the return

Back to work...



A part of me feels as though I never left, and yet another part of me feels as though I haven't been here in years. Same old stuff. Some things have changed and far too many faces have changed in 6 weeks, but all in all the beast remains the same. Same cantankerous ungrateful patients, same grumbly coworkers, same everything. I missed it though. Boy did I miss it. I missed my friends and my work. Missed using my brain. Missed the ridiculousness of being awake all night, most every night.



I missed the completely inappropriate discussions with coworkers and the incredibly wise advice they offer...



While out on my medical adventure, I did a lot of thinking and some soul searching as well. Even a bit of dating. As of late I've been back in the dating world full force. And that's all the same too. Just learned a lot more...

used items

Used items are always cheap, but are rarely worth the bargain. For the money saved may well be paid in inconvenience.

out for the count

here I sit... BORED AS HELL.

I could and should be doing oh so many things. But no. I sit here thinking. I should be writing my paper. 4-6 pages due tomorrow at midnight. But I think I'll wait. I have more than 24 hours...

Ah procrastination. So evil, and so good. Guess that adrenaline rush I get at the last few hours before a deadline is pretty potent...and I like it.

Anyhoo. I had surgery last week. Ouch. I know the drill though. It's something I've done a time or 8 before. Off for 6 weeks. No work. No nothing right now. Just recoup.

WTF? Seriously? Me. The do 47 things in an hour. Leave the house at 6a don't get back til 2a kinda gal. Work work work. Work an extra. Work work work. Do this. Do that. Go here. Go there. GO GO GO! Nope. Can't. Not at all.

Drove 4 blocks yesterday and got tired and sore. Taking naps. Sleeping through the night. What?! Barf.

I am being a good little patient--FOR ONCE-- and taking it easy. But why is 'taking it easy' so damn hard?

I'm ready to feel like me. To be running around at decapitated chicken status again. To be tearing down the trail on my bike at full speed. Cranking out those pedals. Feeling the wind in my hair (through my helmet naturally). I want to be burnin' that candle at both ends.

Soon. Soon I shall. But for now I shall sit back and chill. For once in my life I'll allow it.

Another movie? Si.

the nice guy...

Yup...the nice guy. The charming, sweet, loving, well-mannered nice guy.



You know what they say: "Nice guys finish last."



Why do they say that? Well, it just might be true...



The nice guy. The damn nice guy. The one I always fall for. Well it's a crock. Truth is: nice guys aren't nice at all. They just don't have the stones to be a man. They are pussies. They play this game with you and buttercup you, making you think they are genuine and they care for you. But really they are just too lily-livered to to be men and say what they really think or feel.



No. That might hurt your feelings. Awww...and then they'd cry. What the fuck ever. I'm sorry, but I am completely okay with hurting someone's feelings. The truth is the truth. And if it hurts, well damn that's part of life. In case no one ever told you.



I fucking hate nice guys. I think that the nice guy, who is too afraid to tell you anything so he leads you on, is more of an asshole than that guy who is just a plain old outright asshole. At least the guy who is an asshole is man enough to be...well A MAN.

the hurdle

It's been jumped. I jumped the hurdle. The 'Get Your Ass Back Out There' hurdle.

Dates :). First dates are the best. The flirting. The stories. The butterflies.

The art of the distraction. And hey, quite possibly the sexiest Army boy ever could have something to do with the distraction level >:). Gawd. I know. Army boys. Shit. Every girl has their something. Their kryptonite. Mine just so happens to be a combination of the Latino boys, and the military boys. Some women love firemen, some EMS, Cops, murses, whatever it is, there is that something that gets them everytime. Mine is military boys...preferably of the Latin variety. Lucky for me this is a military town...with more than a few of those oh so sexy Spanish-speaking-brown-eyed yummies.

Anyhoo... the move. Yup. Moving on. Someone new...well a couple someones (something from the norm {cam + Latin} and something a little different for a change). A girl's got a right to play the field a little, no? It's high time I get my ass out on the field and play it for all it's got :)

jack be nimble jack be quick...

The letting go. Letting go of what? Of the hope that it would "work out," that he'd change his mind...that it would get good again. It's done. It has been from the start.

Maybe on some level I knew this. I knew that somehow this would never work. Maybe that's why I wanted it so much. God I have never wanted any earthly thing so much. I wanted so much. But yet I was scared shitless. I'd never admit that, but I was. I thought for once I wasn't afraid, but I was more afraid than ever. How did I become such a damn pansy?

Guess I always was...'twas all an act.

So here I stand, poised to let him go. To walk away. To admit that it's done. To say I'm done. It's a good thing I know, but damn if it doesn't hurt like hell.

Makes me think...(what else is new?) I used to believe that if it was meant to be it would be. Nice thought. Comforts a hurting heart. But who knows...maybe some things work and some don't, and that's just the way it is. Maybe people are in your life for a season, and they exit. End. Sometimes they come back, but not usually...

Anyhoo I made a good step forward today. Someone new. Guess I'll be in limbo for a while yet. But I can handle the limbo...

girl like me...

Girl Like Me
Miranda Lambert


You don't need a girl like me
I've got bruises you can't see
And when the lights go outI won't be around
You don't need a girl like me

You can't have a heart like mine
But you can hold it for a while
And when the lights go outI won't be around
You can't have a heart like mine

There's a rule that goes unwritten
And I break it from time to time
If you're fool enough to listen
Then I'm fool enough to lie

That's the kind of girl I am
I take off before I land
And even though you think you can
You can't change the way I am

Cause the rule remains unwritten
I still break it from time to time
If you're fool enough to listen
Then I'm fool enough to lie

You can't change the way I am
You don't need a girl like me

mister UPS man...

Seriously?

So how is it that every single time I am waiting for a package to arrive the UPS man shows up the moment I step out of the shower? Yup that's right. I step out of the shower, water-soaked, just starting to towel off and... knock, knock, knock. I normally pick up the pace of my towelling. Scurrying to dry the water enough to throw my jeans on. But this never works. Never. I end up with damp legs trying feverishly to pull the jeans on. Of course they stick. I pull and pull. Jump around. Nothing. No avail. Of course the soundtrack to my jumping and wrestling my jeans on is the UPS man giving one last go-round to his knocking.

He leaves. And leaves my usual note: your package is at the office.

Of course it is. Damn the UPS man. Maybe next time I will just appease him. Maybe I will just saunter to the door in nothing but a bra and panties. I will surely make it to the door on time then. But that will bring a whole other can of worms to the table...

Guess I will just let him take my packages to the office like he always does...

But I must admit the look that would be painted all over his countenance when he saw a girl with dripping wet hair, in nothing but a bra and panties. Heehee :)

too much in your own head

That's what he said. I never worry about you until you get too far into your own head...

