Life as an Extreme Sport

Leaps of Faith

I’ve been trying to write this out for a while now, and not getting anywhere with it. I think it’s partly because I don’t know how to say what I want to say. I think it’s partly because I’m suddenly so aware of all the people reading this. Heh – “figures that my courage would choose to sell out now…”

I had a rough time of it this morning, and I’m not sure if it’s just me beating up on myself again or if I managed to get outside help this time around. I think a little of both, probably – a little of fear, a little of hurt, a little of bit of a lot. I’m not sure which is scarier, to trust intent or to trust enough to speak fear.

Several of the plans made in the last week have been cancelled, and one tentatively so. The tentative one was accepted before thinking the rest of the weekend plans thru – obviously if one is not in town, one cannot attend a party. The rest, tho. The rest have been cancelled because of the local girl, S~. It’s been a quick succession of “let’s do _this_” followed by “oh, shoot, I’ve not dealt with/handled/talked to S~ – let’s wait and do _this_” followed by the same thing. It’s getting to the point where the things that were planned instead of the original event are being bumped, all because of S~.

I’m trying to understand and be understanding. In the last six days, we’ve spent five together. In that time he’s seen her two or three times; each time with the intent (at least told to me) that he would talk with her. Each time without that happening. I guess he was supposed to talk with her last night, and ended up at my place instead.

I’m trying to understand. After all, shouldn’t I take comfort and strength in the fact that he’s been disrupting his plans with S~ for me? It might just be spun infatuation with me, but it’s there, none the less. Shouldn’t I try to understand from her point of view, where she has been hoping that finally he is simply hers? Shouldn’t I try to extrapolate how I’m feeling and apply it to her, who has had a movie date and three nights she thought she would be going home with him pulled from under her feet?

I’m trying, but I’m failing.

I mentioned this morning how I felt to him, when he told me that he thought our plans for tonight were off. Once again, because S~ would be there and he hasn’t talked with her yet. And I suggested that perhaps things are rocketing along too fast, perhaps I need to be put on hold for a bit, step back and into the shadows, while he really figures out what it is he wants. I know he doesn’t want to hurt her, and is trying to work out in himself the best way to avoid that. But I also know that I don’t want to be hurt, and am being so inadverdantly. Yes, it would hurt to be placed on hold, but it seems like it might hurt less, it might be easier for him, for her, for everyone.

Understandably enough, he got frustrated with me for that. For cutting off his apology, and for protesting when he tried to figure out how to solve something that I brought up as bothering me. That’s fair; if I’m going to bring up something that concerns me, I have to give him the chance to fix it, to handle it as he sees fit.

It’s hard. I won’t lie, I won’t deny that. It’s hard. I don’t know what I’m doing or where the balance is. I try to take comfort in the fact that he feels the same way, that he is flying by the seat of his pants as much as I am by my own. But still…

…there was more there, more typed, and as I read and reread I realized, again, the first sentances of the paragraph. It’s been only six days, and he is flying by the seat of his pants as much as I am by mine. More than an unexpected bump in the road, I have completely turned his life on end; he is doing the best he can. There will be mistakes, there will be hiccups and hurt, and instead of running, instead of crawling back into my shell, instead of going into a holding pattern and simply waiting for him to take action, I need to take my own. I need to not hide, I need to stand behind him with hugs and support, and most of all faith and love. Because ultimately it comes down to trust, doesn’t it? I have to trust that he will make the best decisions for himself, and that I will make the best for myself. I have to trust he will do what he thinks right with regards to S~, B~, and myself.

I stand, arms wide, at the edge of a cliff. I stand, eyes closed, and I jump.

Grace, Passion

The Swede and I were talking today, and at one point he wondered what Mars was like. I tried to explain, and failed as you are always bound to when trying to paint a human being in a medium as faulty as words. But still, I tried. I told him how beautiful Mars is, both his person and his soul. I tried to explain that he’s always mistaken for a rock star, that he carries himself with confidence and grace, that he is at heart an artist.

