Sunday, May 07, 2006

Flashback time... this is me, listening to Petshop Boys.. this is me, wondering when they will play some blues again.
After falling madly in love with someone I am still in touch with and fond of, I swore off for at least a year. It's a good plan, and a good cure for madness, to wait a year. Life goes on, and in a year, if it matters, it will still matter.

This is me in high school... in a dark fog of confusion, depression and anorexia. I was in counseling for about 4 years. It's still a great influence on my life, and I use what I learned from Fr. Dave Penticuff far more than anything I learned in HS, other than to completely disregard what anyone else thinks of me. That lesson was the most important, for me. Danny W asked me to the Prom. I was friends with his GF and blew him off. DB asked me over for drinks. I tried to remind him that I was under the age of consent, while not taking it personally... it kind of undermined my respect for him, which was too bad. Other than sneaking some JD here and there, I didn't drink, and didn't, until I was about 25. This is me trying desperately to escape the dysfunctional death sentence of my family.

This is me, trying the perfection route, weighing about 125 lbs, making honor roll, and dating a pyschologist's son who is a year ahead of me. This is me, dealing with dating a teenage boy, dealing with my own issues and desires, breaking loose and giving up and taking New Age seminars which give me the emotional support and bouyancy I never got at home. This is me, getting out of high school and laying tracks to get out, any way, any how. This is me in the cheap South Austin apartment with my old friend Beverly, and working retail for something like 400 a month. This is me clearing brush, running fences and going into construction work with my ex in Bastrop County. This is me, immersing myself in martial arts practice, which evolved me beyond anything I ever expected. This is me, losing my mind, leaving the land and the house and the man, moving into a friend's sewing room. Many relationships were not Y2K compliant... many who had other agendas for me, or simply weren't sure about what I was doing, or maybe felt abandoned or set aside.. I'm sorry. As usual, it was never about you. It hurt more than anything in my life, to leave the familiar limestone under my feet.
I refuse to sit around listening to Bruce Springsteen, I'm way more into Pink's Stupid Girls, blues and vintage jazz.
I can listen to Bryan Adams, since he opened for Journey way back When and I was there...

This is me, breaking down doors, smashing windows. I've restructured my life in a way that I never could have imagined, way back in 1986. I'd like to think that I wouldn't be surprised. I knew what I wanted, it was just a matter of time until I found my way to articulate it, and get there. This life is still a work in progress, and will be, up until the very last moment of possibility.

This is me, calm and clear-eyed, with a view to what is, and what has been.

This is me, finding my way.
I'm looking forward to lilacs. This last winter has been so long, and so cold. Evenings in Bayrische Siberien are soft and cool, with blackbirds trilling and burbling at the eavetops. It's not salsa weather by any stretch, at 20 Celsius. Over freezing in Bavaria is something to celebrate, though. Forsythia splashes brilliant yellow, plum and cherry trees float delicate cotton candy petal flakes to the sidewalks.
In Texas, there were fields of bluebonnets, and mountain laurel with its strangely heady "beery" smell. Here, I get high on lilacs. Like the mountain laurel, they are incredibly toxic, but they smell wonderful. A roomful of either would give an adult a headache after a while. I learned not to sleep in roomfuls of lilacs. On the other hand, a generous spray of them in a crystal vase on the kitchen table is an incredibly sensual experience.
This year is the 20th reunion of my high school graduation. It's an interesting marker... like crossing the border in another country. Sometimes they stop you and look at your passport. Sometimes they don't care. It's just another stamp on my passport of life. I lost my first passport somewhere in Austria. It has all the marks from Scotland, Ireland, England (London), a few from Czech and back and forth from the US.
I wonder if my classmates even remember the quiet, strange and estranged girl who wore her hair over her face, and could only really express herself in writing. Sometimes not even then.. the AP teacher gave me the most grudging high grade I ever got, saying.. "weird style, but good writing". I've always lifted a silent middle finger to her when I write, while trying to use the more concrete suggestions she gave me. It's always more fun, when you can hit 'em with their own stick.
I've published scholarly papers without a degree, achieved the equivalent of a master's in my field of bodywork, earned some eccentric attention in the field of martial arts, and pioneered in the area of bringing bodywork to the military.

In general, I have completely forgotten to live a normal life.

I don't figure I'm missing a damn thing.