gypsygrrrl

I woke up late this morning - late compared to my usual 4am awakening (I woke up at 7am). And I woke up angry. Not full-on angry, just a touch of frustration. I woke up with a frustrated thought of a man... this man who I want to throw against a wall and kick the shit out of for some reason. Maybe it's the blood in my uterus that's causing me to have such violent urges. Quite possibly and probably. But I really am a bit angry because this man is driving me nuts. My love for him is driving me nuts. my hunger for him is maddening. And my insufficient resources are even more so maddening. We speak at the end of every night: him drunk from cocktails most of the time but always denying it because a Frenchman is not drunk until his eyeballs are rolling back into his head and anything less than that is sober. whatever the fuck. Me, floating on level 3 from 4 puffs of a pinch of pot in my pipe. Both of us a bit marinated from substances so that the echos in our hollow chests don't feels so vast, but rather soft instead. So that the nerves just drone softly rather than vibrate violently from the disharmony resulting from separation. We discuss business, but the business meeting is too emotional and nothing gets settled. The uncertainty lingers. The romance bangs up against the walls as it shoots around like a frantic balloon with a hole in it. The fucking distance. The fucking alcohol. The fucking pot. The fucking longing. The fucking means that are not there. The fucking failure. The fucking success. The fucking nerves... the fucking passion. The fucking joy. The fucking outrageous fucking. It all overwhelms the buddhists that we strive to be. Fuck buddhism. Let's meet at the shore of the Duna under the bridge guarded by lions at sunset in a city where paprika colours the horizon and gypsies smile by candle-light in the taverns tucked away in cobblestone streets. I could just end it all. But it's too late now because that, as well, would require strong buddhistic behaviour that I do not seem to be able to consistantly master. Not yet. not ever - because I am not one to supress. I am more of a hunter. So buddhism this way or that way - so either way I'm dealing with a drone of a nerve that tends to vibrate really fucking hard at times. Fuck buddism. I am hunting. I hope he hunts, too. because this whole thing is so damn fragile. volatile - perhaps a better word for it - though maybe not, because volatily suggests instability and questionable integrity of the very energy that we are maintaining. And I feel it is undeniably real. Ok, then back to fragile. Wait, no, how about dangerous? In the sense that we can harm ourselves. I'm already seeing bruises and strains. The pain is tolerable, but the wounds are disruptive to life. Perhaps it's my own self that I want to throw against a wall and kick the shit out of - so that at least the pain is more physical and tangible and outwardly visible but completely superficial so as to distract from the fucking pain inside. But it's not really pain... it's just complete restraint. restraint. immobility. there we go. I think I have a grip on it now. IMMOBILITY so what now? My warrior nature makes me want to jump in fearlessly and take control. The fucking woman in me thinks with caution and pride makes me want to see how strong the other's conviction is. I trust the man but I don't trust human nature. So I am sitting. droning. moving very rapidly in extremely tiny equal movements in each direction without ever jumping out of the limits. at some point I will have to jump.