I may never get married.....

I had a literature class. We had to journal what we were reading:

It was a typical knight’s tale including the castle, status as a favorite of the king, the beautiful wife, all followed by, of course, envy and slander. Thus begins the story of Eliduc. At first, the knight Eliduc garners your sympathy by being honorable, brave, and an exemplary model to follow: Eliduc serves faithfully, is in charge of the king’s territories, and is also given royal favors because of his performance and service. After Eliduc is slandered in his native France and dismissed by the king, Eliduc voluntarily places himself in exile and travels to England to see if he can fare any better there. Eliduc’s experiences in England almost mirror what has occurred to him up until this point in France: invited to live in the castle, status as a favorite of the king as well, the castle, and a beautiful young girl who falls in love with him. Similar, but let us not forget that Eliduc is already married in France and is committing adultery if he pursues it. Women have more control, even unknowingly, over men’s lives than they realize.

In England, Eliduc encounters his first sign of trouble – the king’s young daughter, Guilliadun. After spending some time together, the Guilliadun and Eliduc have apparently fallen head-over-heels in love together. After they make their love known to one another, Eliduc is summonsed home to France, and Eliduc makes plans to return home, but only after making a promise to Guilliadun to return to get her on a date of her choosing. Upon returning home, Eliduc is reunited with his lawful wife, Guildeluec who has remained faithful to him. But Guildeluec notices a behavior in Eliduc that is surly and secretive and plots to find out the reason why.

Upon Eliduc’s return to France, he spirits away the young Guilliadun by ship to England. Upon the boat ride home there is such a storm that all the sailors believe the worst is going to happen. One of the sailors blames the young girl, shouting that they should throw her overboard as Eliduc is defying God, and his proper wife at home by remaining with Guilliadun. This is the first time Guilliadun learns that Eliduc is married. In her shock at Eliduc’s marriage, and fearing for her life because of the sailor’s threats, Guilliadun faints, and falls to the deck without breath or sign of consciousness. Believing Guilliadun to be dead, Eliduc brings her body to a chapel in the woods to bury her. Yet after many days, Guilliadun still appears alive with rosy cheeks, pink skin, just faintly pale. Eliduc visits the chapel in secret every day, but his wife Guildeluec has him followed to discover once and for all why he is so miserable. The queen journeys to the chapel herself, and upon finding the young girl in repose, and being pretty sharp herself, she knows that the young girl Guilliadun is her husband’s mistress and the reason for his unhappiness and grief. In a magical moment of watching a weasel resurrect its dead mate with a mysterious life-giving flower, Guildeluec restores Guilliadun to consciousness and assures her of Eliduc’s love and devotion. Upon returning to the castle and reuniting the two lovers, Guildeluec observes the overwhelming love between Guilliadun and Eliduc. Realizing the depth of the love and the happiness in her husband, Guildeluec asks her husband to separate from her so she can become a nun and he can marry the girl whom he loves. This is the only way that a man can ‘legally’ marry a second woman in God and the church’s view. Guildeluec sacrifices her own lifestyle to become a nun in order for the man she married, and loves still, to be happy. Guildeluec loved Eliduc so much that she renounced their marriage for him to marry another.

What a woman.....

Push You Down

I said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been good enough,
I’m a little bit rusty, and I think my head is caving in.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been really loved,
By a hand that’s touched me, and I feel like something’s
Going to give... and I’m a little bit angry.”

This isn’t over, no not here, not while I still
Need you around. You don’t owe me,
We might change, we just might feel good.

I said, “I don’t know why you would ever lie to me,
Like I’m a little untrusting when I think the truth
is going to hurt you.

And I don’t know why you just couldn’t stay with me.
You couldn’t stand to be near me,
When my face didn’t seem to want to shine.
Because it’s a little bit dirty.”

Don’t just stand there, saying nice things to me.
I’ve been cheated, I’ve been wronged.
And you don’t know me, I can’t change that.
So, I won’t do anything at all.

