My Sin Eater – March 2008

It is always in the darkest hours of the night that these thoughts take form and I release them into the ether of the internet. Tonight's dark creatures take the form of the Sin Eater. (Look it up onWikkipedia)

This thought train began because my dear sister came to visit. Well, no, that is not entirely true. This thought train began 5 years and 3 months ago, approximately 2 blocks from where I sit, in the shadows, typing these dark thoughts. Because 5 years and 3 months ago, I ran away and hid from the world in the hopes that the cancer would simply eat me, swallow me whole and end my miserable existence.

Instead,the Audio Thiefthrew me out of his house and sent me back to Los Angeles.

So when my dear sister came to visit, I was able to show her my secret hide out for the first time. Suddenly, the story of my demise had form and contextual reference. For the first time, my sister could see that 'behind the waterslide and down the hill where heaven reaches'was a very real and tangible place. She finally understood where I was on the night when'land and time is left to float away'.

As I pondered the information from her point of view, I wondered how I managed to escape that mental and emotional breakdown. The Audio Thief who threw me out of that house and sent me back to Los Angeles for the required surgery, is now lying in a hospital bed himself, at Las Vegas UMC Hospital. He has been in an incapacitated state since November. His dog, who sat with me, lovingly sprawled at my side, be it sofa or bed, died two weeks ago. The cause was cancer to the throat. I, on the other hand, seem to get healthier by the day. In fact, since I have moved to Las Vegas, my health and my life have improved considerably.

So I sit and wonder. And I wonder. Was my illness, like a sin, eaten? Was that festering cancer ingested, swallowed whole and drank down with a six-pack of sale priced American beer? Did the very act of love and companionship given to me by that beautiful Hound result in the absorption of my cancer?

I went to see him. Before this latest turn of events, I went to the hospital on my way home from work one afternoon. I went because I thought he was dying then, and the notion of the sin eater had not yet crossed my mind. He did not know who I was when I walked in the room … or maybe he did. In any case, the impression I was left with was that this was a temporary condition. I was furious as I left the hospital, thinking it was yet another false cry of Wolf. I drove home in disgust.

Then I got the Instant Message late one week night, that he was back in the hospital and this time it was for good. There was no way he was recovering, yadda yadda yadda. I had actually begun to toss the notion of a visit around in my head. Should I? Shouldn't I? Back and forth. Somehow, I think I was hoping that while I tossed the notion, wasting time with each toss, he would either get better and go home or simply slip away in the middle of the night. Then I wouldn't have to worry about going or not going to the hospital.

Now, with the notion of the sin eater bouncing off the walls of my mind and invariably banging up against the Vault door, I fear a visit. I've read the folk-lore and the cultural significance of the sin eater. I have to assume that the disease eater works in much the same manner. There is nothing in the folk lore regarding the deceased miraculously rising from the grave, thereby justifying the Watcher's sixpence, and encountering the sin eater. No one talks about what may or may not happen.

What remains now is that I am free. The sin eater, or the disease eater, ate my disease 5 years and 3 months ago in the house with the waterslide and set me free. And let's face it, this may be Las Vegas where you take a gamble, but there are some risks, some bets, I am just not willing to make. So until I can shake this notion of the sin eater from my psyche, I will remain apart from that hospital bed and the man who threw me out of the house will not receive a visit from me.

Yes, it's selfish, but like I said, this is Vegas, baby.

Trouble is her only friend, and he’s back again – November 2007

So I let Crazy pull me in
Then I let Crazy take his spin
Kicked off my shoes
Shut reason out
He said
"first let's just unzip your religion down
Heard that you were once Temptation's girl"

November 2005

The ghosts of my dead lovers haunt me. The boys who loved a girl, long since placed in a grave, wander through the laundry basket of my mind, sorting through memories and sifting them out, checking their worth.

