oh my

i feel like lately i've had a whole lot of flow (well, with writing anyway) and very little know. but am trying to get my peace back even without my stability. i did try to cultivate so much flexibility. but flexibility without stability can feel wobbly and out of balance.

this is kind of like kyla, who is visiting me right now and has her body half in the apartment and half out the door. she exemplifies me right now! the poor girl had a hard time getting up the steps of the fire escape. all of those holes were not very good for her toes. but she made it. and she likes the fresh air. she and i are getting more comfortable here.

it was weird/good to go home and see the cats and clint. the whole you don't know what you've got until it's gone thing. i felt like an after school special where the dad who left comes home and wants his life back, and the wife still has feelings for him but has her boundaries. the dad's bachelor pad is not very comfortable. he looks in the frig to see if there's better offerings at home. at first he feels like he's snooping. then he feels like it's his frig. he doesn't know. he doesn't know what's his anymore. he's seeing for the first time that nothing is really his except for himself, and he certainly doesn't know what to do with that. he wonders if he did the right thing leaving. it starts to give him a headache, which he never gets. his wife has her boundaries. he tries to get her to go along with the word separation instead of divorce. she doesn't know. he doesn't know. no one knows. they know to move slow.

he knows he's learned something though. like when his wife tells him to leave her alone, he knows he's not supposed to try to charm her. she really wants to be left alone, even if she has some involuntary physical response to him. part of her wants him. but part of him and the way he affects her makes her sick. he gets the boundaries feeling. he wonders how many times he missed that before. he feels boundaries in himself, though. is not sure what to do with himself. he goes back to the apartment. he takes the dog. he thinks he's so glad this isn't happening with kids. it's easier not to go back home. it seems like it should be easier to go home. it seems like everything should be easier. it seems like nothing should ever be taken for granted. he remembers all the times he was happy. he remembers all the things he enjoyed. he wonders why he ever complained. he wonders why he ever took touching her for granted. nuzzling her is all he wants to do now, and for the first time, she's really shaking her head. she really means it. this really hurts her. he doesn't want to hurt her. he never wanted to hurt her. he says maybe we're not a good match. she shakes her head. he wishes they were a good match. he wishes he were simple and sweet and didn't expect anything but that. then they could be happy. they could get on with things. he could use that paternal loving part of him he knows he has. she could use her maternal part. he knows they can have tenderness together, if they could get over the pain of the conflict. he wants this back. in some part of himself. and yet he feels all the boundaries. the boundaries they tried to overcome until they were sick. until they were not serene. until they were not happy. until they had to get that all for themselves and didn't know if they'd ever have it for each other again. he goes back to his apartment. wonders what the future holds. is glad for another being with him. he is grateful for the dog.