I am fucking flipping out. I want to cry on my friends, scream at them, tell them how mad I am. I want to flee, I want to get away from all of this uncertainty and insecurity. I feel so rageful from the gesture that was small and insignificant, but was the straw that broke the Bethany’s back, so to speak. As I rage, I know that I rage because all that I want is connection, playfulness, honesty. I feel so ready to give all of that but find that there seems to be a monumental price to pay when I receive it. I want to push myself into action, push others into action. I want to break things and scream “hey this is life, why don’t we all start having more fun and taking better care of the ourselves and the people we love!!” I wish that people were more dependable, maybe I just want more sensitivity. I want the tenderness that I so briefly found. I mean, it’s great that the experience of finding tenderness and then losing it is inspiring some great art but I want to feel tenderness goddammit. And also, if something smells, feels and tastes so right, if something inspired the right sounds and sighs, then why did it fail????

See the problem is when potential energy is created, it gets stored somewhere. I now have ounces and ounces of intimacy and tenderness just floating around in my bloodstream. All kinds of molecules of passion and admiration are just milling about in my bones. When energy like this is made, it throws me into a flow state. Everything in life becomes all-absorbing and wondrous. That’s the thing about infatuation/love. It’s amazing when I’m in it, to even a small degree, because it causes a zen-like state of focus in my day and a joyous celebration of all that is in my life. I do realize that this is a state I can create myself, without there being an object for my affection and I have been in a similar state at certain times, entirely without love. But this time it’s so bizarre due to the fact that such a large amount of intensity and energy was stirred up and now I have to find places to direct it, places that are not the person who did the stirring. I have just never experienced that much fervor without completion. I have never felt such passion without culmination. So I feel a bit misguided.

The nature of the touch that I experienced is part of what got me. I had not, in many, many years, felt someone touch me and know that they were truly feeling what it was that their fingers were exploring. I had not felt someone’s body really respond to mine as if we were dancing. It felt like home, it felt authentic and to be blatantly honest, it smelled and tasted “right”. I am not sure that it was right, in fact it probably wasn’t, but it was just that experience of honest, open, responsive physical intimacy that caused this internal chaotic energy. Additionally, what I realize is that all of the things that intrigued me about that type sensuality are things that I need to give to myself. I need to really feel and listen to myself. I need to respond to my body’s communications and needs and I need to give myself this sense of openness, honesty and home-ness. I know that I can, it’s just a matter of where to put all of this energy.

“I encourage you to fantasize abundantly about improbable combinations and seemingly unnatural juxtapositions, Aquarius. For instance, imagine that through the magic of genetic engineering, a mad scientist crosses a giraffe and a hippopotamus to produce a giraffopotamus. Or imagine reading an essay that brilliantly compares apples and oranges. Or watch the musical comedy film West Bank Story, which portrays the love affair between an Israeli soldier and a Palestinian cashier, whose parents operate competing falafel restaurants on the West Bank. Doing things like this will put you in the right mood to respond creatively to the unusual syntheses that fate will soon make available to you.”
–Rob Brezny

For those of you who know me and my predisposition to think, talk, and obsess about combination animals, this is AMAZING.

I get it. I take things too fast, find an idea and run with it. I wrap my hands and heart around someone all too quickly and make them feel pushed and skittish. I find some idea, some lover, some dream and I wrap it into knots so tight that even I can’t untangle them to decipher their meaning. I latch onto ideas like a gecko bonds with walls; my molecules intermingle with my chosen surface so that I am actually, literally, stuck to it.
This way of being is habitual. I don’t know how else to be, or much less if I would really want to be another way. This quality is what makes me feel impassioned with life and all it’s possibilities. But it’s a two way street. It provides wonder and awe, as well as the ability to always see the highest and best side of others. It makes me constantly aware that I really can do anything (but not always everything). On the other side, these lofty expectations and exuberant feelings and affirmations of life come crashing down pretty hard at times. Elevation’s antonym is depression and that is often the result of elation. I fully feel and embody the exultation and also fully feel it’s opposing misery.
My lips are chapped from hours upon hours of blissful kissing that felt innocent and chaste enough to be from a time in my life before sex seemed like an option. The kind of kissing that literally takes your breath away, makes you swoon and wonder if you are, in fact, going to pass out due to sheer visceral bliss. The aforementioned state of my lips was a cause for delight yesterday. It made me feel alive and whole…made me feel like I am a delight to someone else. Now it is a source of sadness because it reminds me that that is something I should not continue exploring with that person, that I need to give them space, step back, let go of ideas and adorations.
I came home from Oakland tonight, and went raging over to the Pie Shop. The Pie Shop is what I equate with complete salvation. I am raging about several things, the most mild of which is this most recent love affair. The other things are too complex for me to want to go into at the moment. But I came here sure that I had nearly a novel’s-worth of rantings, musings, and fears. I am sure that somewhere I do but as I write this I realize what all of this boils down to.
My passion for life and the elements of life I am enamored with makes me always yearn to share that passion with others. I automatically want to make music with anyone who is remotely musical, dance with anyone who’s willing to even give it a shot, sing at the top of my lungs at every opportunity and make any art or adventures with anyone who’s available When I have the inkling that someone who I already adore and respect as a friend indicates that they want to involve themselves in any of these shenanigans, my heart leaps and I always assume that they will actually do these things with me.
Now, I have been through many phases of my life in which I was largely unresponsive to the external stimuli of friendship and passion so I am not really judging the human penchant for laziness. Most of us have it and often have a hard time getting around it long enough to actually go out and enjoy doing the things we think and speak about with passion. The things is, when I become romantically involved with someone, that involvement serves to amplify my lust for life and also causes me to REALLY want to share my passions with my lover. Something about a physically-romantic-sexual involvement also makes me feel like sharing these things is more possible and so if it doesn’t work out (either romantically or productively) I feel downright dejected.