My bedroom has become a void. I can't bear to be in that room. And the only thing I keep coming back to is, night I saw you after a 9 month absence. I want to tell you how much I miss you and how deeply I love you, but something is stopping me. Just like something is stopping me from unpacking my bedroom.--> --> --> -->

Significantly, this is the first time we've been together and I haven't been a basket case for 2 weeks after you return home. And then I realize that I haven't slept in 2 days and haven't gotten into my car in 5 days. Let's face it, you make me full on crazy. And my patient little Ims and voice mails drive you crazy. The difference is you are better at it than I am. You are better at closing the Vault door and stashing the key in an old faded pair of jeans that you toss nonchalantly on the bedroom floor.

I guess in the long run, my getting on that plane was the best thing that ever happened to you. Imagine what might not have been had I gotten into your car instead. The fact that we are still here is probably a testament to something. I'd like to think it's something about true love. The sad reality is that it's probably something about a testament to Insanity.

I've been thinking about this for the past day now and I really need to say this.

I just can not fathom how you can focus on something that happened so long ago, between two children, when you have such a charmed life. The fact is, you've seen things and done things other people only dream of. You have a wonderful career and a potential opportunities project, you've flown in Air Force One and met an American President, you've traveled the world, and at the end of the day you are bemoaning the loss of a love 20 years ago.

And despite it all, you refuse to see that had I not gotten on that plane, had I instead stayed with you and married you, none of the fabulous experiences you've had would be a part of your reality.

You sound like a spoiled child. I hate to say such a harsh thing, but maybe you need a stern reminding of how great your life really is.

I think the sad truth here is that you simply aren't interested in knowing who I am as a grown woman. Even now, you are still in love with a girl who died 5 years ago. Who I am now is nothing like the girl I was, and while I think she was spirited, head strong and wild, I also think she was brave, I am no longer that girl.

It makes me sad to realize this truth. I wish you did have an interest in knowing the woman I am today.

******************************

"Trouble is her only Friend, and he's back again"

November 2007

Instead, you disappear for 16 months at a time without a word, and expect me to take you in like a lost and bedraggled animal… or is that Animaul? Either way, it is the sort of behavior that makes me Crazy.

And as soon as you have rearranged
the mess in your head
He will show up looking sane
perfectly sane
If I know Crazy

I thought I had gotten over Crazy.

I truly believed thatTHIS TIME, yes this last time, I had finally conquered the Crazy Demon from my past. But, alas, no.

After being told how wretched I am, and how much you want me away from you and out of your life –DING!– another email from your sorry ass, and here I am, fighting off the Crazy Demon with a flimsy pipe cleaner and a used coffee filter.

Full on Crazy.

Angry. Hurt. Sad. Depressed. Furious. Insane.

All the wonderful emotions that run rampant when you come back around.

You look so Sane.

You sound so Well Adjusted.

But we all know how deeply disturbed you really are and how your particular brand of Crazy is as contagious as the Black Plague in Paris.

I loved you once. And I was willing to make room for you in my life under the conditions I gave you in October 2005. So far, you can't seem to leave the drama behind and are unable to act like a mature, 42 year old man. Getting drunk and playing the "You broke my heart you bitch" soundtrack is really not something I want to hear again and again. Your stories are so weak and pitiful, I am embarrassed for you when I hear them. For someone with so much talent, I would expect you to put a little more effort into your lies.

I can only imagine what story you have this time. I bet it's going to be a whopper!

I loved you… but I'm not sure that I love you anymore. You always forgot that I have always loved you. I wonder if this time, you forgot for the both of us.

"Trouble is My only Friend, and You're back again"

Dead Flowers on the Doorstep – February 2007

For the past 5 years, I have been a devoted DirecTV subscriber. It would be an understatement to say I have formed an intimate relationship with my TiVo. Unfortunately, I have rented a condo that has a blocked view of the South Eastern Sky, and an HOA that forbids satellite dishes on the roof. Alas, I am cut off from my orbital entertainment and confined to earth-based television.The upside to this shift in perception is that I am forced to view my surroundings from a completely different paradigm.  Maybe pulling my head out of the clouds and firmly planting my thoughts on the floor of the desert valley is a good thing.

Then again, maybe not. I can't relate to earth-based television.

The clarity this move has brought me is quite stunning, and yes, very disturbing. I have started to wonder what it would be like to live free in all the aspects of my life. Looking down the hill on the lights and the beauty of the Strip at night, I have begun to wonder... what if?

