ... It was just the living room that still needed some assistance.

A short tour led us to THE BED, and we climbed inside and pulled off clothes and kissed and fucked. Mmmm. First time in four months. (Which is wrong on multiple levels.) My period was due is a few days, so I was fairly certain I wasn't in my fertile time. However, I had him pull out and cum on my stomach .... just in case. Mmm. So yummy. So much. I rubbed it in.

We showered and lounged and I relaxed a bit. His landlord came over to fix the hot water. And then we decided to hit NYC. We ate uninspiring food, walked through Times Square (which I didn't like), walked through Central Park (which I did like), and rode on about eight subways. :) It was good. I was feeling pretty beat by the time we got home though. Jet lag and all.

We got ready for bed after eating a frozen pizza and found THE BED again. Only this time, Zi turned on THE CAMERA. (slow sexy smile) We did so much horny, sexy, nasty, awesome, wonderful things to ourselves. It was priceless. And we have the video to prove it. (To ourselves. XHamster ain't never gettin' it.)

We showered again. Together. I love showering with Zi.

I slept like a rock that night.



Next morning: Sunday.
We slept in. We fucked again. And videoed it again. :) Only difference ... I let him cum inside me. Bareback.

We showered. He made me tea. He cooked a bunch of food for the week. I drug all the recycling and trash out. The landlord's brother came over to fix the thermostat. We ate lunch and I cried a little. He held me and we talked briefly about the HOW of the DOING. How to exactly live through this forced separation. And can I handle it. We talked a little about my depression getting so bad in September and me finally dragging myself out a little bit, and me never wanting to get that bad again.

We didn't come up with any solutions. Just more: day by day do the best we can try hard and if it doesn't work out we'll know that we tried and tried and tried.

Also, I've noticed in our 2.5 days together, he's let slip the phrase "When we live together ... " several times.
I don't know what that means. Or how I feel about it.
I want it. Obviously.
But do I want to believe in it?
Or will that create more depression?
'Cuz I can't go there. Again. It was a bad place.

We went to Ikea and he showed me around. We envisioned our apartments and gave each other decorating advice. It was fun, in a strangely painful playing house sort of way.

After Ikea, we unloaded the car, heated up some dinner, did some dishes, I read some, we contemplated watching a movie, and we headed for bed. Both of us tired.

But.

We watched our homemade porn again.
So
We
Fucked
Again.

:)

I let him come inside me again.
Huh.

Why am I being so careless?

Do I want to get pregnant?
Would it be for the right reasons?
If I got pregnant, Zi said (months and months ago) that he'd marry me ... and could live with me despite the Green Card status.
Is that what this is about?
A month or so ago, I asked Zi to marry me.
On Skype.
TOTALLY un-romatic, I grant you, but at that time Zi said (not 'no' but that) he didn't want us getting married because we "had" to, but because it was the natural next thing to do in our relationship.

And I agree.
So the unprotected sex?
What's that about?

Sometimes I get the feeling he doesn't really want children at all.  He talks of needing solitude and having things just so. And having just spent six months living with his sister and brother-in-law and Zi's two year old nephew has given him some welcome (and maybe some not so welcome) insight into what a "young family" looks (and sounds) like.  And to be fair, sometimes I don't know if I want to have another one. I feel at a different place chronologically in my life. Like it's career time.

An "oops" would be terrible if both those sentiments were the case.
HOWEVER, all of that said: I think that both of us would make delightful parents.(With the occasional squabble over beating the children.) ;)


Today's Monday.
We got up with his alarm. I got him hot water to drink. He poured us coffee.  
I watched him do his morning routine.
He made me breakfast.
We showered again together.
I kissed him good-bye as he left for work.
I watched him walk out to his car and watched him drive away.

Playing house with him is dangerous.

My hope for this visit is for me to recover and heal from not sleeping enough, not eating healthy foods, not taking my meds regularly, having my mind cluttered and missing Zi into a wrenching depression.

I want to sleep and read and write and think and soak up as much Zi as is possible in our brief time.
And fuck.
I want to make lots more videos and memories with him before I fly back to Oregon.

I want to return home satiated. I want to be relaxed, well-read, and secure emotionally. I want to have enough strength to make it to the next visit.

But the one after that?

I can't see that one. My vision getting blurry and I start breathing funny.
I don't know if I can make it joyfully to the next visit after that.

How can I last this separation?


