As I recover from a week of stomach flu, my goals have gotten simpler.  With my energy at a premium, it's all I can do, to sit upright in a chair for 10 minutes at a time, and do ANY ONE THING.  As humility and time teach me lessons in patience, I've been examining what, in my environment, I TRULY NEED, truly WANT to have, in my life and as a part of my surroundings.

Today, I'm trying my best, NOT to look at my collection of Build A Bears.  Begun years ago, when I had to muddle through 10 months of viral pneumonia, my daughters gave them to me, to comfort me when it was too dangerous for me to be around germ-laden humans.

I have come to love them, though I cry, at the sight of them, now.

For the last 9 months or so, my daughters and I have been estranged.  On a night when their father thought his sex life was more important than the illness my daughters had passed onto me, I last saw my daughters.  I was as terrified of their father, as the girls were, of the knife in my hand, that they saw me, trying to use to keep him from violating me.

That night, when my Ex would not take "no" for an answer, when my boundaries were violated and my health, denied importance....that night, when my Ex wanted our 2 preteen daughters in the care of a mother who couldn't even stand up?

That night was the last I saw, of my little girls.

As negotiations have meandered, terribly slowly, through the court system, in hopes of a reconciliation between my daughters and I, their birthdays have approached.  Sure they've grown and changed, in the last several months-as I have-I wonder if their gifted Build A Bears are worth anything.

For me, they are a painful reminder, of a time when I, a mother in her mid-forties, could NOT STOP an man I'd divorced, a decade ago, from micromanaging every hour of visitation I had, with the girls.

For this, I have lost lovers.....for this, I've been burdened, with high drama from a needy man.

For this, Build A Bears are a very sad marker of a time in my life.

When it comes to love, I'm a very skittish sort.  While I want to dive in, headfirst, offering honesty and passion, affection and loyalty, the walls and tests that others put up seem to be game-playing formalities I must run the gamut of, in order to recieve and have the honor of, GIVING love.

That's all a crock of shit, to me.  I've got soft skin and am a great kisser and cuddler;  daughters to friends, lovers to husbands have all admired those qualities of mine.  Ever loyal and to a fault, it's I, that have been cheated on, taken for granted, and basically tested.

Looking back, it's these qualities of softness and loyalty and faithfulness, that constitute the most wonderful, about me.  I don't understand, then, why all of it was tested, by an Ex-husband, who had an affair and a child, with a secretary, then referred to me, as his MOST HONORABLE WIFE.  What was I supposed to call THAT MAN?  THE MOST HONEST of ALL BASTARD HUSBANDS?

These days, I'm looking for someone, as eager as I am, to dispense with the childish prerequisites, and just jump into loving.  I'm good at commitment to a man, and even better, at the loyalty and honor stuff.  I frankly am finding all the emotional flirting and dancing about in the disguise of caution and carefulness, just tedious delaying of love and joy.

Kudos, cuddles, kisses, and more, then, to the man that can move past all this, and just jump into loving.  I've yet to meet him, but gosh, what joy and happy passion awaits!

Today, in preparation for friends coming to stay for a visit, in the next few months, 2 friends came over, to help me houseclean. Sherry is THE ULTIMATE "heave-ho" gal; she has NO MERCY, when it comes to getting rid of ANYTHING, that smacks of "bad vibes" or darkness. As a Christian and single Mom, Sherry has the ability to TOTALLY clear a room of bad influences, while having faith that, say, if you were raped in a bed, IT MUST GO, but ANOTHER will be placed, presumably by God, simply as a gracenote or reward, for getting rid of the "dark" object--no matter HOW USEFUL IT WAS.

My other friend, Maggie, is a bit more pragmatic; Maggie took over the kitchen, spraying (albeit, with great economy) bug spray where old roach traps were being eliminated from. She opened and shed light upon the interiors of cabinets and drawers, and, as a result, figuring out where silverware and dishes she cleaned needed to be put back.

The job left to me, while these two did their part, was to go through books and laundry, to figure out what could be sacrificed. As I hoped my budgeting would get better, I had a tough time, parting with my "fat" clothes; I DO love to eat, and my beloved oysters and some of the best of Americas fruits and vegetables are coming into harvest and into the grocers. Hoping I would eat MORE and BETTER, I nonetheless realized that 5 laundry baskets was simply too much for a single woman to own; I filled three large garbage bags full of clothes, quietly tossing them to the curb for their final trip to the Funeral Pire/Dump.

Usually PROUD of my growing and extensive library, I had to face the DARKEST of revelations: My collection of books-numbering, conservatively, 600 texts-WAS COMPRISED OF ABOUT 42% DYSFUNCTION-based books.

