Naked Truth

2007-02-28

I really need to get a life or, failing that, at least some sleep every now and then.  It's 12:30am and I just got out of the bath tub.  I spend twice as much time in water than most "normal" people and I just can't seem to get enough.  Swimming, showers, bathing, rain, wading through fountains.  It's all good.  Risque to admit, but I just love to get wet.  While in the tub, I read my book for a good hour.  A welcome escape from my own doldrums, but the water eventually begins to get cold and there's only so many times I can warm up the water without wondering if I should get fitted for my straight-jacket.  Truth be told, I sleep better in the bath tub.  If the water would stay warm, I wouldn't need a bed for sleeping.  OK, so I put my book aside and started playing my little free association game.  It started off innocent enough, then moved to more unwholesome ideas.  I thought about fantasies that have gotten me arroused in the past. 

My brain is a wonderous thing.  I can be very imaginative when the mood strikes.  I don't know quite how my train of thought got derailed, but I started thinking about painting.  Not artist-type painting.  The much more mundane idea of painting walls.  I wondered what it would be like to paint in the nude.  I've never had occasion to do that.  It never occured to me before.  The idea of stretching and bending to paint trim and the rhythmic up and down motion of painting with a roller.  I wonder what it would look like, watching someone else.  I wonder what it would feel like to have someone else watching me.  Would I become so intent on the job at hand that I would forget about my audience?  Would I have enough confidence to put on a show?  I can only think of one person I'd feel even remotely comfortable doing that with.  It seemed like such a bizarre mental leap.   

Now I'm trying to think of the most outrageous thing I've done while naked.  What I'm realizing is that, until very recently, I haven't been all that comfortable with shedding my clothing.  I'm sure some of it has to do with the children.  My son is at an age where I could very well scar him for life.  I don't guess I'm very metropolitan in my views on family nudity.  Perhaps if men grew up seeing average women naked, they wouldn't be quite so shocked when they witness the changes their wives' bodies go through.  Maybe men would learn to adjust what they consider to be visually pleasing.  My daughter has seen plenty of naked women in the communal changing areas at the pool we frequent.  I've been much less modest around her.  I keep my blinds closed most of the time and I'm at home alone more now that both kids are in school at least part of the time, so I'm beginning to feel more liberated.  I'm learning that it's nice to not have to worry about getting my clothes all sweaty and dirty when I'm doing housework.  The thought of someone else watching is another matter entirely.

I know there are people who get a charge out of flashing strangers.  Girls Gone Wild would run out of willing participants if that weren't the case.  I have friends who drive truck for a living and have told stories of what people in cars have done while they're passing by.  Voyeur cams are a dime a dozen on the web.  Do what you normally do and know you're being watched, but by nameless faceless masses.  The thought is somewhat seductive, but I just don't have the guts or grace to do something like that.  I know I'm not alone in wondering what it would be like to be a stripper.  To have the kind of uninhibited personality that would allow you to take your clothes off and let it all hang out has its appeal until you consider the way men behave at places like that. 

My experience in the club the other night showed me the flip side.  I was watching the waitress in her "uniform" (slinky black dress with a chain around her waist).  Men stared openly at her.  They weren't concerned with her personality, her life story, her family background.  They were completely consumed with catching a glimpse of what little the dress was covering.  I think I'm wise to the ways of the world, but this is one area I was completely naive in.  I've been to bars plenty of times.  I've always gone with friends and had a great time.  I'm engrossed in my conversations with them and pay little attention to the people around us because I'm focused on making the most of an opportunity to spend time with "the girls".  I've occasionally been approached by men who are brave enough to approach a bunch of cackling women, but I've brushed them aside, giving them about as much thought and attention as I would a buzzing fly.  For the first time ever, I realized that men who are that bold really do only have one thing on their mind.  In that club, it made me uncomfortable to be near these men as they basically leered at the girl (her name was Amanda).  I thought about what she has to trade in order to earn money.  The Bishop told me more than once that the thought of me in a bar hurt him.  I tried to be sensative, yet I didn't really understand what he was talking about until now.

So, naked or not?  Yes, in the privacy of my own home with the shades/curtains closed.  OK, maybe outside away from other people - privacy glass helps.  I'm not an exhibitionist, but it won't stop me thinking about it from time to time. 

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Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

2007-02-28

I am, that's who!  Today was a day.  I took my children to their respective schools, skipped yoga out of sheer laziness, then spent the morning knitting (or knotting as the case may be) at Starbuck's.  It has been brought to my attention that I'm only going there to torture myself with the possibility of glimpsing my favorite source of misery and ecstasy.  Duh!  Actually, it's not the only reason.  I've examined my motives carefully.  Sure, I'm masochistic and I'd love/hate to see him, but there's more to it than that.  I'm depressed.  Full-out the world is colorless and nothing feels or tastes or looks exceptional depressed.  Everything detail is blurred and there's no point to anything. 

I know this because I got out my CD player yes, technology has passed me by) and could only bring myself to listen to Tori Amos.  It's been that way for me since college.  The first time I heard Tori, I knew she was singing my song.  Not just any Tori - only the original Little Earthquakes will do.  Vile stuff about how dismal life is with or without a man.  Vile and beautiful at the same time.  She captured the essence of disappointment, heartbreak, and that way-too-familiar feeling like I've just been used and I don't want to admit it.  Admitting it means I let my defenses slip and someone got in.  So, there I sat, reminiscing about miserable college days and the heartbreak of having my boyfriend go away to college in New York without so much as an honest break-up moment.  Only an "I love you" and we'll call and write and save all of the wonderful experiences in life for when we can be together.  Yeah, right.  Meanwhile, I started college because I couldn't bear the thought of missing out on University marching band.  How pathetic is that?  16-hour days in 100 degree weather on astro-turf.  I've never been so exhausted or sun burned in my life and I wouldn't trade it for the world. 

I used to sit in a place called simply The Coffee House in downtown Lincoln.  I loved it there.  I met some of the most interesting people in that place.  My friend Aaron Aupperle introduced me to The Coffee House when I was still in high school.  It's a narrow little place that runs from the street all the way back to the alley.  When you walk in, there's a seating area in the front with some bistro tables and chairs and there used to be a couch in the front window.  The cash register/counter is located right in the middle and separates the front non-smoking area with the dark smoking area in the back.  It's all non-smoking now, I'm sure, since Lincoln went smoke free.  I have so many memories of being in there.  I think I could probably fill a book, but I'm not sure people would accept it as non-fiction.  I don't have the imagination to make up stories like that, though.  I remember sitting in my favorite corner and watching a tall black man (screw politically correct) walk in with fascinating braid extensions in his hair.  His name was Alvin and I was smitten from the moment I laid eyes on him.  I could just imagine how those braids would feel against my fingertips, so I walked right up to him and asked if I could touch his hair.  He didn't bat an eye at me - just grabbed my hand and put it up to his head.  Those braids were soft and perfectly textured.  He and I got along famously after that.  Alvin was an artist, and a good one, too.  The Coffee House is one of those places affiliated with a local artists' guild, so they always had local offerings hanging on the walls.  Alvin asked to sketch me one time with the intention of painting my portrait and hanging it in my favorite corner.  I thought he was putting me on, but I sat for him anyway.  He was true to his word, though.  The portrait he painted of me captured me like no photograph has ever done.  He gave me the painting and I think I still have it somewhere, though I couldn't find it last time I looked for it.

They played the strangest mix of music in there.  You never knew from one day to the next what was going to be on the stereo.  Sometimes latin, sometimes Sinatra, Enya, reggae, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Alice in Chains....the list goes on and on.  I loved it all.  I bought many of the CDs they played and still listen to them.  As I said, Tori struck a chord the first time I heard her.  I don't know if it was that particular time in my life, or if I would've loved her no matter what, but she always fills the void when I'm down and I just want to wallow in it.  That's how it was this morning.  I didn't want to wage war pitting right thoughts against wrong ones.  I just wanted to soak up the music in the moment.  The problems and delights will still be there when I'm done with this particular mood.

So, that's part of why I've been hanging at Starbuck's.  It's a lot more trendy than my Coffee House.  There are no dilapidated couches, no shelves of paperbacks meant to be taken out, read and then returned or exchanged for others, no Go games in progress, and much fewer truly interesting people filtering in and out, but it's the best I've got for right now.  I saw an elderly gentleman come and sit down in a comfortable chair with his book this morning.  He read for just a little while, then just dozed off.  That stuck in my head and made me wonder if the Bishop is going to end up like that before too long.  It made me wonder if he's gotten a job yet, or if he's still in career limbo.  I see him as being so full of life and I fully believe it's all in attitude, but what if he gives that up?  What if he gives up on himself and what life has left to offer him, or rather, what he has left to offer in this life?  He told me he's never going to be the man he was.  Did I do that to him?  Did I break something in him?  It hurts to think I might've taken something so precious from him.  There are so many consequences I couldn't have predicted.  I can't change the past.  I don't know if I'm even at the point yet where I'd want to. 

I talked with my husband on the phone earlier.  It was like talking to a casual acquaintance.  After the disastrous weekend, maybe we need to just be neutral for awhile.  I don't know.  There are things we should discuss about the weekend, but I suppose they'll still be there tomorrow.  Why deal today with what you can put off indefinitely?  That seems to have been our mantra throughout our marriage.  I was hoping that would change.  What if it doesn't?  Our marriage hasn't been glorifying to God all these years.  What if it never gets any better?  I think I'll go find my CD player and give Tori some more play time. 

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Settling Back In

2007-02-27

One kid in bed, one to go.  I got into town around 6, stomped through a foot of snow in my Doc Marten sandals (I know, real foresight with that shoe choice), raced to the bathroom, gave my cats scant attention, then went to pick up my kids.  Being the obsessive/compulsive that I am, I also had to do a quick email check.  Over 150 messages and most were spam.  I don't know who gave out/sold my email address, but it's really inconvenient to have to sift through that much junk.  I can't imagine what it would be like if it weren't filtered.  I got my kids home and scooped enough of the driveway to pull my van into the garage.  There was seriously a solid foot of snow all the way across the whole thing.  I'm grateful I'm physically capable of scooping.  I'm grateful for a snow blower that can get through most of it.  I'm especially grateful it all hadn't melted into compact ice!  There's some of that in the bottom of the driveway, but most of it was manageable.  My son helped me with the scooping and unloading the van.  He's a good kid.