... I've finished a book, played on the Facebook/blog/online newspaper time suck thing, talked to my friend on the phone, napped and had a little something to eat.

Zi is getting off work now, and will be returning soon. I  didn't make it outside today. But that's ok. It's really all about healing right now. And today was just a get my bearings day.

Going to drink a glass of water and start a new book.
Zi's making chicken curry tonight.

xo

Orchid G -- Sex Toy Review

The cool thing about vibrators, is you cum really fast.
The cool thing about using your fingers, is you cum really slow.
And the cool thing about using the Orchid G is you get to find your G-spot.

Bikram Boot Camp?

I'm embarking on another round of Let's See How Long it Takes to Pass Out From Doing Exercise.

I've started a beginning boot camp class. Again. I'm still a beginner because the last time I started, I technically wasn't IN the beginner's class. I was just tagging along. I wasn't on the google boards, I didn't have a manual, I wasn't getting the mentoring. I was just ... you know... getting my ass kicked from bear crawls. (I hate bear crawls.)


So today was Week One Day One and by the time I left I felt nauseous and dizzy. Hmm. Not the way I want to start out my day. My arms are so fatigued that they feel twenty pounds heavier than they are supposed to, and my hands are still shaking ... an hour after class ended.

Hard stuff.

More hard stuff I'm going to be subjecting myself to .... but actually LIKING it ... is Bikram Yoga. I love hot yoga. And on days like this morning (where I worked out in the rain), I especially love the 105 degree yoga studio. Mmmm. Bikram Yoga is also a workout likely to leave me nauseous and dizzy, but somehow I keep going back for more. I really love the way I feel after yoga. I stand taller, I'm more flexible, I breathe deeper, I recover from exercise faster, I'm more relaxed, I feel more confident, I feel sexier, I have better posture. I just really like it.

I had run out of my yoga pass in the Spring and have been yogaless since. Also sedentary. Well. As sedentary as a part-time waitress/mom can be. There was a Bikram Yoga Living Social deal that passed through my email inbox that I couldn't pass up. So I'm going to be starting that up, too. Maybe even as early as tomorrow.

See ...

I thought about waiting until my boot camp session was over before starting yoga again, but I'm needing the balance of the yoga stretching and breathing and ... well, just LIFE balance that yoga brings to me, while I'm going through this intense boot camp that I'm really despising at the moment. I think the yoga will keep me sane while I boot camp it. ALSO, the number one reason to do the yoga now (despite the only con: having to miss the last week of my thirty day pass due to travel) is because I'm going on vacation to visit N. And I want to be in great shape when I see him. And flexible. (grins) I want to be flexible when I see him.

Between

This post will just highlight my ever changing moods and frames of mind. I actually wrote this in my journal last night, but woke feeling different. Not totally, but you know, much-less-dramatic-than-at-night-when-you're-tired different.

~

I want to write a little about inspiration and -- NaBlPoMo. Which is strangely fun to say. I feel like I'm in sore need of some artistic influence -- enter NapBloPoMo. NaBloPoMo's (National Blog Posting Month's) theme this month is "Between." When I read that I knew I needed to play along. For realsies.



I am soooo in the in between spaces right now. Which is interesting because of Samhain, the Celtic New Year. (Halloween to many.) We are fast approaching this day of seasonal change. We're (I'm) on the cusp of a new year and new intentions and re-newed energy and letting go of stagnant air and sluggish energy.

I feel a recent desire to connect with estranged friends -- specifically one that I felt I'd abandoned without much closure -- and a restless, rustling energy to start life again after being dead. Which is also strange.

How can I be re-born in the dead of winter? When the days are still steadily getting shorter and shorter and suffocating in the dimming of the sun?

Why do I always feel like autumn is a time for new beginnings? Maybe it's nesting. Maybe it's in preparation for the cold dark months ahead. Maybe it's because I know I'll be depressed in the bleakness of February, so I'm rallying now.

But at any rate, I feel between right now. So this blogging exercise will be right up my alley.

I'm between.
In between.
Out of one thing,
Into another.
Hazy.

My divorce is final,
but I'm not feeling fully engaged with my long distance boyfriend.
"One day at a time" feels like walking,
which is lovely,
but not like we're going anywhere yet.
Like we're taking a fabulous walk in the countryside crisp with leaves and fields of grass where dogs can run for miles with lolling tongues. We're talking and laughing and sharing an ice cream cone, but we're just walking in circles.

