Author Archives: Jani

About Jani

Jani grew up a gypsy anachronism, spending her early life taming her wanderlust. She clawed her way into the real world eventually obtaining two highly unpractical degrees, two children, six figure student loans, and a sarcastic wit that is matched by few. She now lives in the Walterverse where she received her MSW at a ridiculously expensive University. She followed this achievement by spending thousands more on even more useless letters to put after her name. Her future plans are to pay for the useless extra letters after her name as a super heroine. In the event that plan doesn't "work" out, she plans to return to her roots as vagabond gypsy busking in one way or another.HuZzah.

Pisum sativum, Pan…daemonium

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Pisum sativum, Pan…daemonium

Sunbursts and rainbows
Girl chases them like butterflies
Never to be caught.

 

 

Oh well.

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Kuiha

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Kuiha

Morning light in view

Bed warm with an empty side, still

Listen for your breath

Paradiddle

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Paradiddle

The curve of your lip

soft

like your hand on my hip

guide

Flash of the light

sigh

hands clench tight

kiss

Mouth open wide

bite

crest the rolling tide

rise

Scratches arching skin

shiver

secrets spilled ear in

whisper

Space once sought

back

Arm wrapped taut

sleep.

 

 

 

 

Just FYI…

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Just FYI…

I. 

Am. 

Extraordinary. 

Even if the one who gives me butterflies doesn’t recognize it. I’m tired of doubting myself and trying to understand what about ME isn’t conforming to their standards. 

Every Jeremy.

Billy.

Misty.

Kyle.

Lisa.

Justin.

Sean.

All of them. 

The bosses. 

The fathers. 

The lovers. 

The potentials. 

The friends. 

Them. 

I am enough. In fact, I might just be too much. I’m not missing out on them. They are missing out on me. I’m tired of dulling my glimmer to keep from outshining them. I’m tired of feeling sheepish when they tell me I’m “intimidatingly smart.”

I’m tired of amazing connections being written off because one thing doesn’t immediately “spark” or maybe “someday” someone might want ______insert here_______. 

Fear of missing out is bullshit. Cowardice. 

I’m a lot, I get it.

I AM ALSO:

Clever. 

Witty.

Resourceful.

Creative.

Powerful.

Beautiful.

Kind.

Funny.

Compassionate. 

Strong. 

Driven.

Honest to a fault.

I’m good enough to do this.

And…

I’m smart enough to complete that. 

I am fucking EXTRAORDINARY. 

it’s not always anxiety.

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it’s not always anxiety.

People have always said that I have “such a great imagination” and it is!

It’s a great imagination! I mean, I have the most amazing dreams and I can draw things and I can remember things and I can visualize and I can mimic and I can create things!!!

…but I can also break my own heart. In fact with this great imagination, I can completely tear my own heart out of my chest, 10 times a day.

I can spend 3 minutes considering possibilities and scenarios that have probably never even crossed another person’s mind; imagining situations that other people might be in, scenarios that other people might have been in, might put me in…
Oh and the conversations I have in my head!
Wow… The subsequent fall out from those imagined interactions.

Oh reverie, what a cold bitch you can be…

I spent a lot of time alone when I was younger…
Out of choice,
Out of necessity,
Out of fear,
Dissociation… my head was my safe space…

I also read a lot; read a lot. I’ve decided that’s probably why I’m the semi functional adult you find here today…I can empathize and imagine reasons for every behavior, even to my own detriment.

That’s probably why I always liked law and social work… huh…

I remember going to school and regaling people with tales about “my friends” from somewhere else, telling my mom about “my friends” at school, and then when questioned, realizing I meant “Oh, I mean this girl, in a book I read”…

Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate my “Choose your own adventure” brain, I do. I really do.

And honestly, the older I have gotten the more positive the potentials have gotten…

All the various versions of my world… my self imposed variable simulations that I run… they aren’t as dark anymore. Well, mostly not as dark anymore…

Sometimes they’re lovely little scenes that play out and comfort me;

My ability to put myself in other people shoes… to anticipate the next move… word… feeling… it’s a tool. Less a maladaptive coping mechanism now.

Somedays I even think, as I’m sitting at my desk, listening for the differences in one case to the next… struggling to check my bias and my imagination and then an oft random thought, it crosses my mind…

As I’m fake smiling at the person across the room…
Boy, had I the nerve I’d have been an amazing actress…

But I didn’t and I don’t…
But here?

Today?

In this body?

In this state?

In this life?

This version of myself?

I can convince myself we have a connection… we are meant to speak to each other. This is no coincidence, me being me, and you being you, and being here:

at this time,

in this place,

and now.

I have already run the paths, the various iterations of us, the probability, determined the risks to mitigate and the possibilities that we are going to have the most amazing life together.

But, we haven’t even spoken. Not really.

If we passed again on the street… I don’t know if there would even be a glimmer of recognition from you. But me?

Oh, I’d know you. Anywhere. I’ve seen you open your eyes while kissing me. Seen you cry at our first grandchild’s birth. You’ve held my hand while we were given the most heartbreaking news. I’ve watched you grow old, watching me grow old.

I’ve already loved you more fiercely than I’ve loved anything or anyone.

I’ve broken your heart and you’ve broken mine and we came back together so many times we’ve both lost count, because that’s just what we do.

That’s what we do for 33 years. 33 passionate years.

But we haven’t even spoken. Not really, not you.

But me? Well, I’ve got a great imagination.