I've gotten most of the unpacking done, one load of laundry washed and in the dryer, goodies for the kids distributed, talked on the phone almost non-stop letting people know I'm home, and now I'm just about ready to crash.  Packing, a nice long walk to Starbuck's this morning, a 40 minute shuttle ride to the airport, hauling & checking luggage, 2 airplanes, an hour and a half on the road, and all of the activities once there make for a nice long day.  I'm tired, but not yet ready to give up.  I can see I'll be sleeping with cats tonight.  Neither of them will let me out of their sight.  That's OK.  I'll be in my own bed with my own pillows and my fuzzy warm bathrobe. 

Kid #2 in bed.  Actually, it's kid #1.  Or, in their case, Thing 1 and Thing 2.  I made sure they have t-shirts to identify them as such.  Incidentally, The Cat In The Hat turns 50 on Thursday, so get out your party hats (red and white striped top hats, of course). 

Tomorrow, the kids have school and I'll have a yoga class after I drop my daughter off at preschool.  I'm planning to go, but it will largely depend on how I feel after all of the snow removal efforts.  My shoulders are pretty tense right now.  Maybe I should spend some quality time with my heating pad before I doze off.  I don't want a repeat performance of the migraine from Friday night.  It stinks to have to balance everything so carefully to avoid debilitating headaches.  It stinks even worse to get careless and end up in bed for a couple of days with one.  I can't believe I just edited both of those sentences to take out a word I would've normally chosen, except that the Bishop said it's un-ladylike.  Like I said before, it's amazing how much he has changed my life (yes, he's still at the forefront of my mind).  After - or maybe instead of - yoga, I'll get to go to my own little slice of heaven on earth.  My cup is washed and ready to be filled with my favorite brand of battery acid coffee.  The CityWalk Starbuck's just wasn't as good as the one here.  Maybe I'll treat myself to a girlie mochiatto instead of my usual cup of bold.  That's a decision that can wait until morning.  I hope that's the hardest decision I have to make tomorrow. 

I have to teach music lessons tomorrow afternoon, too.  Church dinner and band rehearsal tomorrow night as well.  We get our new music for the next concert.  Sometimes I hand in my old music, pick up the new stuff, then skip out on band so I can have "me" time.  I already have a baby-sitter and it doesn't hurt if I miss the sight-reading rehearsal.  I guess I do have another decision to make - one that will require a little more thought.  If I don't go to band, what would I do instead?  I have to remember to take my baby-sitter her birthday card tomorrow night.  Her birthday was Friday.  I wanted to do something special for it on her birthday, but I was gone.  Last year, she was performing in a musical, so we took her birthday balloons to the performance.  My daughter thought that was the greatest thing in the world to be able to do.  Maybe we'll take her balloons again to go with her card.  I should've bought her a cheesy souvenir while I was gone.  Oh well, next time!

Time for sleep.  Maybe it'll come easy tonight.  If it does, I hope my dreams are the good kind.  Driving home was difficult.  I tried not to think at all because my thoughts are still running in circles.  I want him.  I can't have him.  It isn't fair.  Life isn't fair.  What we did wasn't fair to the other people in our lives.  It wasn't about them.  Why can't I get over this?  God still loves me.  I wonder what God looks like.  I wonder what Jesus looked like.  Maybe if I knew, I could picture him sitting next to me.  I wonder if I would've found Jesus attractive.  Is it wrong to think about that?  I miss the Bishop.  I want him.

It seems like free association until the thoughts start repeating.  It doesn't help that I'm physically wanton.  I had absolutely no attraction to or desire for my husband all weekend.  Casual touch was aukward at best and nothing came of it.  As soon as that plane landed, it's like someone flipped a switch and now I'm sex-crazed.  Not enough therapy in the world to cure what ails me.  I think I'd better get some sleep before the men in white coats show up at my door.  I'm positive they know where I live and it's only a matter of time.

 

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I'm Home!!!

2007-02-27

Uneventful flights and I'm finally home.  Time to go pick up the kids and then settle in for the night.

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Continued From Last Night

2007-02-27

Dinner at the Emeril's in the hotel last night.....

There are two Emeril's restaurants here.  One is New Orleans style on CityWalk and the other one is Asian inspired, located in the hotel. We ate at the one in the hotel and it was just as fabulous as the other one.  Fantastic service, amazing food, and one of the consulting companies picked up the check.  That was a nice deal, being able to order whatever we wanted.  We also had a large group, so we had appetizer samplers and all kinds of extra attention.  I had a drink with orange and passionfruit in it that tasted like those Koala drinks they used to make.  I don't know whatever happened to Koala, but I used to buy a clear carbonated orange-passionfruit drink all of the time and then it suddenly became unavailable.  Such is life.

Dinner turned out to be pretty fun.  One of the guys we went out with the previous night was showing us parlor tricks with drinking straws and wine corks.  The conversation was good, I met some new people, and again, I felt like part of the group.  My husband did something that came off as sleazy, though.  Our server sat down in his chair while he was in the bathroom so she could explain some menu items to us.  He came back and leaned over her and put his arms around her from behind.  The other people at the table did a double-take that he would do something so inappropriate right in front of his wife.  I tried to take it in stride, but for all of the wrong things I've done, I never once embarassed him in public by inappropriately touching another man.  I'm sure I've embarassed him plenty just by being myself, but I don't think that's something I can do much about.  Oh well.  I guess he's going to behave in whatever manner he chooses.  It really flies in the face of what he says he believes, though.

I'm going to get packed up here in a few minutes so I can catch my shuttle.  My husband is already gone from the room and I don't know if I'll see him before I leave.  We didn't end up fighting or even speaking last night.  I'd stayed on the computer too long because I didn't realize its clock is still set on Central time.  The man was angry and wouldn't even speak to me.  Such is life.  I'm off to brave the airports.  I can't wait to get home and see the snow, my kids, my cats, my friends, and my own bed!

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Longer Post

2007-02-26

I was going to keep the post pretty short tonight because I'm exhausted from the 5-hr marathon fight I had with my husband last night and early this morning.  He seriously doesn't know when to leave things alone.  By the time 3am rolls around, the conversation stops being productive, especially when I was scheduled to fly out today.  If I actually had flew out, I likely would've had the same experience with the migraine on the way home.  Not only that, but I would've had to drive the 1 1/2 hours back home after I got into the airport.  I don't think I would've survived such an ordeal.

After the fight, I didn't know what to expect when I got up this morning.  What I found was that he'd taken his personal computer (leaving his work computer which I can't access the internet with - pretty sure that was intentional) and left the room without a word to me.  I have no idea if he was trying to be considerate or sending me a message that he didn't want to interact with me today.  Honestly, the majority of the fighting last night was provoked by him.  When I got off the computer, he was still good for a few rounds.  He yelled at me in a way that communicated impending violence.  It seemed like he was right on the edge.  I don't know if that's a sign of things to come, or just a momentary lapse of self-control.  I don't know much of anything about what's going on in his brain.  I think it's probably a combination of things, not the least of which are thoughts planted there by people who shouldn't be offering him advice.  He should know better than to listen to them, too, but who am I to say anything?

So, I woke up to an empty hotel room.  I was quite relieved.  I would've gone back to sleep, but sleep just wouldn't come, so I did what any crazy person would do and went to Starbuck's.  The one here just doesn't have the same homey atmosphere that the one at home does.  I'm sure knowing that I'm here temporarily plays into that.  I had my obligatory cup of coffee and half of a cranberry muffin.  I climbed up a fire escape to a balcony I wasn't supposed to be on at CityWalk and sat there listening to Chris Rice and sipping on my coffee.  It was sad.  They have music playing in CityWalk 24 hours a day, so I'm sure nobody walking around below me heard me singing along.  Not that I would've cared.  I was in a funk.  It was dark and overcast, but still fairly warm.   It suited my mood.

I sat there for a couple of hours just singing and trying to climb out of the misery.  Most of my stuff was packed up and ready to go (I still thought I was leaving this afternoon) and I really had nothing better to do.  I'm tired of shopping, I'm tired of crowds, and I'm already homesick.  This trip has had some decent moments, but they've been over-shadowed by the unreasonable expectations and passive-aggressive treatment I've been receiving.  Still, I've been biting back all of the scathing remarks that have been on the tip of my tongue.  My friend Pat tells me you have to shut your mouth and let your tongue beat your brains to death.  I can't think of a more appropriate description for how I've been feeling.  Eventually, I wandered back to the hotel room and took a bath.  I laid in the tub thinking all kinds of erotic and wrong thoughts about the Bishop.  It hurts no matter what, so I might as well have a few moments of respite before reality crowds back in again.  I got out of the tub and finished getting ready to catch the shuttle and laid down for awhile, hoping to catch some sleep before I had to leave. 

My husband called right about the time I was finally able to relax and said he was coming back to the room.  When he got in, he asked if I wanted him to call the airline and see if I'd be able to catch earlier flights.  I hope it's because he felt guilty for keeping me up half the night.  I relented, and a good thing, too, because they'd just announced the departure delay out of Orlando.  If I'd caught the shuttle, I would've been stuck at the airport trying to figure out what to do.  My first plane was the one delayed, which would've caused me to miss my connection in Memphis and I'd have had to stay the night there.  The layover on the way down was bad enough.  It got me thinking about a trip I'd planned to take with the Bishop and sent me spiraling down again.  Spending the night there alone might well have sent me over the edge.  So, I got re-booked on a flight out tomorrow morning and I won't have to drive home in the middle of the night.  I'll get home around dinner time.  The kids will have had a full day of activities by the time I get there.  I'll be able to spend some time with them and maybe get a decent night's sleep.

After the changes were made, my husband went back to classes, leaving me with an afternoon to myself.  One of my friends called and we talked for awhile.  She had high hopes for this trip and it puts pressure on me to temper what I say about how things are going.  We got to talking about other things and it turned out to be a good conversation.  I called Roxanne after that.  I've been wanting the phone to ring so badly that I feel like I have to fill my time up so I won't go crazy obsessing over it.  I can't seem to give up hope.  Roxanne and I talked for an hour or so and it helped to take my mind off the Bishop, if only for a little while.  I threw on a swim suit and took a book down to the beach and filled the rest of my afternoon with "A Tree Grows In Brooklyn".  I had a hard time concentrating, so I talked to the ducks (hopefully noone was watching) because they'd walk right up to my lounge chair.  It rained for a bit.  I thought of Enya, which got me thinking about how many times I played her music while the Bishop and I made love.  Mind running in circles.  Finally, I gave up and came back to the room to get ready for dinner. 

Dinner tonight was at the Emeril's.  I will be writing about that later because another fight is about to ensue.  

