I suck at titles so...Miscellaneous drawing + relationship

 

New drawing during a creative exchange session with Mateo

There are some people who always seem to be in a relationship, or have other people constantly vying to be in a relationship with them.  I am NOT one of those people.

So now that I'm in a relationship (well, as close as I've ever been), I'm learning a lot of new things about what it really takes to be close to someone and invite them into your life (and we're not even "officially bf/gf"). 

The first time I spent the night was also the first time I met the "morning grumpy" version of the guy who's usually incredibly sweet and caring.  He did not want to cuddle, did not want to talk, and could barely muster a grin, let alone a real smile.  I woke up that morning and turned to him, hoping to see his cute smiling face and snuggle up close, and instead I turned to him getting out of bed and pulling on his bathrobe with barely a glance at me.  I lay there in silence as I listened to him shuffling around in the kitchen, shoes sanding the floor.  Then the door opened and he handed me a plate (toast with butter & raspberry jam) and a mug of coffee.  Still no words.

He picked up the remote and turned on the TV to the news, and we started breakfast in relative silence.  Maybe a gruff comment or two from him at what was happening, but not much more.  The toast was delicious, and the coffee had the perfect amount of milk, but the silence sure was awkward.  Exactly how much did I snore and drool the night before?

As I got up to get ready for work, getting dressed while he took the dishes and washed them in the kitchen, I couldn't help wondering, for the first time, who exactly I was getting myself into.  As I gathered my things, he came in the door and watched me as I zipped up my jacket, checked my purse, and pulled on my converse.  I went in for a hug, kissed him on the cheek, and lingered waiting for the expected kiss back.  It wasn't until he drew away that I realized I wasn't getting my kiss back.  Now I was pissed.  Work was spent with a lot of bursts of angry text messages half-written (but never sent), and blasts of Rage Against the Machine. 

Looking back now, it seems a bit silly to me how badly I took it all, although at the time I was seriously thinking of ending our relationship before it went any further (easier to stop dating some guy than to break up with a boyfriend).  I later found out that he has a difficult time sharing his bed due to back problems which usually require him to stretch out in order to sleep, and that he had gotten pretty used to waking up alone, and not with someone around.  I had also neglected to notice that he had prepared breakfast and brought it to bed for me.  Breakfast in bed, without even needing to ask...

I guess it seems obvious, but being in an intimate relationship with someone means caring for the person even when they're grumpy, upset, angry, stupid, and all those other qualities which people try to avoid.  It was always easy for me to imagine being around a crush when he/she was upset or angry, but grumpy people are much more difficult to deal with than imagine.  I think back to our year-and-a-half of dating, and a total of four years as friends, and we've sure given each other a whole Titanic-full load of shit. 

He was also the one who took care of me when I was sick, who cooks me food and listens to my whining and worrying and bitching and laughing, who holds me close even when sometimes it hurts (damn back problems!). 

I think of him now, the gentle press of his lips on mine as he kisses me good-bye, the delicious mushroom salmon soup we share (and he cooked), the warmth of his hands as he wraps them around mine, the look of concern and worry I woke up to when I fainted at his feet once, and I forget about the grumpiness, the rare inconsiderate remark, the times he doesn't text me back within two minutes (I do have my petty insecurities).  We have a weird psychotic relationship, but people sure are weird and psychotic. 

A walk

We sat at the bench facing the green grass before us, a dog chasing after a pink-and-green frisbee.  The wind was chilly against my skin, but I didn't mind.  I had spent many of the last few days so hot with fever, a cold whip of wind felt alright.  I could feel my hair flow in the wind, but it was up in a ponytail so it didn't go wild like it usually likes to do.  I had to move.  I picked at the seat, I shuffled my feet around, knees up, knees down, legs crossed, straight, my ass couldn't sit still. 

The dog jumped and grabbed the frisbee from the air, teeth sinking into the hot pink mesh.  It landed and bolted back to its owner, black splotches flying, skinny legs almost a blur.  I could feel him next to me, also watching the dog.  I knew if I looked over, I would see his hair waving in the air like grass in the meadow.  His eyes would be squinted against the bright afternoon light. 

I look anyway.

When we walk back, I think about the feeling of my feet on the ground, my legs reveling in movement after days of being in bed.  My hands were deep in my pockets, my fingers in a tight fist.  I was a bit stiff; the wind had cooled a warm day, and although the sun felt good there was just enough chill to make my muscles seize.  The air occasionally contained the sharp smell of gasoline, but when we walked into less-populated areas the air instantly become light and sweet, like a cool drink of water. 

I think back to the night before.  I had seen Dengue Fever once before, two years ago at Bimbo's.  They had been pretty good then.  Last night their sound echoed through the Fillmore, the girl's voice shaking the air, the guitar, bass, drums, saxophone, keyboard, all melding and meshing together.  I love their songs recorded, but when they're live it expands.  I lost my body into the music, the scent of sweet smoke lingering in the air, the lights bright and ever-changing. 

I speak.  He responds.  I nod.  I listen.  I remind myself to listen (stop just thinking about what you'll say next!).  I say something back.  Maybe a lot of somethings.  He talks. 

In the midst of what we said, I lost consciousness of the cool air.  Then I looked up and raised my eyes up the stairs to our front door. 

A nice walk with a good friend is wonderful. 

