Life as an Extreme Sport


I arrive at night; it is still twilight out, and my internal clock is more than slightly confused. Reading no more than 6pm, it is actually nearly 10. I watch out the window, hopes of seeing the northern lights before landing dashed by the sunlit sky. Looking down, there is nothing but a sweeping landscape of white clouds, dotted here and there with darker gray clouds. The horizon runs from pink to purple and blue; the blue is my link back to Seattle and the darkness my body expects.

I watch as more dark clouds appear below, and then suddenly my vision shifts and I realize I’m not looking at rain clouds but at mountains. Soon gorges and water are visible, and finally snow capped peaks blending into the whiteness of the clouds. The whole effect is slightly surreal, then breathtakingly beautiful. The image sears itself onto my mind.

I leave at night; true night, my body agrees that I should be asleep. Nearly 2am (as far as I’m concerned), the pitch blackness is soothing and comfortable, familiar as home. I don’t even wait until the we’ve left the runway before turning my back to the window, leaning against a pillow and trying to sleep.

Six and Three

Do you ever get the idea that the universe is trying to tell you something, and it finally gets *so* frustrated with you, it just wants to smack you upside the head?

I’ve been writing a lot today, on other bulletin board systems. Things about lost loves, first loves, what makes you cry. Add to that a rather wrenching conversation yesterday with The Swede about a past ‘relationship’ – I’ve been feeling drained, drawn out and blue today.

This was really intensified when I went to type out a post about what makes me cry – you can read it here, if you’re really curious. Anyhow, I was doing the math, counting on my fingers (yes, counting on my fingers, I suggest you shush), and I realized that it’s only been six months since Mars left his ring on the dining room table.

Six months. Can that be right? It doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t feel right. It feels so much longer; Sept – Oct, 1. Oct – Nov, 2. Nov – Dec, 3. Jan – Feb, 4. Feb – Mar, 5. Mar – Apr, 6.

It’s only been three months since we stopped speaking.

Six and three.

And I have company coming in precisely 15 days. And this company is not coming in any sort of platonic sense, and everyone who knows is aware of that.

Am I ready? Six and three.

So I sit here, a bit down and blue. A bit confused and puzzled. And I pull out the music, and start listening to down, blue, confused and puzzled songs; music to match my mood. I put in the Strictly Ballroom soundtrack, and skip to song 7 – Time After Time, remade by Mark Wiliams and Tara Morice as a duet. A beautiful, sad song.

I mope, I count (six and three, chanting in the back of my head all the while I listen to music, six and three, six and three), I play the song on repeat. I doubt myself, my intentions, my abilities. Fairies whisper to me, too soon, too soon, you’re only going to end up hurt, hurting him. Danger echos in my mind, and I feel the need to run and flee. Six and three, six and three.

Someone asks what song I’m listening to, and I look down to see the names of the singers.

Except, instead, I see this:

A life lived in fear is a life half lived.

I think the universe just smacked me upside the head.


He’s coming. Twenty days, and I will be stealing glances at my clock, waiting until it’s time to leave and fight my way to the airport, to pass thru security and wait at a gate, watching a plane taxi in. And, oddly, I’m not nervous. I thought I would be, I thought I would panic. Oh, I did the typical – I blinked then bounced and jumped and shrieked in surprise and excitement. But, nerves? No, none. I had them, they were there – god they’ve been with me it seems almost constantly, especially when thinking about him visiting. But once the ticket was booked, they left. Vanished. And you know, I don’t think I was nervous about him coming; I was nervous that he would not come.

Spring Love

Oh sweet, glorious love! I never knew how it could be, not before you not before this! Everything I have ever had, ever experianced, it all pales before you.

So powerful, yet gentle! Jenna told me, but I never listened! Oh, I rue the day I laughed, for she was right; you are truly glorious.

You clean my grout and scrub my tiles, polish my faucets and can be dipped in water. Oh, my little cordless wet scrubber, my ScumBuster, how I love you so!

Choosing To Jump

“I’m still feeling weird about the finality of a divorce. We haven’t actually been throwing that word around lightly. It was always “not speaking” or “taking time” — I mean, really, everyone knows what that means and that divorce is virtually inevitable, but I haven’t actually gotten used to the term or idea between you two. ”
– The Fabulous Miss Jenna

Divorce. I think my major mood problems these last two days have been because of that word. Divorce. She’s right, it’s a very final thing, and everything has always been phrased in “not talking” or “no longer together”. But, without that little piece of paper, I am still tied to him. We are still bound by a legal system that sees us as one, and we are not one.

It’s overwhelming to face the end of something, even tho I’ve really been here for a while. There is a big difference between knowing you are at the edge of a cliff and actually choosing to jump over it. But Mars and I are no more. As weird as that still sounds to my ears, it’s true and I know that it’s true. And I need to cut these ties that still bind me there, to him.

The Fabulous Miss Jenna also asked if I was suddenly so interested in pursuing a divorce because of my blooming romance with someone else. This gave me pause, because I couldn’t answer it right away. I don’t see the divorce as a legitimizing factor for the new ‘relationship’ (I’m not *really* in a relationship, you see. Long story. Trust me on this one.); I don’t think either of us believe a piece of paper has any bearing on feelings. I certainly don’t see myself as having an affair, altho I suppose I technically am. (I hadn’t really thought of that. Hmm.) I think the biggest motivator there is not wanting to put him in the position of explaining to friends and family that he’s fallen in love with a married woman; I can certainly hear what my parents would say if I said the reverse. At least if I get the papers in the process, the truth becomes reality – that I am in the long, slow process of divorce.

I suppose that’s what it comes down to, really. It’s time for truth to become reality. The truth of the matter is that I have not been married since August of 2000. Now, in April of 2001, it’s time for reality to realize the truth.