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Not Home Yet

2007-02-26

My flight was delayed, so I'm still in Orlando.  I wasn't able to get out of here until tomorrow at noon, so I'll catch the shuttle 3 hours before my flight.  I can't believe they insist on picking me up that early!  Oh well, this way I fly from Orlando to Memphis and then have to board only one more plane.  I won't have to deal with Minneapolis!!  That suits me fine.  Considering how much sleep I didn't get last night, this may work out for the best.  Still, I want to go home!  I miss my kids, I miss my cats, I miss my routine, I miss my Starbuck's, and I even miss the snow.  Tomorrow is another day.  God's mercies are new every morning.  I feel like normal life is slipping away the longer I stay here.  Oh hell, I'll say it.  I miss the Bishop, too.  I miss the chance to possibly catch a glimpse of him while I'm out driving around.  I want to see him.  I want to hear his voice.  I want to just go crazy and get it over with.  Maybe I should start shopping for my straight jacket now.  I wonder if they come in colors besides white.  Time to go to bed.  Hopefully, by this time tomorrow I'll be tucked into my own bed.  I'll still be thinking about the same things.  I'll just be doing it surrounded by my own pillows and blankets, wearing my own robe that I love so much.  I miss my bathrobe!

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Not Home Yet

2007-02-26

My flight was delayed, so I'm still in Orlando.  I wasn't able to get out of here until tomorrow at noon, so I'll catch the shuttle 3 hours before my flight.  I can't believe they insist on picking me up that early!  Oh well, this way I fly from Orlando to Memphis and then have to board only one more plane.  I won't have to deal with Minneapolis!!  That suits me fine.  Considering how much sleep I didn't get last night, this may work out for the best.  Still, I want to go home!  I miss my kids, I miss my cats, I miss my routine, I miss my Starbuck's, and I even miss the snow.  Tomorrow is another day.  God's mercies are new every morning.  I feel like normal life is slipping away the longer I stay here.  Oh hell, I'll say it.  I miss the Bishop, too.  I miss the chance to possibly catch a glimpse of him while I'm out driving around.  I want to see him.  I want to hear his voice.  I want to just go crazy and get it over with.  Maybe I should start shopping for my straight jacket now.  I wonder if they come in colors besides white.  Time to go to bed.  Hopefully, by this time tomorrow I'll be tucked into my own bed.  I'll still be thinking about the same things.  I'll just be doing it surrounded by my own pillows and blankets, wearing my own robe that I love so much.  I miss my bathrobe!

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Back To Square One

2007-02-25

I'm accustomed to experiencing pretty dramatic emotional highs and lows.  I'm not bipolar or anything, just sensative to hormonal swings.  I've learned to compensate fairly well through the years.  At least I think so, but nothing has prepared me for this.  I'm cycling through emotions at a rate that alarms even me.  Considering how my day began, I think it's gone pretty well.  After my husband got started with his conference, I had some alone time to gain perspective and I felt like I was much closer to equilibrium. 

I called and talked to the baby-sitter this afternoon.   Most of that was easy conversation about what my daughter has been up to the past couple of days.  I miss that girl!  At the same time, it's nice to have the time apart so I can get the chance to miss her.  I called another friend from church.  She knows enough about the situation to be a comfort and encouragement.  I know she's really pulling for my husband and I to get through this.  The way she talks about her husband makes me want the kind of relationship she's got.  She told me her man has taken the want out of her for any other man.  What a tribute.  She said it isn't always easy to love him and trust him, but she does it with her whole heart.  I also talked with my friend Roxanne.  She'd picked up my son and was taking him to where his sister is staying.  They were telling me about the snow and she was teasing him about taking him to our house and having him clear out the driveway for me.  She really had him going for awhile.  I miss him, too.  I love both of my children with the same intensity, but I feel closer to my son.  He has the same twisted sense of humor that I do, as well as the same stubborn refusal to accept authority on its own merit.  Because of that, I know how to coax him into doing things rather than forcing him.  It takes the right mixture of threat, kindness, humor, and rigidness to keep him in line.  It's not a negotiation as much as it is trying to get him to think for himself and do the right thing because it's right rather than what he wants.  I want him to learn at a much younger age the lessons I'm struggling so painfully with right now.

After all of that talking on the phone and a little shopping, I came back to the hotel to relax for awhile.  Truth be told, I could've done that until well into the evening, but I tried to be considerate of my husband.  I put on my swim suit and laid in a deck chair reading a book for an hour or so.  I'm reading "A Tree Grows In Brooklyn".  A friend recommended it and I just love it so far.  It's a welcome break from my own life and it's beautifully written.  My friend has amazing taste in books.  I'm so glad for that! 

I was extremely self-disciplined and came back to the room in plenty of time to get ready for dinner instead of reading until the last possible second, then rushing to shower and change.  A couple of my husband's co-workers were planning to join us for dinner, so I dressed up and mentally prepared myself to be good company and try to have a good time.  We ate at Bubba Gump's.  Cheesy atmosphere, but the food was good and the service was great.  They really do know how to cater to tourism here.  I like to learn the servers' names, talk to them, and make sure to convey how much I appreciate what they do.  Seeing someone work that hard to earn their living is something to be admired.  I know a lot of people treat them like they're background noise and sometimes worse.  What a shame! 

The dinner conversation was mostly work-related.  I didn't expect much different, so I tried to be unobtrusive.  After dinner, we walked around for awhile and then ended up at a place called the Red Coconut Club for drinks.  The conversation steered away from work and we covered a variety of topics.  I felt like a natural part of the group instead of someone's tagalong wife.  It was awesome to be able to contribute and be treated like an equal.  That's something that hasn't happened a lot when I'm with my husband.  He's quite a talker and tends to dominate the conversation, so I fade into the background.  We left for dinner at 5:15 and didn't return to the hotel until around 9:15.  I can honestly say I really enjoyed the evening.  It wasn't until we got back to the room that things turned ugly.

My husband was visibly tired, but I wasn't.  I had a much more physically active day than he did, but I suppose he did have the episode in the middle of the night to interrupt his sleep (the one I have no memory of).  I would've liked to go to a movie or something, but I put his needs ahead of my wants, as is fair.  He got ready for bed and I grabbed some lotion and laid down fully-dressed.  My feet were sore and I wanted to rub some lotion on them to ease the discomfort.  We talked for awhile about our plans for tomorrow.  I'm catching the shuttle around 2pm, then flying out around 5pm (I have to remember the hour time difference for home because I'll want to talk to my kids at some point).  His conference stuff gets started at 8:30, so I'll have the morning to myself again.  I intend to make some serious head-way in reading my book.  Weather permitting, I'll sit by the pool.  If not, I'll sit in the lounge area.  Either way, the setting is extraordinary.

The conversation started to wind down and I was really hoping he would just roll over and go to sleep.  He didn't.  He started to touch me in a suggestive way.  I know my duties as a wife and have already told him that I wouldn't turn him down.  I also told him that it would be nothing more than sex for me, but he was welcome to it if that's what he wanted.  I know how brutal it is to say something like that, but it is the God's honest truth.  That's the way our physical relationship has always been.  Sugar coating things and trying to put up a good front has done nothing more than perpetuate a lie and delay dealing with things we should've faced a long time ago.  I don't want to go backwards.  If we don't face our problems and work through them, then our relationship is always going to be a disaster waiting to happen.  If we do face them and can't work them out, then we will know we've done everything we could.  I couldn't be less attracted to him right now if he were my brother.  Ugly, but true.

Why?  Well, it's like this:  I'm trying to accept the fact that I'll never be with the Bishop again.  Being with him was the most emotionally and physically satisfying experience of my life.  I'm having an impossible time with the acceptance.  It doesn't matter how many times I have this arguement with myself about sacrificing what I want in order to do what's right or how many times I have to remind myself that he made the choice, too, and he won't go back.  The desire hasn't faded even a little for me.  How am I supposed to give my body to a man I don't love and not feel violated?  I wanted to have a pleasant evening.  For me, that's the best I can do right now.  Maybe we could've built on that.  Maybe it will get easier, but not right now.  Instead, we had that discussion about the physical relationship and it ruined something that could've ended on a positive note. 

I HATE THIS!  Nobody really knows how to practically put into use the things we know to be true in a way that will be the least damaging for everyone involved.  I feel like one of the king's men looking down on the shattered remains of Humpty Dumpty - in shock and completely at a loss on where to even begin in cleaning up the devastation.  I feel nauseous and tired and wide awake with no hope of sleep.  Seriously God, is this ever going to get better?

It's not all about me, though.  I've been thinking about that friend and her husband.  She talks about how hard it's been to trust him.  How long it's taken for her to feel secure and to extend the same sense of security to him.  There's no doubt in my mind that they love each other.  I thought about how devastating it would be to her if she found out her husband was cheating on her.  It got me thinking about the Bishop's relationship with his wife.  I wonder if she loved him like that.  He's an extremely out-going and charming man.  He makes eye contact and listens better than anyone I've ever met.  That comes off as flirtatious in social settings.  I've seen it.  I tend to be territorial and jealous, but with one exception, I never felt threatened by his behavior.  He made it clear that he wanted me and he spent every free moment with me.  He loved me thoroughly.  I enjoyed the sparkle in his eye and the life he brings to a conversation.  What about her, though?  What did this really do to her?  She can't show me how she really feels because that would be far too humiliating.  She should be able to maintain her composure and prove that a little thing like me is no threat to her bigger picture.  Is that really the way it is?  Does she hang on to him purely for security, or because she really loves him the way my friend loves her husband?

My head is swimming with questions that have no answers.  My stomach is tied up in knots again.  I want to go home.    

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All Is Not Lost

2007-02-25

It may seem bizarre, but when I'm alone, the world is a better place.  I went walking in the hotel earlier, all by myself (hey, I think that's a song).  It reminded me that I get treated like a queen wherever I go.  I look up, watch people's faces, make eye contact, and smile.  People return the smile, the greeting, strike up conversations.  I met a couple from Florida this morning.  They have season passes to Universal and come here every couple of months.  I asked them if it ever gets old and they said that they're kids at heart, so they always have a good time.  They were here for Mardi Gras and to see Taylor Hicks last night.  I envy them that, but enjoyed listening to them tell me about the concert.  They talked about the weather, after finding out where I'm from and where they moved here from (South Carolina).  Total strangers, yet we talked comfortably for a good 45 minutes.  That's what I love about travel.  Random meetings, conversations, new perspectives.  I don't know why, but that happens a lot more often when I'm out on my own.  It's kind of sad how the dynamic changes when I'm with my husband.  Maybe it's because we're so aukward with each other.  I don't know if I spelled aukward correctly, but the way it's spelled seems appropriate for its usage.  It's not a pretty word and doesn't bring pretty images to mind.

