Friendly Fire...continued.

Restless sleep was the norm for those few days before I decided that I would follow the advice in my dream.

The friendly fire situation is a situation of scheduling. Kyle and I do our best to take his family into account when we make our plans. We generally make the schedule on the last Wednesday of the month for the following month. This sometimes shifts about.

Kyle made plans with me on Wednesday for the upcoming Friday. It was the Friday before Mrs. Kyle's birthday party on Saturday. We know that the clean up prep usually starts the morning of the party. We discussed this fact when making plans, so we figured it would be okay.

We did not anticipate that Mrs. Kyle would be tired from the week and extra tasks that she took on for that week. Mrs. Kyle didn't say anything about it until friday when Kyle was leaving to come see me.

When he came over, he was a mess, frustrated and ranting about this situation where he was either disappointing me or disappointing Mrs. Kyle. I handed him the Ambrosia Salad I made for Mrs. Kyle's party, told him to go home and fix it. I was filled with righteous anger.

It was so simple in the dream. I had that dream every time I slept for 5 days. In it, I sat them both down and informed them that we are doing the schedule and we need all the anticipated information for the month so we can avoid this conflict from happening in the future.

Friendly Fire Isn't

Waking up this morning, I am exhausted. On Friday, I had a moment. I heard a snap. I came to an understanding that is changing my life.

I have put myself in harms way. The harm is not catastrophic; it is nagging and annoying and cumulative. My understanding came when the cumulative harm had gotten to the point where I could no longer endure it.

You see, I have been caught in the crossfire between Kyle and Mrs. Kyle. The ways in which they fail at relating with each other have seeped into my life and harmed me. I didn't know that is what I signed up for when I got together with Kyle. And now, with our relationship being what it is,  I do not know how to extricate myself from this friendly fire situation without walking away completely.

I ache.

Jew-ish Shabbat

I am witchy and Jew-ish and irreverent and stubborn. I feel God and God looks like a tube of Krazy Glue in my mind's eye. I find some rituals feed into this glue feeling and help me be a better person.

I eschew much religious dogma. It's like itchy and ill fitting clothing. I twist it up, tear it, beat it with rocks, and struggle with it. What fits? Is this comfortable? Is this really working?As a result, I am not confident in my observance of my rituals. I do not share them, even though I prefer to ritual in community.

I know I should just do, other's judgements be damned. I don't, though.

And then I ritual on accident.

I find the destination and revel in it. My heart is whole. My love explodes out of my body. I share joy and love and intimacy and heart-wholeness with my love. Bliss.

Afloat

Day 1, Week 2 of my unemployment.
Day 1, Week 3 of a new med.
Day 2, Week 4, Month 8, Year 2 of living legally single.
Day 7, Week 7, Month 7, Year 3 of relating with Kyle.

I'm floating on a lake, chilling with folks that are an extended web of chosen family and friends of my ex-wife's current sweetie. Many of us are mothers; our children are here, too.  I'm getting a sunburn, despite the sunscreen I put on.

I am far from the concerns of my life, set up as it is with no such extended family. It is comforting to be included. It is a relief that I am allowed my space, not forced to interact. I am coming back to myself.

Though my embodiment is different and my values have shifted, I am still myself. I am still the life and people loving person that walked to the edge and then over into the abyss of depression. I am still this person even though I got lost and behaved badly. I am grateful for BadBoi and her extensive heart. I am grateful that she knows me and that she has been there, even when I have rejected her help.

I'm afloat in my life. I am sitting with myself, trying to figure out how to come back to my loved ones, trying to figure how to relate authentically with them, no barriers, no walls, no small talk.

I finally feel like I can do it.

Context, because it matters.

con·text

ˈkäntekst/

noun

noun: context; plural noun: contexts

the circumstances that form the setting for an event, statement, or idea, and in terms of which it can be fully understood and assessed.

I am currently in CMST240 Intercultural Communication.  It is fascinating because of the different lenses that are used to gather, interpret, and understand different cultures in order to assist in communication.

Two of the three lenses don't even look at context. The circumstances, history, location that lead to understanding of norms in a given culture.