Struck a chord. A thick heavy E chord. Ya know? The fatty on your guitar, the one that digs deep into your fingers as you depress, trying desperately to make something similar to music. You press. It hurts and you press harder still. Your feeble finger trying with all it's umph to make a good clean crisp noise. But it waivers. Your finger's strength fails and the sound is more of a rattling, gurgling annoyance. That's how I felt. That's what I feel now. I am trying to make music out of an old guitar. Out of tune. And my fingers are blistered to near oblivion. But still I press that thick string. That tightly wound steel that was made to make music.

Here I am way too far into my own head. Entirely too much these days. You see there are layers and layers of muck and mire I am trying to sort through. I am trying to find the solid ground... This last season of my life has brought so many changes. The rollercoaster of evisceration all began with my getting the boot from my beloved pastors. And sitting there in the aftermath of the cataclysm, I looked at what I was. Who I was. I saw who I really was underneath all I had pretended to be for so long. I had--and for the most part am still having-- one megalith of a question of faith. Trying to find the intersection of my faith and my reality...but this is another 47,000 blogs...one day, one day I will type it all out...but anyhoo...

Next stop folks: THE BLACK HOLE.

What the hell is the Black Hole? The black hole is where you find yourself when you feel free enough to live your life on your terms, and you do so only to feel as though you've made some enormous mistakes. Wondering so many times "where the fuck am I?! How did I get here? What am I doing? I should stop. Go back? No, not turning back...but then what? What now?!"

This my friends is me being too much in my own head. Pondering. Contemplating. Questioning. Answering. Only to question once more. Just figuring it all out. So I say. Guess it's just my way. My way of gathering my thoughts. Straightening them out, and starching them. Creasing them just right. Folding them perfectly. Making sure I no one sees the stains. What stains? Emotions. I hide in my thoughts. I think it through. I ponder every last drop out of it. It's avoidance. I avoid feeling it by thinking. Is this just another gift from dear ole Dad? Maybe... And that gets the thinking turbines turning all over again...

And then I remind myself to be patient. After all, twenty-something years of auto-protect cannot be turned off in 30 days. Approximately 30 days ago is when I started this Dad business. Trying to identify and sort out all the Daddy issues I have. But I know I've merely scratched the surface. Like the storm shutters at the flea market. Old and dirty. Layers of paint and dirt. Paint weather-worn and cracked. In places showing colors underneath, and other places tiny glimpses of the wood. In order to get to the wood-- the parts that make the shutters shutters--you have to take off years and years of paint. The very thing that protected the wood from years and years of storms, is making it an eyesore now. So let us begin. Stripping off the paint. Chemicals. Wire brushes. And finally sand paper...

the webs we weave...

At this moment I'm feeling strange. I just poured my heart out to someone... Someone I've been hesitant to get close to. I won't go into details, but I could get very close to him if you know what I mean. And this would be bad. Very bad...

He whines and moans because I won't let him into my life. But I have very strict boundaries. I know that things go crazy without our planning.

Life is so motherfucking complicated.

I would so love the world to be black or white. This or that. One or the other. But no. The world and life is gray. All gray. There are some things that exist in black and white. But for the most part gray. Or black with white polka dots, or black with white polka dots. Hey! That's more interesting than gray.

Ugh... oh well. Guess the polka dots sure make it an interesting ride eh? And make for good stories...or half stories...or something...

ER errrr entertaining...

The ER is a never-ending wheel of entertaining, perplexing and hair-raising adventures...

The tales us members of this ER cult can tell.

The man who shaved his leg--hair, skin, and some bone--with a chain saw.

The man whose wife bit his testicle just a tad bit too hard during a rough midnight romp, and nearly lost the family jewels.

The man who arrived to the ER mid-afternoon stating he had some "things" in his rectum. And upon X-Ray examination a full-sized shampoo bottle, a compact mirror, a lotion bottle, and several other toiletries were found. Apparently a wild one night stand left him with more than a few lasting memories.

Of course in 7 years of work in the ER that is only a mere sprinkling of the tales I can tell. But tonight I must laugh at the silliness of people and the things they do...and say.

Over the radio a few hours ago we get a patch for a Police Clearance. Turns out a girl with a history of Autism (not sure how it can be history when that is not something you recover from...but anywhooo...) was assaulting her boyfriend and injured herself. The police were called and she went to jail...

Just now: A patient was struck with a bowl. Yes bowl. Not sure whether a cereal bowl. A mixing bowl. A drug paraphernalia (pipe) bowl. Who knows. But a bowl nevertheless. At four in the morning, he was tragically struck with a bowl. Right in his shin! Call the trauma surgeon! STAT!

And twenty two minutes ago a man waltzed into Triage, and filled out his form to be seen by the doctor. Dammit Jim! He's got vomiting and "craps!" Oh no! Not the craps! --tell me why he can conjure up the word vomiting, but not diarrhea? Maybe too difficult to spell? Or craps sounded more complex? Painful? Tragic? Nope. Not really. More asinine. Just spelled out in five letters just how much he did not need to be in the EMERGENCY ROOM at four AM on a Sunday morning.

Ahh the perpetual battle between the people working the night away for the true emergencies, ending up treating the man who forgot to wash the dye off his hair and scalp 20 hours prior, and lo and behold! his scalp itches. At 2 AM no less...

At least it makes for ridiculous stories to fill the annals of asininity.

the happiness factor

The happiness factor...

Happy. Such a simple word. So often unused. How many people are genuinely happy? Truly, honestly happy? For the longest time I went around claiming happiness, but all the while I was more dead inside than anything. I remember countless times when people would tell me to smile more. "Val you have such a pretty smile, I wish you weren't so serious all the time." So many people told me this over the years. I wondered all the time how I could just smile. Smile for no reason? Like some crazy ass fiend who had no clue about anything so they just smiled? Or like some over-botoxed hag whose face was stuck in a smile? But I get it now.

I get it. Recently I have been really analyzing my childhood and my feelings about some of my experiences. I realized that I held to the hurts and disappointments even though I told myself that I was fine and I had let go of it all. That it was in the past. Blah blah. But in reality I hadn't let go of a single hurt. The wounds would have long since healed and been nearly forgotten had I not held them open. I held the chains of my father's addiction so tightly that I was the one doing the damage. I kept this hurt so close and so tightly that I caused it to injure me over and over again.

I now know why I was so serious. It takes a lot of energy to fake life. To walk around making everyone believe that you are full of life, and that you are really living your life. When the secret reality is I was dying inside. I held myself so closely to my family--and the supposed responsibility that lies within keeping the secrets of addiction--that I was causing myself to atrophy. To remain in the town I hate living in, working in the job I don't want to do anymore, just surviving day to day. When I am a 26 year old woman who should be living her life to the fullest. I should be going out and meeting new people. I should be moving wherever I so choose. Living the nomadic life I dream of. Wherever the wind blows...wherever my next whim takes me. That is where I should be. Not settling for a mediocre life. Not wearing this stupid "everything's okay" mask.

So that is what I have done. I let go. That was the scariest part. The letting go. Like bungee jumping, the hardest part is the letting go. And ya know what? Once I looked at the wounds, they didn't seem so bad. I have examined my wounds, and cleaned them. And now--FINALLY-- they are healing. It hurt, and still does, but I feel better than ever. More whole than ever. I feel alive for the first time in my life. REALLY ALIVE.

