Enough already

I am getting mail from people trying to tell me how to get action from AOL.

You know, I like AOL.  I just don't like the ads.

I can't imagine moving to any other server.  The customer service has been OUTSTANDING; a model for other companies.

I left primarily in support of my friends.  I understand the nature of advertising.  Almost everything you see when you open AOL is advertising something, football, movies, recipes, ways of living, cars...

I'd like to come back here.  That's the honest truth.

I also do not CARE if they delete my journal.  Really.  If you have ever read it, you know that I believe in the transient nature of things.

I'm leaving the trail of my life inside the people who have read and been affected by me.  The physical evidence of all people eventually fades.  Think of all of the people throughout history.  Very few names have stayed on our tongues.  Maybe this journal is as close as I ever get to 15 minutes of fame.  Still if we passed in the street, you wouldn't know me... and I am SO okay with that. I am content to be unimportant to the masses.

I have appreciated AOL for the Freedom of Speech it has afforded me.  They have never scolded or censored me.  I got some strange TOS (Terms of Service) message once, but I still have no idea what it was about.

I have made a few suggestions about how to get noticed in our complaint.  Hopefully, they weren't too mean.  I don't think we should resort to viciousness.  I've said it before.  I'd like to be able to come back... with my friends.

I would stand with my friends in a legal complaint.  I would sign my name to a petition... in fact, I'm pretty sure I did so already.

It behooves AOL to give us an ear.  In these days of cold business machines, listening to your customers is still an effective way to promote yourself and your good will. 

I guess I need to welcome suggestions but I really just want a peaceful resolution, no matter what the outcome.

 

My blog is worth $4,516.32.
How much is your blog worth?

Check this out

http://journals.aol.com/journalseditor/magicsmoke/

 

If we can choose not to receive these, then why not allow us to block ads on our journals?

"America Online extends a variety of marketing offers for valuable merchandise that are specially selected for our members.  We've created this area to let you know more about these marketing offers, and to provide you with the option of not receiving such offers, if this is your preference.

Our special relationships with other companies often allow us to offer these products to you at significant discounts. 

Some examples of the types of products include:
  • The newest and fastest modems
  • Digital cameras
  • Scanners
  • Computer software
  • Electronics and more

If you would prefer, you can choose not to receive these marketing offers by telephone, e-mail, U.S. mail, or pop-up screens. To do so, just click on the appropriate button to the right, then follow the instructions provided.  You may choose not to have your name and address included on the mailing lists we provide to other companies, as well as other AOL companies, by clicking on the button labeled "U.S. Mail from Other Organizations".  Please note that from time to time AOL may still contact you to deliver important information about AOL features and services or your account."

AND

"Mail Preference Service

For many people, advertising mail is informative and provides value, convenience and fun.  However, direct marketing companies recognize that some people do not like to receive advertising mail.

If you want to reduce the amount of national advertising mail you receive at home, send your name and address to the Direct Marketing Association's Mail Preference Service (MPS):

DMA Mail Preference Service
P.O. Box 643
Carmel, NY 10512

After a few months, the MPS will reduce the amount of advertising mail you receive.  You will continue to receive mail from companies with which you do business.

Names remain part of the MPS for five years.  After five years, you will need to register with the MPS again.

If you continue to receive unwanted mail after a few months, the Direct Marketing Association suggests that you write directly to the mailer to request that your name be removed from the mailer's list.

Telephone Preference Service

If you want to reduce the amount of national advertising calls you receive at home, send your name, address, area code and telephone number to the Direct Marketing Association's Telephone Preference Service (TPS):

DMA Telephone Preference Service
P.O. Box 1559
Carmel, NY 10512

After a few months, the TPS will reduce the amount of advertising calls you receive from national marketers such as credit card and magazine subscription companies.  Some local organizations and charities may not participate.

Names remain part of the TPS for five years.  After five years, you will need to register with the TPS again.

If you continue to receive unwanted phone calls after a few months, the Direct Marketing Association suggests that you request your name be removed from a company's list when they call."

These two items are from Marketing Preferences in "Privacy and Marketing Settings" within the "Settings" here on AOL.

I'm thinking... I'm thinking...

Ooo, that hurts.

 

 

6540

 

I like this about AOL.  Easy to stick a picture here.

It worked.  Didn't work in Blogger.  (sigh)

 

By the way

Undisputed King of AOL Journalers John Scalzi has links and things regarding the ad banner controversy.

http://journals.aol.com/johnmscalzi/bytheway/

hey folks, take it easy on me, please

My life has been turned sideways since Wilma.  Don't hussle me out of AOL just yet.  I neither have great amounts of leisure time nor of cash to go whippin' around setting myself up with something that doesn't work as well as AOL dial-up.

I concur with my friends and fellow journalers that the ads are unfair, but I'm just getting my life back.  Please... give me a "moment."

The truth of the matter is in your suggestion that it only hurts when we cancel our subscriptions but it is also true that we are replaceable.  In the overall scheme, it just doesn't matter what we do unless we really bring AOL to widespread public notice.

Has anyone called The Washington Post or The New York Times?  The Week?  The Daily Show?

Has anyone whose blog has made headlines called the reporter who wrote their story?

Huh?

You wanna be loud about your protests?  Say it with publicity as well as the withdrawal of subscription funds.

I didn't want to leave AOL, but their failure to enable anyone who wants to leave a comment to do so has been my greatest disappointment, not the placement of ads which may actually serve to keep our costs down over time. 

I am not advocating using what should be personal space to advertise for corporate monsters like Kodak and Bank of America, but you best believe I'd allow it if I could get extra money for food and shelter from it.

