The fine art of being lazy

I’m lazy, I wanna be lazy,

I long to be out in the sun, with no work to be done.

under that awning they call the sky,

stretching and yawning, and let the world go drifting by..
-Marilyn Monroe/Lazy

There is a fundamental disconnect between night owls and early birds. OK. Several. I mean, there’s the obvious one. We go to sleep and wake up at different times. Which doesn’t seem like that big of a deal, but can actually be an obstacle. 

Sex? If the night owl’s lover is in bed sound asleep by the time he comes to bed at 2 am, she may not appreciate his amorous intent. She’s frisky in the morning? He’s out cold. They better hope they get the house to themselves in the afternoon when they are both awake!

Not that the two have to be at war, but I find that very often the early risers do not respect those of us who have a slower approach to the morning. 

Wasting the day away. 

They don’t tend to appreciate the work that gets done while the late riser is awake for several hours after they’ve gone to bed, either. 

Which is really beside the point because what I am thinking about is the art of dawdling. In bed, in particular because I love to be in bed. I do. I love to sleep, especially right now because my sleep patterns are all fucked up by personal stress and now the onset of menopause. Nocturnal hot flashes will ruin a perfectly good night’s sleep. Totally. 

So sleep. Sleep is a fantastic thing to do in bed. 

Then there is reading. I have always loved to read while loafing around in bed or a chaise lounge. There is not much that’s better than a trashy novel out on the patio on a Summer day. I’ll read in bed before I fall asleep, in the middle of the night while I’m waiting to cool off after a hot flash or even in the morning before I get up to make coffee. Oh, ideally someone would bring me coffee in bed, but alas I don’t have a someone right now. 

And writing. 

It’s a fact that I write everywhere. I do try not to write in the car while I am driving, but everywhere else yes. If I am doing an extended bit of writing, I try to sit on a chair and do it properly with a keyboard. More and more though, I find myself distracted so I shut myself in my bedroom and do it there. Night. Morning. At night, I am usually finishing something I’ve started. In the morning I am usually making a note about something I dreamed about, or a song I have stuck in my head. This very paragraph was written while I dawdle in bed. 

On weekends, I usually stay in bed for an hour or so after I wake up. Thinking. Reading. Playing Words With Friends. Answering messages. Reading my Twitter feed. Writing. Coffee drives me out eventually. If I had a bedside coffee maker, there is no telling what might become of me!

On the other hand, if I was waking up with someone congenial there is no telling how long a bedded dawdling session might last….and with that, I think I will shut out the light and think about it a little. 

Samael and the hell hound

 

“But do you love me?” asked Mara. 

 “I do not understand the human idea of love,” Samael replied.  “I love all of humanity. You are my own. My treasure.” 

Mara sighed, then smiled. Angels were apparently no better about answering simple questions than human men, but she had definitely never felt more cherished by anyone before.  She curled into his arms, and fell asleep.

Suddenly, Mara awakened to the sound of a dog howling in the woods near the house. She started to get out of bed to yell at whoever’s dog it was, but Samael put her back on the bed and placed his sword into her hands. As he got out of bed, he told her “no matter what you hear or see, no matter what I  tell you, no matter how injured I might seem to be or how much danger I appear to be in, do not get out of this bed or let this sword out of your hands. No matter what happens, keep the sword in the bed with you, and hold it as hard as you can with both hands. If you can, close your eyes and keep them closed. There may be things you would not wish to see.”

The angel disappeared and the night went black and still.

Time went by, Mara had no idea how much time has passed in that awful, dark stillness. She stayed in the middle of the bed, the hilt of the sword in both hands, motionless. Waiting for Samael to return.

Out of the silence, a rumble. Distant thunder.

Then, suddenly, some sort of battle outside the house which moved with the thunder into the house, through the house, into the bedroom around the bed.

Mara knelt in the middle of the bed, holding Samael’s sword as tight as she can with both hands on the hilt, wondering why he couldn’t use it himself. He was never parted from the sword, even in his most intimate moments with Mara it was within his reach every moment.  She wondered what would happen if someone, something, were to get the sword out of her hands.

Samael was fighting a huge black dog. Something like a black dog. It was more than a dog.  It was blacker than real black. It reflected the darkness somehow, making  the room seem even darker than it could possibly really be. The creature dwarfed any mastiff that Mara has ever seen. Almost as tall as a horse, but far more muscular.

Samael struggled to grapple with it. The creature didn’t bite, but used her teeth and body weight to try to pin Samael down. They were wrestling, she realized.

When Samael neared the bed, he looked at Mara, who tried  to hand him his sword. He snarled at her to get it back on the bed and close her eyes as the dog lunged for it.

He reminded her to stay on the bed with the sword in her hand no matter what. Even if he begged her to give him the sword. Especially if he begged her to give him the sword.

Mara squeezed her eyes closed, hard, and tried not to think about what it would take to make Samael beg. She tried not to think about how she would live if anything happened to him. She suddenly knew nothing would. Nothing could.  She knew it deep inside.

