…and just how is it that one person can be in two places at once?

It’s becoming light now though the street lamps are still on. It has been a very long time since I’ve lain in bed wide awake until deciding it would be nice to to sit at my desk with a mug of hazelnut coffee and write/piddle while I watch the sun rise.
Where the Moon is I don’t know, but it was ‘She’ who I so often before used to wake early in order to say ‘Good Night’ to.

Mono has just walked up and paused, requesting I move over a bit so that she might have her spot in the chair with me. The side by the window of course. (She watches the street below as I do.) 

Be mindful of watchers dear street folk as you are seen, by her, by I… or both. 

I have before, at times of the morning like this, grabbed my camera and taken to the street via scooter. Off to some picturesque destination in order to capture a sunrise… from behind a bridge, over a river, or seemingly seeping up from the dew on tombs. Ooooo.

I still could go, if I hurry. *thinking* But I won’t. There is still warm coffee in my mug and a purring kitty at my side. …Perhaps tomorrow.  

Ahh, I see a hint of lightest blue and touches of pink in the sky now. The street light is dark. 

 Why I am awake, or have been awake for hours, I am unsure. Except that I miss my girlfriend. I love my quiet (in the mind) time. She has taken a much needed extended weekend to visit her mother. But ohhh it seems I miss her. Two nights now she has been away. Last night I woke at 2am after only a couple hours of sleep, but was able to sleep again. Tonight, no… I just tossed and turned, over to her side of the bed at first, then I found myself spooning her pillow in a full on acknowledgement of loving her. So despite any gleeful fulfillment of my seclusion, there is no wanting of it all of the time. Granted it drives me mad to no longer have uninterrupted quiet hours and hours (days even) to be in my own head, but ohh… *sigh* it seems I cannot sleep soundly through a night because she is not next to me.
I am glad she is off on a break from working. Hanging out at a beach and being with family. I feel good when I know she is happy. But it seems also, even when I get to be alone with my own thoughts for a few days that I am not, actually alone.

Cars are driving past more frequently now, and faster, or so it seems. 

When it is 4 and 5 a.m. it is as though they creep by, wearing socks and being careful not to step where they know the floor creaks loudly. At 6 and 7a.m., it sounds more as though they have had hearty breakfasts and are heading out to face the day! 

I am weary from lack of sleep. The sun hasn’t yet topped the buildings. Though I don’t want to go back to bed now and miss the morning. …My favored time of day.

shhh, some say this doesn’t exist…

Lazy day. A much-needed one, back in my own quiet lonely head. Today has felt good. I wish I had more of them.

Halfway through getting a narrative of thoughts down on paper just now (real paper, real ink…) I thought I should transfer some of this into my “TRY to Date” blog because someone out there may “get it”, may echo a similarly positive realization about themselves. (Let it warm them a little, the way it did to even my jaded self.)
So here I am.
Let’s see how this turns out… Will I transcribe it word for word?… I doubt it.
But here we go:

Just finished a movie called “An Education”. It was slow, in that quiet way movies about real things are. But pretty to look at, and quite good.
Upon watching the last deleted scene where he (David) comes back to try to get her back, “We had fun didn’t we? Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun.” She tells him yes, that she did have fun… but it was with the wrong person, at the wrong times. That she has her own life back now. Then slowly she walks away.
(This was a movie about a young girl’s education, both worldly and scholarly.) 

 “an education” I thought.
I’ve an education. Relationships, each one, looking at them afterward…
“When I can stay the same, but others don’t want what they once did.”
Education.

Commitment is more than a fleeting emotion. It is not, a fleeting thing.