All kinds of crazy things have gone on in my world lately. I have been hurt like never before, but in the midst of it all I have an overwhelming sense of peace and security. I know that I am good, no matter what. That what I have traversed thus far has been quite a climb, and so will the rest of my life. But I am happy. I truly choose to be happy.

I have learned several important lessons. One that sticks out the most is: I don't need anyone to make me happy. No one can alter my state of happiness, good or bad. If I am truly, honestly happy no actions can make me less happy, or even bolster my happiness. People aren't placed in your life to change your outlook, to make you this or that. They are not mood enhancers. They are there to make you a better person, and hopefully you do the same for them.

I'm done with this low living, pretending to be this and telling myself that I am that bullshit. I now living my life on my terms. Living MY LIFE! And it will be a grand one. No matter where it takes me, or who the main characters are, my life story will be a great one. I'm ready for it. It's time for a new chapter. The quill in hand, I'm ready.

Wanna read some more? It's gonna get good from here on out!

the meaning of friendship

I was asked today if I knew the meaning of friendship...



I thought I did, but apparently I do not know how to find true friends...or lasting friendships for that matter.



Inevitably I find myself, time after time, in parasitic relationships. Again and again I enter into friendships and/or dating relationships where I care and give more than the other person. I have very few friends, and even fewer people in my life who are true friends. People that would be there for me no matter what. That I could call at 3am just needing to talk, and they would listen. And let's not even mention how many of my "friends" would actually come to help me out if I needed help.



I wonder what the hell my problem is. Why is it that every damn time I pick someone to be my friend, or more than friends, I pick the people that are incapable of being true friends. And when in dating relationships why is it the guy that is emotionally unavailable that I decide to fall for.

healing is hurting

The healing.



The hurting.



Both are necessary...and most times they are inextricably linked. It hurts and it must heal, but hurting is an indication of healing...



Working in healthcare I am no stranger to the fact that when a wound heals it will hurt. Sometimes the healing process is markedly more painful than the injury. The injurious pain felt was immediate and sharp. While the healing gives a dull ache with momentary stings that won't quit. Moment by moment you are reminded of your wound, and reminded of the healing that has begun but is no where near complete.



I have recently become aware of this being true for emotional injuries as well. The layers of hurts we gather over the years can fester and become an overwhelming infection if not dealt with. I had hurt for so long I became numb to it, I ignored the wound and denied the twinges of pain so many times that I led myself to believe the lie that I was fine...

Until one day. One day I acted horribly to someone I cared a great deal about. I was still hurting from something he did. And while I told him--and myself for that matter--that I would forgive him and continue on as his friend, I just could not be nice to him. I found myself being this heinous bitch to him over and over again, for no reason. One particular day after an outing with him I found myself in tears wondering what the hell was wrong with me. How was it that I cared for him so much, and wanted to spend time with him, yet I still could not shake this desire to be angry at him? Why couldn't I just let it go and move on?

I was punishing him for things he did not do. He was being made to pay penance for a sin he didn't commit. While he hurt me, he did not deserve my radioactive bitchiness. I was angry yes. But not with him. Turns out I was projecting the feelings from the ghosts of past hurts and disappointments on him.

The human psyche is a perplexing thing. How is it that we can lie to ourselves? We know the truth...we know what really happened. And yet we tell ourselves we are fine and "move on." Only to further entrap ourselves in the cycle of hurting. Never truly healing or really moving on. It's a protective mechanism. That's it. We must protect ourselves to carry on. We want to ensure no further pain ensues so we dodge all things that appear even remotely like that which caused our original pain. Even so much as to hide from the very thing that will help us.

Like the four-year old with the skinned knee. Screaming and crying. Wincing in pain. His mother tells him the wound must be cleaned before it is bandaged. He cries and screams, knowing full well the pain the warm soapy water will bring. He has heard dozens of times before "we have to clean it so it can heal." But cleaning hurts. It burns and stings like hell. Then the throbbing sets in. Every second a reminder of your injury. Throb. Throb. STING! Throb. Throb. Throb. STING! STTTIIIINNNGGG! Throb.

But then after a bit of time passes you realize your wound is no longer hurting. You are barely aware the injury even existed. You have a scar. A permanent mark of the injury. But the pain dissipates, and even dissolves completely. The scar will even fade away...

burried hurts, and misguided lies

The pain our parents can dole out upon our lives can be lasting. At one point I thought that the issues with my relationship with my father had been dealt with.

I was wrong.

My childhood is split in two. The chasm of drug addiction forever changed my relationship with my father. Before his addictions gained the upper hand in his life he was a fun-loving playful soul. My father was my buddy. I was a true blue daddy's girl. Everything my daddy did, I wanted to do. Wherever he went, I wanted to tag along. On construction sites, to the lumberyard, the junkyard, around town running errands, anywhere and everywhere my daddy went I wanted to go.

Then he changed.

In what feels like an instant, my daddy became another man. The daddy I adored so very much was dead and gone, and in his place stood a shell of a man. A man so gripped by his addiction that he was blinded to all the hurt he was causing. He states nowadays that he purposefully worked himself out of my life and became distant to protect me. Unaware--even still-- of the damage that action caused me.

It hurt so much. Time and time again I would find myself so disappointed and heartbroken. My father's addiction controls him. He wants so desperately to be free, and he has been, but he just cannot break the chains his addictions hold over his life. Even thinking of this breaks my heart yet again. I can't stand the fact that the daddy I so loved as a little girl is dead and gone, and in his place is a broken, lifeless man. The saddest part of all is that my father will likely die without ever having lived. He will likely lose this fight. I want so badly to see that light in those ice blue eyes of his. Just once more. What I would give just to see his face light up with that infectious smile and his piercing baby blues twinkle.

How do you mourn the loss of someone who you see every day? The paradox that is the life of my father. He is alive and well. And yet all the while he is dead and gone. Buried deep within the confines of crack addiction is my daddy. Will he ever see the light of day again? I am not sure. But I refuse to give up hope. I know that he is capable of being clean. He just has to want it bad enough.

It is almost indescribable the hurt that I feel knowing that my daddy, the one I miss so dearly is here, just hidden away. That the one I spent my days with, the one I palled around with is missing. But yet a very similar man is ever-present in my life. This man looks exactly like my beloved daddy, only aged. He sounds like him, it's all the same man...only he is empty. His eyes no longer sparkle, they cry out with the anguish of a man so full of life caught in the death grip of addiction. He sits there in his room with crack rock after crack rock, day in and day out. Living the life of a dead man. He tells me he loves me more than I know. He loves me more than anything... But how do I believe this? How when I would ask him to come to my school functions, or see me sing at church...or just talk to me, and he chose to get high instead. I want to be angry about this. But while he lit that pipe and smoked it every time on his own volition, he is also controlled by it. It is there screaming in his ear ever louder, a near brute force twisting his arm, his will and ultimately controlling his entire life.

