The Fleadhe

When things are taken to the wrong place (issues)

2011-11-03T11:07:00.000-05:00

I was just looking at my post for this little on-line diary, and have noticed I kinda suck at keeping a consistent journal. ( laughing to myself ) My husband teases my that I write to work out issues. So.... maybe this little bugger is speaking well for me, and I just don't possess a lot of issues. Uh hmmm... Bullshit ! ( still laughing )

My son directed me to a YouTube video yesterday http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=emp-dM7SvAg

What can I say ? Been there, and done that ? I always tell myself when I see, and hear about shit like this that at least the people that were beating me were not family. But... I am not sure on an emotional level that makes it any better.

In the orphanage I grew up in I was molested more than once, and verbally abused to the point where I truly believed that was just how people talked to each other. So ten years into the place I got it in my head that getting beat was just another day. Sounds cold I know. It is cold, a very cold place to be, especially when you are a kid.

Strangely enough, even with the way I grew up, I still don't believe spanking a child is wrong. But here is the deal. It is NOT the be all, end all to discipline ! Discipline should be age appropriate, and infraction appropriate. Also I do agree with what my Da used to say " The first spank is for the kid. Anything after that is for YOU. I never saw the old man ever lay out more than 3 swats to any of his children.

The Orphanage ? That was another matter. Belts, boards, and such were the tools of trade, and where ever they landed they landed. I was taken to an emergency room once with the story that I fell out of a tree. The truth was less accidental. The truth usually is less accidental.

My husband described my early childhood as being defenseless. Good way of putting it. I had no barriers to any onslaughts, and that is what I saw in this girl in the video. In a world where we teach " No means No " NOBODY is listening. Kids do not listen when their parents say no, and some of these parents ( and care takers ) are certainly not listening when that words is uttered, wailed, or even whispered either.

It's funny.... One of my "issues" is I have trouble saying no. The father in the video said he was going to make her submit. ( He didn't use the term properly, but for the sake of the conversation here I hope you get what I am about to say ) Is that where I learned to be "submissive" ? Did I grow up with the sense that saying no is useless anyway ?

There is a part of me that feels an instinctual need to please. I become very satisfied with myself when people are happy with me, and utterly depressed when they are not. Is my self satisfaction nothing more than that little child in the back of my grown up mind relieved she has avoided harm ?

My husband takes all that to a different place ( for the second time in my life. My Da was the first. Although NOT in a sexual way as my husband does ) It is bizarrely almost like " Job well done ! " Strange way to describe sex I know ... lol But ! Far better than some of the other versions out there.

As I write all this down I wonder about the girl in the video... She is in her early 20's now. Does she have these "issues" ? As we women move forward in this "Sisterhood" kind of age, I am thinking this is one family reunion I hate attending. I would rather be an only child ya know ?

But I am glad she spoke up. I am glad people are listening. More often than not, they don't. Little too dirty and mussed up for polite "happy" conversation.

Be well Hillary... I was listening. I would have believed you with out the video... And never let any of those "issues" get the best of you Hun :)

A Morning

2011-11-03T10:10:00.000-05:00

After a tepid bath, a couple of aspirin, and a few minutes of not being disturbed, I thought I would write down how I spent my morning. I am writing it here because I am sure my husband will ask me about it, and I never do well when put on the firing line so to speak.

I have been feeling strangely abandoned lately, not due to anyone's intentional behaviors. It is simply one of those times. I know when my husband starts talking sex to me on this computer it comes from many places, anywhere from simple arousal to feeling a need to "connect" to his far away wife. As I tell him all the time, an outer expression of an inner experience.