But don’t bowl me over, just wait one minute.
It kind of fell apart, things got so crazy.
So, don’t rush this, let me enjoy my moment.

I would love to push you down, I wish I could.
I would love to push you around, maybe someday.
I would love to take you for granted, in the exact same way.

A Dream I Had

The following is a dream I had on Friday, October 04, 2002, 4:45 p.m.

I just had the weirdest dream. I took a nap after work, as is usual lately, and when I woke up I was crying. The reason I was crying is because of what happened in the dream...

I had been seated at one of those picnic style tables at an establishment very similar to a Shakey’s Pizza Parlor when I observed a woman at the refreshment counter. She appeared to be an older lady, very pretty, makeup applied beautifully, but so unused to smiling that she had wrinkle frown lines. While I watched, a sweet little boy and girl were running around, appearing to be maybe 5 or 6 years old. The lady was apparently ‘Grandma’ to the two, who had been calling out to her while running, albeit a young Grandma appearing to me to be only in her 50’s or so.

Grandma yelled at the little girl, who was not doing anything ‘bad’ per se, just being an energetic little one, and said some things along the lines of ‘You worthless thing, stop that running around,’ and more mean and nasty sayings. I stared at her; I couldn’t help myself. Her tone was not joking; she was severe, terse. She saw me looking at her and said, “What?!?” I rose, and I walked towards her. When I stood up, she saw me and started setting down her things atop the counter. The actions were clearly like someone accustomed to a physical confrontation; setting down her purse, taking her keys, papers, etcetera out of her hands – freeing her hands for whatever might transpire after that.

I kept walking towards her, all the while with her saying things like “Do you have something to say to me? What is your problem?” I stepped up to her, still having said nothing, and looking directly into her eyes I said, “Why are you doing this? You should be looking that little girl in the eyes saying things like ‘When I look at you, the sunshine that comes out of your eyes blinds me, I love you so much,’ not the mean and nasty things you’re saying now.” We both started to cry, as she said back to me, “But I don’t know how... this is all that she knows. I was like this to her mom; her mom is like that to her. What am I supposed to do?” Still crying, I said, “You have the power to break the cycle, walk over there and hug her, tell her that you love her – see where it goes from there.”

Grandma walked from me to her granddaughter who had stopped running and was sitting in the play area in a corner. Smiling, the Grandma went to the girl, went to her knees, and told her what I had told her to say; the ‘sunshine comment,’ and that she loved her. It made me so happy to see that I had made a difference in that lady’s actions towards the little girl. I left the establishment with an image of the three playing together, giggling and laughing.

I woke up crying, confused; what does it mean? A close friend believes that this was my brother and me. I lived with my brother the longest of any of my siblings, so is this an image of him? Is this an image of my mother, even though the lady appears like a grandmother to the little girl? Does this mean I am still a little girl inside and need that motherly relationship to grow? These are all just thoughts.

It does seem sort of significant to me that I had just finished reading and watching a video about Medea – a roman poem about a woman scorned by her husband who kills their two children in order to cause pain and suffering to her ex-husband. After watching the play, I said to a good friend that Medea as portrayed reminded me of my mother: tragically scheming, evil, yet highly intelligent -- intelligent enough to plot and avenge herself.

My friend was slightly taken aback, as most people are when she realized that even though we have been friends for a couple of years, and she knew that I have not really spoken to or dealt with my mother in almost 9 years, that if Medea’s actions reminded me of my mother that that has to be significantly greater than ‘just not speaking to her.’ I do not know how to better clarify this thought. I guess what I mean to say here is that I almost casually say I don’t talk to my Mom, so it makes that seem less significant to people until they glean some more details from me.

It may take a few years, but after the many different conversations that occur after a year or so between us, when people hear of an event here, a conversation there, that transpired between my mom and me, when they add it all up apparently it is unsettling to them. Never mind how unsettling it has been for me. My personal ‘favorite,’ and please note the sarcasm in this, is when my mother emailed me after the first three years had passed by to say that she had seen me getting arrested on the TV show “Cops,” and while she was sad to see me get arrested, that she was happy that of the group of 4 or 5 of us, that I was the only one who was ‘just’ drunk and not high on drugs. Now, as a parent, I would be happy that my son or daughter was not high either, but I was not then, nor have I ever been arrested. I have never done drugs, and alcohol consumption has been moderate. More importantly, however, I have never been on “Cops.”

