Love Anew

I’m pretty sure that we’re all aware of my current opinion regarding marriage in general.

And I’m pretty sure that we were all aware that I would still post this, the very first chance I got.

EqualRights

Same love.

One love.

Love begets love.

Please, stop keeping score already, and simply let Love.

•••

Briefly… I Think It’s Gonna Rain Today

copyright - Indira by way of Scott Vanatter

copyright – Indira by way of Scott Vanatter

Think I’m gonna throw up…

WHAT???

I think I’m gonna…

Well, don’t do it HERE!

Then pull over.

I can’t! We’re gridlocked in traffic. Just open the door. No one will notice…

Better?

Yeah.

What happened? You’re not drunk already, are you?

No, just nervous.

Listen, understanding it’s your wedding, this sort of thing does happen almost every day.

But not to ME!

OK honey, I know. But when two men love each other like you and Dave do, well, it’s just natural, you know?

I know.

It’ll be all right darling. No rain today, OK?

OK dad. No rain today.

•••

Even in the worst of times, Love prevails. This is a very special mash-up for me, between 100 Word Song and Friday Fictioneers – along with inspiration from k~ over at Bloggit Write – in celebration of the death of DOMA. In celebration of the victory of Love.

Mind you, I’m none to sure why gay folk would want to get married. But in a growing number of states waking up to the truth, they at least now the right to make the same mistake as the rest of us; and the right to make mistakes is a beautiful thing…

This week’s song was chosen by some crazy Darin fan (I know, they’re ALL crazy!): “I Think It’s Gonna Rain Today” by Robert Walden Cassotto

Changes.

And no Lance, this does NOT mean that I will be ending today’s post with the Bowie song of the same name.

v2pg-36-bowie-2-pa

Hey, did you know that I now have 200 followers? Pretty cool, that! And yeah Renee, I know that you average about that amount in new followers per week, but it’s a big deal for me, OK? So anyway, my point was, I have over 200 followers (did I mention before that it was actually over 200 followers?) But instead of writing for them, and enjoying myself with them, I’m just whittling my time away by moping about in an internetless corner. Sucking my thumb while rocking to and fro with the usual “woe is me’s.”

Not cool t, not cool.

So back to the keyboard I’ll be going. Seems to make sense, especially as I am getting ready to have a LOT more “quality me time” than previously enjoyed these past 17 years. I know, I know, “That’s not a change t, just a schedule update.” And right you are. No, the change has to deal with my focus. Moving forward I plan on sticking mostly to writing fiction from this site. This is in part because I truly enjoy it (even if my stories never actually go anywhere), and also because the bad feelings I have to express, I will no longer feel comfortable doing so here.

Those feelings will still have to come out – painfully plucked one by one, lest there be even greater future distress, should they be ignored now – so I plan on starting a second (anonymous again) blog to address these. Should you wish to read along there, please send me an email, making sure you tell me whose Blog parent you are (cue the announcers deep and woodsy voice: sorry, but this offer is only available to current friends and followers of aslongasimsinging.wordpress.com), and I can get you a link to the new address once it’s up and running (4/25 update: in fact, I’ve already pulled the last three posts from this site detailing the recent events, and placed them over there for continuity sake).

And speaking of anonymity, this site will no longer be so.

Yay!

First off, you’ve all been so good to me, and I’ve been blessed with so many “wouldn’t know you in a crowd, but I love you out here in Blogsville” friendships, it seems a shame to continue on with the charade. Secondly, as I knew that C was a private person, and as I also knew that I intended on writing about her often, I originally left names out of it. But seeing now as I can’t fathom any more posts of that nature coming across your screen from here, I think we’re good with retiring the whole “man behind the curtain” routine.

One last change as well kids, and then I’ll let you go. I am going to try hard to provide you with quality over quantity, so I may not be as regular as I was before in my schedule (say it with a soft “c,” it’s a hell of a lot sexier that way). Please know that  won’t mean that anything is necessarily wrong, it’ll just mean that I haven’t yet found for a particular post, the best words to, umm, well to… I mean, well – oh hell! You get the picture, right?

Listen kids, I’ve been a little weird as of late, and I’m sorry about that. I’m still not 100%, but I now see that someday I will be, just in a fashion wholly new and different from before. It’s taken me a while to recognize this, but as David Bowie once said, I’m “just gonna have to be a different man,” and be cool with that fact.