The sword got  warmer in her hands, starting to emit a light which gradually grew brighter until Mara opened her eyes to figure out why the room was so bright. The glowing sword drew itself up, so Mara had to stand to keep it in her hands. Until she herself was floating above the bed, sword pointing down at the black creature. She could feel an energy flowing through the sword that she would never be able to describe as anything but Love.

The angel rose, and stepped back from the dog. It was only a dog now. The largest dog Mara had ever seen, but only a dog. Still black, but only a normal black.  “Your dog,” she heard a voice say. The dog walked over to the door, nudged it closed with her nose, turned around three times, and sunk down to sleep.

Mara, looked down and saw she was still floating. The sword was not glowing any more. She looked at Samael, laughed and stretched the sword out to him.  It seemed to want to be with him again. He took the sword, and caught Mara as she started to fall back onto the bed. Still laughing.

Samael smiled.

“You are pleased with yourself, my treasure?”

“I didn’t do that,” she said, “did I? I couldn’t!”

“Only faith and love could have won that battle. It had to be someone, a human, with enough faith and love to bring the magic into the sword when it was needed. Only those can defeat this kind of darkness.”

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Know?”

“How did you know it would work?”

“Because in my arms you could fly. I knew. I trusted. These are things I am trained to know. It is who I am, ” he said.

Later, in bed, Samael’s arms around her, Mara wondered if he ever slept. No, she knew. He never did. He rested,  but he kept watch over her. Always. He was her defender.

“Sami?” She started to ask… 

“My name is Samael, my treasure. ” 

She smiled against his chest as he stroked her hair. She didn’t need to ask. She knew.

 

 

She sure hoped the dog was housebroken.

 

Trust in the online dating world

Trust is something I write about a lot, I know. It’s just that I’ve been teaching myself how to do it again, and although I’ve been pretty successful for the most part there are still some challenges.

Like when to stop. How many chances does someone get? I try not to worry too much about this. I figure it’s going to depend on the situation.

The one that’s kind of throwing me right now in the online dating world is trusting people you don’t even know. People you can exchange a lot of thoughts, preferences, feelings, wishes with who you haven’t even seen. Who maybe you won’t ever see. I might be a little unlike most people in that I am very capable of developing strong feelings for someone I’ve never seen in person but only talked to in writing. Written words can distill things down to essentials in a very good and very bad way. Things can get intense. (Yeah, yeah…I’m always intense, I know) 

It’s a real kick in the ass to my stated position of trust as my default.

It’s a lesson, or maybe more like a test, every day.

Why?

Because there is just no fucking way to tell if someone is telling the truth. It can be hard in person, but online? Granted, most people are just not very good liars so the truth does come out. It is the perfect test of trust as a default position. You are trusting totally blind. You can’t look someone in the eyes. You can’t hear their tone of voice. You can’t tell if they are taking a long time to answer because they are inventing a story. They can’t tell if you are joking or insane. Are they not talking because they’re busy or because they are talking to 4 other women at the same time? Are they really married? Are they the gender they say they are?

Some of that you can clear up with a few video calls. Take a virtual tour of the place they live. See their expression when they talk. 

Ultimately it’s like life offline–if you want to trust people, you have to have faith. Stop laughing. I don’t have faith in a deity, but I do have faith in people. Shut up. Do too.

But online you also have to be careful if you intend to meet up with someone in person at some point. So there’s an element of caution. A line to walk. That line pushes right up against the trust. It’s hard to be trusting when you’re trying to be careful not to divulge too much personal information. How much can you trust someone if they don’t even tell you their real name? And it is really off putting when you learn that someone has a different first name than they told you at first. Your name isn’t who you are, but it’s a link. It’s what you call them. It’s a sort of intimate thing, a name. 

Everything makes you question everything. 

That being said, I have made friends with a lot of people online over the years. I went to Italy and met dozens of them. Everyone was who they said they were. I saw their homes, I met their families. Real people. Real relationships. Was I crazy? A little, maybe, but I trusted them. I’d been talking with some of them daily for years. I knew them as well as I knew anyone. 

Most of the time, trusting people is the right thing to do. 

And if it doesn’t work out, in the words of Amanda Fucking Palmer:

Sometimes people will prove themselves untrustworthy.
When that happens, the correct response is not:
Fuck! I knew I couldn’t trust anybody!
The correct response is:
Some people just suck .

Moving right along.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when someone betrays your trust. Of course it fucking hurts! You know what, though? It doesn’t mean you were wrong to trust in the first place, and it doesn’t mean that you can’t trust anyone. 

It just means that in a world with billions of people in it, one of them was an asshole. Or, maybe they are just hurting and broken and trying to do the best they can, too. Like everyone else. Maybe you’ll never really know their truth. Maybe they will.

You hurt a little, and keep trusting. This is all a test of that. Can I keep trusting people I can’t see? Will I get hurt?

Yes I can. 

Yes I will. 

Sometime someone will lie. It will hurt. I will not like it, but I will get over it. I will try not to let it color how I interact with others. It is really, really hard to check your baggage when it comes to trust.

It will still be better than all of the things that I would have missed if I kept trusting no one.