Journal: Aeneid, Manipulation & Mortals

I had a literature class. We had to journal what we were reading:

The Aeneid begins with Aeneas and Achates arrival at Carthage, a town that is progressing before their eyes, building into a fine city. Aeneas is impressed with what he sees before him; everything being built to last a long time. Aeneas reminisces with Achates and weeps, remembering what they have already been through: Hector being dragged around Troy’s walls by Achilles, the amazon queen Penthesilea also killed by Achilles, and battle. Aeneas and Achates see their former shipmates who were lost from their sight in a storm, which makes them very happy, but remembering their cloudy mantle they repress their excitement to observe from the side some more. The former shipmates approach Queen Dido and tell her that they lost King Aeneas at sea on the way to Italy, and they believe he is dead. Queen Dido offers the men safety, and offers to send out her men to look for Aeneas. At this point, Aeneas and Achates break from the cloud of disguise, which was given them by Venus, Aeneas’ mother. All throughout the Aeneid, we see the manipulations of the gods in the characters’ lives.

Upon meeting, Aeneas compliments Queen Dido’s beauty and impresses her with his speech. She also wants to impress Aeneas and calls for a feast with much preparation. Before and during the feast, Juno and Venus both intervene and help the queen along in her feelings for Aeneas, and she starts to fall in love with him. Queen Dido is viewed as madly in love, wandering the city, thinking only of Aeneas: caressing the place where he sat, roaming places they had visited together. The queen lapses on her responsibilities to the city and its people, and the city falls to latency.

Meanwhile, Mercury seeks out Aeneas, and asks him if it is his duty to build Carthage or is his duty to his gods. Mercury tells Aeneas that he has to leave, secretly, to journey to Dis (Hades). Aeneas prepares to leave, and Dido is furious. In their discussion, Aeneas speaks as though their relationship is over. Dido tries to keep Aeneas there, but he is duty-bound to Jupiter and leaves regardless of anything Dido might say or do. After Aeneas leaves, Queen Dido tricks her sister who she has prepare a pyre to burn Aeneas’ things in attempt to bring him back to her by using ‘magic powers.’ In reality, it is Queen Dido’s own funeral pyre – she commits suicide. In Dis (Hades), Aeneas sees Dido, who rejects him even after he explains that it was not his will but the gods’ will that drove him away from her. Even in death, she spurns him, and returns to her first husband for comfort and love together in eternity.

All along we see Aeneas and Dido getting shoved one way or another by the machinations of the scheming gods and goddesses. In the end, Dido dies in a tragic manner by killing herself. When Aeneas sees her, he pleads with her to forgive him as he did not think or know that his leaving would affect her so. In the end, neither Aeneas nor Dido know that the reason Dido’s love for Aeneas burned so bright and so deep was because it was influenced by Juno and Venus' manipulative ways.

Journal: The Odyssey

I had a literature class. We had to journal what we were reading:

Many themes circulate throughout Homer’s epic poems The Iliad and The Odyssey. We see gods and goddesses cast judgment upon mortals, while holding themselves unaccountable for similar transpirings. We see honor, bravery, vengeance, and grudges held for many years; heroes made from fair dealings and honorable ways of living. However, one of the main ideas threaded throughout both epics, The Iliad and The Odyssey, is the treatment of the traveler and the hospitality received from peoples formerly unknown to them.

