Life as an Extreme Sport

Time For New Beginnings

I wake. The sun is shining. The sky is blue. My room is warm with the early morning light. There are full blossoms on the trees, and flowers budding up from the ground. There are even butterflies, here and there. Easter is around the corner; named for Eostre, fertility goddess of the Celts, an aspect of the queen of fairy. It is undeniably spring, and in the best tradition of cliche, the time for new beginnings. It is a fitting time; after all, every beginning starts with an ending. Goodbye.

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On The Right Path

I suppose you’re surprised by this. You’re probably wondering where the links went, did I have a change of heart, or … what? Or what is really the right answer, but so vague I really should explain. So, let me explain. When I started writing this, this diary, this journal, this window into my mind and soul, I was grieving. And I thought I would be grieving for a long time; months, if not longer. Years had crossed my mind. Mars was such an integral part of my life; I didn’t define my own identify from him, but he was my cornerstone, my foundation, my strength. My mate and match, complimenting and contrasting my strengths and weaknesses. So I thought, so I believed. And then, and then. The oddest thing began to happen. I slowly remembered that I had breathed before Mars, I had stood on my own two legs,

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House of Memories

Wow. I just had a very weird thought, disturbing and somewhat painful. One of, as silly as it sounds, bringing someone else home to meet my parents. I just had this flash, this image, of my father shaking another mans hand, of my mom smiling and trying to look friendly. Of Timothy being suspicious, and Tracy being cold. Of you bent over the hood of your truck with my father, examining the engine. Of you dancing in the kitchen with my mother to Savage Garden. Of you talking cars and stereos with my brother, and helping Tracy with her homework. I just realized that I’ve not been to my parents home completely without you in over three years. Nearly four. I never really lived there without you – three, four weeks isn’t enough time to build memories of belonging. I had eight months to build memories of belonging there *with*

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I Think It’s Called Progress

I feel oddly sensual tonight. I’m not sure I can place my finger on just *why*, but it’s probably an offbeat combination of things. Were I to attempt to pin it down to anything, it would be: * having a lovely conversation before going to bed last night * waking in a completely rested and languid mood before the alarm had a chance to go off * accomplishing a few important things at work * having another lovely conversation mid-work day * writing a poem I’m thoroughly pleased with * coming home before dawn, eating a real meal, and watching a good show on TV * lighting a ton of candles and playing good music For being so terribly used to having a Garfield kind of Monday, my last two Mondays have been very pleasent. I suppose more to the point, except for being annoyed over the taxes eMail, I’ve

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Sometimes In Tears

Mars, In my last letter, I spoke of pain. Of misery, and missing. And yet, yet… at the same time, I’m not. Not as much, not as strong, not as potently. Why? It’s simple, really. He makes me smile. It’s nothing really more than that, and it feels odd to have it be that. It’s weird and strange to even think of other men as… men. When we were married, I didn’t shut down and ignore all the men I met, but I saw them differently. They were often handsome, virile. witty; some were the epitomy of everything good and gorgeous about men. And though their bodies or minds might have brought arousal, it was muted and almost indifferent. They could not provide what I had with you. I’m sure at this point you’re wondering about Sachin. I’ve said it many times to you already, and once more won’t surprise

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