Oh crap! Now I DO have to end this post with his song of the same name!

Peace,

t

A simple thought…

“Love is patient, love is kind, love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful, it does not rejoice in wrong doing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes in all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love always perseveres.”

~ Paul’s 1st letter to the Corinthians, 13:4-8

It is time. Time to let Love in.

EqualRights

Happily ever after, in heels.

Listen, we deserved the break. Amongst all the issues we’re embroiled with currently, I felt we had earned just a little breather. So this Sunday last, C and myself got all gussied up (apparently a dying art, these days) before going downtown to catch the final local performance of “Priscilla: Queen Of The Desert.”

Click to learn more...

Click to learn more…

We had a blast, and I dare say that I never wanted it to end. Planning on making an evening of it, we were only slightly miffed when we discovered that our favorite late night restaurant is most decidedly not very “late night open” when it comes to Sunday. Catching the Wendy’s drive-through window instead, we settled onto the couch for a late night snack, before hitting the sack. As is her way, C went off to bed in order to sleep. As is my way, I went off to bed in the hopes that we would be doing any number of things, but sleep.

As is her way, C won out in the end.

I woke the next morning feeling odd, out of sorts, almost as if something were amiss. The songs from the musical played over and over on my mental radio, as I performed the tasks I daily perform to almost get paid, but they provided me with no real joy – nothing close to what I felt the night before. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what I was feeling, until the very second that the Daily Post’s prompt came stumbling across my email. Their prompt for the day punched me square in the gut, when they asked “Are you living happily ever after?” A question that the very core of my being answered immediately – and almost violently – with a “No. No I am not living happily ever after. No I am not even close to that. What in the hell is wrong with me?”

A valid question I think, to end an almost sinful assertion. I mean, what right do I have to not be living happily ever after? Just what more do I expect needs to be in place for this happiness to finally hit?

Well, I believe the problem is two-fold. First, I feel that “happily ever after,” is a bit of a cop out. One devised by early story tellers who just wanted to be done with the whole thing already, and no questions being asked, thank you very much. Secondly, I believe that much like the characters in my last Mash-up prompt, I sometimes (read: way too often) spend too much energy chasing a happiness that I think I deserve, instead of simply relishing in the Joy already bestowed upon me.

Listen, catching a good show can be fun, but one should never get so dragged into it (no pun intended) as to start to wish that that was what their real life was like. Real life isn’t that easy or free. Real life doesn’t involve people randomly breaking out into song. But that doesn’t mean that real life shouldn’t be appreciated or isn’t worthwhile. Indeed, real life is the only life to be lived, regardless of how many of us never do.

The Daily Prompt also asked us to explain how we would go about changing ourselves so that “happily ever after” could be obtainable. To that, I’ve no answer but one: I’m going to just get over myself. I’m going to stop being so damned dramatic, stop wishing for things I don’t have, start enjoying the blessings I do have, and realize every day that real life ain’t easy, but it’s worth it regardless.

That, and I’m also going to give this randomly breaking out into song thing a go as well. You may want to cover your ears.

Friday Fictioneers

Fine Renee, I’ll play along with Friday Fictioneers.

I’ve done music prompts (somewhat easy) and word prompts (not so easy), so why not try a photo prompt (damned hard!) as well?

Here’s my first entry into the world of Friday Fictioneers – please let me know what you think:

copyright-claire-fuller

Two in one.

Where do I end, where do you begin?

When I end, how will you carry on?

I am ending, you know. It was foretold that I would.

You will end as well, but not for years until after I.

What will you do with that time of solitude?

Will you reinvent yourself? Become someone new?

Or will you instead stagnate, languishing while you wait for Mr. Death to come back ‘round for you?

My spirit hopes it’s the first of the two, my jealous love, the second.

Two in one. When I end, how will you begin?

•••

Secret Lives

C and I keep secrets from each other. Well, they’re not really “secrets” so much as they are simply things that are never expressed. I know it’s confusing, so let me explain.

