The D Spot

Sweet like sugar and tasting
like the insides of a sour candy after I’ve
sucked all the tartness away.
Holding onto me like warmth
Like the smoke from a fire that I smell
the next morning in my hair.
I feel you breathe
I see what you see thru your eyes as they are
clouded with me.
I hear what you hear and I listen closely to
the words left unsaid, the spaces
between the words are where the real
conversation lies.
I lie with you nightly, hearing the
beat of your heart, the
rustle of your hair as it grows and the
edgy sound of silence as you dream.
We dream together and I can almost reach you
in the dreamtime, the quiet time,
in the spaces between us.

Sometimes its brutal trying to be nice.
Dealing with someone manipulative, who wants everything and then a little more. People forced to be within 4 feet of each other, yelling at each other. Making fun of one another.
Always the peacekeeper, I try to walk the fine line between supportive and firm.
Ship them out, treat and street. They leave to come back another day, with the same wants, the same needs, the same demands. “But they ALWAYS give me TWO sandwiches. But they ALWAYS give me three rolls of medical tape. But can’t you just give me a COUPLE ace bandages?” And why on earth do you need this stuff anyway? I want to scream it, but its that firm yet supportive smile, with a no and a shake of the head.
Yes, go ahead, take the leaflet from housekeeping. God knows what you need it for but go ahead and yes, two sandwiches if it makes you actually leave the room an hour after I discharged you.
And to turn around and find another person, a friend, being threatened by one of her patients. Security swarms and the police eventually show up a couple hours later. Meanwhile, the perp is gone, laughing all the way.
How do you maintain the professionalism when they just suck you dry?
There’s that phrase again…’compassion fatigue’.
Yet I go back, we go back, time and time again. Sure it pays the bills. But it’s more than that.
Maybe next time we are faced with the wants, the needs, the demands…maybe that will be the time we actually fix something for a change.

So what if you were, say, dying…the end of the road was visible.
What if you had regrets? What if you had things you wanted to do that you hadn’t done.
Of course you’d try to do them, right?
I mean, within bounds, provided it didn’t hasten the dying.
Everyone has a dying wish, or so I’ve heard.
So what, then, if your last wish…your dying wish… the one thing you’ve always wanted to do…what if that one thing was hurtful to someone else?
Would you do it?
I don’t mean kill someone, or maim or otherwise physically harm someone.
But what if something you did..that you did because you have always wanted to do it and it’s literally now or never…what if that something would make someone else sad?
Would you do it, knowing that you wouldn’t have to be around to clean up the mess?
Would you do it, knowing that it was something you’re literally at this point dying to do?
Would you not do it, sacrificing your happiness for that of another?
Would you do it if no-one would ever know?
Then say you found out you weren’t dying, but you’d already done it.
And loved it.
Would you do it again?

The ache, the need, the desire…
I find myself nearly clawing at the air, gasping for breath until I can breathe no more.
I ache to get away, to find myself elsewhere when I awake in the morning.
I crave, I crush, I hunger, I dream…
Thoughts of great beyonds and far away horizons,
great adventures and flying through time…
I wish I want I wish
The freedoms of childhood, so far behind me now yet,
somewhere before me lying tantalizingly golden in the setting sun.
My Peter Pan has flown away,
my Superman retired his cape and my
very own personal savior has changed
into someone I think I knew once long ago,
when I was very young…

So I get these rip-roaring killer headaches, generally right as a rain-bearing front is headed our way. I’ve had one since yesterday. It rained all afternoon, and then the headache went away. I was fine til this afternoon when it came back with a vengeance and sure enough, the sky is clouding up and they just forecast rain for the next day or so.
Great.
My grandmother could tell the cold coming by the feel in her bones. I get whopping headaches.
No amount of advil (800mg!) helps. Nor does tylenol (1000 mg!) (all at once!) (and yes its safe dear reader, I am a nurse. Safe for me at least, maybe not for you),
So I tried to look up headache cures.
Lavender aromatherapy. I smelled my flowers. No change.
Gentle scalp massage. I have no one to rub my head and it doesn’t help when I do it myself.
Gentle back/neck massage. God that would be heaven. But again, no one to do it.
Warm shower. Worsens it.
Cool shower. Didn’t work.
Lots of water. No help.
Caffeine. Great, now I’m wide awake with a raging headache.
::Sigh::
The best part of these headaches (because something has to be good) is the amazingly strange way my mind and thoughts tend to go when my brain starts throbbing.
Today I managed to figure out a whole concept of my statistics class that previously made no sense, simply by realizing out how many of my family members and boyfriends a certain ex-friend of mine slept with from 8th – 11th grade. Ahh…cluster sampling…or is that cluster F*$#.
Ah well. I am guaranteed bizarre headache dreams as well Last nights were doozies….and no I am not explaining them because I am too much of a lady to describe the lewd events my subconscious mind came up with in last night’s REM. I will let you all make your own conclusions. I have to say though, it was quite entertaining.
And after a five minute pause to reflect on the dreams I am being paged by Loving Family to start dinner already.
So I am off.
Maybe cooking will help the headache.
nah, somehow I don’t think that’s the answer either.

