Fearing love

I’m in love with a stripper

Okay, obviously, I am not, but do you remember that song? It’s been chilling in my head tonight, and it has me wondering: How often do people find themselves in love with an unavailable, non-option individual? How often can people’s love not be reciprocated? And, on that note, how often can they be reciprocated, yet they are not?

I think there might just be a lot of lost love out there. How do we help those who feel so unloved, who have intense unreciprocated love or merely a denial of love, possibly again and again?

Perhaps we need only begin with loving ourselves fully and truly, and then, when we see ourselves fully, we can see and therefore love others truly and fully for exactly who they are.

Just a thought… I shall consider deeply my role in this is my daily life, especially where I presently feel most uncomfortable sharing and being love with and for others. Those uncomfortable ones are probably the situations most in need of my love, I do suspect.

God and Universe, please, give me the strength and the will to be your love in all that I am and all that I do.

Amen.

Post-a-day 2021

Feelings of accomplishment

This week has been quite busy for me, and I have found myself working on various artsy projects, producing some very neat results (e.g. I’ve made one and a half pair of legwarmers in the past day and a half.  And I’ve already worn the one pair today.).  However, I have had a strong experience of being unaccomplished at the end of each day.

I sit at work, wondering what I can do with this desire, this need to do something… Anything, it feels like.  I just need to do something productive.  Or so it feels.  However, as I have gone to bed late each night, after working on these various art projects, I have still felt rather unaccomplished.  This has happened to me before, so I started wondering what I’ve done in the past to handle such uneasiness of mind.  As I’ve thought about it this evening, in the middle of working on my legwarmers and rain stick, I’ve begun to realize that the sense of accomplishment desired is not the one connected to producing physical results – it is more of the emotional sort.  That is, I long to be accomplished emotionally.

When I take into account the fact that I have had very little communication with others at work this past week, it only makes all too much sense.  I’m around people all day, but I do not interact with them much with words, which leaves me emotionally lonely, and emotionally unaccomplished.  And so, what do I do tonight?  I speak these words aloud to my phone, instead of typing them, so as to experience a sense of telling a story to another, as though I were speaking to you right now, instead of merely writing, and your reading it at another time.

I suppose this is one thing I shall not miss come August.
Post-a-day 2017

And Unexpected Story From… Somewhere

Tonight, for whatever reason (aside from the part where one thought links loosely to the next, those tiny threads of ideas drawing you quickly along the ever-unexpected path with them, until you eventually find yourself miles from the original thought, wondering how on Earth you got there), I was reminded of something I wrote a while back.  As I mentioned to my friend when I sent it to her, it is rather messy, and it just kind of came out of me.  One day, the words were just in my head, as though urging me to write them down, and so I did really quickly… It was almost like an ‘I have to do it now’ experience.

I have various theories as to how the story came to me, as well as to why my mind wanted me to write it down on paper (yes, the original is with paper and pen, not computer), but I find them unnecessary to include here, as none of them was present when I actually had the story pouring out of me that odd morning (odd, due to this near-overwhelming necessity to write this story, which had never quite happened to me in such a way until that day).

Anyway, it is sad – dreadfully sad to me, anyway – and it is terrible, and it is a miniature story that asked me to write it down, and somehow got back into my head tonight to get me to share it with the world (well, whatever portion of it will cross this weblog posting, at least).  Enjoy… or whatever… you know…

 


“No,” declared Jessica, exasperated, “I’m not going to call him.”

Yet, even as she spoke, she knew deep down that she would be with him again.  So she wouldn’t call him…, but she’d said nothing about texting.  Or his calling her.

Soon enough, perhaps in a matter of hours, she’d be with him again.  And then, in a matter of minutes, she’d be lying there alone, feeling gross, almost wanting to hurl.  Or else hurl something… he wouldn’t hold her, no matter how she wished it.  He never did…  But, for a few moments, she would feel the pressure of him resting on her chest, and it almost would feel as though it were intentional, as though there were someone – right here and now – who wanted to be with her, who cared for her, who loved her.

Though she knew it wasn’t so.

“This is so messed up,” she would say to him…  And she would mean it.

And yet she couldn’t stop herself.

He was in need, and she could help.  Besides, she had been curious in the first place.  Now she knew.  Perhaps that was a good thing.  If nothing else.  And an icy feeling told her there was nothing else good about it all.

Jessica wouldn’t see how he only appeared to be in need – she was too trusting of him and his word; she had looked up to him for too long to question what he expressed to her.  And so, in her time of extreme need for love, she would leave the love of her friends to go to him, and be robbed of what little she still had, knowingly sacrificing her own happiness and love to help, to serve, to please another.


 

Post-a-day 2017