Quote for a portrait in my head

"In heaven she wondered if there was a place where people still had tears. That didn't mean she was sad, just that she wanted to find hers again."

Clash of the Tied Tens

Before I venture out tonight I feel the need to discard a few thoughts that are working my heart and throbbing my temples. The most intimate of conversations with respected friends and colleagues have such different tones depending on the personalities behind the conversations. I press the "period" with my right hand's fourth finger and "Tom Sawyer" by RUSH starts to play. Mark Twain, meet Mark W. I've long respected in his consult and friendship. For the past decade he has been part of the exclusive trio to be privy to pretty much every aspect of my life, but as we have grown up and apart there is a tension to our communication that seems to grow as well. I know that I am not the image perfect of laser precision thoughts being conveyed with spoken words. I've always been a much better listener; hmm, unless I'm standing up to do a presentation and using words to communicate unemotional ideas and concepts. Sometimes I think my vagueness is part of my allure. (Mostly I think it's a reminder of my continuing evolution)

The hardest thing for me in receiving communication has always been to hear love without hurt. What do I mean by this? I like to discuss feelings, but not when a participant in the conversation has a tone of voice that leaves a sting. Even with serious concerns--perhaps even more so--I've never understood why one's words have to have a bite in order to convey depth and caring. I felt like scalding water was being thrown on me earlier. My skin has grown so thick over the years that often times I know my outward expression is that of molded clay to fend off any alert of hurt, but with Mark I feel open enough to admit my vulnerabilities. Concurrently, however, I have also learned a certain detachment in arguments and discussions when I know that at the base of different points of view is simply an opinion or belief that fundamentally differs. It is not coldness, nor apathy that is used as a defense, rather a pragmatic understanding that to waste breath and time is not necessary. I respect one's choices for his or herself. I ask....no I demand the same in return.

I suppose the deepest hurt is a lack of respect that the road I have chosen for myself may be ok for me, while admittedly not for someone else. (Most assuredly not for most of my friends)

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On some more positive vibes....
My brother's birthday is Monday. Both of us being in our 30's now and a child on the way for him...I blink back to when we were closer. His girl's name will be Taylor Riley. I can't wait to hold her. Mom is supposed to drive down from Oregon. She wants me to join her for the drive back.... I'm still mulling that over.

Ok....I've decompressed. Off to West Hollywood and a home screening of "Breaking Bad." Let the games begin...

Soft Batch

First I wrap myself in Lanny. I then surround with grandma's knit and the warmth is quite comfortable. I lay my head into the soft pillows with mother and make sure my head and shoulders are secured.

I cannot wait for me to find love or for love to find me. I hold close to the love I already know until such time that I can expand my knowledge.

I'm soft.