I was watching a show that discussed emotional infidelity—having an ‘affair of the heart’ without necessarily moving to the physical level. The consensus was that an emotional affair is worse than a physical affair. (assuming one can split the two, of course).
They said 97% percent of the women surveyed felt that an emotional affair would likely lead to a physical affair.
Warning signs that you are entering dangerous waters include increasing your communication with this person, thinking about this person a lot, and fantasizing about that person. The experts on the panel also said that often, a person enters an emotional affair when the sex life at home has fizzled out a bit.
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Ok
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So, I start to thinking (always dangerous)…
What if a person is having all the physical encounters they want and need at home, but is searching for intimacy/friendship? What if the primary relationship does not lend itself to sharing secrets, joys, pains, etc?
How is it bitching to your best girlfriend different from bitching to your best guy friend?
I am one that is against ‘male bashing’ and ‘husband bashing’. I think its mean and cruel.
But I imagine that sometimes, a person has an issue they would want to talk about, or is not receiving the emotional support they need at home.
I suppose there is always therapy. But a therapist costs money, and a therapists goal is going to be to teach you to rely on yourself.
What if you just want a sympathetic ear? Is that emotional infidelity?
And what if you do fantasize about another person? Does that make you a cheater? Does it matter if its Brad Pitt vs. the sexy guy who delivers your mail? Does it matter if its a stranger or a person you’ve known your whole life?

“Mercy, please. I’m on my knees. You’re my temptation” (Alice Cooper,

The Last Temptation)

Ever felt that way? Something is so good, but so bad. Something so wrong, but fundamentally right.
What do you do?

How far do you go, how do you know when you’ve gone too far?

Temptation thrusts itself in front of us all, at some point or another. More than just a shiny red apple, it takes the form of all different things–places, objects, people, events…

Sometimes a little tiny taste is worse than the whole thing. A small bite leaves you hungry for more. A taste of ambrosia leaves you craving another taste.
A sip of sweet water on a hot day only encourages thirst.

But yet, that sip tastes so good for the knowing that we can’t have any more.

What do you do, when you are faced with a forked road..one leading the way you should go and one leading the way you want to go?

How often do you give in?
How do you decide if you are compromising your morals and ethics, or simply following your heart and destiny?

Do you measure your steps by the degree that they hurt others, or by the degree that you hurt yourself by not taking them?

Seriously.
What makes this guy think that I want to help him?
In that line, what the hell made him go up to my father in the store to ask for my mother’s contact info to begin with???
HELLO~~
“Hey there, sorry about all those times I f***** your wife during your marriage and hey, I know she left you for me but bygones are bygones. By the way, I’ve wanted to reconnect with her, do you have her number?”
Shit.
My poor father is forgiven for giving the Creep my phone number, but I wish he’d just given him my mother’s number instead. Papa was pretty flabbergasted, to say the least, that this guy had the balls to even approach him. He totally forgot that he even had my mom’s number, since its only for emergencies.
And why the hell did the Creep think that my dad and mom are even in touch?
The Creep called me and told me he’s wanted to connect with mom for the past 40 years. I answered him via email saying only that I would pass on his contact info to my mother when I next spoke with her. Which of course, would be a few days because I had to work.
And the Creep writes back about how he always thinks about my mother on her birthday…and how he drives by the house she grew up in…and how he’s wanted to talk to her for 35 years…and how sad it is that my uncle is dead…
Well I wrote back and said my uncle was NOT dead and furthermore, I had met him as a teenager when my mother lived on Oxford Street, so it has NOT been 35 years, more like 25.
And again, I reiterated I would pass his info along to my mother.
Ok I thought that was it.
A couple hours later, another email, how great my uncle is still alive and funny story about Oxford street…his girlfriend at the time had a friend who rented out the place when my mom moved out.
Um yeah, funny. WhatEVER.
So then another email follows the next day. Oddly enough I get it at work just after telling my coworkers about the crazy stalker/Creep.
This email has a picture of what seems to be his living room. Fancy, spiral staircase, looks big airy and expensive. “This is the picture I will send her” he says. “I’ve wanted to track her down for over 5 years now.” Wow, he went from 40 years to 5 years in just three emails.
So of course I only replied “I am at work. I will give her your contact info when I next talk to her.” (The same thing I have said all along)
I did get ahold of my mom a couple days later and low and behold, Creep had managed to get her cell phone number anyway. No clue how he did it, but I do know its a little bit of work finding an unlisted number. So my mother is not answering her phone anymore.
That was a couple days ago, I figured good, now he is her problem. (after all, don’t you get back what you put out? She wanted him enough to cheat on my dad..well then, let her have him. Even if it is almost 30 years ago)
Then today…another email from Creep in my inbox. This one, though, is strange. Its a copy of my reply to the last one, the one with the picture.
So…trying to figure out the Creep’s way of thought.
Either he was reading it and hit reply on accident, or he is forwarding it to me as a means of reminding me that I have not given my mother his contact info. He very much wants her email address, he did ask for it in the emails as well. And I am very much not going to give it to him.
I sent copies of the emails to my mother.
Let her deal with him. He was so hot all those years ago when her kids might have benefitted from her actually being there….instead of at ‘church’ or ‘choir practice’ or hanging out at ‘gloria’s house’ or any of the other places she said she was when she was with him.
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And what makes this just laughable, is that he wasn’t even the REALLY crazy of the exe’s. The one who had to lay naked in bed, with all the lights off to proclaim to me and me alone that he loves my mother…well, he is the real crazy one. Wonder how long until he shows up…..

And out of the blue I hear from you
Your words are cutting and sudden.
Without warning you are there and
Without warning you have spliced and sliced and
turned upside down
what started as a normal day.
Dammit, mother.
Why must you always take away my happiness?

Your acts of unwitting hurtfulness
hurt nonetheless.
The fact that you don’t see what you are doing as painful to others
hurts me again and again.
I cannot speak to you of anything
unless you want to speak of it;
you run from the slightest whisper
of words you don’t want to hear.
And then to find you again
I must wait until you come back.
How much tread can a heart take?
How many beatings til it finally breaks?