Heartbreaking.

I learned as a young girl to just turn off my feelings of hurt. And when it was really bad, I would just flip that feeling of hurt into fuel for anger. I got to where it hurt too much to hurt. I refused to be hurt, I just chose to either turn it off and bury it within, or get angry. It became so much of my daily life with my father that it translated into my relationships with others. I thought that this was a great solution. I was wrong. It was fine and dandy while I was in the situation. Because frankly it was a day to day thing. It was seemingly more worthwhile to just act as though it weren't happening rather than attempt to heal from hurts every single day. Especially when those hurts would not end, nor would my need for restitution be satiated. It was one of my many auto-protect mechanisms.

I am now discovering the many facets of my childhood need to protect my heart, and the seemingly brash and harsh ways I deal with those who hurt me. I am realizing that I need to allow people to be people. I cannot protect myself from further hurts. People do not live up to our expectations, they disappoint, upset and annoy us, and they break our hearts. But these are all the plot twists that create the great novels of our human existence.

I have realized that I attempt to force anyone who crosses me to pay for the hurts my father caused (and still causes). This is no one's debt to pay. My father could have apologized all the times he hurt me, but he didn't. And now the damage is done. I choose to forgive him. And now I need to allow myself to heal. So that is my mission right now. To fix me...

I am the fixer. The one who must fix it...whatever it is I must make an attempt to make it better. So here goes. No matter the multitude of tears and personal wrangling, and contemplation I will fix this. I will find the way to fix me. And thus fix my relationships both current and future.

The woman I want to be is not a harsh volatile person who causes people to tread with fear and trepidation around her. I want to be exactly the opposite of that. I want to be an approachable kind woman who instills a feeling of trust in all the souls she encounters.

Obviously I want this fix to be permanent. And I would love to be able to just flip a switch and be that woman...but healing and retraining yourself takes time. A dear friend (one of the most influential friends I have made, and one who wounded me deeply...a previous blog is written on this topic) who knows me more than I know myself at times, gave me some of the best words of encouragement: "Val you need to be patient with yourself. You cannot unlearn something you have done your entire life in one day. You worked hard to protect yourself in that way, and that is the way you know. " That is what I will tell myself. Continue on...press in and fix this. I will heal from this deep set wound from my childhood, and be the woman I long to be.

the "friend" zone

Well this has been an interesting adventure...



I have asked the questions, gotten some of the answers...and I feel a wealth of clarity, and a host of confusion. But all the while I feel much better about the situation. The "what are we?" is gone...we are friends. Friends that may well have gone WAY too far out of the friend zone for a spell. But friends nevertheless.



My pride is wounded for sure. I feel a strange naked vulnerability as I sit typing this. I have never before been so incredibly open and honest with my feelings. Never before have I laid my wants and desires on the line like that. I am not sure how I feel about this. Partly I feel regret. I feel that maybe he didn't deserve to know how I felt, or even for me to feel that way. And I also feel as though the fact that I laid it all on the line, and said what I had to say strengthened me. I suppose both sides of this coin are true. If it was all game with him maybe he didn't deserve for me to allow myself to fall for him. But nevertheless, when I find a man who isn't running game on me, I will be able to show my feelings. And that is a very good thing.



I am not saying he completely was running a game. But if he was...well he is the fucking master game-runner. The nice guy...who genuinely cares for you...is chivelrous to you...makes you feel like he wants to be with you...and then you cross the line and become WAY more than friends physically. But he still calls it friends who are enjoying eachother... Is it just me or is that a really warped view? YOU CANNOT HAVE SEX WITH YOUR FRIENDS! Sorry Charlie.

Live and learn... bolster your strength, and see the world through another viewpoint.

what i am...a rant

What I am...

What I am not...

Who I am...

Who I am not...

So many questions and so many answers... so much unsaid.

Gasp! I feel so incredibly bogged down with questions right now. The ones I should ask. The ones I want to ask. The ones I don't want to ask. The ones I have asked, but still feel as though they have not been satiated. My mind is in a flurry of thoughts, questions, propositions, wranglings. Hurt feelings, bruised heart, wounded pride.

Have I been duped? Led on? Tricked? Or maybe I have just been pushing for something that wasn't there. Maybe wanting something so much that I saw more than what was there in actuality. Hmmm...

Should I ask? Should I ask him these questions and more? Maybe I already know the answer? Who knows? Not I.

All I know is what I felt, what he says, what my gut says, and now what an all too informed friend says. Groan. DOUBLE GROAN!

Still I refuse to walk away. I won't bow out. Not this time. I actually care for once. He matters to me. And what happens between him and I matters to me.

On one hand I truly wish we had started this whole fiasco as just friends. Friendship can be built upon. But it is really difficult to rewind feelings, and once the sex line has been crossed it is even more difficult to go back behind that line. But the line was crossed. From the gate we crossed the line. And now I wonder. I wonder if maybe we really are just best friends who got too far ahead of themselves. But it doesn't feel as such. It feels as though we were always more than just friends.

I don't want to be his best friend. I want to be his everything. I want to be the one he thinks of when he is trying to sleep at night. I want to be the one whose kiss he remembers and smiles. I want to be the one he misses even three seconds after leaving my presence. I want to be his. Is this too much to ask for?

Is it too much for me to want to be adored? To want for someone to love me? It doesn't seem to be too much. But at times it feels like I am asking too much. That is what I long for. I deeply long for someone to yearn for me. For them to see me as their everything. I have never been in love, and that is my aim. I want love. I want to fall for someone and have them catch me. I want to be the one for someone.

I just don't know what to do here...

Let it flow is what I have been told...

Just let it flow...

We shall see. Oh goodness this is hard. So hard. It hurts...

a rock and a hard place

Well here I am once again...stuck in a place where I either swallow my pride or I make the hard choice on account of principle. Stuck. Wedged in between two choices that are equally shitty. Not a fun place to be



You know sometimes I truly wish I were one of those girls who was completely oblivious to the things around her. Sometimes life in the fog is so much more peaceful than life spent staring into the glaring sun...seeing full well what lies ahead. But it hurts. It is incredibly uncomfortable at times to see what lies ahead...to see the looming storm clouds over the mountain pass. Those clouds containing destruction and an unsettling that will have a ripple-affect all across the land, every square inch of the territory known to you. It will even effect the places you'd never even thought of. The storm clouds will leave lasting effects and you know this long before the first drop ever touches the ground.



This is where I have been for weeks and weeks now. Knowing a raging storm was lurking on the horizon...but all the while I refused to look it in the face. Like the farmer who has toiled and poured out his sweat, blood, and tears on his crop. Nurturing the little plants, removing weeds, watering, fertilizing, cultivating. He works day in and day out in order to ensure a good healthy crop. And then one day, he gets a whiff of rain. He sees the giant thunderheads in the distance. He shudders to think of the destruction those clouds hold. They hold millions of gallons of life-giving water, vital to his crop. But they also contain hail, wind and lightening...things that can destroy all his hard work.