And I want us to explore over there,
by those trees
and by that creek
where the water laughs over rocks.

I know we'll get there eventually,
but right now we're still in these circles.
Around and around
On an invisible track.

The walk is energizing and just what I want, but I keep looking up wanting us to walk over there.
But it's not time yet.
The circle is where we live right now.
Yet ...
What if we walked a little faster maybe?
Or -- Let's try backwards.
Or what if we skipped in these circles?

~

And then this morning, I wake with all smiles.
I have a brilliant (BRILLIANT) conversation with Zi, and we are planning our next visit.
I will hopefully see him in three weeks. He finally has his own apartment.
THREE WEEKS!
This changes ... well ... not much actually. Lol. But still! Three weeks!
I'm full of spices and romance and fantasies and love.

And

I hope your day is too.

See Name Of This Blog

Zi and I named this blog Bare And Raw because that's how we want to be with each other. Bare and raw. In everything from sex to emotions. And I *love* that concept. I expect nothing less from Zi, and I know he expects bare honesty from me, too. But here's the hard part. I'm a chicken shit.

And that's so stupid coming from an artist.

If I paint something, or sculpt something, or write something, I am laying naked on a stage. Vulnerable. Letting my insides leak out. People can see everything.

And it's the same for me with sharing emotions. If I let my 'all' outside my skin, who will like me? Will I be driving away the very people I love and need right then?

My therapist said that if I act in a certain way in order to make someone else feel/do/say something, I am 1) being manipulative (ouch), and 2) I'm not showing up and being authentic. And if I don't show up as who I am, flaws and all, then how can I expect others to love the real me -- if I don't show them that.

So here's me saying something I've been afraid of saying:
I'm confused.

I'm starting to feel different about this long-distance relationship. But I don't know what that means. Or if it means anything. And lots of times I'm afraid to look at it, for fear of it showing me something I don't want to see.

I used to find joy in imagining Zi with me during the day. I'd be sitting on the couch typing, and imagine him in the kitchen making me tea, and I'd smile. I'd be driving in the van doing errands and imagine him sitting next to me, talking. I'd go to sleep and pull a pillow close, or wad the comforter up and throw my leg across it, imagining they were Zi. My Aashik. And I'd smile. I'd wear his clothes, his cologne, drink his brand of tea. Drink coffee in the morning even when I didn't want to, because I knew where he was, he was doing it, too. I'd do it all with a smile.

I'd Skype with him every day. Look forward to it. Run to the computer with a smile. Talk to him on his lunch hour and text him frequently. All with joy in my heart. I felt close to him. Sharing our love together. Feeding off of each other.

But lately...

I don't feel joy in any of that.
It's depressing now.

I used to find joy in coming up with exciting new sexy videos to send him; now even masturbating seems depressing.

Why is that?

Not about the masturbating, but the rest of it.

Why would something that once brought me joy, now fill me with black clouds?

I used to find joy in planning our future out, and imagining our visits together. Now thinking about the future is depressing. Aashik has said this is true for him, too, though, and so he just doesn't think about it.  Maybe what's happening is I'm trying that tactic, and my result is .... a distancing.

If I try not to have such constant contact with him (which previously helped me breathe and make it so I could get through the day), because now it reminds me that we live three thousand miles apart from each other, then what happens is: a distance between his soul and mine. A cooling. In an effort to protect my heart, am I pushing away my Zi?

He says that he's been feeling something different between us lately. Is it this? Is it depression (mine or his)? Or is it me pms-ing and I'll feel totally different in two weeks? Relieved. Full of imagery again. Planning for our next visit again.

These are the things I don't like sharing with anyone ... *especially* Zi, because what if pms is really all it is? What if this is just a different kind of missing him? What if this is just a blue day? And what if it is just one of those things, but Zi takes it to heart and panics and breaks up with me?

But what if it's not?
What if it's not one of those things, but something else entirely?
The thing I don't want to look at.

What if I've met the One, the best guy in the world for me, but it's just not the right time? What if I just can't handle this distance? I'm so lonely.

I go out with my girlfriends. I plan, organize and hold a Divorced Ladies Support Group once or twice a month where I laugh; talk about boobs, porn and dating; eat cupcakes and drink vodka. I'm reading all the time. I watch movies all the time. I'm a mom, which means I'm just doing stuff, all the time. I work part time at a restaurant. I'm trying to write/edit/promote. I'm exercising. I'm trying to learn a new language. I'm dancing now. Just signed my divorce papers. And I'm stupidly looking for a new apartment that will take dogs. And trying to get a hold on to my finances.