Passover

My supervisor is Jewish, and while she is a self-proclaimed "ambivalent Jew" she does enjoy many aspects of being Jewish.  We have a lot of interesting conversations together about her Jewishness, and how Jewish people are.  One day, she was telling me about something her daughter, Lena, said.  She pointed out that many Christians, in general, more comfortable with the idea of lying.  Santa Clause exists.  Instead, as a Jew, she is taught to ask questions, and the most important thing to the Jews is truth.  As my supervisor said, "You may do something bad, but if you lie to me about it that's worse", referring to her kids.

It seems that Christians are taught to just accept things, whatever is told to them, while Jews are taught to question everything.  In my brief involvement with Christianity (went to church, youth group, hung out with tons of church kids), and my experiences with my (now) very Christian mother, I have never felt like I was really taught to question anything about the bible, about the religion, what the pastor says.  I was taught to reflect on it, but never to question it.  According to my supervisor, though, Jews believe there are five kinds of children, and the worst one is the one who doesn't ask questions.  Jews, she said, are taught to sought out the truth and question everything they're told.  As Lena says, "I can't help asking questions, I'm too Jewish".

If Christians ever decided to really think about some of their "sins", like homosexuality, they will find there is absolutely no real justification for their belief.  Now I'm not saying every Christian doesn't question what they're told, or that every Christian is against homosexuality, but let's take a deep look at, for example, my mom's argument on why homosexuality is a sin.  I asked her why it was a sin.  She said, because God says so.  Now, why would God make it a sin?  Homosexuality is not only something hard-wired in the brain and, ultimately, unchangeable (science articles, experiments, brain scans, etc. say so!), it occurs in every species of animal known to man (well, I guess would hermaphroditic or one-celled dividing animals count...).  Now is every species on Earth ultimately sinning?  And is it really a sin if it's as natural as your gender identity or drive for food?

To happier things, I attended my first Seder today, presided over by two of my housemates, an Israelian Jew and an American Jew (crazy wicked bass player + drummer/guitarist/singer).   Also in attendance were most of my other housemates, plus our friends and, for many, family members.  It was fun, spiritual, delicious, and a great mind-opener.  Great night...

Good night.

Some New Writing

Come darling boy
There’s a lake by the forest
With stars on the surface
Where my heart made its nest

We met here once
Before we were grown
We can meet here again
Seeds have been sown

You’ll walk beside me
And I’ll skip beside you
You’ll play the king
And I’ll play the fool

There is no path
To choose or to stumble
Just endless direction
For the rich and the humble

Come darling boy
There’s a lake by the forest
The stars are still watching
My heart is at rest

Musings, Mutterings, and whole lotta nothing

I've come to realize as I've gotten older that it is extremely difficult to stick to something.  For example, this blog.  After three posts (two published, one given up on), I took a 4-month-long hiatus and have just come back to it.  The inspiration for my first post was politics, for my second was reflection, and for my third was guilt (I mean, I gotta keep writing!  I just started a blog for f&#k's sake!).  And, as you can see (4 months later) guilt is probably not the best motive to keep writing.

I've always been hesitant to share my writing and my thoughts to the world.  There was always an excuse - it isn't good, it isn't worth showing to the world, people will laugh, people will tease, blah blah blah.

A lot of interesting things have happened in the past few months which I could never have conceived of.  It started with an eviction, and ended in self discovery (or, more accurately, self re-discovery).

The first month in my new house was probably one of the periods I've been most socially anxious in my life.  I was moving into a house where everyone knew each other, were best friends, and were talented artists and musicians.  Not only that, I lived in a room separate from the house, an easy excuse to escape from everyone else, a safe haven where I could just disappear.  I could hide my music, my art, my personality, my being.  I just left what I thought was the most satisfying living situation I'd ever had, and I never hoped to match.  Change, change, change, was coming on too fast, too hard, and I wanted to scream and run away.  My cat adjusted better than I did (and we all know how finicky cats can be). 

I wonder now if my housemates are reading this.  Did they know?  They must have suspected at least a little, and they were so welcoming, so kind.  Was I just the crazy cat lady in the backyard dreaming of owning 30 cats (disclaimer: I do not want 30 cats worth of cat hair in any house I live in.  Only 10 ;)  )

Then I started going to my housemates' shows.  I started meeting new people.  I started having conversations with my housemates.  I came to realize that yes, I lived in a house of talented artists and musicians, and that I had talent too.  The real difference between us, really, was that these guys (and gals) spent their time honing and exploring their talent, while I spent my time wondering if I'd ever be good enough.

It started with a combined art piece I did with my housemate, Mateo, at a party in a warehouse apartment.  I was drunk, I don't know if he was too, and we were sitting in some guy's room.  He handed me a sharpie, set a notebook between us, and we started drawing.  I fed off him and he off me, an artistic vampiric experience (not as creepy as it sounds) which brought me back to my childhood, before the academic days, when I would spend hours and hours just drawing and drawing until my pens ran out of ink and my house ran out of paper.  We didn't take the drawing with us that day, but I couldn't forget it.  The cancer spread, I ached and ached to draw, to paint, to play, to create.  For a moment I'd felt at peace. 

It's impossible for me to put into words how many changes have taken place, but as the wise know not all change is bad, and change is inevitable.  My life has taken turns I could not even imagine.  My courage is shaky, but what better place to delve into art and music than a house of artists and musicians?  I've come full circle back to where I always knew I needed to be.

So I leave you all with a bit of other writing I did, now that I'm done with my (feverish) musings. 

The silence is deafening, the quiet so loud

I can see your lips moving

The words not for me

A tremble, a beat, I shudder, so shaken
Hands turning the glass
Under blue-green lights
...Your eyes scan the room
But no longer meet mine