As I've recently been shown by neurologists that, all my years of antisocial behavior and reticence to be anywhere NEAR a confident, functional woman was TRIGGERED BY ENVIRONMENTAL INFLUENCES, the stack of "sickie" books tore at my heartstrings.

I gazed upon them, in silent grief, a lump in my throat, unable to speak:
For most ALL MY LIFE, I'd taken the word of aberrantly traited, incestuous parents and unfaithful, polygamous, narcissistic husbands, and READ EVERYTHING I COULD, to fix that about me that was ALLEGEDLY FLAWED and UNACCEPTABLE.

As Sherry realized I was staring at a pile of something, she examined one or two of the volumes: We KNEW they had to go, and THEY NEEDED NOT to be PASSED ON, to others, who might also fall victim to their cruelty.

While there's no doubt, then, in my mind, that it will take awhile-perhaps many years-to crawl out from under the learned negative behaviors I've so thoroughly and willingly displayed, I don't have to look at my bookshelves, ANY MORE, and believe the lies of the Past.

Sometimes, one NEEDS an opportunity, to REFINE and REDEFINE the Self.

After a long morning of driving around, running errands in torrential rain in a borrowed truck with a leaky cab, I needed a break. As my Brit friend had sent me a now-due package, I was anxious to scurry to the mailbox, in hopes of a sweetly joyful surprise...

In orange, flat, limp, and soaked from bulbuous raindrops, notice of a package I DID NOT WANT stopped me at the roadside.

10 years, Mark and I had tried; He was an insufferable, Holier Than Thou Confirmed Christian Bachelor, 2 years younger than I. Intellectually my equal, with as deep a yearning to have Gods favor as I've EVER had, Mark felt, for many years, like a kindred spirit.

We met on Yahoo Personals, back when it was free--that's how long we knew each other.

Mark was just starting to court me, when, one lazy Saturday morning telephone conversation was interrupted by my screaming; Daughter Emily, then only about 9 months old, had figured out how to crawl out of her crib, and HAD DONE SO, and come toddling, beaming, into my bedroom.

Mark laughed, I cried, and he later showed up to take us out to Pizza Hut to celebrate, and let my Wee One smear sauce ALL OVER EVERYTHING.

Passion-wise, Mark was a Jekyll and Hyde; Wanting, 1 or 3 times a year to "knock a piece off" after church, his guilt about sex while unmarried ravaged him; Erectile Dysfunction tortured him, charmed me with his fragile vulnerability and elicited creativity from me.

In the most recent of years, though, Mark had become sullen, sarcastic and violent. Little Emm, now about to turn 11, mused this past Christmas that he began to change, when his father was diagnosed with Parkinsons, 3 years ago.

2 years ago on this upcoming 24th of September, Mark surprised me: Upset over ANOTHER late electric bill I could not pay, Mark lashed out at me, leaving 5 distinct fingerprint bruises on my left arm, a torn skirt, and a door window broken, when I'd tried to escape his wrath and he'd thrown something my way, as a deterrant.

As I was accustomed to always doing so, I took responsibility for his out of control behavior, and sought him out to make amends for EMOTIONALLY TORTURING HIM, last Thanksgiving.

Sad to say, this April 8, a SECOND similiar incident occurred; After having been told by a neurologist that, apparently, I had NO brain dysfunction and was, in NO WAY, INFERIOR IN INTELLECT OR FUNCTIONING to ANYONE, Mark lashed out again.

5 fingerprint bruises, this time on MY OTHER ARM...but an elbow in my throat knocked me to the ground, and sent me to the hospital, stunned.

In the months since, I've read every Christian book I could find, on Forgiveness. Local ministers have urged me to just "let him go", and accept him, as part of a FUNCTIONING CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY.

Forgiveness and Stupidity do NOT COHABITATE WELL, in me.

This week, as I began to prepare myself to approach law enforcement and file charges (aggravated assault can be filed, for up to as many as 2 years, under some circumstances, in my state), I spoke to my trauma therapist, about contacting Mark by letter, to regain my possessions. Since he had my passport, it was especially important that I get my stuff back.

Apparently and without notice, Mark was thinking along the same lines; The notice in my mailbox was NOT for the beloved spoon ring that my British suitor has sent to me, BUT a DEMAND for my SIGNATURE.

Mark has sent my things back...and HE IS EXPECTING that, WITH A RETURN RECEIPT SIGNATURE, I will INSINUATE that ALL IS FORGIVEN.

Instead, I'm up, now at 2am......and I am sick with diarrhea and vomiting and I KNOW I am NOT YET READY to just let it all go...

Seems I still recall the curve of his hairy bottom...the arch of his soft white foot..the hair on the chest that comforted me so...

and I cannot yet reconcile it with the man who beat me.