What is more interesting is how this applies to relating with people. People read this blog and think they know how I relate with my child, or BadBoi, or the Knife, or Kyle, or any number of other people that I might mention. Sometimes, they even comment on it with disparaging remarks.

And what they have taken in is simply data. They do not have information, because they do not have context. They have data taken at a finite moment in time. And then they make an ass out of themselves by making assumptions about who they think I am or what they think that I am about based on that bit of data, without context.

I find it unfair to be subject to this kind of assumption. I also find it cruel. If you feel a need to make an assumption about me, you might want to ask about the context of post so you can make an informed decision.

Altruism...it isn't a thing...really.

Most folks don't believe me. They are wrong. No one does anything without some sort of benefit. It might be a short-sighted, or short term, benefit, but there always a benefit.

When I say I want Kyle to be happy, it's not for him, and he knows it. He knows it because I tell him. I want him to be happy because it makes my life easier; it makes my life better.

If he is having a rough week, that impacts me. I get less time, less attention, less sex, less fun. That sucks.

I also want Mrs. Kyle to be happy. It's not for her, but she doesn't know it. We don't don't do kitchen table polyamory, so we don't talk about things like that. However, it is true. When she is unhappy, then Kyle is unhappy, and then I get less time, less attention, less sex, less fun. That sucks.

I don't want my life to suck. I don't want to have to deal with a bunch of stupid shit that has nothing to do with me. So I want both of them to be happy, because then MY LIFE IS EASIER.

I Hate Change:Thoughts on Acting Like a Human When You Want to Act Like Cling Wrap

This week has been AWFUL. I'm sick. My head is the sausage casing for the most disrespectful congestion I have endured in the last five years. Mini Femme has moved south with her mom and sibling. While the change in time spent has not been terrible, the interruptions in our daily call have been a struggle. My schedule with Kyle has been purposefully wonkified to accommodate both of us getting to bed by 9:30 (ish) and my school schedule. Did I mention that I hate change?

I'm a hot mess.

I'm not sure if that is better or worse than a cold mess.

The discovery that the definitions Kyle and I  held in our minds regarding the term "Partner" were so different. Mine is so tied to LGBTQIAA historical context, and also the Relationship Escalator. I still don't have a clear idea of what Kyle was referring to with the word.

I started reading "Stepping Off the Relationship Escalator: Uncommon Love and Life" by Amy Gahran. I've finished Part 1 and I have realized I might be more Escalator oriented than the average solo polyamorous person. I also have a nagging concern that if I can't attend conventions and larger events without another person, what kind of Solo Polyamorous person am I?

Right now, you might be thinking that I am TOTALLY OVERTHINKING this whole thing. I agree with you. I don't believe that it is possible to for me stop that behavior. I might change my mind in the future, but for now, these completely unhelpful thoughts reverberate through my cranium on a frequent basis.

With all this stuff ^^^^ rolling around in my brain, I still have to figure out how to behave like the values I espouse: Kindness, autonomy, accountability, love, and joy.

Mostly, I just take a deep breath...make that 1000. And pet my cat. And try to look at something beautiful.

Another Jaunt Down Amnesia Lane...

Occasionally, I check Google for folks from my past. One person that I check on is my first love. He also happens to be the person with which I first experienced sex. I recall the anniversary of that specific event as March 21 and that triggers my thoughts to wander his way. Over the intervening decades, there hasn't been much about him to find. Nothing in the standard social media venues and no pictures except the ones that sit in my photo albums.

Of course, time marches on and as we get more connected via the internet, it becomes more difficult to be hidden. This year, I found a picture of him on a career website and on Google+. 

It's been 27 years. Why might I actually still give a shit? I give a shit because he was kind, and humble, and smart. I give a shit because he was always the blue print of what I wanted a man to be. He was a clear communicator; and a feminist in ways that I couldn't be a feminist until my daughter was born.  I don't recall that he self classified that way; I just knew in my bones that I was safe with him in ways that I really haven't been safe since. I also felt that all women were safe that way with him.

And now, there is the slim possibility that I could contact him. You can see who checked you out on career sites. I don't know if he would even remember me. If he does, he probably remembers a clingy, sex-crazed, smart girl who thought that her fatness was a problem.