In The Odyssey it is through our hero, Odysseus, and the treatment he receives while on his 20-year wander that we see some of the ways and manners of the people at that time. Starting with Odysseus’ stay with the immortal sea nymph Kalypso, who upon finding Odysseus on her shore proceeds to care for him as in the manner of a god; bathing him, feeding, him, caring for him, everything short of sending him home. Once it is decided that home is where Odysseus is bound, however, Kalypso provides Odysseus with all the tools, victuals, and clothing to make the journey in as much comfort as possible. Other incidents involve the goddess Athena, who never appears to mortals in her own countenance, but takes on different guises to travel into various towns. In each of these towns, the people treat her as a ‘friend,’ feed her, provide a fire to warm her, provide whatever she may require, and upon her departure offer a gift as well. That is how the customs were in those days; treat everyone as you would a friend for you may never tell when an immortal may be ‘testing’ you, and grave things befell those who spurned a god or goddess.

The incident that singularly stands out in The Odyssey is on Odysseus’ final leg home he is found upon an unknown shore, and ‘happens’ to meet the princess (with a little help from Goddess Athena) who feeds, bathes, and clothes Odysseus before helping him back to her mansion to consult with her father and mother, the king and queen. After the advice from Princess Nausikaa and Goddess Athena, Odysseus enters the banquet hall and sits down “amid the ashes” of the hearth. This action is explained by “the suppliant who sits there is, so to speak, on consecrated ground and cannot be forcibly removed.”[1] After hearing Odysseus’ plea, the king and queen invite Odysseus to join their feast that evening, have him spend the night in their home, have another feast in his honor in the morning, pentathlon games – all without ever knowing Odysseus’ name! This is a fine example of how strangers were treated in those times.

[1] Homer. "The Odyssey." The Norton Anthology Expanded Ed. Mack et al. New York: Norton, 1995. Footnote 3, p.289

Twisted

His touch so soft
Like the velvet on my torn dress

His kiss so sweet
Like nectar of pure sugar cane

But as electrifying as an outlet
To live the dream of queen

Only for one moment
As I lie in a bed of softly scented feathers
The smell of dried rose petals
Comes over me

As his shadow creases my spirit
As I scream in ecstasy
Wanting and yearning for no end.
Can this feeling last for ever?

My eyes open, my heart grows fonder
My legs twitch

Can I say the words that are open in my heart?
Can I indulge in sentence of lust and love?
Intertwined

My breath escapes me
My limbs fall
As my eyes close and open again for
Last time

That love will never be forgotten!

Dear Dad

Dear dad, daddy, father, pop;
I don’t know what to call you anymore.
What the hell is your name anyway?

I found a Father’s day card,
made for you when I was six.
It’s messy, colored outside of the lines,
covered in gold glitter that won’t stick.

It was left in the trash
when you were cleaning house.
I didn't think that it still hurt.
I guess rivers run deep.

How you must’ve felt when you
opened the envelope that day.
Forcing yourself to be grateful
and appreciative of something so lame.

I have a lot to be forgiven for.
Certainly you got more than you bargained for.
1:15 that Summer morning,
when you saw that unsuspecting, innocent baby you agreed to nurture and protect.

I’m sorry for all the lies.
trying to tell you what you wanted to hear,
not what was the truth;
shielding you from finding out who I really was.

Deep Thoughts

Hello all, I hope I can add some deep thoughts at some point. Right now it's after midnight, I have a cold, and all I want to do is sleep. So g'night all!

Karina

Something isn’t right about this. I should be feeling different, should be acting different. Aren’t I supposed to be sad? Depressed? Hysterical? Aren’t I supposed to be crying my eyes out, thinking there’s nothing worth living for, that my life is over?

Instead, I’m standing in front of the mirror making sure my shoes match my dress. I’m listening to Jeff in the shower. Listening for the water to stop running. I mean, it’s been fifteen minutes already. Jeff never showers for longer than ten.

I walk into the living room looking for something to do. I need to keep busy. But what I want to do, and what I should do, are two different things. I want to take out the marketing projections for next year and finalize my expected sales. I know I can’t do that. That isn’t right on a day like this.

