Echo

Lost the bid for the place on SF which is fine because there will be problems anyway with the retrograde. So still looking. Meanwhile, the retrograde takes its first casualty today. Broken water heater in my place in LA, floods downstairs neighbor. Can’t wait to get the bill.
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This is something that’s hard to write about.

To start off 2009, in the middle of a heated argument, I punched through a door. Bruce-Lee’d a 12×4 inch panel out into the hall with my fist. While my strength surprised me, it was not one of my prouder moments in life. I don’t know if I’ve ever admitted this incident before. It has been something that has quietly weighed on me, making me question my emotional decision-making, making me more cautious about letting people get close to me.

I don’t think I’m a violent person by nature. But it scares me that the potential of violence is in all of us. I am high-strung, high-energy, and underneath everything I’m very intense, but I’m also very conscious about not wanting to hurt others. One of my greatest problems has always been hurting myself, taking things out on myself when I don’t have an outlet. When my parents used to fight and my dad would take out his frustration on us, I would lock myself in a dark closet and bang my head against the wall, or sit out in the rain, because it made me angry that I wasn’t strong enough, that I could be so easily afraid. It was like people who self-mutilate. When you can control the pain, there’s a relief. But it’s not healthy.

I thought I had resolved so many childhood issues over the years, achieved wisdom and more emotional balance, learned how to recognize situations and circumstances where I could put myself to have the best chance of success, until last year, when I’d felt so utterly backed into a corner, I lost it. The action was a reflection of my insides. It was probably a giant cry for help.

After it happened, I went and took a cold shower to cool down. I was so angry and disappointed in myself for losing my cool. He came in and said if I wanted him to leave he would, and I said fine because his effect on me terrified me. He got mad that I was kicking him out. It happened at my parents house, and I’d called my dad crying, so he sent my mom home, who was a goddess that day. She talked us down with the diplomacy of someone trying to defuse a bomb, while my dad waited in the driveway outside, in case he became violent. She and I both had to listen while he told her how hard he tries to put up with me because of how much he loved me, and I sat there and agreed about how wrong I was, but was so angry that he thought this was a forum to trash talk me to my own mother. Who the fuck does that? But she and I had agreed; his flight was the next day and it was about calming the situation so we could get him on a plane the next morning without an ugly incident (ie being axe murdered in our sleep. My mom told me the next day that no one slept well because everyone was nervous about him freaking out, knowing I didn’t want to be with him). To be honest, my dad wanted him out of the house. My mom sent me to Rie’s house 2 and a half hours away, while he stayed at our house. When I got there, Rie gave me ice for my hand, and I broke down and cried.

It happens, she said. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. I threw a laptop once, and I kicked a hole in the wall when I was so furious at Eric.

It was nice of her to say, but it didn’t make what I did any less appalling. How could things have come to a place where I could lose control that way? What made me so unable to walk away, when the situation, the entire relationship, had no way of coming out successfully, that it could push me to such an act of frustration and self-destruction? I’m a very intelligent person. But my emotions, my belief in people that with enough effort, with enough desire, things can always turn out, had clouded my judgment. In hindsight, I can see it very clearly. Something between us was toxic.

His flight was the next day anyway, so things were patched by then, as they always are, but it was over. When I came back from dropping him off at the airport, my dad called me into his office at work.

“I understand you were the one who put a hole through the door,” he said. He wasn’t angry; he was almost whimsical. I think he knew how bad I’d felt. I think what’d happened had made him sad, too. I said that was correct, it was me, and he told me that it’s not like me to do things like that. That it’s not who I am. And that before things get to that point, I have to walk away. I started crying again, I was so ashamed, and he told me it was okay. But that at some point, I have to start making decisions in my life that consider the long-term, and considering that no guy I’ve ever brought home has worked out, that maybe I should consider people more seriously before I get serious, and that I have to learn better to judge whether or not a situation is good for me by how it makes me feel.