A secret is something that you do in private, afterwards covering up any evidence that the deed was ever done. With C and me, what is done in private is never covered up per say, but never exposed either. It just sort of lays there. Noticed if looked for, unnoticed if not. How do I know? Well, I look for it, of course! Yes, I have the “wonderful” attribute of not being able to trust anyone fully at any time. A family trait I place firmly upon the shoulders of one – and only one – relative (thanks mom!). True, I am a child no longer, and responsible now for my own hang-ups, hiccups and snafu’s, but still I wanted to at least acknowledge the fact that my issue is much more imported than homegrown. Much more nurtured than natured.

I’m not sure where C gets her “issue” from. But for her part, she has this drive – this undeniable and unrelenting force – to be her own woman. Her own person. No matter how close she will ever be to anyone, that anyone will do well to understand that there will always need to be at least a small little mental room that is all her own. Sort of like an attic with a hidden door, and a window for only her to look out of – and in through. I know that as her husband, I should be that anyone, and I should heed my own advice. But the little old paranoid Polish woman takes over my mental steering wheel far too often and drives me – us – smack dab into yet another wall of marital suffering and strife. I’m working on it, but it quite often feels like C’s patience (not to mention my own) is wearing thin on this bit, and I can almost see the suitcases being prepped for the packing of a one way trip out.

“So what types of ‘secrets’ are we talking about here then?”, questions the therapist who may happen to be reading this, while stroking their chin in a majestic, yet intelligent fashion. Well, take for instance this very blog. C knows of it, and has even been “invited” to peruse if she’d like. But she’s never actually been given the web address. No, she’d have to access it through my phone app, I suppose, in order to actually read the damned thing. And similarly, C too has various social medias that she makes use of. I only know that because of my tendency to “look”. Which equates to my sneaking about and digging through any number of apps and histories for some sort of sign. One that proves that the one who I love the most is most assuredly getting ready to high-tail it outta here. Or to begin carrying on with another. One who is richer, better looking, nicer, better with gardening… you get the point. So, while she never told me about these creative outlets, I “found” them. And when she found out that I had done so, the cat was out of the bag – and not-so nicely slammed up against yet another wall – little old paranoid Polish woman-style. As a result, much like my offer to her, she made it clear that I am free to sift through any of the rooms in her online world, but I can only enter through the front door that her phone provides as well. And while it’s most likely obvious, it should be noted still, both of our invitations to each other were presented in a spirit very similar to that of how a five year old would normally “apologize” when they realize that desert will not be forthcoming without first a mention of regret. With very much a “here’s your hat, what’s your hurry” flavor to boot.

“Now, hold on just a flip t, what gives with C not being able to have secrets, but you’re being able to?” I’m glad you asked. Because that was the very question that gave birth to this post. Why IS that? Why are my secrets-that-aren’t-secret totally harmless, but her secrets-that-aren’t-secret surely to be the cause of our demise? Why are the things I do but don’t make mention of quite fine and/or dandy while her activities must be called into question and monitored ceaselessly? I suppose if I had to answer that, I would first look downward and shuffle my feet while sheepishly making some sort of excuse about how my actions (which are no different from hers) were somehow inconsequential because they were only first and foremost in reaction to hers. And besides, I don’t mean any harm by them. I would then inch slowly backwards and hope to get clear out of the room before your dropped jaw worked again, and you rebutted with the obvious fact that her actions most likely don’t mean any harm either.

But there is another little twist as well, and it might serve to at least salvage a bit of the reputation that I pretty much just cut off at the kneecaps with this post. Part of me doesn’t trust. Anyone. It’s true. It’s ugly. It’s the second biggest thing I hate it about me, and I would wish anything in the world to be able to be rid of it, if I could (and I just might be able to, some day). But another part of me is jealous. Jealous of that attic. That attic that needs to be there for C, for her well being and her mental health. That attic that I need to respect and acknowledge, but never access. That damned attic that will go to the grave holding a piece of C that I will never be able to know about. To experience. To touch. To love.

I’m pretty sure I might have a similar room myself. But I suppose I see mine as more of a basement than an attic. More littered with trash than adorned with treasure. And I suppose maybe that is the REAL problem in all this. Maybe it’s not just C’s attic I’m jealous of, maybe it’s C herself, for having her attic. For having her self. And maybe if I want to stop slamming us (not to mention innocent cats) up against walls of marital suffering and strife, I need to recognize that. I need to let C be free to have her secret life. Just as she allows me to have mine.