It’s been sometime since I’ve actually sat down and written anything other than a grocery list or a shipping label, that I feel I’ve been getting more than a little rusty with this sort of thing. I hope, greatly, that I write something worth reading, but all in all I’m doing this just to get out a few thoughts and my hope is to share them with the world.
Of late, I’ve been thinking a lot about strength. Not necessarily physical prowess or capability, but the other forms of strength that we don’t always acknowledge, and yet seem to be as necessary as the physical if we are to survive in this day and age. I’m thinking mental, psychological, metaphorical, metaphysical, inner, emotional, and on and on the list goes. What brought about this thought? I don’t really know. Will this necessarily have anything to do with what I was thinking of…I leave that to you to figure out. Remember, I write these without a clear end in mind, and if it’s coherent, then I consider it to be a massive win. If not, I won’t lose any sleep over it either. There is more important stuff in this world to worry about, than if a Facebook message makes any particular sense.
Probably the fact that right now I’m facing something that I knew would happen…but somewhere very deep within, I hoped it wouldn’t. I am talking, of course, about being separated from my husband for upwards of six or more months, with minimal contact, and all the realities of what he is facing, and what I in turn get to deal with. There is no comparison to what he’s dealing with versus what I’m dealing with, so I wouldn’t dare be so presumptuous to try.
I’d forgotten what it was like, being the sole inhabitant of a space. The vast quiet filling every empty room. There is something in knowing that everything here falls to my hands to be dealt with. It is both a liberating feeling, and oppressive. It is liberating in that I know that I have reached the stage in my development in a psycho-social aspect to be considered by and large, to be able to deal with such things as home ownership and maintenance to be able to take care of entirely on my own. It is oppressive in the fact that this is something that managed well in a partnership between people, and while he is gone, it is up to me to maintain this all to the best of my abilities, and hope that I don’t fuck it up. I didn’t really understand very much why it was that I refer to Matthew as my husband though he usually refers to me as his partner. I took no offense; they are to me a way of describing the same thing.
Only they aren’t the same sort of thing at all. Partner is probably the better way of describing our lives, because with his absence, the realization of exactly what he does for the house (besides work of course) is made quite evident. A partner…a TRUE partner, helps you shoulder the burden and shares in the duties that come with it. That isn’t to say that I collapse under the weight of everything when he leaves and that I’m unable to keep going without the presence of my husband. I am not, after all, a pathetic shell of a human being who needs to have another person to take care of me. I can take care of myself, and anyone else who comes along thank you very much. But the weight of the duty of taking care of the house, the property, the two dogs and the two cats, as well as food, bills, and the million of other things that are easily taken for granted in any given day becomes more and more apparent with each passing day. Believe when I say I can handle it.
But I do miss him. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t. There are those days, or even those moments where I step back, body just vibrating in exhaustion, looking at everything I have to do, and wondering where the hell I’ll find the time to take care of. Angry at the fact that I’m doing all of this, and so very annoyed that Matt is gone again to work. Those moments don’t last very long, seeing as I’m not ignorant to the fact that he’s gone overseas for work to someplace you couldn’t pay me enough to go to. He does his duty, by doing his job over there. I do my duty, in many ways the silent partner, by taking care of things over here. People as me, a lot lately, how it is I deal with Matt being gone. If it drives me crazy, or how I’m handling things with him gone. When I tell them how I’m feeling or how I’m dealing…and their universal reaction is, “I don’t know how you do it.” Or, “I’d be a complete and total wreck.”
To be really quite honest, I sometimes wonder myself how it is I find the energy to put one foot in front of the other when I’ve run myself ragged. I work, pretty near to full time; I have the house and the animals to take care of; daily cleaning, and the “extras” that the dogs sometimes find for me. (To which I again say they are lucky I love them.) In all of that, add in the fact I serve, daily, as a “warm and fuzzy sounding board” to a half dozen or so people, and I do it all with a smile on my face…well…maybe calling it a smile is an overstatement. Perhaps it is somewhat less of a grimace. Or at the very least it can be described as a less scowley scowl.