Anyway, after I spoke with them, I sat and listened to my voicemail.  I have several messages that I keep saving from various people.  A couple from my friend Pat that take me through difficult parts of our friendship back to a place where we're comfortable with one another again.  One from my son that just brightens my day whenever I hear it.  Several from the Bishop that also carry me through the various stages of our relationship.  I have one where he's trying to reschedule an appointment with me when we were meeting on a strictly professional basis.  Another from when we'd just started seeing each other.  One after a band concert where he tells me I look good enough to eat.  That one still puts a smirk on my face.  The cat-that-ate-the-canary grin.  Still another from around lunchtime where he's wondering at the fact I hadn't left him a message yet (I can guarantee I'd spent all morning thinking about him, though).  The final one I have saved is the hardest one, yet in some ways the most comforting as well.  He's talking about how his heart is heavy with mine at the circumstances.  That he cares very much for me and he wants to keep being real with me rather than "stuffy and professional". 

He left that message the day before we met in his office for the final time.  I think back to that meeting and how painful it was, sitting across from him like we'd done so many times before.  I felt like we'd come full circle, except that the circle was breaking right along with my heart.  I read to him some passages out of my journal to let him know what had been going through my head in the 5 days since we talked along the river front.  I cried as I read, but kept on sharing anyway, not sure if it was easier to get it out or keep it in.  We weren't allowed to touch at that meeting because the flesh is weak.  I understood, but I still pushed him because I couldn't let go.  I couldn't leave things the way they were, both of us so broken. 

I don't know if choosing what's right has freed him, but I still feel so desolate.  There are times when the pain eases and I can remember with joy what we've experienced together.  There are other times when the sorrow threatens to overwhelm me.  I cry out to God in those moments and I think that He listens.  I cry out the Bishop's name, too.  He is so much a part of my relationship with God that I have a hard time separating them sometimes.  I remember him telling me that, as we draw closer to God, we also draw closer to one another.  On days like today, that's about the only thing that's getting me through. 

I don't mind being alone.  I rather like it because I can think and feel and do whatever I need to without expectations crowding in.  I had no imagination for what this would be like.  It seems so stupid now because I've always been the one to think situations through to their possible conclusions.  All I can say is that I lived each and every moment to the fullest and gave little thought to the uncertain future we were facing.  Maybe that's why the memories are so rich and vivid.  They were filled with the height of life, love, and passion.  The experiences were so complete that I believe I'll be able to remember them just as vividly, no matter how much time passes.  I have to take that for the gift that it is.  If I can't ever have that back again, then I want to remember.  I always want to be able to look on him with love.  Maybe the love really will be transformed.  Right now, that's a long way off.  I still see his face when I wake up in the morning.  My mind plays tricks on me so that I think I catch glimpses of him in the crowd.  When that happens, my heart skips a beat, over-joyed to gaze on his countenance.  I'm not disconnected with reality.  I know he's not really there, but it doesn't stop me from hoping, wanting, searching.  I still have vivid dreams about him.  Sometimes erotic, sometimes normal everyday activities, and sometimes nightmares about the distance between us. 

It's 11:30am at home.  I wonder if he braved the snow and went to church this morning.  I wonder what he's eating for lunch today.  I wonder if he's thinking about me and how he deals with those thoughts.  I'm heading out for lunch in a few minutes.  I don't know where I'm going or what I'll eat.  Now that I know where Starbuck's is, I'm sure I'll be stopping by there.  And I'm equally sure the memories will continue to flow.  The desire continues to flow as well.  The desire to hear his voice if only for a moment.

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Depression (continued)

2007-02-25

Welcome to the land of unreasonable expectations.  I was doomed on this trip from the moment I stepped off the plane, sick.  That was the first disappointment.  The next one was two beds instead of one.  Let's follow that up with a few hours of medicated sleep and then a couple of hours of sobbing.  Tack on some more broken sleep, taking too long to get ready in the morning, an unfulfilling day at a theme park, dancing like a maniac, coming back to the hotel and falling asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.  Several hours of walking, dancing in 4" heels, and a margarita chaser would send anyone into a state of exhaustion.  Oh, and lets not forget an episode of sleep-walking in the middle of the night.  I can take the blame for all of the rest of it, but sleep-walking?  Come on!  It's not my fault we switched rooms and I got confused about where the bathroom was in the middle of the night.  It's not my fault I can carry on a coherent conversation while I'm dead asleep.  I don't understand how it works and sometimes it's really disturbing to know I've spoken with someone in a seemingly lucid manner and not be able to remember any of it.  Sometimes I have vague recollections of conversations, but I've also had dreams about arguements that seemed so real I actually wake up angry with someone until I realize it was just a dream.

My husband has been slamming around the hotel room all morning because he was pissed I woke him up in the middle of the night by making a wrong turn and ending up in the adjoining room instead of the bathroom.  Apparently I bumped the door stopper for one of the doors and it swung shut and slammed.  He got up and asked me what I was doing, to which I replied, "Move, I need to go to the bathroom."  I guess I did exactly that and promptly fell back asleep.  He heard the door slam and assumed I'd done it on the way into the other room to get on the computer in the middle of the night.  I'll admit I've had some stellar moments, but intentionally slamming the door at 1:30am just isn't on my list of likely behaviors.  Not only that, but when I get on the computer, I want privacy.  Why would I draw attention to myself like that? 

I feel like everything I do is under a microscope and every action I take is being analyzed.  Sometimes a cigar really is just a cigar, don't you know?  All of this is happening because of the conversation I had with my husband on the phone Wednesday night.  The conversation that was so upsetting and miserable for me apparently gave him encouragement.  I am completely at a loss to understand how he thinks.  I told him I wasn't as apprehensive about the trip.  I said I was coming at it with the idea of just taking things as they come and not getting all worried about what kind of time we were going to have.  I asked him to do the same so we wouldn't have all of this pressure from the start.  What he heard is that I was feeling positive about the trip and that maybe reality was going to be suspended for a couple of days.  Maybe things could be "normal" again. 

Maybe I should've given him that.  God knows I've done enough pretending with him in the past.  Talk to everyone but him because he doesn't really want to hear what I have to say.  He loves me as long as I maintain status quo.  Status quo means taking care of the house, the kids, the cats, and whatever other "little projects" (meaningful ways for me to express myself) I might have on my calendar, turn out the light, have sex, fall asleep, wake up and start it all over again.  When I say have sex, that's exactly what I mean.  Empty, scripted behavior meant to do nothing more than scratch an itch.  I couldn't get arroused by that, so I'd make up little fantasies in my head and detach.  I could orgasm if I had enough time for the fantasy to play out.  As for the emotional aspect, I found myself relying more and more on my friends to satisfy my need to connect with people.  Eventually, I fell in love with the Bishop and found the connection I'd been wanting for so long. 

It was so different with him.  I never knew what intimacy - heart, mind, body, and soul intimacy - felt like.  He awoke a burning passion in me.  I'm arroused right now just thinking about his eyes.  He has the most magnificent blue eyes.  I can't count the hours I've spent gazing into them.  All those hours of talking and maintaining direct eye contact.  He's the only person I've met who could return the stare with equal intensity.  

Why can't I go back to status quo?  I guess I could, but the words "killing me softly" come to mind.  If I go back to what it was before, I will absolutely return to my ways of looking for love where I shouldn't.  My life will feel just as empty and meaningless as it did before and I will do whatever I have to in order to find the tiniest shred of fulfillment that will help me make it through the day.  I don't want to be that person again.  I don't want to grieve God.  I don't want to disappoint the Bishop.  I don't want to trade my self-respect for a roll in the hay.  The tears just keep on coming.       

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Depression

2007-02-25

Well, I survived the day yesterday.  After writing in the morning, I went back to sleep for awhile and woke up feeling much better.  I took my time getting ready for the day - took a bath, ironed some of my clothes, got dressed and packed up to switch rooms.  Meanwhile, my husband went to talk to the people at the front desk about our room from the previous night.  Honestly, I was so miserably ill that I couldn't have cared less about my surroundings, but he wasn't happy, so we did change rooms.  He managed to get us upgraded to a suite at no additional charge.  It's one of those deals with two adjoining rooms, so we have a bathroom, seating area, king-sized bed, and sofa in the one room and a meeting table, seating area with TV, full kitchen, and another bathroom in the adjoining space.  It's much nicer than the previous room.  It seems like such a waste for just two people, though.  This is the kind of room I'd like if we were traveling with the kids.  Still, not having to share a bathroom is wonderful! 

After switching rooms, I realized it was warmer out than I though, so I changed out of street clothes and into a swim suit and cover-up.  We ate lunch at one of Emeril's restaurants and it was lovely.  The service was absolutely fantastic, as was the food.  A waiter came and put our napkins in our laps, refilled our glasses at regular intervals, and took care of absolutely everything we needed without out us having to ask.  The only thing I had to ask for was an iced tea spoon.  I ordered seafood gumbo and the place setting came with a soup spoon, but it was enormous.  My request was met with a somewhat comical response - the server focused on the iced tea part and didn't understand why I'd want the spoon if I didn't have tea.  I had to explain that it's just a little idiosyncracy - I eat everything from ice cream to cereal with a long-handled iced tea spoon. They're much smaller than regular spoons.  From a dieting perspective, it's practical because you take smaller bites and eat slower.  From a personal perspective, I just don't like the spoon to be so big that it scrapes against my teeth.  OK, so lunch was fantastic.  Then what?

Starbuck's!  Ok, so I really do have a one-track mind when it comes to some things.  I honestly believe that part of the reason I was sick on Friday was because I missed my daily ration of Starbuck's.  If I claim that it has healing properties, I can further justify my addiction - I mean, um, keen interest in their coffee.  So, my craving satisfied (along with some intense memories of drinking their brand of battery acid under various other circumstances), we had the whole day in front of us and nothing planned.

My husband had pulled up a couple of web sites for things he thought I might like to do.  Things that would have been torture to him - like going to an art museum to see a big display of Tiffany glass or walking through extensive rose gardens.  Since we didn't have an agenda and we don't really like to do the same things, I told him we should just go to Universal Studios/Islands of Adventure.  He loves roller coasters and I knew he wanted to go ride the rides.  I can't stomach them, but I don't mind walking around in the sun.  I rode a couple of things, but nothing huge.  The Dr. Seuss sky train is about my speed.  I figure if toddlers can handle it, then I might just be able to survive.