So today when he started to detail what he wanted to do when he got home, he triggered that submissive in me that just wanted to get down on knees, and wrap myself around his leg

Thoughts that keep me awake ( longing )

2011-07-14T02:13:00.000-05:00

Hmmmm Another night of not sleeping. I hate when my thoughts overwhelm me, muddling themselves like some incoherent speech to be deciphered on a clearer day. My husband is home on leave, and frankly all I want to do is wrap myself around him, and not let go. But... the practical, submissive, and trying to not be greedy side submits to a different plan and maintains ( or at least tries to ) some rational distance. Everyone requires breathing space, that place where they might go with their own thoughts, and simply relax. The logical part of my mind knows this. It still doesn't change how I feel though. Strangely ( or to my course of thinking is another way of putting it ) he, and I have always possessed a mental connection, and an emotional one. But the physical aspect has limited itself. Hence I suspect why I crave it so much. It is said what we get from others ( almost too much ) we stop appreciating. I do hope that never happens no matter what the future holds. Does he realize all this about me, that one touch from him sends me reeling, and always wanting more ? I am often curious if it wrong to feel this way ? Am I being some selfish little brat ? I hope not.... It is funny that before I met this man to be touched often annoyed me. It was nothing more than an indication that somebody wanted something. It was nothing to be trusted, and certainly nothing to want. A part of me doesn't like wanting. It implies weakness, setting yourself up to be hurt. So when he withdraws, I find myself bouncing between "Good... I shouldn't count on you anyway" to " What did I do wrong ? Am I not pretty enough, interesting enough, enough period ? " I do not drop these thoughts on his doorstep for the most part because frankly I do not see them as his issue. They are my baggage, my insecurities, here long before he showed up. They simply manifested themselves differently.

I remember being this way with my father, always wanting his attention, his time. Da was a distant man too to a certain degree. Although not a physically affectionate man ( hence the distance ) he did supply me with means to receive a human touch that was far more "humane" than anything I had ever known before. I think in his own quiet "distant" way he was trying to teach me that not all touch was bad. He opened a door that I had not walked through again till now. Oh Da part of me gets mad at you that you taught me to want. Not wanting is far more easier. In not needing, has a person come to fruition that is needy ? How do we deal constructively, in a healthy way with longing ? The other night Aj wrapped my arm around his waist , and I slept like a baby. The longing went away. Today while he was sleeping I tried to put my hand on his chest and he smacked it away. Needless to say the longing returned.

February 8, 2011

2011-02-07T21:15:00.000-06:00

I haven't wrote in here in a month, and am feeling the tick to go tap tap tap. I have several things on my mind all at once. and the sorting out of them. My sense of my life being on hold is more than likely the source of my irritation I suspect. Aj is so far away. I don't feel his hand on my back, that gentle pressure, and it simply promotes an atmosphere of being lost that I abhor.

It is funny. To admit that you are not a particularly "focused" human being, and look to another for a sense of direction would in many minds be called weak. Ok.... I am weak. ( Another feeling that makes me irritable ) Now what ? I have been very focused, concentrated, a doer of the highest order when I was alone. I HATED IT ! There was no one to share all these fine accomplishments with, no one to share the struggles either. Oh yes.... I was strong...and fucking miserable.

Speaking of miserable ( Yes... it is a whining moment. Deal with it ) I hate this place. It is beautiful, the type of place many would kill to live in. There are lovely things to look at all around you. I know part of what ills me here is the general malaise of my own body. There isn't a day that I do not wake up with a headache. I have a knee that refuses to just stop aching. Hell I would settle for aching less at this point. And last but not least a mouth full of teeth that I am ready to part with happily.

I have dealt with illness, and some form of pain all my life. I have a thyroid disease I have had most of my life. As a child, it went to the point of damn near killing me. My father, demanding a child that could pull up their own boot straps, refused to give in to it, and expected the same from me. Add this very odd condition to the fact of my residence as a child, and I learned quickly to suck it up , and deal with it. Soooo fine.... I suck up. I don't tell anybody any of the gory details. Why bother really ?