ANYWAY…I do all this, day in day out simply because I can. It’s what I do, some of it is what I have to do, and some of it is because it is what I choose to do. I survive the days were I just want to throw my hands up and say, “Fuck it, I’m playing videogames until my eyes bleed,” by having a group of supportive friends and family who let me rage out and vent when I need to. I get up everyday because I know I could have it worse. I carry the weight of my responsibilities with as much grace as I can muster, and to top it all off, I gladly help carry the weight of, and for other people, when they need a friend.
People look at me, and underestimate the kind of person I am. The assumption, I’m sure, is that I’m soft, or weak, or easily fold under pressure. But, I am my parents’ son. I am my own person. I am one half of a wonderful partnership with another man who brings out the best of me. I am me, and my feet are solid on the ground. My eyes are open and I am almost depressingly realistic, but I let my head float in the clouds from time to time, because there’s still that spark in me I refuse to let go out. I am tiny, and unassuming, because deep inside, I’m a powder keg, and you do not want to set me off.
So, as he does his duty for Queen and Country, and serves in Afghanistan until he ships home, so too do I do my duty, and be the silent partner from overseas. I carry myself forward with each step, keeping our lives going here, while all the times standing by as silent support for him while he’s over there. I stand strong, and proud, and lend my support when, where, and how I can, for my Partner overseas, and for my friends back here, at home.
To end:
I had a dream the other night, where I was looking within myself, but some how looking at myself, and found a deep pit within me. Standing at the edge of it, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was within me that I was lacking, where I would develop such a void in my Self. As I looked down into the chasm, a voice…my own voice that is, answered the thought I didn’t put to words.
“There are two ways to look at this, like there are often two ways to look at many other things. You can see this oddity as a hole…but what else can be dug deep in the ground?”
Did I mention dream me is a bit of an ass? I took the moment or two, and the thought finally came to me.
“A well.”
The difference between a pit and well? Both are deep holes, drilled, sometimes at random. In to one, many things can fall. But from the other, much can be drawn out. So the choice is this.
If you see something much like that in yourself, will you let it be a pit, or a well?
Of late, I’ve been thinking a lot about strength. Not necessarily physical prowess or capability, but the other forms of strength that we don’t always acknowledge, and yet seem to be as necessary as the physical if we are to survive in this day and age. I’m thinking mental, psychological, metaphorical, metaphysical, inner, emotional, and on and on the list goes. What brought about this thought? I don’t really know. Will this necessarily have anything to do with what I was thinking of…I leave that to you to figure out. Remember, I write these without a clear end in mind, and if it’s coherent, then I consider it to be a massive win. If not, I won’t lose any sleep over it either. There is more important stuff in this world to worry about, than if a Facebook message makes any particular sense.
Probably the fact that right now I’m facing something that I knew would happen…but somewhere very deep within, I hoped it wouldn’t. I am talking, of course, about being separated from my husband for upwards of six or more months, with minimal contact, and all the realities of what he is facing, and what I in turn get to deal with. There is no comparison to what he’s dealing with versus what I’m dealing with, so I wouldn’t dare be so presumptuous to try.
I’d forgotten what it was like, being the sole inhabitant of a space. The vast quiet filling every empty room. There is something in knowing that everything here falls to my hands to be dealt with. It is both a liberating feeling, and oppressive. It is liberating in that I know that I have reached the stage in my development in a psycho-social aspect to be considered by and large, to be able to deal with such things as home ownership and maintenance to be able to take care of entirely on my own. It is oppressive in the fact that this is something that managed well in a partnership between people, and while he is gone, it is up to me to maintain this all to the best of my abilities, and hope that I don’t fuck it up. I didn’t really understand very much why it was that I refer to Matthew as my husband though he usually refers to me as his partner. I took no offense; they are to me a way of describing the same thing.