The point is: I fill my days. And my nights. And my weekends.
I have hobbies.
And I have love.
And I still feel lonely.

So what do I do?

Do I ignore the loneliness? What if that causes it to fester and rot into something even uglier?

Do I talk about it to my friends? While my friends love me and want the best for me, sometimes that doesn't translate to encouraging my long-distance relationship. So, it's ... non-productive at times to talk about me and Zi to them.

Seriously. What do I do?

Do I ride it out in this half-dead, auto-pilot existence? Hmm. If I'm only half-dead now, a year or two of this will finish me off.

Do I cut down on my contact with Zi? If I dive into my hobbies and interests and try to feel like not-a-boring person, I'll be more interested in myself. I might get excited about things again. And I'll have things to talk about with Zi again (instead of same old 'picked up kids from school/hard day at work/did you find a job yet' conversations.) Maybe I'll find *me* again. Maybe I've pulled this relationship with Zi up so far past my shoulders that it's covering me completely. Maybe I'm lost. Maybe I'm not real anymore.

Am I here?

What's real?

Is it my loneliness?
Is it feeling like I'm going to throw up when I think of living even the next four *months* without Zi -- let alone the one year that I'm telling myself that it will be, even though I know underneath it'll be closer to two years?
Is it wanting this relationship with Zi so much that I'm falling apart at the seams and then wondering if I want it because it's real, or because it's what I have right now?
Is it wanting to meet Jimmy for a cup of coffee, not because I want to start dating him again, but because he and I once loved each other (sort-of), and if I'm around him, maybe I'll get some of that love vibe in the airwaves and I can feel like a human again?
Or is it wanting my totally-platonic-like-a-brother-that-snuggles friend to come over and hold me so I *don't* contact Jimmy for that cup of coffee and find out I *do* miss him?

What is real?

Is it that I have a beautiful Indian lover in NJ that loves me and wants me, for me, no matter the cost, the challenges, the distance, the hardships, the taboo? Is it that he'll care for me always and worship me and make all my dreams come true?
Is it that I have a deep and penetrating connection to him that I fear living without?
Is he The One?

I don't want to look inside me to know the answers to these questions.
I want to just know.

Is this depression?
Is this missing Aashik?
Is this serious?
Is this something to just ride through?
Is is PMS?
Is it that I just haven't seem him in going on three months now? Without an end in sight. Sure. "When he gets his apartment." But (head shake) if he gets his apartment, that means he isn't coming to the NW any time soon. So I'm not really wishing for that either -- even though it means I'll get to see him.

And here's one last thing. When I'm with Zi in the present, I *never* *never* *never* have these thoughts. Ever. So, this is not me having seconds thoughts about Zi. This is me wondering how to be in relationship with him and still be fully alive. Not on auto-pilot. Auto-pilot hurts too much.

Maybe this is just my spirit's way of telling me that I need to see him every two months, no matter the cost, or I can't survive this.

I love you so much, Zi.
I want you.

Again

I’m staring at the wall again.

It feels like a boulder is pressing on my lungs again.

I’m in that place where I can’t breathe. Where I can’t think. Where I can only mourn.

Whatever that means.

I’m in that place, again, where all I want to do is sleep. Where all I want to do is watch movies to escape.

Again.

Where I want to touch myself to forget.

Where I want to touch myself to remember.

Again.

I’m in that place again where sleep often mocks me dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd unless I’m falling asleep at the keyboard.

Where I float through my life’s existence like a ghost, watching from above.

I want to crawl under a mossy log and hide from drippy wet rain that seeps into the knees of my jeans, and mats my hair.

It’s that time again where I have to breathe fast and shallow to get enough air, because my lungs have so much weight on them I can’t wiggle out from under it.

It’s that time again when the alarm is going off and I can’t find the off switch.

It’s that time again where I turn the crank on the popcorn maker and nothing pops. I just turn and turn and turn. And I think of how that’s a pretty crummy metaphor for my life right now, but then a breeze forces it’s way past the blinds and lifts my hair, cooling me.

And tickles my calves.

And I smile in spite of myself.