————- (this insert was so, NOT in my original journal entry, hehehe. It is merely typical of one my tangents. A branch, I call it.)
(By definition alone… Websters Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language, “Commit: 8. to entrust, esp. for safekeeping.”
Safekeeping. But for how long? The cynic taunts… The dictionary doesn’t say.
I could expand on various ways of using other variations of definitions or word use to wriggle free of what I, myself, am implying here in regards to feeling Love. Oh by all means I certainly can argue against if I chose to, as I know you could well too, and it would be certainly convincing and real and true. There are those metaphoric little angels and devils on each shoulder that could oppose each other all day. But we all know what I mean, and if you honestly feel that you do not, I’ll guess you haven’t been in Love. (Note: the capital ‘L’.) So let’s not argue for the sake of proving different points of view. Let us not wriggle in the un-comfortability of the subject matter. Because what I am saying exists. I am not sifting through the usual grey matter here, I am referring to Cupid’s wound… If in your head you’ve begun to sound excuses/reasons, stop… because I know you’re pretending to not hear the distinct “Tsk, tsk” coming from the white robed side of your conscience.
Entrust. Safekeeping. It’s what Love wants. It’s where it wants to be. Period. It is the nature of us. (Or ok, for argument’s sake… most, of us.)
—————————————

For me Love is similar to a commitment. (I do not mean what you say or promise out loud! I mean what you feel. That *thing* you cannot control.) It seems, as I look back on actual relationships I’ve had, the feeling does not seem to leave me. Even when it’s less than shiny new. I am not the one it drifts from. I do not think I have ever been the one who stopped feeling it.

Love is more than fleeting.
“I stay. They leave.
Why does it seem to be that way, for me?”

…”an education”. (those two words kept repeating themselves, so quietly, in my head)
Learning that other people don’t stay. Learning that even though it doesn’t seem to die in me, I have to accept that it happens to other people. That, it just does. For whatever reasons. (Life…  To not to let a broken heart kill you, you must learn to understand, *or at least try*, at least enough to let them go in peace. (No, you do not have to, even after years, give them your blessing. Just, you know, let go of it. Let them walk away. Because the harsh reality is… that they already have (emotionally)…. Sure, scars remain, but wounds do mostly heal. I promise… I know.)
(“Place the book on the shelf”; I think we’ve all heard the saying.)

I understand human emotions, circumstances, the how’s and why’s of many things. Mostly, anyway… I understand people and situations sooo much. (especially in hindsight, or… of course, in hindsight) and in a way, forgive. I have not forever grieved. Because whether I like it not I do seem to “understand” these all-affecting things that change people, and feelings. (Circumstance. Attractions. Lust. Egoism. Inexperience. Innocence. Indecision. Confusion. Just… Life. The list could go on and on.)

But I learn anew with each one. Different variations of what seems like the same lesson.
My relationships, like a book… they end. They go up on a shelf… alongside others… hardcovers, paperbacks, special editions, short stories, novels… all a good read but not one yet with that fairy tale “and they all lived happily ever after” ending.

[shhh, some say this doesn’t exist… but I still believe if you both consistently work for it and pay attention to your lessons, it just might. Call me silly, but I hope to hold out for it. Even if… even if I’m never written into one. That is just what I believe.]

There was something else in the movie that I particularly noticed and liked. A line from the girl to her father when discussing how he liked David over the young schoolmate the girl used to smile at and had invited over once before meeting her older, more charismatic, love interest (David)… The father, going on about how David knew how to get places, knew famous authors, etc., and how these were important things to have in a husband, the girl (simply because she was surprised at her father approving of David over someone her own age and who would have certainly been more proper for her) threw in… that yes, but the young boy was more likely to be *the kind of person who would become* one of those famous authors… Her father sidestepped this quip, as no, that’s not as useful as being someone who knows famous authors or influential people.

Couldn’t help but smile at that snippet of script. (there to show how the father had become so enamored of the suave’ older man)  Also, because I liked the young boy that nervously, visibly, had a crush on the girl as well. Suppose I saw him as the good guy who finishes last… as he did not, get the girl… and we should all know by now where my loyalties lie with “the good guy”. (Or, that dirty little, no fun, description… nice.)

I love every book I have. I feel, still…

My education: a lesson I have learned over time by examining the volumes on my shelves, is, I think (hopefully) that… I am capable of love that stays.
It seems to be a badge earned whether I wanted it or not.
Fairy Tales can be real…
I am one.

This little thought process today… it is in a way, perhaps… a silver lining to hold sight of… Or a satin place mark, so to speak, so as never to lose my place if I ever come across that happily ever after I unabashedly long for from time to time when I find myself longing for more, or different, than the perfectly fine life I currently lead.