Only they aren’t the same sort of thing at all. Partner is probably the better way of describing our lives, because with his absence, the realization of exactly what he does for the house (besides work of course) is made quite evident. A partner…a TRUE partner, helps you shoulder the burden and shares in the duties that come with it. That isn’t to say that I collapse under the weight of everything when he leaves and that I’m unable to keep going without the presence of my husband. I am not, after all, a pathetic shell of a human being who needs to have another person to take care of me. I can take care of myself, and anyone else who comes along thank you very much. But the weight of the duty of taking care of the house, the property, the two dogs and the two cats, as well as food, bills, and the million of other things that are easily taken for granted in any given day becomes more and more apparent with each passing day. Believe when I say I can handle it.
But I do miss him. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t. There are those days, or even those moments where I step back, body just vibrating in exhaustion, looking at everything I have to do, and wondering where the hell I’ll find the time to take care of. Angry at the fact that I’m doing all of this, and so very annoyed that Matt is gone again to work. Those moments don’t last very long, seeing as I’m not ignorant to the fact that he’s gone overseas for work to someplace you couldn’t pay me enough to go to. He does his duty, by doing his job over there. I do my duty, in many ways the silent partner, by taking care of things over here. People as me, a lot lately, how it is I deal with Matt being gone. If it drives me crazy, or how I’m handling things with him gone. When I tell them how I’m feeling or how I’m dealing…and their universal reaction is, “I don’t know how you do it.” Or, “I’d be a complete and total wreck.”
To be really quite honest, I sometimes wonder myself how it is I find the energy to put one foot in front of the other when I’ve run myself ragged. I work, pretty near to full time; I have the house and the animals to take care of; daily cleaning, and the “extras” that the dogs sometimes find for me. (To which I again say they are lucky I love them.) In all of that, add in the fact I serve, daily, as a “warm and fuzzy sounding board” to a half dozen or so people, and I do it all with a smile on my face…well…maybe calling it a smile is an overstatement. Perhaps it is somewhat less of a grimace. Or at the very least it can be described as a less scowley scowl.
ANYWAY…I do all this, day in day out simply because I can. It’s what I do, some of it is what I have to do, and some of it is because it is what I choose to do. I survive the days were I just want to throw my hands up and say, “Fuck it, I’m playing videogames until my eyes bleed,” by having a group of supportive friends and family who let me rage out and vent when I need to. I get up everyday because I know I could have it worse. I carry the weight of my responsibilities with as much grace as I can muster, and to top it all off, I gladly help carry the weight of, and for other people, when they need a friend.
People look at me, and underestimate the kind of person I am. The assumption, I’m sure, is that I’m soft, or weak, or easily fold under pressure. But, I am my parents’ son. I am my own person. I am one half of a wonderful partnership with another man who brings out the best of me. I am me, and my feet are solid on the ground. My eyes are open and I am almost depressingly realistic, but I let my head float in the clouds from time to time, because there’s still that spark in me I refuse to let go out. I am tiny, and unassuming, because deep inside, I’m a powder keg, and you do not want to set me off.
So, as he does his duty for Queen and Country, and serves in Afghanistan until he ships home, so too do I do my duty, and be the silent partner from overseas. I carry myself forward with each step, keeping our lives going here, while all the times standing by as silent support for him while he’s over there. I stand strong, and proud, and lend my support when, where, and how I can, for my Partner overseas, and for my friends back here, at home.
To end:
I had a dream the other night, where I was looking within myself, but some how looking at myself, and found a deep pit within me. Standing at the edge of it, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was within me that I was lacking, where I would develop such a void in my Self. As I looked down into the chasm, a voice…my own voice that is, answered the thought I didn’t put to words.
“There are two ways to look at this, like there are often two ways to look at many other things. You can see this oddity as a hole…but what else can be dug deep in the ground?”
Did I mention dream me is a bit of an ass? I took the moment or two, and the thought finally came to me.
“A well.”
The difference between a pit and well? Both are deep holes, drilled, sometimes at random. In to one, many things can fall. But from the other, much can be drawn out. So the choice is this.
If you see something much like that in yourself, will you let it be a pit, or a well?
No comments:
Post a Comment