My favorite part of Islands of Adventure is the Renaissance area.  I can't remember their name for it, but they have little shops with swords and exotic clothing.  We went through Poseidon's fury, which turned out to be an interactive tour.  The guide was funny and the effects were pretty cool.  We walked across a bridge through a tunnel that had water swirling all the way around.  I'd been in something similar at the Ripley's Odditorium, but this was better because it was dark and the tunnel had blue lights inside the swirling water.  Difficult to describe, but neat to experience.  I was able to do some shopping while my husband went on some of the bigger rides.  That worked out just fine because he hates to shop.  It's not as much fun for me to shop alone, but I'd rather do that than drag along someone who's pouting and complaining the entire time.

Universal took most of the day.  We stopped at an Italian restaurant for dinner called PastAmore along the CityWalk area between the two theme parks.  Again, the service was amazing.  Our waiter's name was Yasid.  He recommended Seafood Diavolo (or something close to that).  It was wonderful.  It had shrimp, cod, and mussels & clams in the shells.  It was tossed with a parmesan red sauce that was to die for.  I wanted to order tirimisu for dessert, but I was just too full.  We went to Universal for their Mardi Gras parade at 8pm.  It was short, but extremely colorful.  They had a bunch of merchandise they were selling to go with it - beads, light-up toys for the kids, and t-shirts.  I briefly considered a couple of them.  One said, "You throw 'em, I'll show 'em".  The other said, "My beads are bigger than your beads".  I said  I briefly considered them.  Funny, but in poor taste, so I decided against them.  Taylor Hicks was scheduled to perform after the parade, but my husband said he wasn't familiar with his music, hates American Idol, and wanted nothing to do with it.  Fine, whatever.  I really wanted to go - not because I'm a big fan of Taylor or A. I., but because we had the park tickets, the guy is a great singer, and it seemed like a good time.  I'm happy to say I didn't pout about it at all.  We walked around CityWalk some more, then decided to go to a Jazz club.  I wanted to shower and change first, so we came back to the hotel briefly, callled our daughter (who talked non-stop about how much snow they're getting at home) and talked with her and the lady taking care of her, then went back to the club. 

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but they were playing dance music instead of jazz when we got there.  Fine with me.  It has a beat and I can move to it.  I thought my husband would want to leave right away because he doesn't like it loud, doesn't like dance music, and doesn't dance.  He surprised me by wanting to stay.  He bought me a margarita and even asked me to dance. 

I felt sorry for him because he does seem to be trying to make sure I have a good time, and I'm trying to enjoy the trip, but the thing that stuck in my mind last night was how, in the scheme of things, I didn't really get that much time with the Bishop, yet we managed to make so many vivid memories.  Those memories keep popping up everywhere I go.  When I ordered that drink, I thought about how he'd tell me to be a lady.  While I was dancing, I remembered him dancing with my daughter at the movie theater and how well he moves.  I also thought about how it felt to move against him.  I couldn't even look at my husband while I was dancing.  He's a terrible dancer.  I don't really care because I doubt I'm much better and it didn't embarass me to be with him.  I just didn't feel anything at all.  Looking at him is like looking at a complete stranger.  We have nothing to talk about.  During lunch, we talked to a couple of girls sitting at an adjacent table.  During dinner, we just sat in silence.  The club was a welcome atmosphere because the music was loud and talking wasn't an option.  I think that's the first time I ever danced with him.  We didn't touch, I didn't make eye contact with him (nor he with me), we didn't move together at all.  It was actually quite the metaphor for our whole relationship.  Two dancers completely out of sync.

He would only stay out until midnight because he had to get up this morning for a class.  He's going to be in class all day today and I'm going to be on my own.  I'm going to shower, put on a swim suit, and then plan my day according to what I'd like to do.  I could lay around the pool reading a book, go shopping, talk to random strangers, or a whole host of other things.  What I really want is a phone call.  To hear the voice I hear in my dreams.  Part of me hopes he goes to church today.  All of me misses all of him.  At least I'll be able to cry if I need to and not worry about trying to put on a brave front. 

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Travel

2007-02-24

I managed to drag my butt out of bed yesterday morning at 2am, after only a couple of hours of sleep.  I think that brought the sleep total since Tuesday to about 10 hours.  That's not really how I wanted to start out the trip.  I wasn't sure I wanted to go anyway, so I guess that was a moot point.  I drove 1 1/2 hours south to get to the airport so that I could fly north to Minneapolis.  Crazy!  The first flight went OK.  It took off at 5am.  Right around the time we were taking off, it hit me that I was traveling alone.  I sat there looking at the empty seat next to me wishing the Bishop were sitting there holding my hand.  Neither of us is fond of flying, but I'd bet that we could figure out a way to make it palatable.  I know that's a wrong line of thought right now.  I know it's hurting me to think about being with him, but I can't seem to help myself.  I tried to do what my friend Roxanne suggested.  I tried to picture God sitting there with me, holding my hand.  I tried, but when I looked with my mind's eye, I could see clearly the profile of the Bishop with his glorious prominent nose.  The tears started coming down.  Even though the cabin was dark, the flight attendant was aware of my distress and brought me some tissue.  That only made me cry more.  A heart-breakingly simple act of compassion.  I know God is with me, but it hurts so much.  I made it through the first flight, managed to regain my composure, and thanked the flight attendant on the way out the door.

The second flight was uneventful, but it took off over an hour late, so I didn't make my connection in Memphis.  I was scheduled to get to Orlando 5 hours earlier than my husband.  I was looking forward to getting settled in the hotel and having that time alone before he got here.  As it turned out, I ended up on a much later flight and got in only a 1/2 hour before he did.  To top it off, I started to get a headache in Memphis.  Not just any headache, either.  A full blown migraine.  I took a bunch of painkillers, but I hadn't eaten a whole lot yesterday because I get motion sick.  Plus, I was planning on being in Orlando by lunchtime, so I didn't think I'd need to eat until I got here.  Big mistake.  HUGE mistake.  Sleep deprivation, hypoglycemia, a predisposition for migraines, dehydration from flying, and not enough caffeine all contributed to the monster migraine from hades.  By the time I boarded that last plane, my head hurt so bad I was sure I was going to throw up what little I did eat.  The lady sitting next to me was eating ice cream when I sat down.  I don't think I said a word to her.  I got a glass of water when I sat down and didn't end up drinking it until the plane landed.  I think I might've slept some, but it's hard to say.  It was all a blur. 

I survived the flight and the ordeal of getting my luggage.  I'm glad I didn't bring a whole lot.  Of course, it's 3am now, and I'm beginning to wonder if I'm going to be warm enough while we're here.  I packed for the outside temperature rather than the frigid air conditioning.  Guess I'll just have to stay outside as much as possible.  I called the hotel only to find out they don't have a shuttle service from the airport.  You'd think they would, considering what they charge.  Even Motel 6 has a shuttle service.  I had to stand in line, buy the tickets, and make all of the arrangements while trying not to barf on my shoes.  I bought my husband's ticket and arranged his shuttle at the same time so he wouldn't have to stand in line and wait like I did.  Maybe I should've waited the extra 1/2 hour, but I was so sick that I didn't think I could stand up for much longer.  

The shuttle driver was the absolute worst I've ridden with.  I ended up all the way in the back with the air conditioner blasting down on me.  The van was in desparate need of new shocks and, to top it off, the driver made that thing lurch and bounce the entire ride.  It was only an act of God that kept me from losing it.  The ride lasted almost an hour.  By the time I got to the hotel, I felt even worse.  The place is absolutely gorgeous and I was way too sick to appreciate any of it.  All I wanted to do was shower and crawl into bed.  I had to go through the check-in procedure first, though.  I told the lady at the desk that I was extremely sick and she expedited the process.  Standing up required all the energy I had left, so I took whatever room she gave me and put one foot in front of the other all the way to the room.  When you're already suffering from an agonizing headache and severe motion sickness, walking exacerbates the problem.  Still, I survived.  I showered, propped open the door so I wouldn't have to get up again, and fell into bed with the intention of staying there as long as I possibly could.  I remember thinking about the dangers of leaving the door unlocked like that, but I figured we're at a family resort and I already hurt so bad that there wasn't much anyone could do to make it worse.

My husband got there a little while later.  He was pissed that I didn't wait for him at the airport, didn't even appreciate the fact that I'd been up since 2am and still managed to get the transportation arranged and check in to the hotel, and took it extremely personal that we ended up in a room with two queen-sized beds.  I vaguely remember the lady asking me if two beds was OK.  I'm pretty sure my answer was, "I'll just need to lie down, so whatever you have is fine with me."  I don't see what it matters, anyway.  He and I haven't been together in well over a month.  When he got to the room, I asked him to get me something with caffeine, more painkillers, and something simple to eat.  The last thing I wanted to do was eat, but I knew the headache was just going to get worse if I didn't.  He wasn't happy about catering to me, but he did what I asked.  He brought me a ham sandwich, a diet coke, and retrieved my painkillers with the sedative in them from my luggage.  I ate a few bites of sandwich, despite the waves of nausea, swallowed my pills and tried to drink as much of the soda as I could, then crashed completely.  He told me he was going out to get some food and that's the last I remember clearly until 2am.  

In just 24 hours, I've driven 90 miles, taken 3 planes and a horrible shuttle ride, and finally managed to get a little sleep.  Drugged sleep isn't the best, but given how I felt, it did the trick.  I ate half a sandwich and some chips when I woke up.  My husband woke up too, so I had to have a conversation with him. Not really what I like to do when I first wake up, but I participated anyway.  I explained to him what had happened because apparently he didn't realize just how sick I was.  He was disappointed with my travel experience.  For whatever reason, he upgraded my tickets to first-class using frequent flyer miles.  I know it was meant to be a kind gesture and I tried to take it that way, but those miles could've been used for a free ticket for my son to visit his grandparents.  Not only that, but I'm a fairly low maintenance traveler.  Even though I was sick, I didn't demand anything extra.  I didn't complain to the shuttle driver and I didn't take my pain out on anyone else.  I felt self-conscious in first class.  I'm uncomfortable with the extra attention.  Anyway, after our brief conversation earlier, I tried to go back to sleep.  