I also don't want to find out if he is no longer like that kind young man that I recall. I don't want my idea of him shattered after 27 years.

And so I will sit with the feeling of kindness and safety when I remember his eyes.

Non-Monogamy For Monogamous Folks, Part 2: Your Identity and Your Feelings

This is a follow up, long in coming, for Non-Monogamy For Monogamous Folks, Part 1: Resources

Your identity is YOURS. It is not dependent upon others for definition or validation.

Dating a polyamorous person does not make YOU polyamorous.
Dating a polyamorous person does not make YOU polyamorous.
Dating a polyamorous person does not make YOU polyamorous.
And so it is.

Now that you've read that sentence three times, you believe it.

When I first started on this road, I knew just a few things.

1. Kyle is polyamorous.
2. Kyle is married.
3. I love Kyle.
4. Loving Kyle means loving all of him, and to me, that also meant his family. (YMMV, not all people want to meet, see, or get to know any other partners/family members)
5. I wanted a life that included Kyle.

I set about to figure out number five, because I have a long history of insecurity. One big topic that many folks talk about is jealousy; how do you cope with it, combat it, or can you not feel it at all?

Jealousy and envy are real feelings. They really suck. THEY ARE DIFFERENT and that difference is hugely important. You have to know what you are feeling in order to cope with it. Simply stated jealousy is the fear of losing something (or someone) you have and envy is the feeling of lack when someone has something (or someone) you want.

I struggle more with envy than with jealousy: I want the fun things that Kyle gets that I don't have the money to purchase. I want to have fun casual sex, like Kyle, but I'm to picky to participate in it. I am grateful that Kyle is willing to wade through the emotional labor of listening to me process my feelings. I think he is grateful that I don't generally ask him to do anything about my feelings, because they are mine and generally I just need to feel them. Your datemate might not be the best person to assist you in processing your feelings; though I believe that sharing feelings once they're processed is important in any relationship.

You might find that shouldering the extra emotional labor of dating a polyamorous person is not what you want to do with your time and energy. That is OK.

Partner: My Definition *updated*

I came of age at a time where queer folks weren’t allowed to get married. We used the word “Partner” as a code for “Spouse.” And now all kinds of folks use that code word to mean all kinds of things.

When I hear that word, I hear the history. I hear the time when we could not marry those that we love and protect them as straight folks did. We protected our own as best we could, given the constraints of the time. I cannot unhear that history, fraught with tension and fear.

If you want to be partners with me, there is that history and bits and snatches of the traditional relationship escalator. No you can’t live with me. No I won’t mingle finances with you.

Yes, you will get all of my attention when I am with you. Yes, I will likely go overboard with emotional support. Yes, I will hold you accountable for so many things that you might decide it isn’t worth it. Yes, I expect to be there when you need me and I expect you to be there when I need you. I expect these things even when it is inconvenient for your wants, or mine. I expect to be a part of ALL of your life, not just the parts where I fit in easily.

Yes, I expect that you will look at your couple privilege if you have a spouse or any other partners. I expect that you will listen to me when I tell you how it impacts me and I expect that you will do something about it.

I’d like formalized commitment because I value long term commitment and I want it recognized by others.

And your idea of partner might not match mine. And that is ok. And you might want* to call me your partner. Please don't; your definition of partner and mine don’t match.

New Experience of Sex (the verb) in my *Queerbody

Sex has been an interesting thing for me...

I've been sexually active for almost three decades and even with all that experience, I can still learn and experience new things...

FUCK THIS SHIT! I've been trying write about this transformative experience for nearly a week. Finding the words is difficult and I feel so frustrated because what actually happened was so awesome for me in my transbody.

There are so many ways that I relate with my body sexually; I find sexual pleasure across most surfaces of my skin. My primary and secondary sexual characteristic (reproductive?) body parts are no exception and most of my sexual activities to this point include those body parts.

Sometimes, though, those parts separate themselves from my sexual pleasure. It strikes at odd times and I haven't been sure if it's a problem or not. I've tried to overcome it by asking Kyle to go slow, even though I'm not feeling it, and sex me up in ways I have historically enjoyed.