Then again, I know I should be crying or needing to be held, or something. But I can’t seem to make myself do that either. Because I don’t feel anything. I can’t even say I feel numb, which would be a relief if I could say, because people could accept that one. The shower water shuts off. I turn toward the bedroom, preparing to walk in and make sure Jeff wears the right suit. Make sure his hair is groomed right. But it catches my eye instead. I can’t help but be drawn to it, needing to pick it up and stare at it close.

It’s the picture of me and her taken on Christmas Eve two years ago. Before everything seemed to change. Before I realized that we had nothing. Nothing but a long history which seemed to be the only thing we did have.

We’re laughing in it. Our arms are around each other’s shoulders and we’re laughing. I can’t remember what we were laughing about. To tell the truth, I barely remember that day at all.

It must’ve been something stupid, this secret joke between us. We were always laughing over the really dumb things. If we were ever to laugh about something truly funny, then that would lead to seriousness and we couldn’t allow ourselves to see the real us. The people we were down deep.

Jeff touches my shoulder, making me jump. I didn’t hear him come in the room. I stand up quickly and put the picture back on the shelf. I don’t want to feel his touch on my shoulders, nor do I want him to see that I was looking at the picture. It’s not that I don’t like his touch- I do- it’s just that people touching me seems to hit that nerve in the back of my neck. Like that feeling you get when you’re in a crowded room and worry that you can’t get enough air.

I turn to face him. I can’t smile, nor frown. I just watch him.

“How’s this?” He asks, gesturing his arm down his body, showing the suit he chose.

He’s wearing a navy blue suit with a white shirt and red tie. He had put on his black Oxfords, the ones that lace funny. His hair is still wet, but it’s been combed into place, neatly. He looks perfect.

I squint at him. “You’re going to wear a red tie?”

He just stares at me with that blank expression he’s become so good at forming. The look that says he doesn’t understand what I’m talking about.

I force myself not to roll my eyes, but I can’t seem to stop my voice from sounding exasperated. “You can’t wear red to a funeral.”

“I can’t?” The confused look doesn’t go away.

“No. You can’t.”

Jeff shrugs in a defeated manner. “I guess I could wear my navy one. Or my black one. But then, I do have one that’s sort of a brown color.”

I sigh at him. He’ll never understand. “Just forget it. Let’s just get out of here and go.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You were looking at her picture.”

I feel my insides tighten. “Yes, I was. I was waiting for you to get out of the shower, and then when you did, I turned to go to the bedroom and there it was. I had just picked it up when you walked in and frightened me to death.”

My eyes widen in shock. I can’t believe I said that! I’m on my way to a funeral, her funeral, and I make a joke about death.

Jeff takes a step toward me. He puts his arms around me and for a second, it’s the most relieving, secure feeling, to feel his arms around me tight. I want to sag into those arms, lay my head on his shoulder, and stay like that forever. But I know, if I did that, I would be allowing my emotions to control my actions.

I push him away and turn around to get my purse. “Come on, let’s go.”

I walk past him, heading to the front door, knowing he’s watching me not knowing what to do. How can I make him realize I don’t need anything? That I’m fine, this means nothing more to me than an interruption in my work schedule.

The drive to the church is silent. Jeff must’ve thought that even putting on the radio would be rude to the dead or something. I know he’s dying to listen to some music, he never could handle silences.

I should tell him it’s okay, that he can turn on the radio and play that tape he just bought, but I say nothing. I don’t have the energy, nor do I care if he’s happy or not. I just want to be left alone, in this silence.

It’s sunny out, with huge, fluffy white clouds. The temperature is in the low eighty’s. One of those days where the sun glimmers in the trees, making the leaves look like they’re sparkling. It’s hard to believe that we’re going to a funeral.

I’ve always thought that there were things you did on dark days and things you did on light ones. Weddings, picnics, laughable hours with the ones you love were things you did on the light days. Funerals, heartbreaks, getting fired were things you did on the dark days.

This was definitely a light day and yet, we were going to a funeral. Her funeral of all things. Why didn’t the weather know we needed a dark day? What an oxy-moron that is.