By that time, I was awake enough for my brain to engage.  I started thinking about the Bishop and how much I miss him.  I was lying there in bed wondering if he's in his own bed thinking about me.  I want him to be.  What if he isn't, though?  What if he's doing just fine while my heart is still so very broken?  I'm trying my best to listen to God and let him comfort me.  I'm trying to trust, but it's still so agonizing.  I started crying again.  My husband heard me and asked what was wrong. 

Am I really supposed to talk to him about this?  About how much I miss the Bishop and would be with him if I could?  The only reason I'm not with him is that his conscience can't take it.  I can't stand watching him struggle with it and the only decent thing to do is to let him go.  Meanwhile, I'm drowning in the pain.  I can make it through the day without too many outbursts, but when I go to bed, the enormity of it comes crashing down on me and I just can't hold back the tears anymore.  At home, I have the computer by my bed so I can write and purge as much as possible.  I don't have to worry about disturbing anyone or explaining myself because my husband is gone most of the week.  I can let down my guard and just sob.  It eases after awhile and I can pray and try to think about the positive things again.  I meant everything I said to him about trying to do the right thing.  I want him to be able to find peace.  It broke my heart to hear him tell me about one day wanting to perform his daughters' wedding ceremonies.  I realized I couldn't be responsible for robbing him of that dream.  This relationship has already cost him so much, yet he hasn't become bitter towards me.  He's been nothing short of amazing. 

I have to try to find a way to deal with this.  It's agony to be cut off from him.  I hate not knowing how he's feeling.  I hate lying awake wondering if he cares as much as I do.  Nobody else understands how deep the love runs.  I'm not even sure I understood.  I never had much trouble detaching because nearly every other relationship in my life has been on my terms.  I never let anyone affect me this way before.  I was so consumed with loving him that I never really thought about how it would feel to lose him.  It's worse than that, though.  It's a choice I have to keep making that goes against everything my heart tells me.  I don't feel blessed in making the right choice.  I feel devastated.

For the next couple of days, I'm supposed to try to work on my marriage.  How am I supposed to do that?  I still can't sleep through the night, even medicated.  I don't even understand why he wants to keep trying, all the while knowing I'm in love with someone else.  Knowing that I love another man in a way I've never loved him and may never will.  Why would he put himself through that?  Because he loves me?  Maybe I should be able to understand that.  I love the Bishop with all my heart, despite knowing that he's going to stay with his wife.  Maybe the difference is that I know he loves me too.  He's not giving me up because he doesn't want me anymore.  It hurts to think the memory will fade for him and he eventually won't want me.  I can't think like that or I'll go crazy for real.

So, I sit here in a magnificent hotel lounge wishing I could be sharing this experience and every other one with the Bishop.  Wishing I were in bed with him right now, snuggled up with him safe and warm.  Wishing he's here with me.  It's so beautiful here.  I do wish I could be enjoying it with him.  What an amazing life we could have together.  Oh God, I miss him.  Is this really ever going to be OK?  Are you really here with me?  Why isn't it enough?

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The Waking Dream

2007-02-22

My heart is taking me to a path in a nature preserve.  Walking along, the gravel crunching under our shoes.  We're talking about what it means to be loved.  He takes me in his arms and kisses me fiercely, passionately.  He tells me to remember - as if I could ever forget.  If I close my eyes, I can feel the sun on my face and his strong arms around me.  The love flows freely between us.  That memory melts into another one where I'm unable to restrain myself from throwing my arms around him.  I kiss him so deeply that the world retreats for the moment.  When we part, bicyclists race past us, snickering at our uninhibited display. 

In 3 1/2 hours, I'll be on the road.  In 6 hours, I'll be on a plane.  A friend would tell me that my mind is playing strange tricks on me again.  So be it. 

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What I'd Really Like To Be Doing

2007-02-22

There was a time not so very long ago that I wouldn't have had to ask how to spend an evening alone because I wouldn't have been alone.  I would've been in the arms of the most imaginative and passionate lover on the face of the planet.  I wish I still had that option.  I'd take him to bed in a heartbeat.  Without hesitation.  Bishop, where are you tonight?

The biggest decision I'm facing now is whether to try and get a couple of hours of sleep, or just stay up until I have to leave for the airport.  Meanwhile, I'm suffering physical withdrawal like I've never known. 

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Home Alone

2007-02-22

I'm home alone tonight for the first time ever, I think.  Wierd.  Now what do I do?

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Stages of Grief

2007-02-22

Fitful sleep.  Bad dreams.  The anger is beginning to set in.  Anger at my own helplessness.  I don't want to feel this way.  I don't want to go through the stages of letting go.  I don't want it to all be meaningless.  I don't want it to disappear.  I don't want to be alone.  Can a broken heart kill a person?  Is it wrong to feel like you want it to? 

I promise I will always leave
the darkness for the light
I swear by all that's holy
I will not give up the fight
I'll drink down death like water
before I ever come again
to that dark place
where I might make
the choice for life to end

I understand that pledge.  I've sung it countless times as a reminder that it's never as bad as it seems.  Today is a new day and God's mercies are new every morning.  I'm reaching for that and feeling like it's just outside my reach this morning.  My son told me last night before bed that he's observed other families and that, if he'd had a choice, he still would have chosen me for his mother.  What a phenomenal kid!  I was miserable when I got off the phone with my husband last night.  As I said before, it's all or nothing.  We had a dreadful conversation - at least for me.  I wonder if he'll ever learn to think for himself.  My son and I talked a little about why I was upset.  I had to keep it simple because I don't want him to feel burdened.  I also don't want him thinking his mother is losing her grip.  I told him I'd made a decision yesterday that has been really difficult to stick to.  I made it in an unconventional manner and a couple of people have expressed doubt that I'm capable of choosing what's right.  He said, "If you believe you're doing what God wants, then why do you care what other people think?"

Why indeed?  He's fully aware that I don't exactly fit the mold.  For that matter, he doesn't either.  He's intelligent, imaginative, unusual, and just doesn't fit in with his peers.  I hate knowing he gets teased and picked on at school for being who he is.  There's nothing quite so devastating as that particular brand of rejection.  Despite the verbal abuse, he refuses to give up who he is to please the other kids.  In a lot of ways, that makes me proud.  It tells me he won't do things just because everyone else does.  He will think for himself.  The down side is an underlying disdain for other people.  I can see already - have been able to for awhile now - that respect is going to be a struggle for him, just the way it is for me. 

I refused to cave to the pressure, too.  I am who I am.  I'm fairly comfortable with the person I'm becoming.  I don't like everything about myself and I have a lot yet to learn, but I believe I will continue to be refined.  When it comes down to it, I care what people think about me, but only to a point.  I listen to what they have to say and sort out what I consider to be valuable, then let the rest go.  I believe everyone has something of worth to contribute.  Sometimes it takes a lot of work to discover what that is.  I don't think I'm an easy person to love.  Maybe my son takes after me in that regard.  What I've learned is that sometimes, the ones who are hardest to love need it the most.  Maybe that's at the heart of my resistance to letting go.  I understand that people will come and go in my life.  Things change.  People change.  I just don't want the Bishop to change so much that he won't care anymore.  I can't seem to get past the feeling of loss this morning.  I can't get past wanting him to comfort me.  

Stick to the routine and hope it gets me through the day.  Take my son to school.  Come home and pack the kids' stuff for the weekend.  Take my daughter to art & music.  Spend and hour or so at Starbuck's.  Pick up the girl, drop her off with a friend, then go to lunch with another friend and let her love on me today because I need it.  Oh God, do I need it.  Pick my sweet little girl up, then head home for a little while longer before I go to coffee with yet another friend and her recently widowed mother.  Pick my son up from school somewhere in there.  Get things ready and drop the kids off for the weekend.  Come home and spend the evening alone before heading to the airport in the wee hours of the morning with the intention of flying to Orlando.  I don't want to go.  Right now, it's as honest as this:  If I can't be with the Bishop, then I just want to be alone.  So much for standing with my head held high, strong and resolute.     

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Is It Really Over?

2007-02-21

Well, my resolve lasted all of 24 hours before I caught myself wondering when I'm going to see him again.  I didn't even realize it right away.  It was so easy to think about holding him, touching him, gazing into his eyes without saying a word.  And yet, I have so much I want to say to him.  I went shopping this evening.  I tried on dozens of things, all the while wondering if he'd like them on me.  My brain seems to have been on autopilot all afternoon and evening.  I'm trying to hold it together.  I want to believe and do all the things I said.  Is it too late to change my mind? 

I suppose it's not unexpected to have second thoughts.  I just have all of these doubts crashing in on me.  It's been implied to me that there's only one tried-and-true formula for making it through what I'm going through.  That I have to follow the rules to the letter in order to find healing and forgiveness.  That's not what God told me.  What He told me is simply to trust Him.  To place my faith in Him and allow Him to work out the details.  Isn't that Truth?  I thought I was supposed to rely fully on Him and that He would take care of me.  I thought that's what all of this is about - choosing what's right (God's will) over what I want.  Well, I'm doing that minute-by-minute it seems.  I'm not doing it the way that's expected or the way that's recommended, but does that mean God won't lead me through?  Do I disregard what people are telling me if it conflicts with what God is telling me?  Do I just assume those people are right - that I'm not good enough, repentant enough, righteous enough, smart enough, sensative enough, or spiritual enough to recognize God's voice?  What if they're so focused on me doing things the way they think I should that they're missing the fact that I'm choosing to do what God says is right? 

I'm not even sure I'm convinced it's the right thing.  I'm not sure I believe that giving up love for the unknown is a prudent thing to do.  I'm not sure I want to live my live knowing what love can be, then denying myself the experience.  I have no personal experience that would reassure me, nor have I even witnessed the kind of faith that's required in action.  Most of what I have witnessed is lip service.  People saying the words, then doing whatever they please.  My heart is so divided, so confused, so anguished, yet I'm choosing to trust God. 

To hear with my heart, to see with my soul. 
To be guided by a hand I cannot hold. 
To trust in a way that I cannot see. 
That's what faith must be. 

Doesn't anybody know how hard it is to let go of the hand I can hold and reach for the one I can't even see?  I want what I can't have.  I want it so badly I can't even think clearly.  I want the Bishop to come for me.  I want him to see me across a room or across a restaurant and come towards me, reaching with his arms.  I want him to wrap those arms around me tight and kiss me for all the world to see.  I know it's pure fantasy.  I know that he would do that if he could, but he can't.  I want to be loved like that.  I want to believe God's love will feel like that.  The tears keep falling.  I just can't believe it's over.  It hurts every time I think about what I'm missing with him.  It hurts not to think about it.  I'll be crying myself to sleep tonight - if sleep ever comes.  Oh God, is it always going to hurt this bad?  I'm not sure I can take much more.  Is this really for the best?  Oh God, does it have to be over?  Is that really the only way?  I still love him as much as I ever did.  I still want him as much as I ever did.  What lesson am I really supposed to be learning?  David got to keep Bathsheba.  They paid a terrible price for their sin, but they got to be together.  OK, that was selfish and completely unrealistic.  I'd better try to get some sleep and hope I feel some semblance of peace in the morning.      

