A Horse Is Dying...Let's Beat it Some More.....

Sooooo….over the past two years or so, monogamy and the (in)validity of it has been a pretty hot topic amidst people in my immediate and larger communities, especially amongst folks of my age set.

There are many people who believe that based on divorce rates, infidelity, and the general perception of unhappiness and unhealthiness of modern relationships/marriages, that monogamy is an unrealistic construct.

There are also many people who believe that monogamy – the idea of one man for one woman, is the way to build strong families and communities and that healing oneself comes through true and genuine interaction with another person.

And most of these people don’t see eye to eye. And a number of these people are in relationships.

With each other!

So where does that leave us?

Is monogamy the problem?

Is an open relationship construct the solution to the problem?

Are those who remain in monogamous relationships deluding themselves and afraid of change? Are they involved in an archaic game of ownership and forced reciprocity?

Are those who propose a more fluid and open construct living unrealistically? Are they really able to provide a firm and secure foundation upon which to build families and raise children?

Or is the issue something entirely different?

Is it our fear of communicating honestly and openly about our needs? Are we afraid to say “I don’t like this”, or “I don’t want that”, or “This makes me afraid”, or “This makes me feel good”?

Can that level of communication exist in the loving and supportive environment of a monogamous relationship? Or does it only exist in the boundless construct of an open/fluid relationship?

I’m not judging. Just wondering what other folks are thinking about this subject.

The Depression Diet

So.......I'm just really trying to make myself less indigo these days. A nice cerulean would do. Honestly.

One shonuff thing about feeling badly (for me), is that it does WONDERS for my figure! Happiness and bliss be damned! My thighs are (gasp) small(ish)!!! My arms are.....less bouncy! All I need is $2,000 worth of airbrushing and I'm making the cover of King magazine. Well....maybe $2500 and an updated photoshop program....and some pancake makeup. For the stretchmarks on my ass......But it would be good!! I tell you.

So my friends and family are telling me to eat and drink. And right now, depression tastes like chocolate cake. No...better than chocolate cake. Depression tastes like Parano cheese and ripe pears, followed by seared salmon on a bed of sauteed spinach and mushrooms, and a glass of sauvignon blanc....or vinho verde. Yes. And butter. Depression tastes like butter - the good, kind. In the foil wrapper. That costs $8.00 a pound.

Depression tastes better than the first ever diver scallops I had in my life at Red Sage in 1999. Depression tastes better than foie gras. And fatty toro, and Jim's steak and cheese with mushrooms and peppers and ketchup.

Depression is DELICIOUS! It's better than tapioca pudding and baklava with lots of butter. And better than popcorn popped in olive oil and seasoned with Fleur de Sel. It's better than dinners at Restaurant Nora, I Ricchi, Makoto, Oceanaire, Black Salt.

Depression is BETTER than VODKA GIMLETS...even the homemade, Vegas diet kind.

Depression is DELECTABLE. It's even tastier than brunch at Bouchon!! It is, I tell you. It's better than dinner at Mesa Grille, too.

It's so filling, depression. Mmmm....mmmm...good. Like Campbell's Soup. No...better....better even than that expensive ass soup that nobody buys because it costs $9.00 a can. The one with the white lable. WHO EATS THAT??? Don't nobody eat that!!!

Depression....it does a mind crazy, but damn sure does a body good!

Recipe in Futility - That Ain't No Cake, Anna Mae!

Have you ever tried to turn a lie into a truth?

I have a story about it.

I’m creative. I used to make petticoats for hand sewn Elizabethan Barbie gowns out of used Bounce sheets when I was little.

I made sensory toys for my son when he was little – crackly plastic, aluminum foil, feathers….inside of scraps of African material so he could feel and hear the differences in textures in things that look identical.

I can do all types of amazing things with food – Perrier pound cakes, chocolate cardamom banana bread, amazing 5-ingredient barbeque rubs.

And I almost figured out how to turn a lie into the truth.

It wasn’t MY lie. It was just the one I decided a long time ago not to see.

I moved into its home, pregnant, scared, wanting to do the right thing. Not bring shame.

I locked it out of the room one night when it came home after the sun came out – hanging with the boys.

But I said “I do”.

I put it in a red dress on vacation in Florida and was amazed and afraid of the attention it got.

So I cut its hair and then let it grow again.

I put it in heels that I bought and he bought.

And then I cut its hair again and wrapped it in 4 yards of cloth for at least five years after I added a new baby to it.

And then it peeked out around year three of the 4 yard era and I sought counsel to learn to live with it.

And lived with it I did.

And then I dressed it in less cloth because it seemed like it was making some kind of truth metamorphosis.

So I loosened up. Relaxed a bit. Dressed it in sweats every now and then. Got it some new friends.

It gave me a tumor and three kick-ass visits to the hospital with three weeks of intravenous antibiotics. I cuddled it close like my portacath. Even when it kicked my ass down another three flights of stairs. Again. Mm- hmm.

I believed it again in counseling. Even when it said there was really no room in the schedule and the counselor determined that the problems were inside my head and not with the lie.