I don’t know how the hell I had justified it in my own head, that a relationship with someone who consistently lied about his past and whose idea of a warm and fuzzy marriage talk was, “Even though you’re a nightmare, I still want to marry you.” That makes me look like an idiot. The only thing I can think of is that I can be single-minded about not letting people down. It’s important to me to fulfill my promises. And I had promised him up front, that I would accept him unconditionally. I think there’s a point where you’re not judging, and then a point where you’ve just straight up lost the plot and are being irrational. With my good intentions, I’d delved into this relationship, wanting to see my intentions through until it became an irrational existence.

When I’d first moved to Seattle, I’d met an engineer and we got into a long, interesting conversation about life paths, etc. He asked me what happened in my last relationship, and I told him that it didn’t end well. That I’d met a guy who knew I believed in destiny, etc., and he worked really hard to make me believe that we were meant to be together, but even from the beginning I had my doubts. But it was flattering for a guy to want so badly to be with me, and I thought, why not explore, until it got so complicated and I felt so responsible for his happiness that it became very difficult to extricate myself. It ended disastrously.

“You know what this means, right?” he asked. “Next time, if you don’t want someone trying to fake being the one you want, don’t tell him up front what you’re looking for. Let him show you who he is and then you can decide if he fits.” It was sage advice from a stranger.

It took me a long time to get over everything. It took me a long time to trust myself again, that who I’d become in that relationship, all those things I’d felt near the end aren’t really me, even though there’s always the potential for it to be brought out. Human beings are not pretty under duress, but it’s a matter of never letting yourself get to that point, never letting yourself get trapped into a corner where it feels like life or death. I had to learn to discern situations and people beforehand, to trust my instincts regarding whether or not something was safe. If anything doesn’t feel right, I have to let it go, tread carefully.  This is probably why I don’t want to deal with dating anymore. I would rather get to know people under situations where intense emotions aren’t involved–as friends, as coworkers, as neighbors–for a good long time before I get involved with them in any way. My protectiveness of my freedom is heightened, my tolerance for anything that feels like manipulation or a trap is a hair trigger. I can feel good about myself again and navigate life confidently as long as my boundaries are strong and on my terms. But I would rather miss opportunities than allow me to lose myself that way again.

April is going to be a very busy month. Can I afford any surprises? Tonight I was at the store buying a jalapeno, an onion, and some half & half. This is my 3rd time buying half & half this week. The first time it went bad well before the expiration date, the 2nd time, it fell out of the bag and I left it in the car overnight. This time, I babied it and made sure it made it into the fridge, so now I can make coffee at home instead of making an excuse to go all the way to Capitol Hill. But this is a tangent.

I was standing in line when I saw the US Weekly cover. There was a picture of Ricky Martin and in bold all caps, “I’M GAY!”

I must have been giggling to myself because the guy behind me said, “Did you just laugh because of one of the magazines?” I turned around and it was this tall guy with brown hair wearing a baseball cap. He had a warm, brilliant smile. I felt the shyness closing in but I did keep enough composure to say, “Yeah, that Ricky Martin’s gay.”

He laughed. “Who would have ever guessed?”

“I know. I don’t know what to believe anymore,” I said.

I checked out, and as I was leaving, I turned and told him to have a good night. I smiled, putting enough juice into it to power up a third world country. I can not let these men with their big, beautiful smiles constantly turn me into a 6 year old inside. I have to brave through it, be an adult.

I suppressed the desire to run away. Walked calmly. Fumbled trying to stick the onion into my coat pocket. Dropped my keys. I’m a wreck.

We submitted an offer for a place in San Francisco but close of escrow would be during the retrograde. This means either this deal will not go through or there will be problems with the property, which I don’t want. There’s another offer submitted already, which gives the owner a chance to counter offer the offers. I checked the pricing and recent sales from the neighborhood, and the unit is priced low, most likely to generate a bidding war. If that’s the case, and escrow closes 30 days after an offer is accepted, it would have to be accepted no earlier than 4/16. That’s what I’m pulling for.