I have begun to question the validity of friendships and the requisite drama that comes with them. I am more cynical about religion and the religious. And most disturbing, I have begun to wonder what it would be like to live my life as if I were the nefarious woman so many people believe me to be.

I have always believed  I had a terrible poker face.Each and every time the gossip mill starts it's engine, I am underestimated. At first it was disappointing. Now, as I look out over the valley, I realize the inner Me is so much more evil and cunning, there is no way the rumor machine could possibly know or anticipatemy next move.  I am aghast at the new found ability to not only recognize what I am capable of, but also how close to becoming her that a really am.

Take for example the Holiday season of 2004, when I was accused of harboring violent tendencies towards the Audio Thief. It would be two full years, 24 long months, before I would learn the genesis of those accusations. What troubles me is not the accusations themselves, but that the idea of impending violence against him never crossed my mind.

I feel cheated now, of an opportunity to bring harm which was wildly anticipated, talked about, built up and whipped into a frenzy. An opportunity to bring harm, without repercussion. I was cheated out of a free ticket without consequence.

But… because I am not that woman, and I had never considered being that woman, it never even occurred to me to bring harm, or impose myself forcefully and violently upon him.

Ah but those who know me are very well aware that my intellect would have precluded an act so bereft of personalization. Now, if the dead flowers somehow were placed inside the house… that would have been far more sinister, far more threatening, and far more representative of my abilities.

Especially if they were placed in the very location where I broke the glass, dragging his mind back to that night 'behind the water slide' and his thoughts back to the night when 'land and time is left to float away'. My act of violence would tear at the tissue of the mind, and rip at the flesh of memory. Certainly, it would strike closer than the doorstep of an entry never used.

I guess the point is, this valley has made me consider possibilities that have never occurred to me before. The paradigm, like the view, has changed.

This desert has been calling politely for at least 3 years. Now, I feel like patience ran out and I have been dragged across the desert by my hair.

I find myself living on the edge of civilization and I have never been happier. The move here was probably the most frightening thing I have done in over 20 years. I still don't know how to feel about this move to Las Vegas, other than I can't help to get the queasy feeling that I am dealing directly with a deity who will one day require a sacrifice from me on a scale I have not yet experienced. The very real truth is that this move is all I've got. Every chance I have taken since December 15, 2006 has paid off. Every gamble has been a winning hand. And yet, it's the only move, the only card, I have had. There was no other option than the path I have taken.

Why am I being pushed into the desert? It's not like this environment is foreign to me, I grew up in this type of setting. So the move is not completely out of character. There is a direct correlation to the desert, and to Las Vegas. My grandparents owned property in Perris California, and I went with them to the desert regularly. I grew up in Death Valley, Victorville, Barstow, Baker. My mother went to school here in Las Vegas, my grandparents owned a bar off the strip.

Maybe it has something to do with being happy. When one is content, and the tiresome burden of melancholy frees the imagination to wander, there seem to be no boundaries. There is no telling who I will become as I settle into my hillside condo. I do know that sitting on my favorite couch and gazing out over the sparkling color of the valley below has brought me more happiness than I could have ever imagined.

The Ex is Grandfathered In – June 2006

The ex is always grandfathered in. Guiltless sex with someone other than the person you are currently exclusive with.

Let me define exclusive it means you are only intimate with, make love to, or any other manner of naked bodies and molestation, with each other, no body else. Thats where the grandfather clause comes in. The ex is always grandfathered in.

So when the Silly Engineer finally realized that the truth was the only way to fix my raging fury, he informed me that the lip gloss belonged to the ex. One can only imagine the anger-interuptus which occurred within me. I mean, I couldnt even be righteously indignant over the whole thing. Because the ex is grandfathered in.

I wanted him to be a cad. I waited a very long twelve months for him to be a cad. Frat Boy. Silver Spoon. Spoiled Child. Sexist. Elitist. And I am stuck here forced to think about who he is and how that reality conflicts with the box I have used to frame him.

She is the ex.
I am the ex.
Everyone is an ex at some point.
Its just inevitable.