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Turning Point

2007-02-20

February 20th.  A day I'd been looking forward to with a great deal of trepidation.  I'd ordered a CD over a month ago and was dreading picking it up, despite the fact that I really wanted the CD.  Toby Mac's new one.  I wouldn't have thought I'd like his music.  Anything resembling Rap or HipHop has always been on my black list, as far as music goes.  I resent the fact that many of the "artists" (I hesitate to give them that much credit) do something they call "sampling" other artists' music, which is, essentially stealing, talk over the top of it, then call it original.  Oddly enough, the movie "Hustle and Flow" changed my perception dramatically.  My taste in music goes way beyond ecclectic.  I listen to what I like, regardless of what other people think.  I tend to gravitate towards artists who string phrases and melodies together in a way that's out of the ordinary.  I realized that I wasn't being fair to an entire genre of music simply because I find some of it offensive.  I don't want to listen to anyone who glorifies hate and violence - especially if they incorporate profanity.  That's not to say I have "virgin" ears.  It may seem contradictory, but I do believe there are certain situations where profanity is called for.  Toad The Wet Sprocket did a song about rape that included the f-bomb.  They used it to encapsulate the feeling of helplessness that goes along with trying to understand what would drive a man to violate a woman in that way.  To me, that word in that context is appropriate.  I see gratuitous profanity as completely unnecessary and unimaginative.  Unfortunately, I threw out the baby with the bathwater when it comes to rap & hiphop.  The more exposure I get to it as it becomes more mainstream, the more I realize that there are true artists who's words and songs are meaningful.  They allow a glimpse into lives that are foreign to me in circumstance, but still have the common thread of humanity running through them.  Live and learn.  So, I wanted the Toby Mac CD.  I'm not really sure what genre it actually fits into, but I like it because I like it.  In particular, a song titled, "I Was Made To Love You".  It speaks to me personally about my purpous on earth and how I can/should find fulfillment.

So, why was I concerned about picking it up?  Because the Bishop's wife works at the store where I ordered it from.  I didn't want to have a confrontation with her.  The last time was beyond upsetting for both of us.  I know there will be times when we run into each other in public, but I can do my part to keep it to a minimum.  As it turned out, I had nothing to worry about.  She wasn't working this morning and I was able to pick up the CD without incident.  After stopping there, I went to Starbuck's for my daily fix.  While there, I received a call that I'd been both hoping for and dreading.  I dropped my daughter off with a baby-sitter this afternoon, then took some personal time to reach some final conclusions regarding my relationship with the Bishop.  If the way I feel now is any indication, then I think I might just be OK.

Today, I gave control of my life fully over to God.  It was an extremely painful thing to do because it meant finally letting go of the one thing I wanted with all my heart and have faith that God will accept the sacrifice for what it is and keep His promise to be my Comforter, Healer, and the true Lover of my Soul.  It meant letting go of my own selfish desires and embracing the Truth once and for all.  The Truth was there all along.  I knew that.  I also knew I had to choose it.  I don't know if it settles the issue of repentance for me permanently.  I still don't fully understand what God expects me to be sorry for.  All I know right now is that I gave my love for the Bishop over to God to do with as He pleases.  In doing that, I gave my whole life over to Him to do with as He pleases.  I'm so very tired of trying to control what I was never meant to control.  God has been speaking to me in both subtle and obvious ways.  The Sunday sermons were pretty blatant attention getters.  The music I choose to listen to worked more subtly, but it worked nonetheless.  The gracious reactions of my friends were also gentle reminders that I'm loved by God through them.  I was made to love Him. 

It's been an emotionally charged day.  I'm now at the end of it and I can say that I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.  I hope the Bishop is feeling the same release.  I don't think we have to believe that our love was anything other than what we experienced.  I do think that we can give that love to God and let Him take care of us the way He's wanted to all along.  I don't have a clue what the future holds.  I'm not even sure I'm ready to face much more than what comes in the morning.  Right now, it's enough to know I'm loved.  I am loved for who I am.  I am still capable of love.  My heart is full to bursting with it.  I may not always feel what I do right now, but I know what I've experienced.  The trials I face in the future will be forever colored by the memories I carry with me.  I will know I can face tomorrow because I know what I've been through already.  Life is hard - sometimes because I make it that way, but God is good.  I will praise him in this storm.

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Back Up And Running

2007-02-19

The transistorized tormentor is functioning again!  After much irritation to find out that my data is not recoverable and my hard drive was never backed up the way it was supposed to be, I at least have a computer that connects to the internet.  I've had a busy weekend, so I wouldn't have had much time to devote to my whining and ruminations anyway.  Today (actually yesterday, according to the clock) has been a marathon day.  I went to church for another heaping helping of guilt and self-loathing.  You know it's bad when the pastor, who's not a particularly sensative man, went out of his way after the sermon to remind me that forgiveness is just as much a part of the equation as conviction.  He tells me this knowing that I'm still not completely repentant.  He tells me what actions I can take, but doesn't know what to say in addressing the intense emotional aspect of what I've been putting myself through.  Suffice it to say I feel some gratification for sticking it out when it would be so much easier to stay home, but I'm still glad when the service is over. 

After church, we ate Chinese at one of the local buffets of less-than-authentic Asian dishes.  I'm not much in the way of an epicurian, so the issue of authenticity is much less of a priority than taste.  I thought the sushi tasted pretty good.  I'm glad it didn't really contain raw fish.  As for the seaweed, the first time I tried it was the summer after I graduated high school.  I got invited to a sushi party at someone's house.  I wanted to be sophisticated and adventurous and just love it from the start, but it turned out to be such a strong and unusual taste for me that I could barely swallow it.  I gave myself a good long break before I tried it again.  It took several tries before I actually wanted to eat it.  Today, I realized that it fits right in with other things I consider to be "comfort" foods.  I've been a picky eater ever since I was old enough to say "I hate it".  The list of foods I won't eat is so long that it's usually easier to list what I will eat.  I learned to cook when I was 8 years old because I would rather starve than eat something I don't like.  The way I see it, the world is full of "necessary evils" - those things we have to do, but don't particularly enjoy.  Housework, pelvic exams, visits to the dentist, and mowing the lawn all fall under that category.  Eating shouldn't be like that (although, obesity would be less of a problem if it were).  With all of the wonderful foods available, why should you have to eat the things you despise?  I'm not some kind of junk food freak.  In fact, I'm quite fond of vegetables and would generally choose to eat them over sweets.  My preferences tend to be associated with texture more than anything.  I won't eat cooked onions or chicken.  Cooked onions make me think of tape worms and I just can't put the slimy things in my mouth.  As for chicken, the more I chew it, the more it seems to grow in my mouth.  I used to make quite a production of my eating habits until I realized it can be quite upsetting to other people - especially in restaurants.  As a result, I'll talk about it if asked, but I try not to go into much detail unless a person is really interested.  The food at lunch was great, though.

After lunch, I had to rush to dress rehearsal for our afternoon concert.  Rehearsal was very brief.  I'm so glad for that.  The concert lasted almost 2 hours.  That's a long time to sit and stay focused on on one task.  Still, I love it.  I love being a part of a group and listening to the music progress week after week.  When we first get our music, it's all I can do to just sight-read my own parts.  After a couple of rehearsals, I can cover my part well enough to be able to listen to the other components.  By the time we get to the concert date, we've all progressed to the point where we've mastered our part and how it fits into the piece of music as a whole.  I love the whole process.  The best part is at the end when everything comes together.  When the director gives the final cut-off with a flourish because we listened to the things he told us, listened to each other, and avoided playing in the rests.  We still make mistakes, but the finished product is much more than the sum of its parts.

A friend of mine called during the concert and invited me to attend a concert this evening in a city that's an hour's drive from where I live.  I wanted to go, but I wasn't sure my husband would allow him to.  He had to get on the road for business and we hadn't spent much time together this weekend.  The schedule was set up that way, but it might've been better because it's all or nothing right now.  We're either at each other's throats or acting like we're on an extremely aukward blind date when we are together lately.  Neither of us is sure of how we feel, so it's a little difficult to know how to act towards each other.  I think I'm hoping this will pass.  I talked to him about the concert and he told me it was OK to go, so I offered to take the kids.  My son declined because he doesn't really care for the groups who were playing.  My daughter is up for anything anytime, so I can always count on her to go wherever the mood strikes.  We went to the concert and it was excellent.  We saw Aaron Shust, Audio Adrenaline, and Mercy Me.  All contemporary Christian groups and well worth the price of admission.  Dancing to the beat, jumping around while the bass sends vibrations through my body, and screaming at the top of my lungs beats the hell out of laying around at home lamenting the time I don't get to spend with the Bishop. 

I was really missing him this afternoon.  He attended my last two concerts.  Music has always been my passion and having him there expanded that passion in a way I'd never experienced before.  I found today that the love I feel for him is what made the change.  I can still feel like that outside of his presence because I carry the love with me, but it's still disappointing that he couldn't be there.  It amazes me the impact he's had on my life in a such a relatively short time.  Speaking of time, I'm going to need to get some sleep if I expect to function in the morning.