“Gemini is one of those rare birds who could easily shove her fellow fledglings out of the nest.” Ahahahaha. Poor Michael. So lucky he survived me.
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someone should collect memories and perspectives of exes of writers. writers are such a group of angels and demons, sometimes embodying both. and the spectrum of their calling falls all over the entire range of truth and lies. the current partners of writers would have a more skewed story. a writer is willful. captivating. sometimes addictive. heaven or hell, it’s a hard force in your life to let go of. but it’s the exes…if the exes could talk.

part of perspective is the ability for reflection. i’m moving slower through the book now, using my time. but i love his idea of the universe striving to become self-aware. years ago i randomly met some guy online (i can’t even remember how, i think we started reading each other’s blogs or something). we bonded because we were both gemini’s who lived in la. he published a book of poetry called, in the blink of an I. i loved that title because it was so expressive of the gemini soul, so torn between in here and out there, that our whole outwardly perception, what we see out there, is what we take to serve as our consciousness, the meaning of our I. we met our first time at my 26th birthday party at falcon in hollywood. as usual, disposable cameras were passed out. and he left me with a picture so mysterious, it looked like an abstract representation of space. i found out later it was a picture of his armpit.

the concept of mirrors and mirroring have always been a fascination. this was what hung in my living room when i first moved to la:

it’s dangerous to fall in love with our own reflection, but it doesn’t make our need for reflection less vital. i’ve been reading through a search to find my mention of mirrors. once you can see yourself, then you really know who or what you are, and from there, you can determine exactly where you’re going, and exactly who you want to be. self-reflection is as much getting down to the deepest level inside you as to step as far away from yourself as possible to see as much as you can. the further you go, the more you’ll know. the deeper you go, the more you’ll see. when one side becomes aware of the other, they both grow.

The less I struggle, the more I find.

i have to call jake back.

it makes me nervous.

i can’t remember the last time we’ve heard each other’s voice.

this is a weird story. my family and i were on the way to reno, and we stopped at some random gas station somewhere. i’m getting something to drink when this asian guy walks up to me and says my name. reno is connected to fremont and my childhood for me, and most asian people i know are through fremont, but this guy didn’t look familiar at all.

he said he was jake’s friend. that he’d even been to my parents house in fremont while jake was there, and we’d hung out. i seem to vaguely recall jake coming up with me once (or maybe twice?) for a weekend, but we were friends so i don’t know what the occasion was. i still must have looked really confused.

“you don’t remember?? you bought that little keg of Heineken and we were playing drinking games.”

that keg sounds familiar, but i still couldn’t remember anything. what was the occasion? who else was there?

“then we really wanted some weed so you got on craigslist and were trying to find some.”

what??? at my parents house???? this evening sounds highly unique. i really couldn’t understand how i couldn’t remember this at all.

“my name’s john??????”

fuck. “i’m such an asshole,” i apologize. “my memory’s really bad.”

except it’s not. the discovery of a missing file is always strange.

he was heading up to Tahoe with his family. i looked over and his parents were kind of staring at me in awe. i waved at them and they shyly waved back. i remember laughing to myself about how hard his mom was gonna grill him as soon as i left about who that girl was.

i told him it was great seeing him and to tell jake i said hi. not remembering him or the night shook me. i know this night existed but i can’t remember the night.

but jake’s like that. he’s a bit of a shadow figure. he shows up, and politely takes everything with him when he leaves. small footprint. but to what impact?

deep breath. collect. the scariest thing about talking to someone you haven’t spoken to in years is that initial feeling of time disassociation. who they were. is not necessarily who they are now. you have shared memories with this person, but you don’t necessarily know this person anymore. but if it’s not too different, the adjustment won’t be noticeable. keep it together, because you are not the same person you were before.

I = 9

She = Shih

You = you. You = me. whoever the message was intended for, whoever the message intended.

When I write as I, it is as a conduit for 9. When I write about She, I’m laughing about the duality of words. When I write to you, I don’t know who you are until you know. Or I know. Whichever comes first.

