Tag Archives: wanderlust

Bilingual Lattice

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Bilingual Lattice

Wanderlust inside my genes- 

you understand yet I can’t explain it.

Tattooed myself a compass rose;

even had the words planned out.

Magnetic north was elusive, 

my needle was never static. 

External fields always moving-

such chaos was attractive.

I froze. 

Slowed like aging sap,

now Amber; 

just a little rub gave charge.

Attracting lighter temporary adhesions;

Electra complex?

Electrostatic relationships-

Air signs catch the abstract thoughts 

as Pisces pump them out.

Ironic; anemia causes magnetic susceptibility, ha.

Riding ferrous peaks and valleys

Manipulated by polar changes

Strange- the sensation of a covalent bond…

I had forgotten I like chemistry, what attraction!

Atoms search for more stable states…

as within, as all around. 

Pouring myself into you,

I became more positive and you,

You became more negative.

No longer just Gilbert’s permeable membrane; 

It has become more selective.

Osmosis nearly dried me out, 

close the circuit then give back-

a constant flow of electrons 

now is crystalline; 

Translational symmetry.

I want an ionic bond. 

If only I had been recruited by the FBI or Illuminati or CIA at a young age….

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If only I had been recruited by the FBI or Illuminati or CIA at a young age….

Sometimes I feel that I must have some sort of personality or character flaw.

I get so bored with basically everything in my world I become destructive, physically, mentally, emotionally, all of it. It’s gotten easier to ignore, the older I have gotten; but it’s still there, strong as ever. I have been reflecting on this a lot lately, and if I am truly honest with myself, this has been happening as long as I can remember. School, subjects, jobs, friends, places, houses, even drugs/chemicals when I was young, hobbies, etc. I know there is no better here than there, I know that. But what the hell?

How do people have the same houses, jobs, friends, spouses, everything, for their whole lives?! I get anxiety just thinking about it. I got the nickname “Hot Feet” at age16 for reasons besides being a hot Pisces. Really.

Can anyone commiserate or normalize this for me? Anyone? *crickets*

Shifting sands and altered plans…

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Shifting sands and altered plans…

Since about April, I have been really evaluating my life and my potential choices; juxtaposing them with the decisions I have made to satiate other people; from parents to romantic partners to my own children. I guess it actually probably started in December;  once the sadness of that failure became more externalized.

But April is really when I started really looking at myself and what I wanted from my life. It was the beginning of the last quarter of my “academic life,” the beginning of really putting energy into getting a “professional” job and realizing what I wanted and needed and accepting what was coming my way.

It was a very humbling and difficult time, but I found the fire again.

Throughout it all, I was able to realize what I wanted; I have looked back through 20 years worth of  journals full of my wants and dreams and thoughts and relationships…and realized that I have often adopted the dreams of my partners…I can do anything and be anyone…It’s a coping skill I suppose…it’s been my resilience, my survival tool set. My gerber…my tweeker toy…ha.

Meh, I digressed into my own head. Anyhow…

Where was I….

Oh yeah…what I want as compared to what I was willing to accept in return for mediocre bootleg versions of love….

Anyway…I am back to knowing what I want. My plans are further inline with what I have wanted since I was 16; minus the inputs of other people’s ideas of what I should be and do. I am going to start this process now, bits by bits…with an eventual time frame of 2-5 years…

I have 28,378,573,850,347,850,375,041,218 books. I am going to read them all again and sell them or give them away. Even the first editions. Even the 1852 “Life among the lowly”. Yep. As much as I love my books, they do nothing but take up room. I have read them all. I will read them again and pay them forward; perhaps someone else can find solace and distraction in them as I have for 28 years.

I am going to pay down my debt until it’s gone so that eventually, in 2-5 years, all I will have is student loans (which hopefully can be paid off and/or forgiven within ten years…).

I have a list of things that scare(d) the fuck out of me from when I was 18 that I wanted to do before I was 21. I am going to start doing them…from swimming  in the ocean to skydiving to going to South America. I am doing them.

I am learning French. Why? I don’t fucking know. But I have always wanted to, so I am going to finish learning it!

I am writing again. Not just this blog. Not just my poems and songs (which I am even playing my guitar again…crazy) but actually working on my stories. Whoa. That’s been a long time coming and I have finally gotten to the point in my life that most of the people I worried about judging me or being angry at me for writing them are no longer people I give a fuck about.

It’s my truth. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. If you think it’s about you, that’s your shit…not mine.

I am going to finish my tattoos; or at least the ones I know I want now. 😉 Bare skin is precious….I am saving room for the rest of my life….

Anyway, one kid will be on his own in 2 years. The other will be on her own in 4ish years and indicates occasionally she may want to finish that with her other parents. I have been really resistant to that but who knows. Maybe she will change her mind later, maybe not. either way, I will no longer feel the need to provide for anyone but myself, it’s been 18 years since I felt that and it will have been 20 at least by the time I am there again.

I have let go of nostalgic friends that I merely kept to remind me of who I was and kept the ones that still fulfill me…the reciprocal relationships that don’t drain me…I have made new friends and established pretty deep relationships with people who have totally surprised me.

I am finally comfortable in my own skin.

Not the skin I wanted them all to see, but my own ACTUAL skin.

The funny thing is the “me” I am finding, is the “me” people have always described; which is ironic…I always thought I had them fooled! I mean, c’mon, Billy? How could you know and I didn’t? Send me a memo next time, I mean shit.

I started out my wanderlusting adolescence with a guitar, a book of poems and a backpack of clothes that weren’t always mine.

I think I might start my neo-wanderlusting midlife that way too.

Huzzah.

xoxo

P.S. Hey Lisa, thanks for reminding me of who I am. ❤

Wanderlust, the genes are strong…..

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Wanderlust, the genes are strong…..

Over the years I have simultaneously hated and loved moving. As a child, I hated having to lose hard won friends and MY collected items; they were mine! Why should I have to leave them?

As a teenager, I felt empowered in my lack of belongings. Me, my guitar and a backpack of clothes were all I really cared throughout my world. I eventually got some stuff, but found it very easy and cathartic even to get rid of it all and start over. I did this more often than probably seems healthy, even into my young adulthood. But once my kids were old enough to feel as though things were their possessions and express sorrow over letting go of somethings, I began to associate so much of my childhood with the childhood I was creating for them. And then I started keeping things.

Now mind you, I know I joke about being one pile of crap falling over away from being on “hoarders”, but really I am not that bad. I am on the eclectic end of cluttered but I definitely have too much stuff. I try to have a yard sale and get rid of things when I move, but I don’t move very often anymore so it accumulates…and then I panic. It’s the oddest thing.

I find comfort in my stuff and yet, having things makes me panic. I have not quite really figured out the pathology of it. But I know that as soon as things in my world, material and immaterial start piling up my first instinct is to cut and run. I want to move. I want to declutter. I want to start over. I’m bored. I’m safe. It is fucking terrifying.

Over the last few years, I have found that I can stifle the feeling by rearranging furniture. Painting a room something crazy. redecorating. retheming. But it only works for so long. Most landlords don’t enjoy my molesting their properties with paint and featherdusters and anything else I can slather obnoxious colors on the walls with. Then it happens…. I start to get the wanderlust. My feet start to get that familiar itch…I start to fantasize. I start planning my escape.

Does anyone else cope this way? Suffer this way? I can’t be the only one…..

I am rearranging my house right now. 3 rooms at time. Oy. It’s a hot mess up in here….How long will this change placate me?