I'm really good at lying

I’m really good at lying to myself. But I wish I weren’t.

“I love the extreme-ness of my boot camp class. It’s the only way I can get myself to do exercise.”  (It sucks ass. I hate it.)

“I want to read books and review them for my blogs. It’ll be good for platform building and give me new content.” (Assigned reading has become my enemy. I’m starting to hate it. A chore list to hock spit wads at.)

“Leading the meetings for the writer’s organization I’m in is fulfilling and will be great for networking. I’ll meet so many authors!” (Chore list. And I’m uber anxious over remembering the random yet oh so important tasks that come up never at once but all spread out during the month … like, sending out press releases and contacting the speakers to confirm they are coming. And then … getting a babysitter for the meeting night and running the meeting, and driving the babysitter home with the kids in the car at 9:30 at night on a school night because the babysitter doesn’t have a car yet. Fuck, maybe she doesn’t even drive.)

“I love my job!” (It’s hard work … even if it’s only three or four hours a day, five days a week. Right in the middle of the day. My most productive writing hours of the day.)

“This divorce is easy. No sweat. Nothing much has changed, really. Hahaha.” (The parenting visitation schedule blows just a little bit. My ex didn’t bother to lose weight until after I split. I don’t get to go to Costa Rica. And I miss my fucking dog.)

“I have plenty of money.” (Ok. So this one isn’t a lie, but I can’t seem to figure out what I’m doing wrong on the managing of it and it’s super stressful. Paycheck to paycheck stressful.)

“Living in an apartment is way easier. I really like where I live.” (I miss my dog. I miss having chickens. I miss my hot tub. I miss having a back yard and the ability to grow something in the earth. I miss the damn roses I planted that look great in my ex’s yard. I miss my washer and dryer.)

“Sure I miss N. but we’re doing great on the communicating long distance and I’m taking it one day at a time. I can handle the distance and the time apart. He’s totally worth the wait.” (Ok. So most of this isn’t a lie either. I do love him. He is totally worth the wait. But I’m not taking it one day at a time; I’m not handling the distance and the time apart. It’s been 74 days since I’ve been in the same room with him. Touched him. Kissed him. Or held him. I’m starting to fall apart. I’m lonely. I’m depressed. I’m getting tired all the time. I don’t want to eat anything. Except maybe marshmallows … and I hate marshmallows. And I’m staring at the walls again. I’m irritated all the time now and … I’m finding it hard to breathe. And I hate everything. And I’m … thinking too much. And … I’m trying to repress my desire for male attention.)

Babeland Affiliate!

Hooray!

You are looking at a new Babeland affiliate and sex toy reviewer. You've no idea how happy this makes me. Or how happy this makes Zi. Bless his horny little heart. 

So why am I excited about shopping at Babeland and reviewing their toys?

Let me just tell you. First off, they are a women-owned independent sex toy shop in Seattle, WA and NYC. Babeland opened in 1993 when Claire Cavanah and Rachel Venning  found a lack of women-friendly sex shops in their area. I love their educational component ... even down to YouTube videos on how to use certain products.

I like Babeland because they are classy and not creepy. "The store offers top quality products, a pleasant place to shop, and most of all, information and encouragement to women who want to explore their sexuality." They've received 31 awards or honors since 1998, and have been featured or mentioned in over ten print and online magazines. They are 'what's happening.' And I'm proud to be affiliated with them.


Also, there are these reasons for shopping at Babeland, too.


Reviews coming soon!

Yearnings -- a sex toy PREview.

That's right.
You heard me.
Yearnings.

Everyone's got 'em.
And boy do I got 'em.

When Aashik and I are together, we make porn of ourselves. That way, when we're horny for each other later, we can masturbate to each other. It's sweet/hot/sexy all wrapped up in a red satin ribbon. In fact, even thinking about watching it makes me hunger for him. And you all know what happens to women "down there" when we get hungry.

So what's a girl to do?

I like a little (ok maybe a lot of) variety in my sex life. So, when your lover lives across the continent from you, it takes a large dose of creativity to, well, have masala in my bedroom. Or couch, as the case may be.

Zi likes to say, "There are a lot of ways to skin a cat," which I think is a gross way to introduce masturbation, but there you have it. There are a lot of ways to masturbate. And I try to mix it up a lot so that it stays interesting for me. Here all alone, as it were.

