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Las Vegas, Nevada, United States
"No, really!"

My Favorite Bit of Paper Cup Philosophy

The Way I See It #76

The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating - in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Critical Mass

It's official. I can't fit anything else into a day. I work more hours than I am willing to admit. I have meetings to attend. I walk more hours and miles than I am willing to admit. Contrary to popular opinion, I do have a little tiny life and a special relationship to nurture. Once in a while I am forced to shop for cat food and litter, laundry supplies and a bite to eat. I spend more hours on the massage table than I am willing to admit. I do a little property management and am trying to rent a particularly challenged house.

I started the blog and it has done so much for me I can't express it properly. The outlet for my words, feelings and memories has been a gift I've given myself. I recently entered a very intense relationship that I've given a lot of time and words and feelings. Since that began, my other writing has dried to just droplets and I'm feeling some pain. I've talked to the Badger about this new relationship. Yesterday I spoke to David about it for an hour - he'd not heard of it before that. It intrigued him and he had a million questions and comments to make. Yesterday both David and the Badger said my engaging in this new relationship was "good" and "great".

Last night, my new friend crossed some boundaries. I advocated for myself and others who were being criticized despite the fact that much important information was missing when the criticisms were made. This was big for me, because while I take excellent care of others, I don't typically take such good care of Limes. This person writes beautiful apologies, but one can't unring a bell. I have been so disturbed that I slept too little and walked too long and hard this morning. I'm mulling over a great many things, including what I'm doing in this new relationship, because it's damned twisty. I don't know if people really consider what their words will do to another person once they have been spoken or written. I wonder if it is inevitable that when someone is angry and hurt, they reach out and violate someone else.

One might say, "Limes, don't continue this relationship if it isn't going well or if you feel uncomfortable." However, I'd point one to my paper cup philosophy quote on the right hand bar of my blog. You see, I committed. I have told this friend more than one time that I pride myself on never, ever simply disappearing. So I will have to hang and work it out well. I will have to find a resolution that makes me feel I did the right thing for myself. I will have to remove my head as the barrier to my life.

This won't be my best post ever. It won't interest many. I simply needed to rid myself of the words. I've landed on something. I cannot fit anything else in my life beyond what's in it now. I can't form new connections until I take care of the ones that are ongoing. I need to relocate the Book of Meditations for Women Who Do Too Much that my mother gave me. I'll read from it and my Tao and the other daily books I use.

In my ears right now: Absolutely nothing. I've turned off the music, tuned out Bloomsbury and Benson. Tomorrow I'll crank up the iPod again. Today I can only hear the telephone and the BlackBerry chirping.

Something that charmed me: Nothing comes to mind. I don't feel all that charmed or charming today.


  1. Turn the music back on, it will bring back some pattern to your day, something familiar and comfortable.

  2. Well, thank you for that. Thank you for giving me advice like "return to what you know and love" and not advice about how to handle something intangible, from your perspective. That was well done, respectful of my good heart and head, and it's appreciated. I think it shall be Sticky Fingers.

  3. If the flowers are black, does one automatically assume they are dead?

    And I won't forget to put . . . .

  4. " . . . white rhythm and blues, and somebody who cares when you lose, I need some white rhythm and blues . .