Boots of Spanish leather

 

My car was acting funny so I took it to the shop. It might just need an oil change, or maybe the engine is misfiring. But since my one job for the weekend was to cat sit, suddenly I am without a role and neglecting my duties. Big brother and the niece are gonna take over. The cat may not get as much love, but it will have provisions. I was over there last night till midnight, and then slept in today. 

Whenever I sleep in, I get a little foggy. Coffee wakes me and keeps the headache from attacking, but it doesn't clear the fog. So I sat at the lake, not necessarily wanting to read, not quite able to write. Kind of trapped in my own head without much to do. It's weird to experience, because I can send my thoughts out like a net, but they don't catch anything. 

You are those trees. 

Admire the golden hue of the august grass.

Isn't the weather lovely. 

This music is powerful. 

Those people are funny dragging that dog around the lake. 

I eventually gave up and returned home. Ate some food, and watched a meditation on breaking down the fear of love. Pictured my heart cleared of the muck, and filled with amber and pink sunset, let it overflow in my body, and suddenly the greens and blues of the day felt more beautiful. But I was still braindead, just with a smile on my face, so I settled back into bed. 

I don't remember all the dreams, but I do remember the one with M. (it had some of the feel of cat sitting in someone else's place). 

-I had used the key (I don't have) to enter her apartment. I was doing some chores for her, or grabbing something I felt was mine. I rested on her bed. I took a nap. I woke up to her getting home and felt embarrassed but made her aware so I wouldn't  scare her. She saw me and registered my presence, and everything was fine. She maybe even thought it was endearing. Not warm per se, but like a friend who shows up unexpected. 

I gathered my things, made my apologies. She blew them off. But wasn't present. She picked up the phone, and chatted with someone else. I walked out the door without saying goodbye. 

Woke up to Abe and his wife playing Boots of Spanish Leather on Facebook, a song I've listened to after several breakups. Felt fitting for the dream, how it goes from a duet to a solo at the end. 

-for the record, that is not at all how she would respond if I were in her apartment now, but it is how she responded when we were together.  I've been thinking a lot about what it feels like to be chosen as a partner and how necessary that is for a secure relationship. The male in the song continues to say what he wants, the woman continues to try to placate him with trivialities -though they may be important to her, they are not important to the relationship, and over time without her saying it, the man realizes she isn't telling the full truth, that she isn't invested in the relationship, she is choosing her own path. It wasn't always like that, but about 2/3s of the time with M, that was how she functioned. It was work, it was her divorce, it was the kids, or some drama in another relationship or a task that needed to get done, but her mind was a roaming, her thoughts not with me. 

My response was to try to make myself useful, indispensable even, if I am honest. To try to win her over by supporting her security, by trying to slow her down, "IM HERE!!!!" And also from that place, to just sit back and watch her move forward, to take it in and enjoy it. 

I have learned a particular way of being second in relationships that feels comforting to me. But it keeps me from what my heart actually desires. When I think of future relationships I am sooooo aware of what I actually desire, but I have no idea how to make that happen. I don't even have a crush. But the people I get crushes on are rarely invested in me, and I turn all my efforts to them and then become unbalanced. I don't know how to find a person who wants me. I don't know if I would know what to do with them, and would probably reject them -fearing they just want to use me. Relationships are such a silly thing. 

I guess what I need is someone mature enough, patient enough, smart enough to recognize and challenge me, and then stick through my anxious phase. Seems like a tall order. 

M said I was too good at arguing. I was taken aback by it when she said it, but I agree. I didn't want to argue with her. We had surprisingly few arguments, but overtime I have come to understand what she really meant wasn't that I was "right" when we had conflict (and she couldn't counter), but that I talked her into the relationship when she didn't really want it. That my arguments were reasonable and supportive and helpful, and made it hard to say no. That she didn't know herself well enough to say "no"  when I offered her what she thought she wanted. It wasn't a good fit and that part stuck with her, but there were no words to say why it wasn't. So she left without telling me why. Blamed it on me. Moved forward as if I was a stepping stone to something better. Probably because I was. 

So much writing, blogs and poems saying the same old stuff. ...I was thinking today about this stanza from a poem from years ago and how it is still fitting to my way of relating, and my prayers for something different:

I'm trespassing
on someone else's
story, make me a
character, please not the
villain, and if its to
be a good story let my
name and theirs, make
it to the last page.