Random malice

Someone beat the shit out my bike last night. It had a Kryptonite U-lock so it wasn't really steal-able. But it was more than a fair target for someone with a lot of rage. the front tire is bent and the frame was kicked so hard into the lamp post that there is a deeply grooved dent. It may be damaged beyond repair. I don't really know. I'll have to find a way to get it to the shop. I can't ride it so I'm not sure how I'll get it there.

I'd spent the morning singing songs from "Man of La Mancha" to Willem and driving him crazy - a sense of playfulness and goofiness I haven't experienced for a long time. But discovering this on the street when we unlocked our bicycles to take advantage of the sunny weather with a turn around the city - took the wind out of my sails. I know this kind of violence isn't personal - that is, it isn't directed specifically at me - but it gives me a sense that there is often something ugly lurking under the surface of a civilized society. Also, I feel discouraged to lose my source of transportation and pleasure - and to have another expense to manage. Fuck.

Miracle

Up early. 0530 before the alarm. Bathroom break, then back to bed. Awake in the dark. Thinking. Beside me, Willem is breathing. I reach out, touch his fingers. He responds, as he always does, with a happy murmur and sleepily snuggles up to me. I may snap and pull away, cringing from the intimacy because it feels like a hot shower after a sunburn, but this man never does - is never irritated by me. Its a wonder. I have to be careful with this. I am broken but he is not. I must not break him. The damage must not be allowed to spread beyond the boundaries of my own heart.

Up again at 0551. Brush teeth, take the trash out to the street. Put on the coffee to brew and the oatmeal to simmer. Choosing clothes for the day is always tricky. They go in the backpack and emerge in the locker room after the bike ride and shower, ready to wear. If I choose badly, I'm stuck with my decision for the rest of the day. I choose a long summer dress: one I used to wear in Africa during the graduation ceremonies in sweltering heat. It's supposed to be hot today.

There's enough time to wake Willem for breakfast and still make the train. So I prod him in the dark. I would be irritated to get up so early but he is not. He is happy to see me. Groggy, stretches his long arms around me, grins at my face. He is so pleased with the breakfast, he reaches across the table to touch my arm, hold my fingers.

He is tired. Not sleepy, but tired because he spends the small currency of his energy trying to improve the quality of my life. There is not much energy to spare. His disease is a bully, stalking behind him, shouting at him, shoving him down when he doesn't pay attention. I admire him; admire his strength of character, his stubborn tenacity, his courage. He came with me to the law office yesterday, insisted on answers. Loudly persistent when he needs to be.

Willem does my laundry while I'm at work. He fixes things. Climbs out on the roof to clean out the leaves. The broken window in the guest room (he put his elbow through last week, and we visited the ER for stitches) he wants to fix himself; won't let me call anyone else.

Willem is miraculous to me. His existence. And what he does for me. For my heart. He loves me with an open kindness that breaks me. I cannot love him like he deserves to be loved.  I know how I should love him. I should love him as I loved Sjors. But that is not possible. There is something wrong inside me that will not mend. I cannot look in mirrors. I cannot bear to have him look at me. He tells me I am beautiful and I find I hate the words, don't want him to say them. Look somewhere else, not at me. But he sees me in a way I have not been seen. After that first day together, he told me I reminded him of a statue in Florence by Donatello. Maria Magdalene. I have not seen the statue, but I have seen the photographs.

the rage

I can't to this either. During the past few hours, I've spent time sorting my accounts and seeing where I stand: understanding that I am so financially damaged it will be difficult to repair without years of work. Of course I didn't look at it before. It is another wound and it infuriates me. I am frustrated and full of rage. Full of all the anger of a hundred aborted dreams. I remember why I came here. I remember why I let myself have a measure of forgetfulness and peace. I can't live like a tortured wildcat, clawing out at everyone that comes near. I have to find a way to let this all go. I have to let myself live in the "now" because I can't change the past. I can't know the future. I cannot look behind me because the burning is still too much.

here

No. This isn't what I wanted.

I came here because I wanted you. I closed the distance, left everything I loved to be here. To be near you. You have always held my heart. Against every instinct for survival, it is yours still.

Last night I dreamed that I had the baby of another man and, looking down at the tiny body, I felt indifference. Not love. Not tenderness. Guilt that I couldn't offer this deserving creature the natural affection of a mother. But not even guilt could overcome the feeling of wrongness. It only intensified the sense that I'd taken a wrong turn - leading me further from you.

I can't do this. I never could pretend that I was meant to be someplace else, leading the comfortable life of another woman. No wonder this battle at work feels tiring -feels that it isn't really my battle. I already fought my own war and lost. And now, without the comfortable presence of Willem to mute the screaming inside my own brain, I look around me and consider that everything I am, everything that is true and real inside of me is entangled with you. Entangled with the people I love. And I'm alone here. I am playing make-believe to think I could create a life without you.

I was meant to be working in Africa. I was meant to be building military maritime capacity, and inventing drugs with my SSNMR patent. I was meant to be next to you, knowing what it is to hear you breathe and reach out and touch you. And this path is so far off that mark. When I can close my eyes, live my life in the present and forget there was ever a meaningful, joyful past, forget the pain that came from the severing of everything I cared about, I can dwell in this valley of lotus eaters. But I don't want an opiate to soothe the pain. I want to feel it. It is real. It is raw and terrible. It is me.

familiar battlefield - unfamiliar ally

It's been a fight at work. How do I always end up here? Stumble on the unethical and illegal actions of other people and have to decide how to navigate the terrain. Now, of course. I'm more worried. With so many bridges exploded and burned to ash behind me I need to find a way to keep what I have. Once you let it be a "fight" everyone has lost anyway.

But I'm exhausted. The working conditions are excessively harsh and the hours are long and they leave me fried. I have no time or energy to do anything else. During the weekends I spend my time sleeping and pulling out of the ugly funk. I can't write or paint. I'm just tired.

Fortunately for me, there's Willem. I derive such comfort from having him in my life. He's edged so slowly and carefully into my daily routine, I hardly noticed at first. Now he's a permanent feature. I've been alone and had become suspicious and set in my ways. I am, of course, too fucked up by what Sjors did to be able to attach normally. Is it any surprise I have trust issues? But he stands there, touches me gently on the back, the arm, the shoulder, and sorts through the difficult, monotonous, or sad things in my life, and manages them.

Now its Friday night. Willem is out fishing with his friends and I'm tired and ready for rest.