Occasionally there is a sad flipside for the one who leaves…
I’ve a friend who, after years, reached out to someone they knew they’d hurt. It was in a perfectly adult, genuinely kind, hello I hope you are well way. I think it was to help them to feel better, we all do it and I think it’s good to do. To say things…  even after a long time.  But there was no response for my friend.
At first I didn’t understand and thought perhaps the person didn’t receive the message. But I fear now though, that the nicest reply the recipient may have been able to offer, was no reply. … (Time and/or understanding do NOT always mean forgiveness.)

　

Alrighty… Now… hmm, should I watch another movie?… (hehe)

Good Witches.

Mono...

Cold weather. I *think* I like cold weather, right? (to those of you who actually know what cold weather is) I get a chill, snuggle into a sweater and long for Scotland.

I daydream of living there in a castle next to J.K. Rowling and writing stories.
(ok, maybe not *really* a castle, but I would visit them, and write stories about living in them.)
I would change my last name back to Callaway (three a’s) and ponder giving up my U.S. citizenship. (I probably wouldn’t do it. *sigh* But I would look into it!)
I would read books by fireplaces and have dinner parties that lasted the weekend.
I would go out during the day to libraries and read stories to children who wanted to listen. Adults too.
I would invite my parents to come and live in Scotland very very near to me.
They would of course decline, but travel across the ocean as often as good health allows
and visit for months at a time maybe.

I would miss my friends.
But I would leave them.
I would bring my cat… and consider getting two big dogs.
I would probably live alone with my animals (and ok let’s face it…
also a maid, gardener, and dog trainer/groomer…they would become my friends.
I would write the names of their children into stories.)

I would drink more tea than coffee and wonder why it was ever the other way around.
I would take pictures of everything, still.

I would probably be too picky, too busy, have too many dreams to focus on finding love.
I would long desperately for it though.
I would have woolen socks and wear fun hats that covered my ears.
When I got too old for my scooter I would ride a three-wheeled bike
with a large basket on front.
One day my Gardener would put a little motor on it and I will motor down the road
going all of 25mph and I’ll insist on wearing an old fashioned leather helmet with goggles.
Locals will laugh a little when they see me buzzing loudly by
or when I stop in front of their shops,
but they will always wave with outstretched arms and large genuine grins.
Then they’ll turn to a visitor and say quite seriously,
“Ohhh, that’s Ms. Callaway, she comes into town often. If you’re lucky,
or ve-ry un-lucky, she’ll capture your soul and rewrite your fate into a story…
She’s a witch, that one, don’t ever cross Ms. Callaway. Nooo, don’t cha’ dare it.”
(it’s best to have heard that in your head with a Scottish brogue)

I would illustrate my own stories.
I would curse the cold like an old woman, but love it still.
I would write spooky stories for Halloween and read them at bonfire parties.

Spring would warm my soul… and joints and bones.
I would miss New Olreans.
I would buy a small home right on the outskirts of the Garden District
and when my bones get really old, live there through the winters.
I would throw Christmas parties and ride the streetcars sipping hot tea
in a covered paper cup. No particular destination in mind.
Sometimes I would stay in Scotland for the Holidays just to have white Christmases.
I would pay for friends and their familes to spend Holidays there too if they could get away
for a week… or more.

I would change my mind a lot,
and not worry that I do.

I would be oft invited to parties, some in castles, even well into old ladydom.
I would be so happy, and miserable sad sometimes.
But I would snuggle into a sweater and be thankful for my life, the whole of it
and all of the characters in it, real and fictitious.

I would wear many kinds of boots.
As I got older they would become sturdier.
I would always, always feel like a superhero when I wore them.

One beautiful crisp morning I would spend finishing a book that I’d spent years
off and on, writing.
It would be called, ‘You, Me, and Burnt Toast.’
I’ll cry happy tears and sip hot tea, and watch the morning turn to afternoon.
Then I’ll take a nap, and not wake up.

In my will I’ll have left almost everything to a young woman of a family who,
since the age of three, always liked my stories.
She will have a detailed imagination… and have quiet, polite charm about her.
She will ache to do something creative with her life but will have to have a regular job like everyone does.
She will jokingly lament often, “Where’s my wealthy benefactor?”
She will like cats.