The other thing is that my gender is shifting again*, or maybe settling into a more comfortable place. I got so anxious when I wrote that sentence, I knocked and spilled my coffee three times in rapid succession. So much of my sex has been tied up with my gender; how I relate it to my body parts, how it feels to be in my skin, how I enjoy sex with partners.

The other night, I was feeling sexy. I was with Kyle and my body responded in ways I didn't expect. I wanted lighter and more superficial touches. In my body, I felt like I had the smooth genital contours of a Ken doll (thank you fat mons) and my chest felt the same, with smaller breasts than Barbie but the same nipple-less profile.  I felt perfect and iridescent and my orgasm was like the blossoming and ever-changing star lights that Kyle purchased as a gift at IKEA.

I wish I could describe it better. I wish I could transport you there with me. I wish that you could have the attentive and patient and loving sex that Kyle shares with a partner. I wish you could feel how satisfying it all was. I wish your eyes could be opened in such a loving way.

*I feel unsure about what is happening with my gender. Before I took testosterone, I felt like Genderfluid fit. While I was taking testosterone, I felt like Genderqueer fit. Now I've been off testosterone for a while and I have no idea what is going on with my gender;  Genderfluid and Genderqueer miss the mark, now.

On becoming a better person...

One of the things that I have been working on is stopping the angry word vomit that falls from my mouth when I'm hurt. I've made great strides in being able to identify when it's coming, similar to being able to yell, "Take Cover!"

When I am hurt, I feel the heat and the pressure build inside me, all the feelings swirling and bubbling. In an effort to stifle and avoid the outburst, I focus on "don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. don't say THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS."

That focus is not effective. I manage to avoid shouting THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS. And they still come out a few minutes later, fueled by my slightly more controlled anger and hurt. Maybe you can see why.

With Science Of Mind*, the main teaching is that the Universe doesn't hear the negations around a sentence. The Universe picks up the focus, which is "THOSE HURTFUL, UNKIND, WORDS." I am no longer surprised that I haven't controlled the outbursts better, even though I can see more clearly that they are on the way.

With this realization, I feel hopeful that I can stop the outbursts. Because now that I KNOW what I'm doing, I can more effectively redirect my focus in those moments. I can redirect the outburst by focusing on "say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS. say all the LOVING WORDS."

Stumbling will happen even though I'm learning the new focus.

*SOM is a white people style of spirituality. It works best with privileged folks, as they generally don't have to fight the never-ending and violent background noise of oppression.

Valentine's Day and Romance

I struggled with this day for a very long time. In the years that I did not have a lover as well as the years when I did have a lover.  The ads are filled with red and pink and flowers and chocolates and jewelry and cards and stuffed animals and things sweet, though mostly saccharine.

Romance is so much more than a simple set of items on a to-do list, not that you might know that based on books like “1001 Ways to Be Romantic” by Gregory J.P. Godek and “Relationships for Dummies” by Kate. M. Wachs. Romance is highly personal. The best way to romance your love is by paying attention to the things which are valuable to them. That isn’t always easy if they think they

should be impressed by all the saccharine sweetness. I know I was highly impressed by the saccharine well into my thirties.

Recognizing romance isn’t always easy. When my lover sets up my coffee to brew fresh in the morning, I find it romantic. It is romantic to me is because I can smell the coffee before I get out of bed and be reminded of my lover and his love for me.

Alternately, my lover’s wife put down wood chips in the area where he normally parks at their home AND she drove over them with her car to set them in place so he could use the area to park again. He had been parking on the street for nearly a month because it was so muddy in his usual spot.  THAT is also romantic. She took the time to do something valuable to for him. It was kind. It showed an intimate knowledge of his values.

So remember, romancing your partner is personal, intimate, and loving. Also, romancing your partner can happen year round and not just on February 14th.

Today, I introduce you to my unreliable narrator: I hate my brain.

I feel like we have this conversation frequently. I'm struggling with some facet of our relationship. It's really just normal relationship stuff; nothing terrible. I bring it up, because keeping it inside sucks and rattles around in my brain going from struggle thoughts to hurricane thoughts.