When one is miserable, they are simply not good company. Most of us , myself included, when faced with a person in that state, politely make our excuses, and run for the hills, wiping our brow as we go , thankful we made the great escape. But the person is still miserable, left to stew alone, and expound the problems even further, eventually leading them to a therapist ( or as I think of them, a paid friend )

Yeah... I get it. Now how do I solve it ? How do I learn to live with the limitations my situation has placed upon my mood, my health, my utmost desire to simply feel better ? I think I will have to get back to you on that one.

written in Jan, 2011 ( Defining One's Sexuality ) Pt. 2

2011-01-08T20:12:00.001-06:00

My husband and I discussed my prior journal entry the other day. He believes what I wrote dealt with absolutes I do not necessarily have, and felt I was feeling ashamed, and judgmental, which sent me back to clarify the journal some more. Even with those clarifications, little changed. I honestly think the differences in our opinions lie more in small semantics than anything, a muddling of submissive, and masochist. He believes my interest in Discipline and Bondage is an interest in Masochism ( pain ) and I do not. The things that do intrigue, and arouse actually have very little to do with pain ( and certainly not extreme pain )

I have been beat... severely. I know what it feels like to be in pain from that. I still have memories of those beatings. A smack on the ass does not even equate to such in my mind. Is a smack on the ass, being tied up, or some sort of clamp being put on me a return to those memories ? No. The feelings I experience concerning B, and D are not even in the same realm as the feelings I experienced during those beatings. They are at their best the intense sensation of my submission. There is NOTHING to very little painful about those sexual experiences, and or interests. There is A LOT painful about those memories, and I have no desire to bring them into the bedroom with me.

So I searched and searched trying to see if there is a word to define what interests, and intrigues me. Truth ? Short of simple Bondage, and Discipline, I have not. Am I a submissive ? Yes... Am I a Masochist ? No.... Do I like intense sensual experiences, expressions of my submission to my husband, and the safety of his arms, thoughts, and DIRECTION as I expose myself in a very intimate manner ? ABSOLUTELY.

It is these things I want to focus on, experience, experiment with, and feel happy, confident, and secure with. Not PAIN !

For me these concepts are not hard to differentiate between. I can certainly see how they might come across in some fashion or another as a denying or a fear. But they are not to me.

written in Jan, 2011 ( Defining One's Sexuality )

2011-01-06T22:44:00.004-06:00

I used to play a game called “ I spy “ as a child. . With each wrong guess, the original observer of the object had to expound on it adding color, shape and texture each time, making it a little more descriptive, and supposedly easier to guess. As people, I think we can be the exact opposite sometimes, adding on each detail we become harder to recognize.

In the sexual world, I would be described as submissive by some. This word implies, for me, something child-like I spose, the good girl, the babygirl, the apple of Daddy's eye. It also implies someone with no desire to be in control of a situation. And all these descriptives are accurate to a certain degree. I started to delve into the word "submissive" though, finding other adjectives that had little or nothing to do with myself.

The word "submissive" in and of itself means this -

inclined or ready to submit; unresistant or humbly obedient:

"Inclined or ready to submit" ? Yeah... that would be me. I have had the "control" before, and frankly no longer want or desire it now. "Unresistant" ? I have a two sided mentality about that word. On one hand, the idea of the unexpected, not having control over what happens next excites me. On the other, being "blindsided" if you will doesn't thrill me at all. It actually can provoke negative reactions out of me if I feel"endangered".

"Humbly obedient" somewhat amuses me. Honestly there is not alot that others would define as humble about me. I am a prideful (stubborn is an understatement) woman, with an intellectually arrogant mind."Humbly obedient"comes across for me as someone who is resigned to a certain lot in life, and has no other choices.It hints of a martyr syndrome,and a slave mindset. I spose you could define me as humble in the sense that I am happy to give my husband free reign. I trust him, and believe he wishes me no harm.

But if I get down on my hands, and knees, crawling to his side, it is not so much because he told me to. It is because I wish to express the fact that I will do what he asks because I love him. I give him the gift of my obedience as an offering to that love, and as an expression of my inner nature. He neglects, mistreats, or abuses that inner nature, I will stand up.