Relationships are like this at times. The hard work of cultivating something so wonderful and life-giving is also wrought with the worry of it all being washed away with the storm clouds looming on the horizon. And unfortunately when one smells the rain, it is on the way. Maybe the truth the rain brings will wash away the weaker elements of the relationship, or maybe the relationship will be lost in the hard rains, blowing winds, and pummeling hail stones. The hardest part is you must wait for the storm to finish until you survey the damage.



The only choice there is, is to sit and wait it out. You can make preparations, and run for cover but no matter what the rain is going to fall. And fall hard and fast. You see the storm clouds, and before you know it you are getting pelted in the head with rock hard hail stones. Long before you can completely escape you are surrounded by a storm that can either breathe life into the crop you have worked so hard for, or it can cause all your hard work to be for nought. Wait and see.



Wait and see. Sit around with your thumb up your ass...thinking up all the various scenarios, and all the gruesome scenes that could possibly await you upon your survey of the damage. Not a pleasant waiting room. No soft music, no cushy chairs, no interesting people to chat it up with, no cool magazines to distract you. Just the thunderous roar of the rain pummelling your wheat fields. Drop after drop, lightening strike after lightening strike. You wait. And listen to the roaring of the rain, only drowned out at times by the roaring of your thoughts. Wait. Think. Wait. Think. At times you may feel as though it will never end. That this storm and your thoughts will rage on and on forever.

And then all of a sudden you gain strength...a steel reserve of sorts. Or maybe you just become numb to the pain and anguish of supposing what could happen. You put your aching bruised heart in a coma and sit in the pain-numbed stupor waiting to see what happens. You walk away from the window and decide to call the nail-biting agony quits. You wait and see...after all that is the only choice you have. You have no crystal ball, no fortune telling clairvoyance to guide you. Just time. Time must pass and allow the storm to rage on and nature to do what it will. Agonizingly maddening.

This is all a giant analogy obviously. But it is incredibly fitting for my current state of being. I am extraordinarily confused at this very moment. I have been deeply hurt by someone I was beginning to allow myself to fall for. I felt it....the gentle falling. With every kiss and every touch I felt my heart melting and me losing a bit of altitude. I felt as though I COULD fall for him and it would be safe to do so. But underneath it all I knew the answer to a question I had hoped with all my hoping energies that I was wrong about. Nope! I was right. Of course I was...since when is my intuition wrong? Since never. I was right. And now my heart is so hurt and bruised it feels numb. I am angry. I am hurt. I am feeling incredibly moronic. I feel regret. I feel so many emotions my emotion labeler is non-functioning right now. I cannot even detect all the emotions that are swirling around within.

I'm hurting.

Me being hurt is a dangerous place for whomever hurt me. Naturally I want so desperately to hurt him back and walk away. Disallowing him any chance at fixing it and making it better. Thus wounding him far deeper than he wounded me. But why? What would this do? It might satiate my need for savage revenge. It would satisfy my thirst for blood. But for how long? A mere moment. And then I would realize that I had wounded him--someone I care a great deal about, even though I'd rather not right now--and then I would be hurting myself even more. I would create a giant out of control hurt-fest that would not get me what I want. I would kill any and every chance of getting what I want out of what I have been working so hard for. What I have been laying my pride on the line for, and trusting for.

So many facets of this situation make me angry and hurt beyond words. I cannot believe I have gotten myself into this ridiculous situation. I cannot believe I am sitting here yet again wondering why the fuck I am not the one being chosen outright. I want to be the Queen of this Chess Game. But instead I am sitting here being a fucking pawn. I want to win this game. I want the prize. I want the King to be MINE dammit! I don't want to share. I don't want to "see what happens." I want to be the one who gets it all. I want to claim him as MINE. I don't want to share. And frankly I deserve be the one who gets it all. I am good enough. I am special enough. I am worth it.

What to do?

UUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!

For once I suppose I will remain with my head--and heart for that matter--on the chopping block. Laying in waiting...waiting to see if the guillotine will fall and bring my end. I want desperately to ensure my safety and run. I don't want to give him the chance to either fix it or annihilate me. I want to be in control and take his power away. But for once I refuse to be the quitter. I refuse to walk away. I refuse to be the coward under the guise of "making the hard choice." Because we all know that walking away--well running away--is a chicken shit move. And boys and girls I am no chicken. So here I sit. Bring it on. I will endure. And hopefully something good will happen.

Here's hoping.

Wish me luck.

Susie...the homemaker

Ahh it grows...



The secret desire to be a housewife is growing...I fear it may take over my entirety soon. Well maybe not FEAR. It is a perplexing feeling...that of embracing the very thing you once ran from and denied to no end. Finally. FINALLY I am embracing the fact that all I want in this life is to be the woman that makes her man happy. To meet that man and fall madly and deeply in love with him, and build our life together.



For as long as I can remember love and marriage has been the thing that I feared the most...anyone mentioned it to me and my skin would begin to crawl. But why? Irrational fears and surmisings. I now realize where a lot of those came from, and I am working my way out from underneath the masks. I feel good...good that I am exposing the real me. My real wants and dreams for life.



Is it really so bad to long to be the wife and mother someone is out there dreaming of? Is it so awful to want to be the woman that nurtures and builds her husband up? Is it? Really? No it isn't...it is a good thing. I think the sexiest thing in the world is a man completely devoted to his wife. Who wears that band of precious metal on his left ring finger, proudly announcing to the world that he belongs to someone. The one he chose to give his name and his life to. And how wonderful is it to see a woman strong and gentle, holding her toddler and carrying the next soon to be born addition to a growing family? You've seen them. The young family at the park or the grocery store. Makes you smile doesn't it? It makes me smile too...and a wee bit of jealousy creeps in too, I must admit. That is what I want.



Marriage is a wonderful thing to want. For so long I felt that being in love and getting married was likened unto playing Russian roulette--one never knew if it would be something that would destroy their future and hopes and dreams, or something just to get your blood pumping only to leave you feeling neither here nor there...you're alive, but ARE you? You see the marriages I had as examples were just those sorts of marriages. But why should I write off love and my dreams of being a wife and mother on account of others' failures?



Seems rather preposterous doesn't it? This is the reason for my regained hope in attaining my dreams.



My dreams of an epic life still exist, they are just a little re-organized. Instead of traveling the world with my single friends, and having kick ass dinner parties with my single friends, it looks more like wonderful adventures with my future husband, and parties with other couples and their children. Summer barbecues with families from the neighborhood paired with the musical stylings of crying infants, arguing toddlers, and couples happily married and living their domestic dreams.



I think that is a much more attractive photograph myself. Love, babies, summer, fun...vs. Old maids who are obsessed with their chosen snobbery and the life they call "good" to boost their self worth.



For as long as I can remember I have had a bit of a love affair with the 50s. What do the 50s represent? Think about it...What do you picture?