We have a quickly devolving conversation over text.

I feel stupid and frustrated and broken and decide to take a break from conversation. I rearrange the furniture several times. I calm down. You send an email, because you don't know what to do.  I feel more stupid and more broken.

I don't even have the words to tell you what I want, yet.

I try to front load that information. Sometimes I fail. You get confused and it is no wonder...because I'm broken and stupid.

I don't have a network to absorb schedule snafus. That is my fault.

I am envious that you do have a network that comes from living in the same small town for over 50 years. That is my fault.

It's been 2 years. I haven't developed my own network. That is my fault.

I don't really know what I want from you; it changes. Sometimes, I want acknowledgment that I am having a hard time.

Acknowledgment

-acceptance of the truth or existence of something.

And sometimes, I want acknowledgment that I am having a hard time.

Acknowledgment

-the action of expressing or displaying gratitude or appreciation for something.

I think these two things are very similar, or at least subtly different. I feel that about 80% of the time, I'm looking for one or the other. I'm likely wrong; for obvious reasons.

FOR MY WHITE FRIENDS, AND THEIR WHITE FRIENDS

I posted this on two social media outlets, and the Knife suggested that I post it here, too.

CN: cookies

MY FELLOW WHITE PEOPLE - Specifically, to those who are scared for the first time and are just now getting to the party that our indigenous and POC siblings have been at for over a millennia...(yes, really, over 1000 years. Europeans started colonizing the Americas as early 1000).

I see you.

I see that you finally understand that there is something for you to "get."

I see you working to get caught up on how not to be a shitty white person.

I see you showing up to a march that was peaceful, not because our cause is righteous, but because so many of us are white.

I see that you are discouraged, not prepared for the anguish and rage of our indigenous and POC siblings, demanding to know where you have been. Their feelings are valid. They have been fighting this fight for CENTURIES, without our help, without our support.

Please press on through your feelings of hurt/anger/confusion/discomfort at our white perception of how unfair it all is because while we might be late, at least we're here. These feelings are a part of our white fragility.

Please sit and feel your feelings of discomfort. It is a first step to acknowledging your white privilege.

Please be quiet and listen and witness the the feelings our indigenous and POC siblings share with us. Their feelings are valid. We need to hear and accept their truth.

And when you need a cookie, come find me, a fellow white person. I will give you a cookie. I am walking this path. I know that it is hard. I also know that it is worthwhile. There will come a time when you won't need cookies any longer; you'll just get to work.

And when you need to shed your white tears, come find me, a fellow white person. You can cry on my shoulder. I am walking this path. I know that it is hard. I also know that it is worthwhile. There will come a time when you won't shed them any longer; you'll just get to work.

And when you feel overwhelmed at the enormity of this work, come find me, a fellow white person. I will walk with you. I am walking this path. I know that it is hard. I also know that it is worthwhile. There will come a time when you will realize this is a life-long path and it will not intimidate you; you'll just get to work.

#cutegrosslove4ever

My dearest love, my sweetest friend, my rugged lover...you accept so much with grace and kindness. Your faith in our love is steady, steadfast.

We inhabit a garden, nearby to each other, growing together. Our love like the magic synergy of complimentary plantings, becoming more than our two parts.

I love you.

New Horizons.

I might not have been doing it here, but anyone who knows me IRL knows that I hate working where I work. After eight years of working in production based claims handling, I am at my wits end.

Back in late October, early November, I enrolled in the local community college's applied science degree for computer programming. I obtained my financial aid and I start tomorrow with 2 classes.

I am not sure what has changed, I just woke up and felt like I needed to "do" despite my emotional baggage.

When I moved up north from the Portland Metro Area, I transferred with my employer. I bought myself enough time to make a decision regarding my career choice. Would I continue or would I shake things up and start off on a new path?

In my personal life, I have spent the last 2 years shoring up my relationship with my immediate family: Bad Boi, Baby Femme, and the Wee One. It feels solid. I know that we are united as a family, even if it is not the way I imagined I would make my family.

So this new year brings launching pad I have needed, both mentally and physically, to jump off into new waters. I'm glad I know how to swim.