time spent

Time. I have had several conversations about time lately, from wasting my time...or not, in a try-on relationship, to lying on the sofa in a wallow of inertia during the week waiting for The Call. It came. and so, no, it wasn't a wasted year, but gee, if I could shift time, would I get a do over? Can we take our finger of the match picture and still move the checker back?

Or maybe, just maybe, my twin in the other universe has thin thighs, several lovers, and...no wait! A Third universe, one with a 30 year old marriage, happy children, still those thin thighs, and loving husband who gives her the walks on the beach, the fierceness during sex she wants, and at the same time a Room to Herself when needed.

Love of books, love of people, A house full of kids running in and out, with family and friends dropping by whenever they want, and the coffee is always hot.

Nope, this is the universe and I can look at it several ways. One, that I spend my day in an environment hwich I think is broken, with some kids who are great, others who are limpets, are lichens on society and I don't, Alice, think they will ever get out of the worm hole. And that I spend my evenings with myself in a home that somedays I love, because each and every thing in my home is loved, has history and a story. No compromises where and what I have it is all mine.

And, that I have many many friends who do love me, called when I was upset, took my many many compulsive death throws of the relationship calls.

And a daughter whom I love more than God, sometimes self absorbed, ( after all she is in college) but sweet, caring, and all I could want. I have family that I adore, brothers that I think walk on icebergs, and a sense of style that won't quit. The other way I can look at my time is, I am on the cliff and cannot see through the fog. If I could only go forward, say just a year, would it be worth it? Would I become more disillusioned, or encouraged. I don't know the future, I cannot change my past, and I am in the matrix of right now. Seeing through a mirror, seeing through a plate glass window out my computer, talking to the ether on the blog. I have been lucky, no, it isn't luck, it is personal contact, to re-connect with two friends this week.

One, a man who knows me from the past, a brilliant eccentric intellect, somewhat certifiable, but a fey nature that I just love to visit with. Some heat. In fact, a disturbing amount of heat. Interesting that, since it appears I have a lot of thermals stored up. Cannot I live in a commune, or feminine harem with the bits and pieces, Frankenstein like, of all the men I have loved?

The other, is a call today from my Turkish 'baba', a man my folks knew when we lived there in the 50's. It is tradition, maybe a remembered past that keeps us talking to each other long after my parents have died.

( Sidebar:I hate that term "passed", just as I hate, "partner", "significant other", "pleasure" and " interact with". ) They are dead. He/she is your mate, your lover, or your husband/wife. A partner is Donald Trump. Are there others who are NOT significant? Turn on, be sexual, to pleasure implies a Twinkie for Christ's sake. I interact with my tv, not humans.)

So, back to time. Time shift by connecting with an old lover, with family friends from almost 50 years ago. Scare time by not knowing the future, in fact, I may not have a future. I just might like the Ray Bradbury story just go to bed and not wake up, the end of the Earth. I just may be in a snowglobe and someone is shaking me up. I want time, I want to bend it and bring someone here tonight to lie next to and not worry what it means. If I had known it was the last time, would I have kissed more, loved more, touched more? Is there a memory bank I am supposed to live off of now, bear like now that I am in a new hibernation. fuck it, I am not ready to do the dance again, and yet I don't want the ice cave.

I want time to look ahead and feel like I matter. I want those thin thighs but since I never had them to begin with, I will tell myself, hell, if someone sees me undressed now, again, revealing myself anew, well, this body serves me well. It is mine, it is me, and I am not a 20 something. It has taken me around the world, works and moves. My daughter bought shoes when little, and each time I would get a kick asking her, "Do they work? " She would jump up and down and run and say, " Yes, they work!" I jump and down, and run, and I work. The parts that need to, work very well thank you very much. Really well. In fact, I have just had a lube job and tune up, so the mechanics are good. I just want time again to use them.


Finally, I hate the time from 5 until I go to bed. It is long, it is quiet, and I find it slows down. Minutes are hell, and I don't know what to do with myself. Time does not, fly, it drags. That has nothing to to with what I need to do, with the constant slings and arrows and stockade of "have to's." There is not enough time, there is too much time, I wait on time, time has passed, I want time to shift, to not put a value on moving forward "too fast" and I want time to if I don't get a re-do, to get at least a re-done.