I Love Lucy (Another story lurks here...I LOVE THAT SHOW! But it shall wait :))



The Cleavers



Potsy and the Fonz



The Honeymooners



Poodle Skirts, saddle shoes, and chevy's?



How about mom making a fantastic dinner and having it hot and ready for her loving husband when he arrives home from work. In those TV shows of yesterday the wife was always willing and ready to please her man. She woke up bright and early and prepared him and the family breakfast, met him at the door with a kiss in the morning, and met him again with a kiss in the evening. She sent him with a nutritious lunch...and maybe slipped in a little naughty note ;)



For some this scene brings a wave of nausea and women's lib antics come racing to mind. But for a lot of women this is what we long for.



I have had my feet firmly planted on both sides of that fence. Demanding fiercely my independence and carving out dreams of a prestigious career. And now I have jumped over the fence to the side of wanting to be the wife in those old time TV shows. Susie...the homemaker.



I have decided to embrace my affinity for baking and cooking and doing laundry and keeping my house tidy. I embrace the fact that I love children, and they love me--they flock to me. :) Wherever I am those little buggers find me, and we make each other smile. Kids are wonderful. Nowadays when my friends tease me and say I am a soccer mom, I don't cringe the way I used to...I get a bit of a smile on my face, and think about what it will be like when I really am a mom.



I'm ready for love.



I'm ready for marriage.



I'm ready to begin my life.



I'M READY!

big guns, sexy nicaraguans, bottles of Jack, good times and good friends

Wow...Man that is my word of choice lately.



Interesting week.



Someone I met months ago is back in town, and it adds bucket fulls of questions to my life, but strangely there is a peace beyond my toiling questions...It feels so good. The moment I first saw his face again, I felt as though I was melting. I wondered if it would be awkward seeing one another again after so much time had passed, but it was completely comfortable. It felt as though we had spent every day of the last four months together, rather than thousands of miles apart. Hugging him again felt so right, it felt like home... I just wanted to melt into him.



I wonder what is happening...I'm scared it is less than I want it to be...but also a little afright that it is exactly what I want, and have been looking for. WOW life is an exciting journey.



I shot some BIG guns this weekend :D So fun! I love shooting...feeling that power in your hands, and releasing it...to do some serious damage to something. I killed Santa. A couple of human targets and a deer target also met their untimely ends.



MMM the smell of spent ammo. Makes me salivate just a bit. And not to mention watching sexy boys line up their shots and blow the load...ooh...Ok ima stop before I get a little out of hand here.

The night time...the right time

The night time.

One of the greatest loves of my life has been the night time. Even as a child I remember loving to be awake late...well past when normal children were asleep. For me there has always been a bit of solace in the night time. I love the alone time the night gives. To be the only one awake...awake and thinking or doing whatever you are doing whilst the world is off in slumberland.

I recently started working the night shift...I work from 7pm to 7am. It is hard on the ole body, but I love it. I feel more alive when I work nights. Waking up in the morning is no small feat for me. Never has been an easy thing. I always feel like I am in this ridiculous fog for hours on end when I wake early in the morning. But I can sleep for only 5 hours during the day and feel like I can take on the world and win!

What is it about the night time that is so great? Well I love the way it feels. There is just something in the atmosphere in the middle of the night. You know that feeling of the night in the summer? Where you never want to sleep...you're tired but you don't feel it, for the night feels more restorative than sleep would? Well that is how the night time feels to me. I feel so often that sleep is overrated...and my time is better spent doing laundry at 2am.

I wonder what my neighbors think of hearing the washer at 2am...or when I randomly bake cookies and pies in the wee hours of the morning... It makes it all the more fun...EVERYTHING is better at 2am. It is just a shame there aren't more 24 hour establishments...

It is interesting how people are so incredibly different...one wakes at 5am everyday and sings with the birds, and another goes to sleep at 8am and tinkers with things all night long...

People are a curious invention no doubt...

my my my how things change

Things are a changing... always.

Changes abound within my life...especially what I am willing to admit I want from life. I have discussed this before, the fact that extravagance aside, what I truly want is the simple life. To share my life with a great man. An honest man whom I trust wholly and completely, a man who brings me unending joy, but who constantly challenges me.

I want a meaningful career, and a life outside the home, but more than any other want in life, I want to be a great wife and mother. I want to partner my life with another, and create life... I want to nurture and care for my husband and children.

I went from someone who decided they wanted the single life, to live life alone and according to my own agenda, to someone who longs for a partnered life. A life built with another. This is not so abnormal...it just perplexes me a wee bit. On account of the fact that I ran from it for so long.

Why did I run?

Many reasons. Some of which I am not yet aware of. But the most pertinent reason is fear. Fear of being betrayed...of life being life and being in the place where I depended on the man in my life, and my world crashing in on me. And the fear of wanting something so badly only to be disappointed.

Through the self analyzing this last year or so has brought I have discovered the fallacy of my former fears. The irrationality of living my life according to the what if factor. I had the 'prepare for the worst' part down pat, but I forgot about the 'hope for the best' part of the equation. I have now acquired the hope I once ignored.

How you ask?

My friend and her fiance have been an integral part to re-establishing that hope. I met her in an interesting way...she picked me up for her best friend. That didn't work out, but her and I became stellar friends. Over the course of our friendship I have been by her side through divorce proceedings, and the associated dramas. Through it all she remained hopeful that her "fairytale was out there." She met the most amazing man...in albeit unconventional ways, but he has been there for her through the rain, hail and shit storms her life has brought her through as of late.

Their relationship started out against the odds, but it is flourishing. Lush with the buds and blooms of a lasting love. A love that will remain disgustingly exciting and carry them well on into their golden years. It gives me hope.

A former cynic, now has hope of a disgustingly exciting fairytale of her own. I have seen with my eyes how the shit storms of life can bring forth a flourishing garden of a loving relationship. I guess the shit storms of life are like fertilizer for what you are destined for in the end. While it is hard work for a time...and your back may get sore, and it may smell like the worst shit pile you have ever smelled for a season, eventually something beautiful will grow in the fertile soil left behind by all your troubles and hard work.

Harsh? Blunt?

Harsh: unpleasantly stern.

I can be harsh at times...but life is harsh. I have always stood very soundly in my opposition to sugar-coating. I think that people are too afraid of hurting one another's feelings. So instead of saying or doing what really needs to be done, they save face and leave things unsaid, or undone. Only for a later outcome...usually ending in the situation spiraling completely out of control.

While we are on the subject of control...Stern has another meaning. The rear of a ship, where the rudder is located. A ship cannot go without a rudder, guiding its every move, making sure the vessel in on course. Making at times, harsh but necessary movements to regain the course of the vessel. These movements are a bit unnerving for passengers, and even the crew, but all are better for the decision to right the course.

Bluntness: the quality of being direct and outspoken.

I like to speak what I think. I think these two qualities are interlinked. I think that in order to be blunt, one must at times be harsh, or at least be accused of harshness. In American culture it is--for some reason-- thought of as bad, or poor taste to be harsh or to bluntly tell the facts. But I think that plenty of times people need just that, and it may well be better for them, and all parties involved.