The Dark

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The Dark

Ubiquitous coupling of individuals:

dating, seeing, hooking up, hoping…

 

Such hope, misshapen and oft, mistakenly placed 

Among those who could be a catalyst… 

For growth

For love

For the exchange of energy 

 

A soft place to fall

A mirror for reflection 

For learning 

For safety

 

Can you be trusted?

Can you trust? 

 

Me in a vulnerable place

You in a similar position 

 

Our traumas they resound 

Like echoes they attract

Signal like a beacon 

Other lost souls

 

Calling out 

to find their way back 

Pain is sensual

An illusion we embrace 

 

But the questions still remains:

Can we hold hands?

Lead each other;

through the forest, 

the trees…

Do we walk toward light

Or retreat back to the dark…

 

Waiting…

Breath held

Throat clasped

Rise

Exhale

 

Fear feels safe…

Somehow

You know.

learning curve (n.) a graph showing the rate of learning (especially a graph showing the amount recalled as a function of the number of attempts to recall)

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learning curve (n.) a graph showing the rate of learning (especially a graph showing the amount recalled as a function of the number of attempts to recall)

I find it interesting how things NEVER turn out the way you think they will. I feel like humans spend a lot of time anticipating things and the ease with which they will happen some strange day in the future…

As soon as I get out of school;

As soon as I get into school;

As soon as I get married;

As soon as I get divorced;

Or in my case, as soon as my kids grow up and move out.

I have a relationship history, baggage let’s say. due to the fact that I am apparently old… I have more than the average of marriages/divorces under my belt but that average was from before I was 23, I am a very different person now and like ALL OF US, with what I know now, of course I would make different choices. But then, I made some pretty grown up decisions that have somehow, made my life easier then, and decidedly more complicated now. What vexes me is that I always thought it would be easier now.

What I am finding however, is that most everyone within what I find to be a comfortable dating age range either has very young children or wants to have them. Many who approach me right out the gate make it clear they are looking for a stepmom not a partner per se (mostly the freshly divorced). It is frustrating. Not to mention, the job I have now is less than encouraging when it comes to parenting or co-parenting. I see the worst in people as it relates to parenting and children. So, there is that, too.

I could have more children; if I got a $7,500 surgery or did IVF, I have checked into it, as recently as two years ago. I have been curious about it a long time. I was even going to do surrogacy until I turned 37, which is the magic age that makes it unprofitable. I am at a point in my life, professionally, psychologically, financially, etc. that I would probably be a really good parent (not to say I wasn’t before, but hey money and education really do help.) I envy some of my friends who are just having their first. My family members, too. Meanwhile, I’m expecting grandkids any day, at the ripe old age of 38. But I really don’t think I would want more of my own; that being said…

I’ve never had kids with someone who wanted kids. I’ve never had kids when I wanted kids. I’ve never really co-parented longer than a couple years. It is all very tempting. Truly. I had my tubes tied at 21? 22? because I love kids. I just couldn’t afford more of them and without support, couldn’t parent more than the two I had, alone.

Once upon a time, I thought that would be attractive to someone. No ticking biological clock. No concerns about a pregnancy oops. No reason to use protection in a relationship. You know? Alas.

Instead, I find that really amazing connections and potential connections, are lost because of it. Sigh. Patriarchy wins again. And I didn’t even get to participate in the conversation, it was just a decision they made. (At a point in dating that had I, as a female, brought up having children, I’m sure it would have been weird…)

Men have no real shelf life when it comes to producing children.

*yes, yes, #notallmen are fertile. I know.*

But in general, if a man can find someone to get pregnant, he can until he dies.

We women, we are burdened with the choices that we have to make to raise the kids we have. We bear the main burden and decisions to keep or not keep a child. Yes, men might participate but we bear the brunt privately and publicly. We are burdened with a window of time to procreate.

We are burdened:

Be pretty. Be young. Be fertile. Be smart. Be humble. Be a feminist (but not so much that I can’t open a car door for you or be manly).

BE.

Be what I want or need in my idea of how things should be.

I wish people could communicate better, I am very upfront about not looking to have more kids or get married.

Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t, just that I am not looking for that.

There are always ways to make a family. Family isn’t always about marriage or genetic children. And hey! Technology has made all sorts of things possible. People are having children in their 60s. Men are having babies. Nature and technology can find a way.

Meh, I digress. This post wasn’t meant to be about that particular piece. But regardless, of my ability/inability to breed, navigating online dating is much more difficult than I ever imagined.

Maybe I am too hypervigilant. (*Just because I am hypervigilant doesn’t mean I am wrong… Just FYI)

Maybe I am gunshy. Maybe I don’t know the new world rules of what is appropriate now in nonorganic database dating regarding contact, texting, amounts, context. I never really “dated” before. I was married at 16. I have randomly been with other people over the years, but usually it was friends of friends or friends that I became romantically involved with. The first time I online dated, I got lucky. I ended up spending the larger part of 5 years with the first person I dated from okcupid. So, my experiences have been limited. And everyone seems to have a different idea of what “normal” is.

This dating go round, 25% have been amazing, too awesome, probably. 25% have been boring beyond belief. 25% have been aggressive and controlling. And the last 25%? Oh yeah. Sex offender. Woot. Hell of a learning curve there.

Way to go, filters.

So I will just sit here, like the memes say, and wait for mr/mrs right to break into my house, I guess. Huzzah.

Side note:

*I might have agreed with them in said conversation which never took place. Or maybe I’d have wanted to have a baby. Who knows now.

But you know, I just wanted to know they knew what it felt like to be thirsty. I didn’t want a glass of water.*

Bonus points if you get the reference.