Or maybe this is just my own way of making room for the Audio Thief. Its not the first time Ive used the clause to accommodate him. Seems to be a routine of mine. That is, if a routine can be synonymous with convenient.

So if its on my terms, by my desire, then why am I feeling so insecure about the Audio Thief coming into my space? Why am I having such an issue with the prospect of his physical presence in my apartment?

Im inclined to believe that the problem lies not with his presence, but instead, with the idea of another person read: human being in my life.

For example, I have girlfriends and buddies sleep on the couch all the time..

Oh right, its about the bed.

So whats the big deal? Why am I so freaked out that I agreed to see him? The Silly Engineer and I have parted ways, in a manner of speaking, so theres really no agreement with which to apply the clause. *shrug* So its not about guiltless sex.

I think there is a possibility that the issue is with the fact that I am well. I am not ill, not sick, not dying, not undergoing treatment, or getting shots. I am well and he is near and this frightens me.

So in the end, the ex is grandfathered into the agreement I have with myself.

Hate Me – March 2006

Im so terrified to look at the IM logs or to open the archived emails. My entire body shakes at the very thought of seeing the words and phrases, and then hear them put to music. The Audio Thief has struck once again, and I come upon his crime by happenstance.

It used to be that the Thief would throw the evidence at me like a monkey throwing poo at the glass window. He instinctively knows not to throw stones. Yet he was ensured I knew what he had done and how he had done it. It scared me just as much then as it does now, but this time it seems different. Im scared because this time the evidence wasnt thrown in the usual manner. Instead its lying around in heaps of IM archives and email archives and journal entries, not locked away in the Vault.

And I was so arrogant in my belief that it was curiosity over the Dumb Engineer that he wandered back onto the IM list. Silly Me. He is busy promoting now. Of course hes back on the radar. Of course he knows I will eventually hear, make the connection, and then, inevitably, freak out.

My god, when you said you were sorry, sorry for involving me in all the things you had done for your own gain, financial and otherwise, I had no idea what you were up to. I cant imagine that you thought I knew what you were doing. Now I get it. 3 years later I get it.

Not that this changes anything. We will still remain apart. You can produce as much as you want, it doesnt change a thing.

That is why I am not going to read the logs, or the emails or the journals. Because it doesnt change a thing.

Not for You – March 2006

It wasn't the messenger tone that made me catch my breath, it was the name in the notification window.  I found myself staring at the notification, completely still, not even breathing.  The window sank into the system tray and I exhaled.

16 months nearly to the day since I last saw him......
14 months since the last time I got a text message from him......

I had been successful in surpressing all thought of him for nearly 10 months when the window popped up and invaded my screen.  I had finally accepted the fact that he wasn't going to call or answer my calls; email or answer my emails... As I pondered the notification window, I had a momentary revelation that I had even gone days at a time without his face
running through my head or remembering how great we were when we were a "we". Why now? Could he sense my withdrawal? Did it suddenly dawn on him that the status messages on my Messenger were not meant for him?  Did he wonder about the man I was giving my x's and o's to?  Was he afraid he might actually be losing me this time?

After the window sinks away into the system tray, I regain my clarity.  I know that he does not want me - because he doesn't... it's that he loves me to love him and he doesn't want to lose the coast line I allow him to navigate from, the safety net I provide him with when he starts to get nervous about another gig in another far away country.

He builds his self confidence at the expens of mine... but not anymore!

I know I am supposed to do the girl thing, the submissive thing, and IM him.  Inquire about his health, his success, his manlihood.  But I just don't have the energy.  For the first time in my adult life, I can not think of a single thing to say to him, and don't care to come up with anything witty.   I think about the possibilities and I am overwhelmed with a feeling of apathy.  Because I just don't care.  For the first time since coming back to California, I can say I don't care.

The very thought of allowing him access to the intimacies of my true self is frightening.  I just can not give up me to be loved by him.  I don't even want to be his friend, that's how far I've come in nearly 2 years.

About the only pang of sadness I feel when recalling those days is for 1k.  How much does that really say about the deph of my emotion?

My need to hide from him outweighs my desire to communicate with the cute engineer, and so I change settings and I cease the status messages.   Or am I just continuing to wait........

