Category: Words

Mara thought she was overdue for a really good sulk.
An epic sulk. Maybe with some additional foot stomping, or would that make it a tantrum?
Hmm. Maybe what she was really in the mood for was a tantrum.

There really wasn’t anyone around to inflict the tantrum on though. It’s not very satisfying to stomp around unheard, and shouting is definitely wasted without an audience. A good quiet sulk though. You can enjoy a good sulk on your own, even if it IS better with a victim. Maybe someone would drop by later that she could sulk with.

It’s not like she could really complain to anyone about her problems. For one thing, her Destroyer had forbidden her to mention him to anyone. Since he seemed to be able to read her mind when he was nearby, and since she never knew when he was, she thought perhaps it was best not to tempt Samael to destroy her. That was one of the problems: the threat of imminent destruction is a real bummer in a relationship. Talk about your power inequities. Fucker. Then again, who would she tell about him, and what could she say that didn’t make her friends think she was insane? The whole story was completely unbelievable. Mara wasn’t quite sure she believed it herself. There’s nothing like questioning your own sanity to ruin the Summer.

There is just no way to tell your best friend that you’re fucking an angel that ends with her believing what you’re saying.

To make things even worse, he’d disappeared for nearly two weeks. She was almost sure that the disappearance confirmed that she’d been dreaming him the whole time. If she was completely honest with herself, she wasn’t really sure if she was angrier that he’d disappeared or that he could destroy her without half trying. She was also more than a little sad about the possibility that he wasn’t real. If she was even more honest with herself, she had to admit how much she missed him physically. Her mind might have reservations about Samael, but her body knew exactly what it wanted. And it wanted a 20 foot tall destroying angel who could destroy her at the slightest provocation.

“That,” she mumbled, “is messed up.”

And she stomped her foot, just to see if it made her feel better.

It didn’t.

She got a bottle of IPA out of the fridge, and went out onto the front porch to settle in for her sulk. She brought a book out with her so she could pretend to read while she was sulking. Tradition. She took a swig from the bottle and sighed. Sighing is the signal that the sulk has officially begun.

A shadow took form on the porch steps.

“Why do you continue to overstate my size, my treasure? I am only 7 feet tall, and all 7 feet of me are very excited to be here with you again.”

This was going to put a damper on her plans to sulk. Angels, she was learning, do not have a high tolerance for sulking.

She patted the spot next to her on the porch swing and held up her beer in case Samael was thirsty. He shook his head, sat down and wrapped himself around her with a very contented sort of growl. She rubbed her face against his chest, and saw the burn. Or was it a cut? She looked up at him, he shook his head so she wouldn’t ask and caressed her hair with a sad, far away look.

What, she wondered, could do that to a Destroyer?

Samael hoped she would never find out. If she did, he hoped he could protect her from them. He hoped that she wouldn’t make it harder for him to do what he needed to do. It was going to be difficult even without concerning himself about the welfare of a human creature. This one was special to him. More than he could ever let her know.

He scooped her up and carried her in the house, breathing in her scent. First, he would have to put a stop to this sulking.
He thought he knew something that would work. If it didn’t, he could always bite her. Just a little. She would like that.

She was already smiling.

Anyway the wind blows
–Queen/Bohemian Rhapsody

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for
–U2/

That’s always been the way I’ve lived my life. Not so much with a plan. Not so much with a desired direction. Not so much with even a clue of what I really wanted. Just going whichever way the wind, or whatever it is that stands for the wind in a life, took me.

Get married? Sure, if there’s a breeze blowing that way. Every 19 year old should be married. I don’t have any other plans. Why not?
Move to Europe? That could be fun. You can totally justify that so it SOUNDS like it makes sense, especially when a professor suggests it and you’re studying 4 or 5 languages already.

Piercing? Tattoo? Server administration or drawing class? New job? Whatever. Go ahead and do it. It’ll be fine.

Things have a way of popping up, and I shrug and do them. What makes that a little unusual, I think, is that I give it all the same amount of non-thought. Considering how much I think about a lot of random shit that really doesn’t matter, I think it’s a little weird that my life seems to just happen without the same level of angst that I apply to things like what books to take on vacation.

I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
It just is what it is.
It seems to have worked out for me.

The one thing that has always been a priority is time. In any decision about work, more than money I’ve looked at how it impacts time. I’ve never wanted to make a ton of money. In the balance of time vs money, time always wins. I turned down a job once that was essentially written for everything I know–computers, foreign language and software. It was a slight pay increase, but I’d have lost 5 weeks of time off a year. They wouldn’t budge on that, and had already gone way outside of their pay scale to tempt me, and I didn’t take the job. More recently, I made a lateral move pay-wise which got me out of being on call after hours and into supporting a new application. Less prestigious, more time. Time won.

For someone who is as introspective as I am, it does baffle me a bit that I don’t have more of a directed approach to living life. Introspection is great and all, but maybe all of that thought should have some sort of point. Sort of like writing. Uh. Right. I just said that I am pointless. And I am. In pretty much all of the ways you can be. Certainly physically I’m too rounded to have any points left. Except my barbed tongue. My tongue, I am told, has a tendency to be quite pointed at times.

If it makes anyone feel better who has been the victim of my barbed tongue, generally what I thought just before I said something kind of horrific was usually much worse than what I said. That didn’t make anyone feel a bit better, did it? Well, it wasn’t really intended as an apology. More of an observation.

A boy I had broken up with once came over looking for more of an explanation of what happened. One minute I was happy, the next he was on the virtual curb. He didn’t understand. Rightfully so. I couldn’t even tell him why I’d been with him in the first place, so a reasonable explanation for the breakup was definitely beyond me. He gloomily said “you probably never loved me at all” and what came out of my mouth was “No, I didn’t.” Unkind. What I thought in the nano-second before it came out of my mouth was “I was only with you in the first place because I couldn’t have the person I really wanted. I couldn’t stand pretending I cared about you for one more minute.” More unkind, and thankfully unsaid.

This is one of the main reasons that I just didn’t talk much at all for so long. Talking without shredding someone’s feelings can be a bit of a challenge for me. I’m not naturally unkind, but when you have a lot of unsaid stuff stacking up inside you, it does tend to escape like a raging beast. Maybe that’s why I try so hard to actually use words now. If I let them out on a more regular basis, they tend to be a little milder. Maybe? I hope?

Which really has nothing to do with what I started writing about.
Stupid words.
Always leading me astray.

Or…can I be led astray if I don’t have a direction in the first place?
Hmmm….

So…that’s kind of a lot of words.

Definitely a lot more words than I ever expected to write.

When I started up a blog, I didn’t really have a goal in mind. I think it’s probably fairly obvious that I still don’t. Like you haven’t figured that out about me. What I expected was that I’d struggle to figure out what to write about, but go like crazy for a month or two, get bored, and quit. That’s usually what happens when I do something new. I get all hyper-focused for a very short time and then flame out.

That hasn’t happened yet, and I have no idea why.

I have surprised myself, and in more ways than just the perseverance:
How much very personal crap I am willing to talk about publicly.
How little angst that causes me.
The sheer volume of words I am capable of writing.
How the words seem to have a will of their own.
How hard it can be to stop sometimes.

It makes me wonder what I’ll write next, if what I write will change over time–or if what I write will end up changing me. I’m curious to see where it will go. It’s weird, but it feels like I’m just along for the ride. The words are in charge, and they want out.

Who knows what they could make me do next!

Definitely not me.
I’m just the scribbler.