Jeff turned the corner to the parking lot and drove around for a few minutes looking for that ultimate parking spot. I hate this trait of his: finding a place to park that will be close to the door to where he’s heading, so he won’t have as far to walk. I don’t mind walking, why should he?

At last the parking space is discovered. I barely wait for the car to stop before opening my door and stepping outside. The sun is much brighter than it was in the car. I search through my purse and take out my sunglasses. I feel like I should be Audrey Hepburn, dressed in a tight, black cocktail dress with pearl earrings and these stupid dark glasses.

The parking lot of the church is quite full. People have already started to park on the side street. I’m a bit surprised by this. I knew she was a social butterfly, but the only friends I had met of hers were the drug addicts of the town. The rowdies, as we used to call them. The ones who were fun and exciting to date in college, but lost their appeal when I realized they were headed on a long, drawn out journey to nowhere.

It’s too hot to wear such dark colors. I can feel the sun beating on my scalp, burning blisters through my hair. A light film of sweat begins to form between my breasts.

Jeff comes around from his side of the car and holds out his hand to me. I hadn’t realized I was just standing there. I take his hand and feel him squeeze mine. I try to smile at him, to let him know that I appreciate his support. We begin walking to the front of the church.

People are bustling everywhere, heading in the same direction. My insides cringe. My heart starts beating a thousand miles a minute..... Beating.

Near You Always

Please don’t say, “I love you."
Those words touch me much too deeply.
And they make my core tremble.
Don’t think you realize the power you have over me.
And please don’t come so close,
It just makes me want to make you near me always.

Please don’t kiss me so sweet,
It makes me crave a thousand kisses to follow.
And please don’t touch me like that,
Makes every other embrace seem pale and shallow.
Please don’t look at me like that,
It just makes me want to make you near me always.

Please don’t send me flowers,
They only whisper the sweet things you’d say.
Don’t try to understand me,
Your hands already know too much anyway.
It just makes me want to make you near me always.

And when you look into my eyes,
Please know my heart is in your hands.
It’s nothing that I understand, but when in your arms,
You have complete power over me.

So be gentle if you please,
Because your hands are in my hair,
But my heart is in your teeth.
And it makes me want to make you near me always.

Him...

You’re lying face down on the bed, pressing your cheek against the pillow. The sheets are itchy and stiff because you bought them the day before, just for this occasion. The little pink flowers in the print are too feminine for your taste, but they match the new painting on the walls of the room and that was what was important at the time.

You hear his footsteps enter the room. You close your eyes and pretend that you’re dozing, hoping he doesn’t realize how much his being here means to you. You begin a steady rhythm of breathing and silently willing your heart to slow.

He crawls into the bed and the mattress slumps under his weight. The combined scent of him and new sheets fills your nostrils as he settles himself next to you. His leg wraps around yours while his arm drapes over your back, fingertips lightly rubbing your skin through your shirt.

You feel his whiskers scratch against your upper arm. You turn your face towards him and absorb his features, hoping to memorize every detail, so you can remember them on those nights when you’re alone and needing that space filled. You know his eyes are gray-brown and that his face is round. But you had forgotten about his slight overbite and his cleft chin. You’re surprised that you forgot about this, the one thing that had attracted you to him in the first place.

You reach your hand out and with your index finger, push against the tender skin of his chin. You smile at his reaction of sighing and closing his eyes. Your heart swells and you feel the lump of tears that always seem to come when you’re with him, threaten. You stop yourself from telling him the truth that would scare him away if he knew. You chant over and over to yourself that this moment is only what it is: a moment.

He opens his eyes and turns to face you. He smiles sheepishly and hugs you tighter. He rubs his nose against yours and his smile grows wider.

“Have I told you how glad I am to be here?” He asks.

You feel your stomach grow warm and the back of your neck tightens. You smile back and stroke his face with your fingers.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” You whisper. “You don’t even know how much.”

You feel him squeeze you harder in reaction. You grow very still and stare at his mouth, remembering how his lips feel when they touch yours.

As if he hears your prayers, he brings his head forward.