A stranger once said, he felt like when I was talking to him, I was talking on two levels–whatever we were actually talking about in conversation, and a level where I seemed to know everything about him, and was speaking to the part that held all the things he’d never shared.

I appreciated that reflection.

I have a hard time understanding beaurocratic, political and legal language. I understand their purpose and importance, but their words and their order don’t have meaning to me. It’s like how hard it is for me to visually pick-up Chinese. There are some languages that don’t seem to translate into meaning in my head, even when written in the language of my mastery. Perhaps it’s not just words that create meaning. Meaning has its own language as well.

nervousness is often the manifestation of ambivalence.

i’m sorry. i can’t slow down for anyone. and you shouldn’t want me to. either fly with me, or wait for me to come back.

it doesn’t matter what the world is. what matters is what your world is. and if you have dominion to make it habitable.

why do things happen? what if it’s all connected, and on some levels you can always find a “bigger” meaning, but there is no greater meaning?

i wonder if this is what those sailors felt, sailing to the end of the world seeking the end, only to find themselves right back where they started from, realizing it’s just a big circle. chasing the point that’s always off in the horizon to find you end up exactly where you were. but you’re not exactly who you were. you’ve changed.

Wait a minute. Last March, I had the intuition that I would be meeting someone extraordinary in August, so I had to get myself to the right time and place to be ready for that. Then in September, saw that I wouldn’t have a partner until next August, yet March/April was lit up. That’s two years in a row that I got foresight involving March and August. Then going back another year, 2008. February 29, 2008–Leap Day. I walk away from my job of 4 1/2 years, leaving more money than I ever thought I would ever make on the table. It surprised a lot of people, inspired them even. My coworker told me I really surprised him. Then he said he loved me (he looked as surprised as I felt as soon as the words came out). Called me living inspiration. March was me traveling abroad alone for the first time, seeking…something. Also guided. Heavy time of synchronicity, feeling that I would know what I’m seeking when I find it, and when I found it, all that I had been writing about fell into place. August was me officially moving to Amsterdam. The August before (2007) was when I wanted to know if I could do to a room what I can do one-on-one. That was the month of the speech, when I realized the potential of my power. The significant time period before that was May. Breaking up with my best relationship yet because he wasn’t my guy, moving my blog to a private location to give me more freedom of speech. I always say that break-up was when I made a commitment to do what’s best for myself, rather than going along with what’s best for others, because what’s best for myself will allow me to be the best me for others. If this were a timeline of significant time periods, I would mark:

May 2007 – break up of a relationship that could have gone on forever, but shouldn’t; moved blog due to a threat from a reader
August 2007 – speech. Used words for power and transformation.
Feb 29th, 2008/March 2008 – quit job, met German (“Today is a beginning for me, an ending for you, on a day that doesn’t exist”), spontaneous trip to Europe alone. Amsterdam. Did I recognize him because I’d already been dreaming of him?
August 2008 – Big life decision. Moved to Amsterdam.
March 2009 – recovering from Amsterdam in Florida. Health scare with dad. We make peace. Dedication to what I want (only what’s mine). Projected August. There was someone there I needed to be ready for.
August 2009 – cruise. Ridiculous display of synchronicity, proof of magic. Commitment to intuition.
September 2009 – 9/9/9 arrived in Seattle. Surprise visitor. Inner and outer world heavily synched. Projection of March/April 2010 and August 2010.
March/April 2010 – ???
August 2010 – ???

Well, son. You’re just gonna have to dig a little deeper.

Curiosity is a hunger. Curiosity in a person who must see passions through to the end is consumption. It means not needing a rabbit to lead you down a hole. You’ll find it just as easily yourself, sleepwalking through a midnight wood.

If it was September that picked up March/April as being the next electric time, if you look at the post counts, September had been my highest in history, now second only to March. I’m looking for synchronicities between the words and context of all these months with abnormally high numbers. There’s something that connects them.

to know the greatest hero of our time was a woman? the cover-up of mankind is utterly scandalous.