So I've got me some toys. :) Some lube, a vibrator, a dildo and a hefty imagination. Not to mention a video camera. (I am compelled to send Zi video footage of my 'sessions.' After all, it does make the man so happy.) And one of my female friends from my 'divorce support group' (hahahaha) brought me a new dildo for my collection. She writes a smut blog, and a sex toy company approached her for sponsorship and gave her a big ol' goody bag of toys to use or give away.

So I got a new toy.

A review of said toy coming soon.

And that got me wondering ....

What if I become affiliated with a sex toy store and start reviewing products? What a fun way to live out my days apart from Aashik! I'm so there.

Think of all the benefits!

I'm masturbating A LOT anyway, because -- well, because I like to -- but, also because of the distance and the whole not having sex for the last seven weeks and four days thing. So, having new ways to masturbate make it hot and interesting and not so routine. I mean there's only about three ways to play with yourself using your fingers. Ok, four. But you get my point.

And the videos I send to Zi must be getting a little bit same ol' same ol' -- so new toys bring new life to homemade private porn you send your boyfriend over Skype. :)

Win/Win!!!

I'm excited. I've already signed up for an affiliate program with a personally owned (by women) sex store in Seattle (they've got stores in New York, too), and I'm waiting to see if I can get approved. And I've sent them an email regarding being a sex toy reviewer for them. Sweet! I'll post my reviews here for you, so you can get quality information about the toys you want to buy!

If Aashik were here right now ...

... I would wake next to him and rub my body up against his. I would stretch and languidly stroke his arm and his hip with the back of my hand. I'd whisper, "Be right back," and I'd go to the bathroom and wash my hands and face and mouth. I'd get hot water for us to drink, take my meds and slip back in bed and meld my body to his.

I would take off my panties, if I had any on, and slip my hands into his boxers.
When he was fully awake, I would make him do things to me and I would reciprocate.

Then we would rest and murmur to each other in the morning light. Then shower together. We would take turns soaping each other and nurturing each other until the water ran cold.

Then Aashik would make us coffee and we'd dress and read our emails and enewspapers and blogs. Then we'd talk about the rest of the day and decide if it would be a Sunday of relaxation and taking care of each other, or if it would be one of cleaning and organizing. Or maybe there would be errands involved.

We'd make breakfast together and eat in silence. Often looking at each other and smiling -- thinking about our future, and then not, and ultimately just enjoying our presence here in the now. Loving each other and loving that we were together.

Our day would evolve as it needed to, and in the evening we would set the coffeepot to go off in the morning, straighten the apartment a bit, and get ready for bed. Settling into the evening would include snuggling on the couch and whispering in Urdu, another sexy romp in bed and then laying my head on his chest while he read to me until we got sleepy.

Kissing him goodnight, I would wrap my body around his and wish him "Happy Sunday and Sweet Dreams."

What a Day Off WIthout Zi Looks Like

Ok. I promise. After this post will be exciting and lovely posts. No more missing Aashik posts. Well. For a while anyway. :) Living apart just makes missing your guy part of the deal.


I thought I would type up my whole day today. That way you can see what I do with my time off. My children were with their dad and I had the day off from work, so here's what it looked like:

I woke too early. It's my day off and I was hoping for a good 8 to 10 hours but am only granted six. Upon waking I am greeted with a fearsome vision -- kind of a nightmare where I'm partially awake. I gain alertness as the vision increases in it's horror. And by the climax of it, I am fully awake -- though paralyzed from shock and sickness.

In my nightmare, our baby girl -- Zi's and mine -- our less than one day old baby girl dies in my arms before we even leave the hospital. She just stops breathing for no fathomable reason. I hit the call light to get a nurse and start to perform infant CPR. Zi isn't in the room. Maybe he's getting coffee? When the nurse whisks in, she takes over and even though more staff and doctors pour in, nothing is to be done. One nurse turns to me and shakes her head.

"No!"  I scream, as the room empties. Zi walks in then, terrified. Aghast. Heartbroken. I am crying, sobbing, hitting the bed. "No!"

Zi rushes to me to gather me in his arms. I hit at him and push him away. He is crying. When he releases me, I grab back at him, clawing at him, and he holds me and rocks me and cries with me.

In the quiet afterwards, we are sitting in my hospital bed.

"With hadn't even named her yet," Zi said in the now stark, cold, and empty room.

"Oh, but we had," I answer. My voice is dull. Wooden. But somehow hollow at the same time. "Remember? That day in the Eugene house, in bed?"