Now that we have clarified that part of ( at least in my realm of thinking ) the word "submissive" I am also left with other thoughts. Why is it assumed by so many that a "submissive's" inclinations lean toward the "extreme pain" factor (masochism) and/or it is about a "submissive" wishing to control the situation ? ( I believe it is called topping from the bottom )

Here is a few words on that subject from a submissive ok ?

I do not like intense forms of pain ( emotional, mental, or physical, and I mean real pain. Not the "artistic" nonsense of pain ) I do not want to inflict it, or receive it. Although I think masochism ( again I mean a want of extreme pain ) is a logical response to a mental state, I also think it is a response to an unhealthy mental state. The research ( although I will not take the time to cite it in this journal ) backs me up. It is nothing more than a very fucked up view of one's own self image. I mean "fucked up" in a variety of ways.

If one possesses such a low opinion of oneself that they somehow feel they need, require, or deserve that kind of pain inflicted upon them, then there are obviously problems with how they value themselves as a person. I value myself intensely. Hit me, harm me in that manner, and I will make you pay for trying to damage, or destroy something so valuable. How's that for humbly obedient ?

Yes... I get the idea of the release of endorphins that occur when going through pain. We feel pain, and chemicals are naturally released into the body to make us feel better. They can even be felt in the lighter versions of masochism ( Often referred to as "Bondage, and Discipline") But in some, masochism releases endorphins in such large quantities that the person can feel high.

Fine... All that makes you is a pain junkie, and we all know how addiction affect the psyche. Seriously Folks, from the mental, and physical aspect, these intense chemical reactions can be found in cutters, and other forms of slow suicide. Need I say more ?

Hopefully I have made it quite clear WHY pain does not play any huge role in my sexual inclinations, as well as the whole "humilation" "degradation" factor. So why would I still define myself as submissive ? Let's first define what I do NOT consider submissive.

Let's start with this "topping from the bottom" . A person who does this is not submissive, for the most part.

I find it somewhat amusing that within the context of sexuality "dominance" is more often than not described in the physical. That is not the only way to be dominant. There is mental, and emotional as well. To be mentally, or emotionally dominant is to be just as dominant as the person who has control over your body. In some situations, even moreso.

I have also found ( through personal experience as well as simple research ) that many of these "toppers" are pain junkies as well. This gives the immediate impression ( sometimes even to themselves ) that they are submissive. No they are not.

Let me lay a new term on you that seems to be coming out of the closet ok ? It is called a "Masochistic Dominant" They want control over the pain, and who is inflicting it. They obviously want the pain as well. They simply deny the responsibility of the "wants" under the guise of being a submissive.

Yes... I find that kind of thinking, manipulating, controlling, and all the other negative antonyms I can think of that are connected to the word submissive, especially because more often than not these negative behaviors are not admitted to, or they are white-washed as something else ( which is nothing more than more manipulating, and control in my opinion )

Now ... back to what is left of submissive ? ( which is actually a lot ) I have no desire to take the reigns, the lead, to control as I said before. I am thoroughly intrigued, and aroused in terms of submission,discipline, and bondage, mentally, emotionally, as well as sensually ( especially where bondage is concerned ) Intense sensations are fine for me, arousing, and stimulating. They do not require though that I feel bad. My limitations are still being explored, and understood. I seriously doubt though that that limit ( I do not ever want to feel bad ) will ever change though.

A man that deprives me of my inner instinct to run, and hide, knows what he wants from me, and expresses it, not with an iron hand, but with an iron will, can tie me up with sensual, and caressing fingers, and in every aspect runs the show without needing to resort to some sort of Neanderthal violence ?

That is my kind of Dominant, and I will always be his kind of Submissive.

I am not sure what kind of "I Spy" game I would make. I tend to think the simple kind, no justifications, no excuses, no need to romanticize it, or need to make it all look clean, and pretty ( Life, as well as sex never is ) I am a woman, and in many ways the old fashioned cliche of a woman. I am quite good with that. I go back to the first line of that definition.

