Who Are You?

“Who are you?”

That was the first question in

Mcleod’s Getting To Know Yourself.

Ironic, isn’t it,

that a book that’s supposed to

help you find yourself expects you to tell it

who you are?

I could write my name in the blank line,

but I’m sure that’s not what Mcleod meant-

since there are seven more blank lines.

I look up at the ceiling,

pondering.

Who am I?

I wonder aloud.

Just then,

I notice the sparkles on the ceiling I’m looking at.

I’ve lived here for three years and never realized

I’ve been living under an artificial Home Depot sky.

I come back to the task at hand.

I put pen to paper-

the handwriting I hate that is mine comes out in a

beautiful fuschia gel shade.

I am a person who talks to herself,

gets distracted by sparkly things,

and is, at times, completely un-observant.

I nod, satisfied.

I think Mcleod would approve.

I continue.

I am terrible at making decisions.

I pause.

But once I make one, I do not change my mind.

Not entirely true,

since I was once married,

and am no longer.

What Mcleod doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

That reminds me.

I am someone who cheats.

No.

I am someone who cheats. I have cheated in past lives, but not in this one.

Much better.

Now on to the nitty gritty.

The thoughts come faster than I can write

and I forget a few.

I am a mother, but have no children.

I long for a father, but refuse to forgive the one I have.

I love alone time, but am terrified to be abandoned.
I work hard, but am irrevocably lazy.

I believe in God, but I think He can be an asshole sometimes.

I want to be a writer, but find every excuse not to write.

I am amazingly stubborn, yet I compromise more than anyone else I know.

I am the saddest girl there ever was,

yet everyone that knows me say,

“How happy she is!”

That’s the one that always gets me.

Unforgettable, cunt, beautiful, odd-looking, sexy, dorky, talented, loser, amazing,

These are all words others have used to describe me;

I cannot help but wonder who it is they are talking about.

When I look in the mirror,

I am just me.

I read everything I’ve just written.

Contradictions, every single one.

I toss Mcleod’s Getting To Know Yourself on the floor, irritated.

How are you supposed to know who you are when

everything about you is a paradox?

I look back up at my imitation stars.

I think a moment,

about all that I have done,

the people I have known,

the lives I have lived;

then resolutely, I pick up Mcleod’s self help book.

I scribble a little on the corner of a page

to make sure my fuschia pen still works

before I write one more thing.

I am Love.

 

 

 

 

 

Let Love in.

If anybody was to ask me “What is the most important Thing in life?”, I would without a moment’s hesitation blurt out ,”LOVE!” Now, hold on, I know what you’re thinking. What an unoriginal,simple-minded, idealistic response, right? I agree with you. But think about it. Did the Beatles sing, “All You Need is Money”? I think not. Did Romeo spout to Juliet,”The more poetry I give to thee,the more I have”? Nope. After they had their romp in the back of that Model T, did Rose say to Jack, “Thanks, dude. That was a great fuck. Do you have a cigarette?” No. She said, “I love you, Jack.” (I personally think the first quote would have been MUCH more interesting.) My point is- yes, it is completely unreasonable to say that Love is all there is, but that’s the thing about Love. It’s not about being practical,it makes you do things you never thought you would- good AND bad-, and you can’t choose it.
La dee da. Now that I have done some great writing, (wink, wink)I will proceed into the detail of my very own fucked-up love life. A week after my 16th birthday, I was hired as a waitress at a mom-n-pop restaurant, where the Son of mom-n-pop proceeded to fall in love with me. I admit,at first I was skeptical, as he was 7 years my senior and my Jesus-obsessed father had drilled into my head that boys only want one thing. Two years later,I started dating The Son. I had promised myself I wouldn’t have sex with him at least until he said he loved me, which he did about 3 months into the relationship. We ended up not having sex until I was 21. When I was 24, I decided I wanted to be married, so we got hitched. I believe, looking back now, the main reason I wanted to get married was to keep my religious parents from cringing at me every time they saw me when they thought of The Son and I living in sin together. Don’t get me wrong. I did love him and I always will.
During the next 2 years, we proceeded into married life like a good couple. We got our first house, my husband had back surgery, and the number of times we had sex in a year diminished to 5 or so. This is where the fucked-up part comes in.
Now, The Son’s brother had had a friend who we would hang out with occasionally (we will call him the Redhead).In the back of my mind, there had always been something about the Redhead that was electrifying, and he was truly nice, that being the reason I (being a good friend)set him up with my bestie, which ended up with her screaming at me drunkenly after I had had a passionate makeout session with him (also drunken). Anyhoo, after that Me and Bestie made up and the Redhead was never heard from again.
Back to the marriage. After 2 yrs of marriage and 9 months without sex or feeling wanted, you can imagine the horniness that had come over me. At the time, I was just learning the mechanics of Facebook, and to my surprise, there was a friendship request from the Redhead! Well, hello there! We began chatting one night when I was left home alone (which happened ALOT) and had a nice conversation about love and sex. Sex is not love, and at the time, the phrase “making love” confounded me. I mentioned the lackage of boomboom going on in my life and that passionate makeout session came to my mind, making me wonder what MORE than that would be like. He became my Fuck Buddy, which worked out very well for both of us, since I was married and he was too lazy to go get a girlfriend. Now you may be thinking, “what a cheating whore,” but the love I had for my husband was pure and everything was right with us except the sex.(or lack thereof.)So don’t judge me. After a few months of messin’ around, I decided it was shitty of me to do that to my husband, so I left him. I realized that I wasn’t happy with him, OR myself with him, and nothing was ever going to change.My hubby really and truly loved me because after he found out about the cheating, he still wanted me to come home. I didn’t choose sex over love. My Redheaded Fuck Buddy gave me a place to stay while I looked for a new home, and I realized I really truly liked him. He was willing to remain my Fuck Buddy and let me galavant around with whomever I chose, but I was never really into one-night stands. We became official when he sent me a text: “I want you to only cling to me.” And that is how I got my Rockstar. Things aren’t perfect and sometimes Love is fucked up, but I do not regret the things I have done, and I will always do whatever I do for Love.