Zi closes his eyes and chokes on the sob that threatened to escape.

Isamar.


***

Awake in my bed I try to redirect the end of the nightmarish vision. With my right hand on my heart, my left on my solar plexus -- the chakra of personal power -- I perform Reiki on myself. I always have these violent visions when I'm feeling out of control in my life.

But I am in control right now, I promise myself. I can stand the time apart. It can be fulfilling. I know it can. And the rewards at the end are priceless. The rewards. My heart held in suspended love forever. Living and breathing my wholeness, sharing my forever with my Zi. My gorgeous, perfect-for-me Zi, who whispers, "I'm here with you," whenever I am sad or scared. My darling. My Zi. My lover. The Air I Breathe.

So, yes. I am in control.

With Reiki hands, I try to breathe again and I recreate a scene where our baby is in ICU instead, and we massage her little body through the holes in the incubator bassinet, and talk to her until she grows in health. She is alive.

I'm thrown off kilter for the next hour and a half while I write in my journal in bed and soothe myself with all my loving memories of Zi.

His brown hands, his muscular butt that I like to grab during sex, his heat, his passion, his voice, his love, his tenderness, his laugh -- the real one, not the chuckle. The way his foot jiggles, the way he says 'vitamin,' the way he dances (mmmm....), the ways he takes care of me, his dreams that he's careful to keep inside himself now, the black hat he wears, our showers together, that he shares everything he has with me -- his furniture, his advice, his milkshake, his money, his love. I feel safe with Zi.

I start to touch myself and imagine our current shared sexual fantasy. Then, still imagining, I slap his ass and call him a name, and say, "Don't ever leave me again."

I am stopped. Pulled back into reality, into my bedroom on Lawrence Street. Where did that come from? I am not violent at all.
I don't call names.
I don't hurt people, or shame them.

Huh.

I decide it wasn't me speaking some imbedded truth, but just grief from this morning's vision. Unfortunately, from past history, I know that sometimes a funk can follow me for days after a particularly bad vision. My only 'saving grace' is knowing that none of these 'visions' I've ever had (since they started when I was 13) has ever come true. They are not premonitions.

I sneeze twice, acknowledge my hunger, and decide -- upon getting out of bed at 7:30am -- that I refuse to let any funk attach itself to me. It was just a dream. Even though I was awake during most of it. It was just a dream. A nightmare.

I still struggle with shame from time to time regarding these 'visions.' Strictly because they happen while I'm awake, I feel like somehow I cause them. But that's not true. I know that because they only sneak upon me when I'm feeling overwhelmed and out of control, weak, and they always have to do with some violent horrible fear. It's always myself or someone I love getting hurt of dying.

I also know they aren't my fault -- that I don't cause them -- because they started happening when I was so young. 13. And, because I know my son is suffering from them now, too. Maybe from the divorce? Maybe from his anxiety-producing sensory processing disorder? And he's ten. He's not doing that to himself. He's not bringing it on himself. And I'm not bringing it on myself.

So. My day will now continue.
Food. Now.
Oh.
But I need to take my thyroid meds first. Then wait 30 minutes for better absorption of the meds.
I swallow my pill and look around my room at the little tokens of love Zi's given me. A heart shaped box. A gold fabric bag. His bed. :)

In the kitchen, I collect papers meant for the desk, decide against coffee this morning and opt for a Lotus Chai -- another gift from Zi.

It's 7:47a.m. I rinse out a tea mug from yesterday and put on water to boil. I gather the tea things. I'm standing in the kitchen with bare feet, panties and a black and white striped button-down shirt of Zi's I often wear to sleep in. While I wait, I empty the dishwasher. And then while I wait for the tea to cool, I take my supplements: multi-vitamin and calcium -- chewable, because if I don't, I throw up; vitamin D -- liquid -- because I do get tired of swallowing pills, after all. Vitamin C (one capsule), because I don't feel too out of balance in the health department (otherwise I'd be taking two); and Iron (two capsules) because I'm bleeding in my cycle right now, and I'm anemic according to my last blood test.

I push the chair in that my son left out yesterday, and put his cloth napkin in the dirty clothes. I take a sip of tea and settle into the couch with my journal, spying the jewelry I left out on the coffee table from last night, and the next book club book I'm bound to read. i have roughly three weeks to read it. I don't know how I'll manage it.

