Sunday, July 19, 2015

Stranger in My Own Skin

I come here to flip through the pages of my past
like a stranger in a strange world
a stranger in my own skin
a stranger to my own words.

I come here to gaze at the memories of who I was
to scratch the itch of remembering where I came from
like a stranger in my own pages
reading the words of someone else
living a life of fantasy
like a dream where you look in and say 
"I wish that was me".

Stretched far too thin
I have become a stranger in my own skin
looking in
reading through the pages of my own story
some former kind of glory.

I come to scratch the itch of remembering
where I came from
recalling who I was
to scratch the itch under my skin
like reading a book that someone else wrote
trying to get lost in the fantasies of their mind
amazed that all of these words were once mine.

I have become
a stranger in my own skin
standing on the outside looking in
at what I was and what I have become
the words on these pages, familiar like a stranger's story
read time and time again until they become like a distant memory
of what should be
or what could have been.

My life has become a memory
and so I dip my fingers into the water and watch the ripples roll out 
a moment in time
flipping through these pages wondering in amazement
that this was all mine.

Like staring through the mists into another land
I reach out for that feeling of just
and it slips through my fingers as I close my hands around it
a moment of forever in time
captured in words
a fantasy of what I was and what was mine
but I am a stranger here
a stranger to my mind
a stranger to the words on the pages I wrote.

A million tiny expressions of my soul
poured out through my fingertips over the years
like the soft rush of air from my lips 
the firm grip of his hands on my hips
the feeling of chains stretching across my skin
the brutal kiss of the whip
the sensation of my soul drowning in his control.

Standing on the outside looking in
wondering at what is and what could have been.
I look into the mirror and I wonder at the woman looking back at me
eyes of a familiar color
no longer flashing the wild abandon of the lover
no longer reflecting the untamed wilderness of a soul
begging to be chained.

I am now
stretched too thin
standing on the outside looking in
I have become a stranger to the life I used to live
a stranger to the beauty of my own story.
I am
a stranger in my own skin.

Sunday, July 5, 2015

Ramblings of the Most Boring Kind

Has is really been more than two weeks since I last came here to ramble?? Since I cannot seem to keep track of the days, I will take Blogger's word for it. No wonder I woke up missing it here. Not even here really...I have nothing interesting to say or share, or even to vent. Sure, I could do lots of venting, but its not interesting. I miss you though. The people who come here. And I miss roaming around Blogland in my free time. Free time...Ha. 55-60 hour work weeks just don't seem to offer much of that!

I have been waking up with a case of the funks lately. Well, for the few minutes I have to think about those funks anyways.
I'm tempted to do my normal bit and run straight to the paperwork. My deadline got moved up...In no uncertain terms I was informed just how unhappy our general manager would be and how freely he would make sure that no one else was happy if I missed the deadline. I refrained from pointing out that, given the people he's talking about, very few of us would not return the favor...
My son asked if I'd get fired for taking a day off. I laughed--not this week kiddo, not this week. This week my job is the most secure it will ever be because 90% of the paperwork this company needs to get going lives only on my desktop at the moment. It's a terrible thing really. We'll see how well (or badly) I have done after the state audits them. I am going to audit them myself first. You know, with all that extra time I have to do so before someone has a hissy of epic proportions...Wish me luck.

Someone gave us a very nice bottle of champagne (I can't even spell that) for our anniversary, I'm saving it until after we see how all my paperwork pans out. My backup plan, should it go south, is Tequila. Sounds reasonable, right?

Did I mention that I miss you? I miss the interaction, the visitors, the knowledge that my words are never lonely because there's always someone there to read them, someone there who knows that they exist, someone who understands what they mean when they pour out of me.

He read here the other day, and he was not happy with what he saw. We both have good, if very stressful jobs. Somehow I fell into a position by default of starting to work for free because it had to be done,  knowledge, drive, and brains, that I would never have gotten back home. He's got his dream job. The kids are healthy and mostly happy. I stick to my food budget, but I don't add the pennies. Life is not bad here.

There's this concept, well lots of them really, but one in particular that I doubt I'll ever adapt to. In fact, I hope that I do not, and I certainly wouldn't wish for my children to do so. It's about seeing people not as who they are, but how they exist as assets--it's not about valuing people for who they are, but only what they can do for you. And I don't like it. I think its a crappy approach to humanity.

Life is not bad here...
Yet...It's still not "my" life.

Odd feeling, that...

I actually took yesterday off, so I had better make up for it today.