"inclined or ready to submit"

As I said simple, direct, the very core of the being. The rest, that long list of adjectives with their negative connotations, and questionable motives ? I will simply leave them for someone else to play with.

written Dec, 2010 ( just thoughts )

2011-01-06T10:09:00.000-06:00

Where do I fit in ? It is strange how no particular cloth covers me well . I am a hodge podge of styles, and such. I have come to realize that if I had to give name to this haute couture I wear it would be called layered. In one evening I described how my nighties, under garments, and such were as girlie girl as one could get, and then wrote a character with the armor of cast iron steel. I spose that would be the best way to start a list of what I wear daily.

I am plated on the outside, this weather-worn metal cinching me in. I can imagine notches on the breastplate for every blow I have pounded upon this world, and a notch for every hit I have worn as well. Sometimes I think I have even forgotten where the latches, hooks, and such for this cumbersome get-up is.

Underneath, but still close to the surface lies sweaters, and rough hewn material that itches those around as well as myself. It is softer in it’s movements, but sometimes aches to be disregarded non the less. Then we arrive at the cotton undershirt and socks. I almost think it is there as defense against my succumbing to the abrasiveness of my own outer attire. It dreams of being a soft summer dress all year around, hinting at what lies beneath instead of this wardrobe I keep to protect myself from the elements.

My panties, and bras, my chemises, teddies and such are bows and satins. They are giggles, bright shining eyes, and unashamed of the forms that feel them.

I have had a strange attraction to corsets up until now. There is nothing harsh about them other than the binding one places upon themselves when tightening the laces. They are controlled femininity, bound girlishness. An odd oxymoron when one is attempting to unleash the “Girl” within. I guess that is where the “unlacer” comes in huh ?

I do not envy men, in any way shape or form. As one who has never been fond of the female psyche and the atrocious costumes it can wear, men, for the most part, have always struck me as getting the short end of the measuring tape. Women attempting to control the runway from the sidelines with idle nonsense chatter, and malicious innuendo that of course some poor guy just trying to make a good dress is going to take seriously have stepped forward with the cries of “ There are no good male designers anymore “ . I am amazed men have any fingers of sensibility left trying to stitch this mess together.

What do most women want out of a good tailor/man ? Well based on the authority of far too many little fashionistas who think they know it all I have endured yapping, it comes down to one thing. Women want exactly what they tell these men to sew, whether they yell it, scream it , or whisper it naked. The days of men controlling the garment district are over according to all the talk ( And trust me men this is exactly what they are saying ) A women could tell you with a pretty little smile on her face that she wants to be surprised. BUT ! What she is really saying is “ Fine surprise me. But you best know my mind, my wants, and my desires before hand. “ So much for the surprise huh ? And people wonder why I wear armor. It is to protect me just as much from these “women” as it is from any man who acted a fool .

So how do we get around this ? How is everyone “dressed” accordingly ? I spose that is what I am trying to sort out.

Inside of me, who lied dormant for so long, was a little girl. She remembers things , patent leather shoes her father bought her one Easter, dresses with ruffles and flowing fabric that made her feel like a princess, braided hair, and ribbons. She is a demure little thing, always smiling, and wanting to please. She takes pride in being a good girl, and waiting her turn. She wants to make it all better when she makes mistakes, and doesn’t match her socks with her skirt. She is a good part of my ensemble, and I have no desire to just pull her out of the closet every so often.

Easters have long since past though, as I still look for the golden egg hidden away within, that little embryo of a place where she can open a non existent “ Mommie’s” wardrobe, playing in the big girl dresses, and doing the big girl things. I try to imagine her grown up , just her, not all the other accessories that have stunted her appearance distracting from the total look. I think she could have been so many things, laughter jingling in a jazz dancer’s fringe, amused shock to be the first to strip it all away , and dive in, the giggle at poke in the side teasing, and the sachet surprise of finding out that someone knew magenta would look good with her dark hair. She never wanted to create the patterns layed out in front of her, and she still doesn‘t. She has never wanted to be the designer, the tailor She more so wanted to be the muse that inspires those impromptu outfits, twirling about in delight.