Now I don't run around telling people exactly every single thing that pops into my head. But certain things need to be shared. I always try to be as tactful as possible. Yes people's feelings get hurt, but it is not okay to run around hurting people's feelings for sport.

In these last few weeks I have made some harsh decisions...the hardest was to tell my best friend and roommate to move out. I felt betrayed by her actions in the weeks prior, and I feel that those actions have led to the demise of our friendship. And some may say this is harsh, and it may well be. But I think that the harsher outcome would be to continue in a toxic situation...waiting for God knows what to come about. She now knows exactly how I feel, and the full effect of her actions. Now we can both move on from here and learn from this situation...

loss on top of loss...

Wow...what can I say besides wow.

People surely never cease to amaze me. So my supposed best friend, and roommate has done just that: amaze me...well maybe a more accurate description is: disappoint and appall.

I just don't understand people.

So here I am in the midst of dealing with the loss of my aunt, the one and only aunt I am close to(One of the only 4 people in my dad's family I am close to). And my supposed best friend couldn't care less. I told her of the situation with my aunt the day it happened, when she was put into the ICU and on the ventilator. She had no concern or even interest--or so it seemed. And through the following weekend and into the next week I heard nothing, nor was I checked on by my supposed best friend.

How is it that near strangers are calling me and texting me and emailing me to see how I am and how my aunt is doing? And my best friend can't even find the concern to even ask me how I am or how it is going with my aunt?

So now I am left in the aftermath of the loss of my aunt, left in the middle of the grieving process and my best friend has no idea that she even died, nor--as it seems--does she even care.

For the first time in my life I am left at a loss for words. I have nothing at all to say to her...nothing. I don't even want to look at her, let alone speak to her. I am so upset, disappointed, and hurt by her I have nothing to say.

There will be words said, but not now. Not while I am dealing with more important things... I just don't see the worth in speaking to her right now.... A good friend suggested that maybe she is going through some hard times as well and she just hasn't told me about them...but if that is the case, she should speak up. And even still she should be able to care a little about my losing someone close to me. I would think that were just basic human compassion...but apparently she is devoid of this...it is just too hard to think outside her own juvenile world, and think about someone else for one second.

This whole situation is ridiculous. At this point I feel our friendship is over. Why should I invest so much time and energy and caring in someone who can't even show the slightest bit of concern for my life? So how should I even want to fix things between us? I see no worth in fixing our friendship at this point... I just want to tell her exactly how she has hurt me, and explain to her that from here on out we are simply roommates. Just people that live together. That is it. No concern for the other's well being, nothing. Just roommates, no longer friends.

I feel that is what this comes down to...she has shown her true colors. And they are colors I don't like... she has shown me who she really is. And I suppose who she really is is not someone I want in my life. So unfortunately not only in the last week have I lost my aunt, but now I have lost my best friend as well.

Death...and taxes?

Death.

It is part of life. That is a given, and while we are in a way prepared for it our entire lives, it always catches us off guard. My aunt has been ill for 13 years. For exactly half of my life I have known that she would die an untimely death. That the illness she had would one day kill her. I am trained in medicine and understand the logic and all the reasons as to why it is she is dying. It makes complete and perfect sense. But the fact remains that death is hard. Losing someone you care about is hard. Regardless of how logical it is, or how long you have to prepare yourself to say goodbye, you are never ready.

This has been a trying time, both emotionally and mentally. I am the only one that can effectively explain the events, the why and the how of her dying, to my family. It is hard being the one that knows full well the gravity of her disease process. Because I have to answer their questions honestly, and at times that means taking their hope away. I feel like they think I am a cold hearted bitch.

Truth is: I do feel. I feel the hurt. I feel the loss and the sadness, but I look past that to the reality of the situation. Beyond what I would like to happen, to what is happening. I know what can and cannot happen in regard to her illness, and recovery, or lack thereof.

I have always been able to turn my emotions off and make a logical conclusion. In any situation. I just turn off the feelings, and think. I like to remove myself from a situation and try my best to look at it objectively. And while this is good for understanding, it may be bad as well. I have become so accustomed to turning my feelings off and removing myself from the situation, that I have a hard time allowing people to see my emotions, or even letting them flow. Especially emotions of hurt or sadness.

It is interesting how some people just wear their hearts on their sleeve, showing any and every emotion to all who pass by. And others who have their hearts buried deep within themselves only exposing it to those who can truly be trusted. Both of these are good. It is good for people to be able to see that you are human and you have emotions. But your heart is very delicate and needs to be protected. I think middle ground is called for. Maybe wearing your heart on your sleeve all the time isn't the best idea, but how about displaying it on your sleeve here and there?

I think that is something I need to do. I have been working hard at becoming the woman I desire to be. And that woman is not a cold hearted bitch who allows no one to see her. Her emotions, thoughts, hopes, dreams, and vulnerabilities. That is not someone I want to be anymore. I have accepted who I truly am, and I am letting the world see her. The real Val.

And right now she is hurting. I am hurting. I am sad, and heartbroken over the loss of someone I love. I want the people in my life to realize that I am not the stoic person I have always appeared to be. But I don't know how to do that. I don't quite know how to take this mask off, and be sad in front of my family and friends.

It seems that maybe I have been too stoic for too long. When I try to pour out my heart to my friends they pass it off. Just once I would like someone I care about to hold me as I cry. I want to be in the arms of someone I trust and care about, who cares about me enough to let me fall apart. I want to be weak and vulnerable for once. And be taken care of. Just once I would like to be the one being consoled, instead of the one consoling and taking care of everyone else.

How do I do this? I don't know. I suppose just continue on being real. Forcing myself to be seen. No matter what I look like under the mask...

Thoughts...as always

Ok so I am one of those people that cannot turn their brain off... I am ALWAYS thinking. Thinking about things that matter...things that don't. Mid conversation I will have some random thought about the keys to the universe or something random like "oh man! I REALLY want to visit Paris in the fall!" Randomness.

Is that so weird? I don't think so. I think my mind just works on several different levels at once. Multi-tasking I suppose. I am that way with everything. Doing 17 things at once. Many Irons in the fire...always burning the candle at both ends, and sometimes in the middle too. But eventually it catches up to me....

That is what happened this weekend. My body says "eff you! I need a break!" So I end up feeling like shizz, but do I listen, and take the break my body is telling me I need? of course not. So I suffer through 12 hour nights of work. Nights that were busy. I like how when I am rockin' it is slow as hell, but the second I don't feel good we get our asses handed to us. Sick patients, and lots of them... WTF?! So after my second night of suffering and feeling like ass, I forced myself to take a break. I feel guilty though. Even though everyone was calling me to make sure I was ok, because they could tell something was wrong.

That is something that perplexes me. How is it that some people will call off of work for no reason at all, and never even feel the slightest twinge of guilt. And others have to have an all out war with themselves to call off. Even when they are incapacitated, and have all good reason to call off. And they STILL feel guilty?

