It makes sense to say the more practice you have at something the better you get. That seems to be the case with most skills in life. Apparently the NFL […]
he moment you hang suspended in midair just after being pushed into a pool of water there is this sense of reckless abandon. What’s done is done. In less than a second you know, your entire body will become enveloped in a rush of water that is much colder than expected. It will invade craters in your head shocked by the submersion, muffling your senses toward an oblivion you had only imagined in dreams before. Or were those nightmares.
The problem with people like Lance is that they don’t know when to quit until they are backed into a corner. Which means the only reason he is telling the truth now is for selfish reasons. He thinks he can get something out of telling the truth for himself. He has no where else to go. Bastard. Selfish bastard.
At dinner tonight my daughter and I were munching on our tacos and talking about the fact that her dad put a bid on a house that was accepted. Moving will put him closer by about 50 miles to his children which is a good thing. I asked her a bit about the house and then I said, “Well, it sure would be a lot better if Daddy just wasn’t with her anymore.” My daughter looked down at the table and shook her head and said, “He’s not.”
I’ve had a couple of email interactions with Martin this week and it’s got me reflecting a little bit on what happened to us. We were so close to getting married and then it all blew up. There were many reasons for this but I had already established a pretty pathetic pattern of allowing him to lie to me. He’d lie, I’d find out, I’d get mad, then I’d forgive him and try to believe all his excuses and after a little while things would be generally back to normal. As bad as the lying was, it did not break us up.
I think I’m stronger than I am. I tell myself I won’t get hurt and when I do I’m surprised. I’m a fighter. I can’t help it. And I’m way too trusting and as Harry says it, I would give Hitler the benefit of the doubt. I disagree with him, but I get his point. And maybe he’s right in theory. I want to believe that people are as good. I want to believe they work under the same set of fairness rules. But they don’t.
So I kept staring at Harry today, listening to him talk and every now and then kissing him or letting him kiss me. When I’m with him I feel like time stops. It’s the best feeling in the world. When I study his face I know deep down that he’s in my life now forever come what may. He’s part of my heart. I love him. I know me. I know what that means. I’m not sure I know what it means for him. I’ve made the mistake before of transferring my value system onto the expectations of someone else and it kept me from being able to even conceive of the lies that I had to deal with. I would never lie like that therefore he would never lie either. I was wrong. Dead wrong. And I don’t want to be wrong again.
I’m really bad about tossing stuff out. I tend to hold onto certain things a bit longer than necessary. First they get set into a corner. After several months that pile gets moved to the garage, and eventually gets sold, given to good will or trashed. I don’t know why I do it this way. It for me is the process of letting go.
Letting go is hard. It just is. For some people more than others. And we are sometimes incapable of making clean breaks. But we keep heading in the right direction and we eventually get there.
The transformation that has taken place in my heart and my head in the past three or four days has left me speechless. Utterly. Let’s just say I’m the kind of person you want if you’ve been charged with a crime on your jury. I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt much longer than most people. But even I have my limits.
Sometimes I think it’s just better being friends with people – men. Don’t mess it up with kissing. Friends stay. Love interests don’t. Like a friend said to me the other day, men are frogs, they jump from lily pad to lily pad because they don’t wanna get wet. It’s the princesses who don’t mind getting wet. It’s true sometimes. Men leave. Women pick up the mess.