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Stupid Computer

2007-02-15

I'm relegated to using the computer in the basement for the next few days because the hard drive crashed in my laptop.  The f#$%ing thing started making scratchy noises, gave me the blue screen of death and then quit.  The only files I care about are digital photos.  I think I have most of them backed up in other places, but it still ticks me off.  It's the idea of having to trek downstairs to check email instead of rolling my bedside table towards me and starting the thing up.  Hopefully I can get someone to recover the data.  I called a couple of places to price out a new drive.  They didn't sound horribly priced to me, but in trying to make him feel useful, I called my husband and asked him what I should do.  He was going to order something online and wait to have it shipped before he got anything fixed.  If that had been his computer, he'd have either gotten it fixed immediately or bought a new one.  Oh well, at least we have another machine.  Of course, it has a Winnie the Pooh keyboard, so that's just all kinds of fun to type on.  I think maybe I'll have to pull out the MS Natural keyboard out for the next couple of days.  It's just too much work to have to type on keys that are much bigger and stickier than the laptop keyboard.  Oh, excuse me, they're "notebook" computers now.  I suppose the up side of having my husband take care of it is that I won't have to deal with the condescending repair tech.  I do my homework before I buy a new piece of equipment or take something in to get it repaired.  I'm usually better informed than the salespeople.  It's not that I'm particularly interested in technology.  I just like to know what I'm getting into and I don't want to feel like I'm getting ripped off or sold a bunch of stuff I don't need.  Like an enourmous hard drive.  It's only a few dollars more.  Maybe so, but I don't want to pay the extra money and I don't need the space.  Maybe if I had the time or energy to figure out how to make the most of my iPod, I'd need the space to back up my music collection, but when is that realistically going to happen.  I'd rather just cart around 150 of my favorite CDs in my car.  They fit right in with all of the sports equipment, library books, backpacks, emergency snow gear, and clutter the kids toss in there.  It's a good thing I don't drive a compact car.  I'd never be able to see out the back for all of the stuff they can't live without in our trips across town!

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Strange Dreams

2007-02-15

I just woke up from a very strange dream.  I dreamt that I'd been doing an exibition performance for marching band on a college campus somewhere.  After the performance, I attented a board meeting where they were going to make decisions about the Bishop and his career.  Everything was all jumbled because his wife was there, only it seemed that something had changed because his wife was this woman who's close to my age.  She's someone we both know and who I've been jealous of in the past.  In the dream, I had a conversation with her about the Bishop and how I didn't want him to give up on life.  Men tend to rely heavily on their job for their sense of purpose and security.  She didn't seem to get what I was talking about, so I decided to drive across campus to his office and go see him.  For some reason, I'd been driving a tractor that someone loaned me.  Not just an old traditional farm tractor, but one of the new ones with an enclosed cab.  When I went to get into it, a guy from the community band I play in was there wiping the windshield of the tractor.  I thanked him, climbed in, started the emormous thing like I knew what I was doing, then proceeded to light up a cigarette (I quit smoking on January 6th).  I drove for a short distance, parked, then hopped onto one of those motorized scooters they loan out to disable shoppers at department stores.  I made my way through this little courtyard where our Women's Ministry director from church was conduction a Bible study.  I stopped there and participated in the discussion briefly about how many of the women mentioned by name in the Bible are bad girls and asked if that meant I had hope of redemption.  When the ladies got busy with something else, I looked to make sure the director wasn't paying attention, then continued on my journey to see the Bishop.  He was staying in an annex building that looked like his real-life office.  It was difficult to maneuver the scooter inside the building, so I got up and walked to the door of his office.  It was empty, so I walked down the hall a little further to his bedroom because I could hear him snoring softly from inside.  He was asleep on the bed, so I walked towards him to wake him up.  That's about the time I woke up.

The Bishop has told me at different times that you can be spiritually attacked in your dreams.  I'd never even considered that because I can usually relate what I dream to the thoughts and feelings I've experienced throughout the day.  I was also told in a psychology class long ago that dreams are a way for our sub-conscious to purge and start fresh.  The dream I just had seems to follow the psychology explanation.  I have been thinking about all of the people and elements in the dream.  Most of the events aren't logically tied together, but that's the beauty of a dream.

I had band rehearsal last night.  During rehearsal, I could look across the band while I was playing and see the guy who showed up in the dream.  He's been on my mind lately, anyway, because his wife recently died.  I knew her as a casual acquaintance.  She was a nurse at the hospital when I delivered my daughter.  I remember how kind and considerate she was.  She's also been to many of our concerts.  She suffered with cancer for several months before she died.  I've been wondering how he's coped the past couple of months without her.  They seemed like a somewhat mis-matched couple, but it was obvious that he loved her.  I think he's pretty close to the same age as the Bishop.

I also went to church last night.  Normally, I would see the WM director there on a Wednesday night, but I didn't see her last night.  She and her husband are people I've confided in, so they know a lot of what's been going on in my life.  I've been up to church to pray with her several times, so she's probably a little more aware of my struggles than her husband.  I haven't been completely honest with her about some things - in fact, I've told her an outright lie a couple of times when she asked me direct questions meant to keep me accountable.  There's a bit of crazy history there, anyway.  A couple of months ago, she called me at a rather inopportune moment (I was making love with the Bishop).  I answered the phone because I needed to give her some information and I didn't want her to keep calling back.  The whole time I was on the phone with her, he was doing all kinds of distracting things to my body intentionally because he knew who I was talking to.  I've had that in the back of my head every time I've spoken with her since then.  I've refrained from telling her that, though.  She comes off as being a very proper and somewhat sheltered woman.  Listening to her the way I have, she strikes me as someone who's never really experienced blood-boiling passion, is aware of that about herself, and doesn't feel like she's missing anything.  Some people would rather not get messy or sticky.  I was that way before I made love to the Bishop.

The object of my jealousy was in the dream because she's currently single and had caught the attention of the Bishop a long time ago.  He told me about it, told me he doesn't feel that way anymore, and that she's no threat to me.  I believe him, but sometimes the irrational insecure aspect of my personality rears its ugly head and I need a little reassurance.  He's been jealous of some of my friends in the past as well, and I loved it.  I wanted him to know my weaknesses and I wanted him to be possessive because it showed me that our relationship was worth defending.  I wanted him to be a caveman in that regard.  He didn't have to literally club me over the head and drag me home, but there's certainly something about the way he's loved me that makes me want to be faithful to him.  What a bizarre concept, considering the circumstances.  As far as the woman in the dream, that comes from morbid conjecture about what he'd do if his wife died.  This other woman is already single and he's been attracted to her in the past.  Given his beliefs, would he still love and respect me if I chose to get a divorce in order to be with him?  The truth of the matter is that, if I get a divorce, it's because I don't want to work the rest of my life at a marriage that may never be more than 2 people coexisting because it's the right thing to do in the sight of God.  I'm still skeptical about how that would work.  I know I've left out the part where God blesses people who do his will.  I guess I'm skeptical about that, too, because I've seen some really Godly people go through some miserable and seemingly random tragedies, despite their obedience.  That's too deep a subject to ponder right now.  Suffice it to say that, if the Bishop did find himself in a position for remarriage, I'd want it to be me.  He used to tell me that I would be his choice under those circumstances.  That was before his children knew of our involvement.  I wonder if that's changed.  I wonder if his commitment to choosing what is right would even allow him to ever be with me out in the open for all the world to see.

The part of the dream where I wake him up is emotionally the hardest (which is likely why I woke up) because I've always wanted something as simple as falling asleep and then waking up next to him.  We've been able to do that a couple of times.  We spent the night at a hotel in November.  That was exquisite.  We were in a different city, which allowed us to go out to dinner together.  I had a marvelous time that night, gazing into his eyes with obvious love and desire.  There is a considerable age difference between us, so I know it caused the people around us to speculate as to what kind of relationship we had.  I didn't mind at all - in fact, I rather enjoyed it.  He is such an attractive man that I was proud to have him on my arm.  I dressed up for him because I wanted him to feel the same about me.  We swam and bathed and showered together at that hotel.  We made love over and over again.  He spent the night with me a couple of times at my house, as well.  Also a wonderful experience.  Having him at my disposal for extended periods of time was phenomenal.  We didn't have to rush our love-making.  We kissed so much it's a wonder my lips are still attached to my face.  I miss him.  That's what the dream did to me.  Reminded me of a time when our love and desires were uninhibited.  A time when I knew that he would welcome me into his arms, despite knowing it was wrong.  There are times when I think he would still do that, but I don't want to hurt him.  I don't want him to continually battle with his conscience in order to be with me.  I think maybe there's something wrong with me because I wouldn't be sorry for being with him again.  I would be sorry if someone found out and people got hurt all over again, but I wouldn't be sorry to share my heart and body with him again.  As I said before, I wasn't the one who forced him to choose.  I know she has every right to do that.  He gave her that right when he said his vows.  I've had the hardest time reconciling that one.  He's loved her all this time, yet he was still willing to be with me.  I'm fine with that because I think she deserves his love and respect.  I just have a completely different take on things.  I see her as the matriarchal figure.  I respect her, too.  She's seems content to put all of the youthful exuberance for life in the past and settle into her senior years.  He wants her to feel secure and loved during this time, but I don't think he's quite ready to let his vitality, vibrance, and virility slip away.  That's how I see him - as a strong, vital, and virile man.  I want him to remain that way, not drift away into complacency.  I love that man.

It's clear I'm not going to get anymore sleep.  I haven't gotten enough sleep the past several days.  Thank God for Starbucks!  I had such excruciating cramps last night that it's a wonder I could sleep at all.  It hurt bad enough to wake me up several times.  It hurt so bad that I couldn't even move to get up and take painkillers.  Sometime during the night, I had a lucid moment and started to focus and breathe through them the way they taught us in childbirth classes.  I go through varying degrees of agony every month.  It had actually gotten better for awhile.  I honestly think it's because I was so active with the Bishop.  See, he wasn't all bad for me.

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Popsicle Toes

2007-02-14

I'm lying in bed all alone with feet that feel like blocks of ice.  Not so very long ago, I'd be lying here talking on the phone with the man I love.  It didn't take us long to get into a routine of talking for an hour or two late at night every night.  Usually that was after we'd spent an hour or two together at some point in the day.  I'm not sure how we managed to spend so much time together, but I sure miss it.  When we were physically together, we spent the majority of that time exploring each other's bodies.  If you know your private time together is limited, you tend to make the most of it.  The hours on the phone were the evidence that our relationship wasn't purely physical.  Sure, we talked about how it felt to touch, but we talked about many other things as well.  The nights on the phone allowed us to explore the emotional aspects of our relationship.  Finding our common ground in how we grew up and the experiences that have shaped who we are.  We talked about our interactions with other people, our general impressions of the day, silly things like what we ate for dinner, and a whole host of free association where one subject naturally segues into another.  I miss him a lot tonight.  The magnitude of having our relationship "outed" is beginning to wear off.  I know we both have a lot of work to do if we expect our respective marriages to remain intact, but right now, I'd be a liar if I said I didn't want to just slip back into his arms.  It may sound strange, but I'm not really lonely tonight. - alone, yes, but not lonely.  I think it's because, after careful examination, I know that what we experienced truly was love and I believe our love will carry on.  I find that thought comforting, despite the fact that I still long to be with him in every way possible.  He and I will always have some sort of connection.  I think about the friends I've had in my life.  There are some that I only get to see a couple of times a year, yet wh