My life has not been calm fora while. Its been boisterous and loud and demanding of my attention, like a child who is in desperate need of a bottle and a diaper change, or a five year old that wants some shiny toy that he has attached his desires and happiness to. It has been everything that I cant control, and I have used my quiet determination and my patience to weild it to my satisfaction, causing the noise to dwindle to a mere whimper before sleep sets in, and the turmoil of the raging storm ciese to just a few low impact mumbles....

I would do anything for you, my dearest one. Without taking anything from you. I was thinking yesterday on my trainride home, how childish and insecure my love and my little love have managed to be. Both are well loved by all around them, and yet they continue in a self destructive fashion. Theres is no need to be destructive and yet, they are unable to aquiese from ripping up their own skins and tearing thier hide from its place.

The hole is dug, but I cannot reach you if I cant hear you tell me that you have grasp of the rope yet. I need your voice to tell me that I must send it down farther, or drop it lower. I need your actions to show me that I have not accomplished rescuing you yet....

Though I would tell you that it is only within your power to grasp the rope. I cannot make you take help. I cannot be blamed if you dont even tell me you are in a hole.

I wish I could make it better. But no matter what it is that you have done, no matter what it is that you think is not good enough and so are hiding from the world, the truth is I love all of you. Those hiding secrets, those supposed failures....I just want you to be happy and secure. But you have to want that for yourself too.

I am confused.

Its the confusion of a person seeing a lover run towards her, bringing in their open arms the rest of a long awaited and dreamed about embrace: the warmth that spreads from the heart, the incredible lightness of being, the weight of time not moving fast enough, and at the last moment, the runner pulls out a knife and stabs her in the very heart of her being.  Its almost with comical denial that  the situation is observed.  The confusion so utterly blatant, that even observers find themselves wondering at their own sanity to have witnessed such an event.

I am the person who is watching the beauty of their love running at full speed to embrace her in the warmest of embraces, only to have the embrace turn into a punch in the face-worse, a knife through the heart, and the only question that forms: why did he even bother?

What is the point, except to break and destroy a persons whole being, both physically and emotionally? 

It has caused a strange reaction in me.  Like the day of my car crash, I have become an observer of the disastrous event, and not a participator-of course there are still the side effects, despite my detachment from events conspiring: its impossible for me to sleep, I cant really eat all that much, looking into the eyes of men is painful, I have trouble not only trusting them, but also myself.

It seems there is a conspiracy of events meant to shake me to my core over and over and over again, as if to say: lets see how much this girl can really take before she succumbs. (although to what? is another question: what do I succumb to? perhaps pessimism?)...

And I am left wondering what and why and how and my dreams are of death. 

I can see it coming towards me.  The last dream was an airplane crash, the ground rushing headlong for my vehicle of transportation, and though I know its just a dream, I cannot rip my thoughts or vision away from the impending disaster long enough to avoid it, or imagine myself away from it, and so the plane crashes, and unable to imagine the effects on my body, I see from the outside my plane slide and cause such destruction sliding along the ground taking out buses, cars, trains, elevators, buidlings, baby carraiges, as to be again, comical in its over exageratted display of power.

So I have two choices....I can live in denial, which will no doubt cause me to be like a ghost-watching life but being unable to experience it....

Or, and more likely to be the decision I make, I can embrace the man with the knife and have my last breath be a sigh of relief that I truly gave my all to protect, love, reach, hold, etc.

Such a cop out to become a martyre.  Mine is not the way of the martyre....I have yet to come up with an alternative solution.  But do not doubt that I am as of yet unable to completely comprehend alternative choices.  Relax, there is time before all the blood runs out of my heart and I fall like so many victims before me, for me to figure out how exactly to reverse the flow of my life source leaving my body.  I am not done yet.

You know that feeling you get after, lets say, your first 10 drinks of  the night, where you are laughing and talking to everyone, and having a good time, and all of a sudden it hits you that you REALLY have to pee?  And I mean immediately or the bar stool you have been sitting on is gonna get really slippery really fast, and no one wants that....


So you rush to the bathroom (if your a girl: with your girlfriend in tow so you can talk about the guys that have bought you the last round) and run right into a line of about 6-10 other drunk girls, all waiting for one of only two bathroom stalls (if you are lucky, I mean I do live in NY where more likely than not the woman are using BOTH the mens and womens bathroom).

So you spend the next 20 minutes in line trying your hardest not to do the kindergarden "I need to pee dance" and distracting yourself with idle chatter about how shitty bathrooms are in the city, and how the guy in black may have a great smile, but hes got that creepy predator vibe, all the while hoping that your mind power is enough to keep your bladder from exploding....

And finally, after  an excruciatingly long 20 minutes, you are purched above a toilet, in a bathrrom stall whose floor is flooded with water and covered in toilet paper that is likely to stick to your shoes when you walk out of the restroom, glancing over the graffiti on the walls wondering if Tina expressed the limits of her poetic genius when she carved "I luv Ricks cock" into the wall and finally:  relief spreads through your body as a rush of pisswater empties out of your bladder and you unconsciously let out a great big sigh of relief.

Thats exactly how Im feeling now, except I didnt have to pee, and Im not (currently) drunk....

I now understand why I write.  For the very same reason and the very same urge, with the very same result, as when I am wasted and need to pee.  I also finally realize how much more relieving it is when the muse of my creation directly recieves the writing he inspired...  I have had so much to say, and so much to express, and I will be honest, I believe he tried to cut me off before I could express the extent of my grievences with his behavior, but irregardless, its all out, and I am relieved.  And that really is all I needed.

for now...
Erika