And then I figured it out. In such a faulty medium, I found the right words.

What is Mars like?

He moves like water runs, he lives like fire burns.

Upside Down

… god I love to turn my little blue world upside down…

It’s grey over on this side of the lake.

I’ve retyped that line several times. My side of the lake? This side of the lake? No, my side – no, this side. Life has turned itself upside down in the last 5 days – I shouldn’t be too surprised, and yet I am.

I just finished reading Mars’ journal. I figured fair was fair; he gave me the URL, and he read mine last night. Overall, I would say reading mine was more difficult for him, than reading his was for me. He wrote sporadically over the last few months, touching upon small sections of his life – I gained greater insight in a few days of talking than I would have picked up from the web journal.

It did twinge and hurt to only be mentioned once, in passing referrence to my car. There appeared to be another referrence of me, as a political concern. I’m not too sure how I feel about that, and I’m not really sure that it matters. His intent was to be over me; talking to him over the weekend I am reassured that though I rarely crossed his mind, he still cared, and still thought of me on occasion.

…inside my head the noise chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter you see I’m afraid…

It was a fun weekend – Friday was definately the highlight, tho. Saturday and Sunday we got too caught up in talking about relationships and life, what should and shouldn’t be and be done… Sunday night was spent talking a lot about this (my journal), and past events that we both thought of while reading.

I wish it had been more fun and carefree, but he told me last night and this morning that he was glad I came back last night. That he wants me to come back soon. On the way out the door, I told him that ‘now the pursuit begins’ – he told me he already has ideas; my heart sang and my body melted.

… you say tell me what that makes us darlin’…

I am afraid. I don’t know what I’m doing or how to do this. I want him, I want us. I want everything to be happy and good and fun and… and I’m terrified I’m going to screw it up. I am afraid he will wake up one morning, wonder what he’s doing, and ask me back out of his life. I am afraid he will regret telling me he wants me, this, us. Afraid he will regret saying he wants to pursue me, that he wants to keep me interested in him. (At least I’ve been able to voice this fear to him.) I know that if I keep being afraid of this, I’ll succeed in creating my own fears. So, deep breath and attempts at banishment.

It’s been an intense five days. Things have gone in directions I would not have thought possible last Wednesday. I really don’t know what to say about it. How do I summarize relief, hopes, dreams, fears into a tidy little package? Do I talk about holding hands in the bar Friday night, waiting for time to pass and talking, calming him down? Do I talk about sitting in the movie, hands, arms, legs twined together as if there wasn’t a chair arm between us? Do I talk about sitting in the Crocodile Saturday afternoon, hearing the same song I sang quietly to his memory a few weeks ago, and actually singing it to him there? Of his reaction to that?

…any kind of touch I think is better than none even upside down…

If you’re reading this, you know what hell the last few months have been, and you know what happiness I’ve found in myself and in others, as well.

And yet. And yet. His touch, his hands, his lips, his eyes and laughter. Touching feet from across the floor, talking. Making dinner for him, sipping wine, talking. Silently reading, working, on the phone, separate. Together.

My heart has wings.


I rub the sleep out of my eyes and look around, blearily. It’s a bit chilly in here, and I tuck the blanket close around my feet. It’s the first night I’ve been home in four nights, five days. It’s nice; it would be nicer if he was here, if I was there.

I smell him in my hair, I taste him on my lips. I happily wait to see him again.

So Familiar

I sit curled against the side of the futon, the sharpness of the railing softened by several pillows. My eyes roam around the room, stopping at the little points of familiarity.

The fountain.
The saxaphone.
The table and candles, pillows, glass balls, oil lamps and artwork.

It’s all so familiar.

He sits, fingers playing across the powerbook, reading mail as he discusses company business on the phone. Silver glints off pale skin, offset by black clothes. Occasionally he glances my way and smiles.

He is so familiar.