Random Acts of Awesome

I've been reading the blogs of people who are ex Jehovahs Witnesses, trying to relate to them. There's parts of what these people have to say that I deeply relate to, completely understand. But there's an anger, a passionate rage, that I'm lacking. And that makes me wonder. Am I not allowing myself to feel a rage that's secretly hiding under my calm surface? After all, the one thing I had pounded into my head from a very young age is that you don't question the Truth. You just don't. If you do, it's because Satan is in your head, and you let him in there. You'd best do your damndest to get those thoughts out lest you fall prey to the Devil. When I first started to get an inkling of doubt, the beginning of the end of my faith, I blamed myself for every contrary thought. I hated myself, for disturbing my beautiful peace. Of course, that didn't stop me from sitting in a Barnes and Noble cafe for hours, reading Stephen Hawking and Richard Feynman, so

I actually wrote this out a while ago and posted it elsewhere, but I wanted to have it on here so I could remember it. I recently went to a Sacred Harp shape note convention that a friend of mine had invited me to. Sacred Harp is a musical tradition, 4 part a cappella singing, using simple shapes to define notes. It’s mostly hymns and anthems, though there’s some folk music in there. It’s very, very beautiful music. I love old gospel, and this musical tradition takes that style and makes it completely nondenominational. It doesn’t however, make it non-spiritual. And that was a bit of a problem for me. I’m not a religious person, by any means. But I grew up in a small, tight knit community where going to church three times a week was required, and you sang three times at each session. I’m very, very familiar with the idea of singing as a religious experience. And I’m uncomfortable with it. I never liked being in a group of people and praising a god I didn’t believe in, and while the mus

Maybe this is what I need from you. Maybe this is why I'm so drawn to you. Your rage tastes familiar. Faint, lingering traces of a few, potent individuals who defined how I deal with people being angry at me. This is so trite, but it begins with my father, who helped defined fight or flight for me, and it continued with men through out my life. And with you, I can feel that fear, that incredibly strong instinct to placate or destroy, and I can ignore it. I can stand in my shower and remind myself "I am alone" and I can mean it and I can love that knowledge. Because it's more than ok, to be alone. It's vital. It means I can understand your anger, I can see my contribution to it, I can acknowledge I helped create it. Do you know how hard that is? It's not just pride. It's loss. You can't lose something you don't have, and what I can't lose with you is everything. And I love it. It sounds so snarky and fucked up. It's really not. I'm learn

I should be ashamed of myself. It's really ridiculously easy to make me happy. All it takes is sex. And good food. And exercise. I really have no excuse for staying in the doldrums for any period of time, not when all I have to do to get out of them is eat well, walk more, and fuck a lot. I met this guy named Frank last night. I'd actually met him before, at the same place (Baileys, of course), and he'd given me his contact info after a long conversation. But I never contacted him, and eventually lost his info. I'd see him there every now and then, but I was generally there with someone else and not really available for chatting. But last night I was alone, drinking a lovely strong ale, and reading a book. He took the opportunity to sit down at the chair in front of me after engaging me in conversation up at the bar, and we had a lovely chat for about an hour. He's a food nerd, very passionate about flavor and ingredients. I love talking to people about food. I'

I've never thought of myself as a vain person. I've never thought I had anything to be vain about. I've always sort of worked around these things about myself that I've considered major handicaps, and created a self esteem for myself based on a surety of my own awesomeness combined with a willingness to see admiration in the eyes of others. Even when it's not there... :D But I've found my vanity, after it's been taken away from me. My hair, and my healthy skin, were major factors in helping me think of myself as an attractive human being. My hair has been falling out lately due to either a severe iron deficiency or proximity to death (that last part is hyperbole), and my eczema has been flaring up to the point that there are visible patches on my body. I've got bags under my eyes that make the Grand Canyon blush with inadequacy. I look OLD. And I look old because I feel old. I look unattractive because I feel unattractive. It doesn't matter if I ACTU