ocg's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Is this love? So there are things that I am hesitant to write in the old bloggy-blog-diary-thingamajig, because there are people that read it that may not like or approve of what I have to say, and all I can think is, "Why did I tell them about this place?" Of course, there are really only two people that come here on a quasi-regular basis, but still. That one? If you think it is you, it probably is. You see, a lot of times it's not so much about what I want to write about as what people will think of it. It's not so much that what I want to say is in some way offensive as how some will interpret it. But I am supposed to be able to write about whatever strikes my fancy right? Wrong. I have accountabilities and responsibilities to the people in my life that keep me from writing true to myself- true to form. That, in itself, really fucking sucks. But I have to write somewhere, right? ************************************** I’ve had lovers in my life that I adored. I’ve had others that I wish desperately to forget. But I’ve never a lover since my marriage. To rephrase: I’ve had one lover, who has morphed, somehow, into a chore, or a bore (not by his doing, because he is much more creative that I could ever be in our personal arena). I’ve forgotten how to love him wholly. I’ve lost my ability to be his personal Kama Sutra, something that I used to revel in. He is, honestly, my very best friend. He’s whom I would rather spend my time with, more than any person on this earth. When I met him, I had somehow transcended the bullshit of life, the redundancy and triviality of banal everyday goings-on. That’s who he fell in love with- that actualized woman, the one that could feel and see and be with him as he is. I owned myself, all of me, and I let him be he, and he let me be I. It was so wonderful. And then came the marriage, and along came a slew of ‘marriage-ness’. Don’t get married, my pretties. The first year really is the worst, so I found out, because all of the hopes and dreams and thoughts of how “my marriage is going to be different from all the rest” never came about. [How the hell did I marry such a traditionalist?] So we started so well, so knowing and comforting of the total shit that had been laid in our lives, the deaths and the grief and the sorrow, and we were so on par and didn’t NEED to deal with the shittiness. And now, somehow, I am mired in it again. Actually, I’ve been going through this for a while- like two years. I’d never leave him, surely, but I wonder still if I have made the right decision for myself, or for him. We’ve had the discussion(s) about ‘soul mates’ and about passion, and we both somehow know we do not fit the image that the other had in mind for ‘that person’. We’ve told each other this much: “I love you dearly, [blank], but you are NOT my soul mate.” Funny, because we both believe in soul mates. Sad, too. But heartless? No. We’ve made a commitment to one another. And before you tell me how bad that is to do, to not marry for this lustful love, I say, “Have you been in my shoes, bitch?” I’ll write more on this, trying to forget who is reading and who cares and who will ream me a new asshole for telling it like I feel it. But my husband knows who I was before I met him, and he’ll love me no matter what I say in here. So, that’s the best I can hope for. That is all. 3:06 a.m. - 2004-09-05 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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