Does that mean she shouldn’t have a say in her daily cloth ? I think the more important question is does she want that option right now ? I don’t think she does in many ways. This isn’t the fashion show just yet. It is the dress rehearsal, seeing what fits her best , what carries her well, and what she carries well.

written Dec, 2010 ( call it a bad day )

2011-01-06T10:02:00.000-06:00

I have been kinda trucking along on a strange new back road lately, and felt the need to log some of this journey. The map I had prior to this always seemed full of mis-direction getting me seriously lost on more than one occasion, and as my husband can tell you , nothing petrifies me more than getting lost. So I would head back franticly to the home of what I knew, and that would be that.

Until something else concerning this popped back in my head.

I guess the best place to start is like any journey, at the beginning. I am the youngest in my family. Born to a father who was already middle-aged, and a mother who I am sure was losing her cookies ( among other things ) about turning 30.

My father was a military man… and all that that implies. He was always polite, cordial, and warm. But those were “surface” matters if you will, the pavement he implemented to put others at ease, and to create a sense of peace. I can say with all honesty I rarely saw him “friendly” on an intimate level. He had an extremely short list of “friends”, and I myself heard those precious few say, “ There is a very private side to your Dad that he doesn’t let anyone in. He was absolutely NOT physically affectionate unless he was teasing you, which is why that sort of play still gets me all warm, and mushy inside. He never said anything of a “personal” nature in passing. If you were lucky enough to get such out of him, he required you come to a full stop, and LISTEN. Figuring out the rarity of those occasions quickly, I always put the breaks on when they occurred. They were worth listening to.

One of those road side stops occurred the day we children were officially placed in an orphanage. Da grabbed my teary face ( I was only 3 ) looked straight into my eyes, and said very matter of factly, “ Never let them see you cry Kid, ever. These pigs will take them from you, ever chance they get. They are worth more than that. “ Even at 3, I understood what he was saying. “ Bone up Kiddo You are in for a helluva trip.“

From day 1 the “rules” began… learning each and every one the hard way as I bumped, and crashed along.

1. Do NOT speak unless you are spoken to.
2. Do NOT ask for anything because you are NOT entitled to anything
3. No one cares about you. Not even your family. If they did you wouldn’t be here.
4. You are simply something we have to feed, clothe, bathe, keep alive, nothing more
5. We are to be adored for taking on this unpleasant task of “caring” for you.
6. If you can NOT adore us, then you will fear us.
7.We will use whatever means necessary to see to it that you fear us.
8. You will always exemplify what wonderful “caretakers” we are.
9. You are to have no loyalties, alliances, and such above us.
10. This place will make you dream… But we will dash each one upon a rock.

Needless to say that little 3 year old learnt to nose dive into the nearest grassy bush beside this killer highway, and HIDE.

Where was my mother in all this ? She was out finding herself while her children became roadside trash that only a rare few wished to pick up, and save. I tell most I have no memories of her before the “orphanage” . It cuts down on nonsense, and keeps peace. Like my father I like peace. But the truth is I do have vague memories of her ( some, not so vague ) I remember my brothers more than her in terms of “caring” for me, feeding me, seeing I had a bath, tucking me between them when I crawled out of a crib I was too big for. I have no memories actually of her doing any of that, which of course re-enforced Rule 3 quite nicely.

I remember her being beautiful in the physical sense, and liking red. I watch actresses over dramatizing in low budget fluff, and images of her arms flapping, and hands on her hips with seductive looks blazing come to mind. Scenes of cheap erotic maneuvering always remind me of her. Hmmm …. Lets just say that crib was in my parents bedroom, and my father never comes up in any of these strange little recalls.