I dressed it in jeans. Sexy ones. Got it a new job.

Almost let it take me out, but I found the strength somewhere to hold it closer, tighter. This is a figment of my imagination. A creation of my own delusions. An isolated event that I need to treat as such. I am the difference. Life is 10 percent of the lie and 90 percent how I perceive it.

I am but PERCEIVING being lied to.

It’s not true because it’s just a PERCEPTION. Remember?

People should be free.

Unbound.

It’s just PERCEPTION.

No such thing as monogamy.

Why are you binding yourself to the box society says you have to?

A new way of looking at it? Okay. I followed the lie because, why not? Life is all PERCEPTION, right? So if I don’t PERCEIVE it as a lie, then it isn’t.

I took it on a fabulously shortened Vegas vacation because it didn’t have time.

I worked a whole week of vacation into 50 jet-lagged hours – a different bikini every day.

Molded it into something I could stomach. Hid it behind the new, improved, liberated, creative me. The honest, writing, wine drinking me. The “reaching my peak” me.

And on September 27th, I decided to read that white piece of paper that had been flashing before me for weeks and weeks and weeks.

And the children, cloth, counseling, rent, haircuts, bikinis, mortgage, counseling, wine, vacation, counseling, new car….

it all.

Came.

Tumbling.

Down.

And all that’s left is the lie that I could never make true.

You Don't Know What Love Is....

Good morning, afternoon, evening heartache. My old and trusted friend. The one with an open invitation to the pieces of my fragmented heart.

Good morning, afternoon, evening heartache. I dine again on your breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, supper and dessert. Your meals of resentments and I told you so's fill my belly and make my heart leaden.

I trusted in love and she stabbed me again. In the same wound, by the same perpetrator - just a different knife.

This knife is a many-pronged dagger that seeks the public eye. It wraps itself in the veil of self-acceptance and pulls others into its one-sided story. There's no shame in the jaggedness of its blade. Its cutting style is erratic and saw-like. Stabbing, chopping, slicing......There's no rest from this knife. It has severed my vocal cords. Its story has become the official spin on the destruction of a home, a marriage, a family. Its story has become one of self-redemption. Of cleansing and transparency. Of letting go and letting God.

The perpetrator had no idea about this knife. The profundity of making such a choice. It was irresponsible, immature, nearly unforgiveable and completely unnecessary. Because at this point, I cannot stop wondering about what could have been....I cannot help but wish that things would be different.

I gave my heart to the perpetrator. Freely again. Trusting again. Open again for the possibilities of something so great that nothing would be able to pull us apart. And the perpetrator pulls out a new, even more deadly dagger.

A dagger that won't go away.

A dagger that has no shame.

You don't know what love is
Until you've learned the meaning of the blues Until you've loved a love you've had to lose
You don't know what love is

You don't know how lips hurt
Until you've kissed and had to pay the cost
Until you've flipped your heart and you have lost
You don't know what love is

Do you know how a lost heart feels
The thought of reminiscing
And how lips that taste of tears
Lose their taste for kissing

You don't know how hearts burn
For love that can not live yet never dies
Until you've faced each dawn with sleepless eyes
You don't know what love is

You don't know how hearts burn
For love that can not live yet never dies
Until you've faced each dawn with sleepless eyes
You don't know what love is.....what love is....

Absolution or Responsibility?

So for nearly two weeks, I’ve been seeing the facebook statuses – and they’re all about accepting oneself, no matter what.

Then come the notices of the intent to go the public forum route and talk about the cheating experience on the radio.

That for me was the last fucking straw. Like dog – DO YOU HAVE NO SHAME?? This is NOT JUST YOUR situation. There are families affected here. There are real people, with real lives and real struggles trying their best to get over, resolve, move forward. I feel like this is a public spectacle of her “struggle for acceptance” .

And who's left holding the bag?

You see, I’m convinced that people who cheat just want to get the hell over it. They want to do a little bit and get instant forgiveness. They want to get back to normal as quickly as possible and get this whole thing behind them.

But there’s a difference between responsibility and absolution.

Absolution is granted. It’s something that’s given as an act of mercy. Like clemency or pardoning. Absolution isn’t the responsibility of the wronged person. Absolution comes when our friends look at us funny for a couple of days and then say “okay, I ain’t mad at you no more, you’re still my girl/dude, no matter what.” Absolution requires no serious self-reflection and no serious commitment to change.

Responsibility is a little different. Responsibility says “you know what, what I did was fucked up AND it has affected a number of people around me. I’m going to take responsibility for what I’ve done in a way that is sensitive and gentle.” Responsibility says "there is someone in this other than me." That it’s not JUST about the transgressor getting OVER it, but about taking some long hard looks at what got the transgressor there and how s/he needs to repair some relationships.

Responsibility says that there is not “just my side of the story that needs to be aired.”

Absolution is an occurrence, where responsibility is a commitment to a process – that in the END may also result in absolution.

Hmph.

And that’s all I have to say about THAT shit.