The Famous Blue Sweater

All this time I believed it was the Audio Thief.

How many years ingrained in me to notice the signs & the timing.

That's why I kept the sweater for so long.  The Famous Blue Sweater..... The sweater I wore the night I got out of his Porsche and onto the Plane.

Yes, THAT famous blue sweater.

And, yes, the genesis (Genesis?) of the reason I believed it was he who was following, watching.... waiting.

Only now to find out, no, not the Audio Thief.  Not at all.

Instead, it is Hermes who has stolen what I would have given, freely.

Still haven't recovered my slipper.

And so I return to my Temple

to heal my wounded .... pride.

to restore my Bridle

And live to try again another day.

I left my famous blue sweater in a tiny loft apartment in Long Beach

My Sin Eater

It is always in the darkest hours of the night that these thoughts take form and I release them into the ether of the internet. Tonight's dark creatures take the form of the Sin Eater. (Look it up on Wikkipedia)

This thought train began because my dear sister came to visit. Well, no, that is not entirely true. This thought train began 5 years and 3 months ago, approximately 2 blocks from where I sit, in the shadows, typing these dark thoughts. Because 5 years and 3 months ago, I ran away and hid from the world in the hopes that the cancer would simply eat me, swallow me whole and end my miserable existence.

Instead, the Audio Thief threw me out of his house and sent me back to Los Angeles.

So when my dear sister came to visit, I was able to show her my secret hide out for the first time. Suddenly, the story of my demise had form and contextual reference. For the first time, my sister could see that 'behind the waterslide and down the hill where heaven reaches' was a very real and tangible place. She finally understood where I was on the night when 'land and time is left to float away'.

As I pondered the information from her point of view, I wondered how I managed to escape that mental and emotional breakdown. The Audio Thief who threw me out of that house and sent me back to Los Angeles for the required surgery, is now lying in a hospital bed himself, at Las Vegas UMC Hospital. He has been in an incapacitated state since November. His dog, who sat with me, lovingly sprawled at my side, be it sofa or bed, died two weeks ago. The cause was cancer to the throat. I, on the other hand, seem to get healthier by the day. In fact, since I have moved to Las Vegas, my health and my life have improved considerably.

So I sit and wonder. And I wonder. Was my illness, like a sin, eaten? Was that festering cancer ingested, swallowed whole and drank down with a six-pack of sale priced American beer? Did the very act of love and companionship given to me by that beautiful Hound result in the absorption of my cancer?

I went to see him. Before this latest turn of events, I went to the hospital on my way home from work one afternoon. I went because I thought he was dying then, and the notion of the sin eater had not yet crossed my mind. He did not know who I was when I walked in the room … or maybe he did. In any case, the impression I was left with was that this was a temporary condition. I was furious as I left the hospital, thinking it was yet another false cry of Wolf. I drove home in disgust.

Then I got the Instant Message late one week night, that he was back in the hospital and this time it was for good. There was no way he was recovering, yadda yadda yadda. I had actually begun to toss the notion of a visit around in my head. Should I? Shouldn't I? Back and forth. Somehow, I think I was hoping that while I tossed the notion, wasting time with each toss, he would either get better and go home or simply slip away in the middle of the night. Then I wouldn't have to worry about going or not going to the hospital.

Now, with the notion of the sin eater bouncing off the walls of my mind and invariably banging up against the Vault door, I fear a visit. I've read the folk-lore and the cultural significance of the sin eater. I have to assume that the disease eater works in much the same manner. There is nothing in the folk lore regarding the deceased miraculously rising from the grave, thereby justifying the Watcher's sixpence, and encountering the sin eater. No one talks about what may or may not happen.

What remains now is that I am free. The sin eater, or the disease eater, ate my disease 5 years and 3 months ago in the house with the waterslide and set me free. And let's face it, this may be Las Vegas where you take a gamble, but there are some risks, some bets, I am just not willing to make. So until I can shake this notion of the sin eater from my psyche, I will remain apart from that hospital bed and the man who threw me out of the house will not receive a visit from me.

Yes, it's selfish, but like I said, this is Vegas, baby.