She was extremely manicured, polished, precise. There was little “natural” about her.
Her attention to detail scared the crap out of me even as a child. The rare occasion she did pull over, and see her children, it was always filled with such as “ Margo, tuck in your shirt, comb your hair child, act like a lady. Why must you always be my Ugly Little Pelican. ? “ ( Hers ? really ? ) I guess it was better to be HER ugly little pelican, then a motherless child huh ?

It is funny… The few qualities I possess that others have deemed “ladylike” actually have to do with the sense of character/honor/decorum my father instilled in me than anything she ever said. I learned a love of ballet and dancing when I was 3, pursuing it aggressively. Yeah I actually got quite good , procuring an invitation to audition for the children’s ballet in my home state. My mother’s response to this was the contemptuous smiling comment “ So My Ugly Little Pelican thinks she is a Swan ?”

I am a swan Mama

It took losing a father who never let me forget my jeans, and braids were beautiful too. It took 20 years of living with someone as insecure, and as spiteful as you. It took cutting off more than just my “beautiful hair” as you always called it, and trying to be free of you, and him. It took meeting, and marrying someone who constantly reminds me it is alright to be “ pretty “ because I am not like you, and use it to hurt others.

It took ALL of that ! And yes…. There are still many days when I do not feel like a swan. BUT that doesn’t make me any less

A SWAN !

God Damn YOU I HATE YOU !

written Oct 13, 2010 ( his deployment )

2011-01-06T09:53:00.001-06:00

I sit here looking at this bridge we crossed newly married, and realize these letters I write here are bridges. Something to lessen the gap between you, and I. Strange thing is even when traveling separately, we still travel together. You just told me you would be online tonight, and my heart laughed. It was here we connected, here we dove into love, and here we maintained a love through so much parting waters. This has always been our bridge hasn't it ? Our connection made up of cables of thoughts, and the steel of dedication.

I never wonder if I love you....

but I do often cross through the wonder of "why"

You are my heart...

Keep it safe. Keep it beating, and bring it home.

Until then ? I will meet you on the bridge :)

written Oct 17, 2010 ( his deployment )

2011-01-06T09:49:00.000-06:00

I hate days like this, a dull ache of a day no amount of aspirin thought can alleviate. I can not even seem to muster up the energy to cry. I got used to you, your soft movements about the house, those tiny litterings that told me you were there before me, and shall return. I haven't even cleaned.

I walked past the ashtray in the living room this morning staring at the cigarette butts in it, knowing they were not mine because I am never in there, and left them. I did not have the heart to throw them away. Your lips touched each one, and it is all I have of your lips at the moment. I would rather live in your mess , then clean of it.

I have always loved that photo posted with this entry. It is a rare moment of peace when I could believe the world is a far fresher place than the stench I had smelled thus far. James took it. He asked what I was thinking about when he snapped it. I just smiled. I was thinking of you. I stare at it now hoping it will wash away these cluttering thoughts that are piling upon me now.

written Oct 20, 2010 ( his deployment )

2011-01-06T09:45:00.003-06:00

Who wants to say it is getting better ? I don't. This idea that I can live without you ? I can't. But I am going to have to aren't I ? No matter what path I chose each day, to smile, to get up, take a breath, and move requires such effort. My altitude is too high, and the haze of such thin air slows me. I keep trudging along, upward to that still spot upon this huge mountainside where I can just wait peacefully. I don't like leading the expedition, I never have. You're better at it than I am with your built in compass always pointing in the right direction. For now all I can do is direct my life the best I can with your echo in my ear, and wait...

for you to come back, and meet me on the mountain :)

The start of a journal for 2011

2011-01-06T09:31:00.000-06:00

What is a Fleadhe ? It is a gathering of an artistic, and historic nature.( also often involving ghosts or spirits ) Sooo.... having said that, I am going to start this journal , this gathering, as a place for thoughts , in hopes it might become something of an artistic expression about my life, my opinions on life, lives I have lead, and the people that have influenced them ( my ghosts )

So let us enter The Fleadhe... Listen to the music, hear the ghosts stories, and better understand a life.