I am sitting here...after sleeping all day, and most of the night...still feeling kind of shitty. And I feel guilty for not being at work right now. But yet my co-workers will use any excuse to call off. Hmm just another mystery of human nature I suppose.

Just like how some people are always thinking of others and how their actions will affect others, and some people would never give it a second thought.

People are odd creatures...perplexing, frustrating, intriguing, infuriating, and endearing.

Naughty...or nice?

Naughty... what comes to mind?
Nice...what comes to mind?

Isn't naughty nice sometimes? I think so. I think that naughty is nicer than nice. Why are people so nice all the time? To me, niceties are often times people holding back. Holding back who they are, or what they really think, or what they really want. People aren't "nice." People learn to be nice...or even pretend to be nice...and learn to stifle themselves for the sake of being how they "should" be.

I was raised in a church that thought most everything was wrong. Even setting foot in a bar was wrong... because apparently alcoholism might attack you and take control of you if you set foot in a bar--or God forbid! have a drink. Even cooking with any kind of alcohol was wrong to them. Frankly I think all this obsession over right and wrong and "should" and "should not" is a load of crap. Why are humans as a whole, completely obsessed with what people think? Or what they "should" do?

Maybe people should start being real. Take your mask off and be you. Just BE. I have come to like this approach to living my life. I am so much happier now...I am comfortable in my own skin...and I make my choices...MINE no one else's. Maybe society and human kind as a whole really would be nicer if they knew people were being real with eachother, and most importantly themselves. Obviously this is not the kind of nice and naughty I started this discussion with. But I think it ties in. The more comfortable you are with you...your wants, desires, needs, thoughts, views, etc. The more you will open up...and possibly even be a little naughty.

I have...and I like naughty Val much MUCH better than prim and proper "Ms Perfect all the time" Val. And you know what? I think the people in my life like her better too...Ms prim and proper was a bit of a bitch...and also it was a lie. I may have seemed prim and proper...but that was NOT the case...it was just a secret.

So what is your secret? What are you afraid to let loose in the world. It probably won't be the Pandora's box you expect it to be...give it a whirl. What do you have to lose? Except for maybe a mask...and a fake personality. I lost mine. And I am not done yet. I am not as comfortable as I want to be...but all in time.

Sexy

The pinup... I have always had a fascination with the erotic. Whether barely taboo, or just raw sexy...It intrigues me. I have, as of recently, discovered a new passion for pinup photography and erotic couples photography...

I have even signed up for a photography class...to hone my skills. Quite the curious event...I went from being worried about what people would think...or say or whatever, to not being afraid of what anyone says...letting co-workers, friends, and strangers alike see my photographs. Ones I have taken, and provocative ones taken of me. I guess I am just finally comfortable being me...allowing people to see me...in any state. And allowing people I know to see my sexy side, and to think I am sexy.

What is sexy? I think sexy is any number of things... Sexy is a look, an outfit, a word, a tone. A warm spring day, a cold winter's night, cool summer rain hitting bare skin. Sexy is whatever you want it to be. But there is nothing sexier to me than capturing a moment, a feeling in time. I have always planned to do pinup pics for my future husband as a wedding gift. Something I thought would be a great gift for my man...and a great gift for any woman to give to her man.

Let's face it...men are visual creatures. They like looking at sexy things. Sexy women, sexy cars, whatever it is they want to look at it. Women over-react sometimes...you are out with your man and a voluptious woman catches his eye. So what. She obviously caught your eye too. Look. Just don't touch. And continuing with that...so many women hate that their men want to look at porn or hang T and A pics in the garage...well here's a novel idea. Make some of your own T and A pics.

Why not? He finds you sexy. Your stretch marks, and fat and all the shit you think is ugly makes you real. And he loves it. So why not accentuate your realness and SHOW him just how sexy you really are? Then when he is drooling over some hussie in a pic...you can feel good about it. because the T and A garage pics are pics of the woman he loves. Not some plastic model with a perfectly enhanced silicone body. But the real woman who he comes home to every night.

Now that is sexy.

What I really want...

First of many chapters I suppose...



So I have been changing a lot in this last year--more on that another time--due to a lot of reasons, but primarily due to the fact that something huge happened in my world, causing it to turn inside out. And I don't know about you, but the insides of things are not pretty. While the outside is meant to be seen, and is nice to look at, the inside may be another story entirely. As was the case with my life, and who I thought I was...



So after a year of staring at the bloody viscera of what my life was supposed to be, and what it 'should have' looked like, I have finally reached the point where I feel that who I truly am, and what my viscera looks like, is me. Me, ME, Val, the real one. Not someone else's representation of who Val should be, but Val. Period. I like this Val. This Val is comfortable in her own skin, and not "Ms. Perfect" all the time. I have come to the realization that as scary and as shitty as life can be, it is GREAT! But, it can only be great if you allow it to be, and IF YOU LIVE IT!



I spent a long time making and wearing my mask of independence. I wore it well...and damn it was a nice looking mask, only problem was: life isn't supposed to be a masquerade ball. Who knew?! I spent tons of energy on that mask, only to find it would better serve me and the people in my life if I cast it asunder. So upon removing my mask I was faced with yet more questions...Who am I? What do I want? Who do I really want to be? Where do I want this life to take me? And so on...



So here goes the start to the answering...



What do I REALLY want in life...no masks...just truth.



In this life I want the simple things really. I want to share my life, and make an amazing journey with a great man. A man who I can trust with my whole heart. A man who I can trust enough to fall for, and know that he will catch me. That he will catch me in his arms, and that when I fall his strength won't waiver...he will stand strong, holding the woman he loves. The man that is my companion...my partner in crime.



I want to be able to be the woman he needs. The one who takes care of him. Physically, emotionally, and mentally. I want to meet his every need. To make my man know he is well taken care of, in any and every area he can think up. And I want him to do the same for me. I want to be Susie Homemaker, and have dinner ready when he comes home...I want to be the vixen who is standing in the kitchen with only an apron on. I want to meet him at the front door and attack him. I want to send him dirty little notes in his lunch everyday. Or panties in his coat pocket. I want to wake up every morning in his arms, and know how much he loves me, and how much I love him, without saying one word.



For so long I have talked about the life of adventure and going "balls to the wall" and taking this world for everything it has. And I want that, oh man do I want that. But I want someone to share it with. To build a life of memories with. Friends are great to make memories with, but making a life with someone is what I truly long for.

There is adventure to be found all over the world. Riding a bull, participating in the Tomatina, hiking the Great Wall of China, scuba diving, parasailing, sailing around the world, shooting a 50 cal, and all the other crazy ass things on my list of to dos. But while it may sound simple as hell, I think true adventure is found in living life. In finding the love of my life and marrying him, living life together...figuring out how to do life together. Raising kids, going to work every day, and falling asleep in eachother's arms every night. Just living, and making memories. That is the adventure I want. The adrenaline rush I have truly been looking for...