It's non-fiction -- which I actually really enjoy reading -- and is actually on a topic I find interesting ... but it seems the last few books I've read were non-fiction, and I've started a novel that is begging me back. So I have three weeks to battle off the desire to read "The Death of Vishnu", read "You Just Don't Understand: Men and Women in Conversation" instead, and also attend a writer's conference this weekend.

Another sip of tea and I turn on my computer to see if I've any new messages in the last seven hours.

I smile at my bra and kurta on the sofa, and the memory of Zi saying i was like a little child taking my clothes off whenever and whenever I wanted.

A text from Zi: Good morning, whachaupto.
My answer: Reading blogs about writing, getting excited about the conference, and drinking tea.

I don't tell him about the nightmare.

Spent an hour surfing the internet, made more tea, ate a banana, Zi called me on his lunch break, and we talked for about twenty minutes. Awww. <3


***

Ok. I totally raunched this day out. It's 1:42pm and I've spent all that time researching sex toys, sex fantasies, and watching homemade porn that Zi and I made together. It's so lovely. I love watching us together. Bliss.


But now it's definitely shower time!

***

I combine the shower time with making a video for Zi -- if you know what I mean; ate some yogurt; and then finally made it out the door for Castle shopping. :)

***

Had a successful trip to Castle. Saw some neat toys and bought some new lube to try out. Went to a different store and got a wireless router from Goodwill. We'll see what it does.

When I got home, Zi was waiting for me on Skype. <3 We chatted and shared links to dildos and amateur porn and laughed about "you Americans and your sweets" while he was eating a cupcake. :) After we hung up from our video chat session, my landlord came by to tell of parking lot resurfacing and fixed my wobbly doorknob. And then I watch a video of myself that I made for Zi (for educational purposes) on the subject of masturbation, and got hot and bother. So, I made another video showing him what I wanted to do when we next met. :) I sent it thru Skype and started watching a movie on Netflix, still on the living room floor in my bra and panties.

"Plan B" -- great Spanish movie.

After Zi watched the new video I sent him, we chatted through Skype for a bit, said good night, and then I finished off the movie.

I decided, at 9pm, that I hadn't eaten anything but fruit, yogurt and cinnamon rolls today, so I made myself a bowl of brown rice, black beans, salsa, and cheddar cheese. mmmm.... protein. Oh. Also Mango-Orange-Banana juice.

I paid bills. Ug. Back to nothing again, and it's only the 3rd of the month. Talk about living on the edge.

Tomorrow is Bhangra Dance, work, and a little girl's birthday potluck at a friend's house. I'll stay a little while, and then get home to pack for my long weekend trip. Wednesday night=conference prep.

Thursday morning=load van, last minute 'anythings', go pay my daughter's tuition, work, gas up van -- with the last of the money for awhile -- and head to Portland.

Return from conference and our regular scheduled programming on Sunday afternoon night -- with a teeny chance of that extending until Monday morning, depending on my visit with may uncle and cousin.

I'd like to bring my uncle a token gift for hosting me. I don't know anything about him.

What should I get him?

And now it is midnight. Time for me to close my eyes. I'll head off and brush my teeth, and I'm so tired right now that I don't have that empty-bed-sadness. Also. No funk. All Day. So, good for me!

I can do it! <3
I love my Zi!
He makes everything better.
Just his presence. Just him being alive.

Huh. :) Just for a moment there, I smelled him in the living room. Not his cologne scent, but him. 
Maybe he's dreaming of me right now.
At 3am.
In New Jersey.

Good night, All!

I Don't Want to Go to Bed

Another hard night.

The nights are the worst.

During the days I can keep myself distracted with work, errands, my kids, my friends, writing .... but at night I feel haunted.

Like a hideous victim of a car bombing. Like I just watched a person die in front of me. Like I'm in shock.

That kind of haunted.

I stare a lot. In the night. I stare at the floor. At my alarm clock. At my pillow. I smell my pillow at night. I've sprayed it with his cologne, so that, when I close my eyes, I can pretend he is sleeping in the bed next to me.

But, I'll not despair. (Said with rallying spirit.) TOMORROW I am going dildo shopping. UhHuh.

And on that note -- I'm going to bed. Hopefully this smile will follow me there, instead of the fear of climbing into the empty bed that smells of my Zi.

"I miss you so, Aashik. Tum meri sooraj ho."