I believe we should be allowed to choose and should be given some financial consideration if we allow ads. 

I have been helped much more than hindered by the online help at AOL and I am not in a rush to desert AOL completely.

I am however in complete sympathy with my friends who take great offense at the unsolicited advertising in their journals and that is why I moved my journal to Blogger.  I've had another journal there for quite a while but preferred the camaradery and ease of AOL.

 

More later.  Gotta get back to work....

Jean

 

6520

Solidarity

http://getithereat.blogspot.com/

 

Alas.

The Mad Secretary has left AOL journals in protest of the ad banners on our journals.

Find her at: http://saveasecretaryfrominsanity.blogspot.com/

Hang on

I need to update my journal links for new friends...  I'll get a round tuit.

 I am moving home regardless of the awful water.  I have two offers in my neck o' the woods.  One for shower privileges, the other to stay... but I want my kitty with me.  Her company at lunchtime and the ability to journal/compute at-will are what I have missed.  I will not miss the 11-mile trek that takes half an hour behind slow people and service trucks and vans and folks just toodling down the two-lane highway who seem to have all day... or burning up 132-plus miles of gas-o-line each week.

Those of you who see me on-line will be seeing me more.  Unless the water is unbearable.  This girl 'sa camper

 

 

Never mind removing 'em, I want MONEY!

As for these ad headers, if you're gonna put them on my journal then give me a kickback.  I got bills to pay!

This space reserved.

luscious
turquoise
exotic
digital camera
gold
avocado
lush
plantains
Key West
translucent
contemplative
lavender
squishy
bubbles
painter
hushed
silvery
Paris
gypsy
brushes
mossy green
goddess
vacuum
diaphanous
splashy
spiritual
moonlight
exuberant
London
wet
colorful
meditate
joyful
dusk
artistic
mirror ball
butterflies
perfume
delightful
crows
heart
icon
cerulean blue
sparkling
nautilus
wandering feet
rocks
fuchsia
trees
sunshine
dream traveler
roast beef
ocean
spirited
delightful
exorbitant
jewels
journal
hilarious
foreign currency
sunflowers
cicadas
chocolate
inflection
glittering
sexy new phone
yellow
spattered
witty
shells
confetti
pastel
travel
glorious
handmade
flowing
chortle
lady bug

It's all about: Judi, Judi, Judi!

full of people

That's the gift of my 40th birthday.  I haven't been truly alone all weekend. 

I went to Cristy's Friday night, Saturday after work I picked up Joey and went to Dad's where my sister and brother-in-law were waiting.

We sat down to a lovely dinner and had a nice conversation.

I'm letting Joey get to know me better the hard way.  She doesn't know about my journal... yet.  Joey is a chatty surrogate for my Em, who I hope to see this weekend.  It's nice to have a buddy, but I miss being wrapped in Em's embrace. 

Heck... I miss being held, touched... I might not even be so picky who's doing it.

I took Joey home and I noticed my friend Carlos in the laundry room behind her apartment.  Instead of going to see him, I ran around to Joey's and called her out to meet him, then ran back around with her.

I love Carlos.  He is so sweet.  He was a journalist in Columbia.  Here he teaches Spanish to International Baccalaureate students and also works for a metropolitan newspaper.

He was relating his difficulties finding love, telling us about going to Miami and Orlando.  Joey told him to stop. I don't know if he really listened.

Last year at the PrideFest in Palm Beach County, he told my friend Lisa and I that he wished he was a lesbian.  Men aren't interested in settling down.  And he is a cute little package but fellows in this area just aren't interested in him.

Poor Carlos.  He should have been a woman. He's so sweet. 

This morning I got a note from a sweet friend with a simple but wonderful birthday message.  At my age, aside from clothes and useful gifts, just being reminded that I am loved is the greatest gift there is.

And I said Hi via IM to Judi Heartsong before she jetted off on her morning mission.  You know,  Judi...  the way you build our suspense... it's just wicked!

"What is she up to now?"

Well, I didn't ask but you know she's aflutter. 

 

I can't help thinking that it was just a few days from today this time last year that I got dumped.  Though it doesn't hurt anymore and the only time I remember her is when I realize I'm not thinking about her, I can't help remembering the events of the day and the feelings I had.

I have been grateful to know she is smiling now.  That really helped me relax.  It was what I needed because her face was so long and tragic the last time I saw it.  It broke my heart... and then she called and broke my heart.  My legs became lead and I would have given anything to have a bench right there where I stood (in a public place) when she told me over the phone that she needed to end our relationship.

Now I'm glad.  I'm naive.  I am glad that she turned me loose.  She cared about me, but she didn't love me.  She had so much going on.  I would have stood by her all the way.  That's okay. It taught me some things and helped me realize some truths in my life.

I wish we were talking today.  I would thank her for my freedom. 

Okay, enough from my stream of consciousness this morning.  I think I'm going back to sleep....

Connecting

There is a married couple that comes to the library often. They are "high-functioning developmentally-disabled" people. For those who don't comprehend PC speak(politically correct jargon), they are "mildly retarded."

The woman always takes out movies about "retarded" people, autistic people, "differently-abled" children. She does this so much that her husband once came alone, begging us to take away her library privilege. She was driving him crazy with her movies. He was fighting tears as I told him that I was not able to cancel the card.

I know how she feels. Less so now than when I was young, but I felt so alone as a young gay in a rural environment, in a large school and among my peers and family. I needed something to show me that I was not alone. I needed to know what to do and words to put with my feelings.

If you are anything other than a generic "white bread" American, and it is my contention that everybody is a part of some other group, then you have a need to find belonging. Trekkies. Bowlers. Fishermen. Nudists. Wine drinkers. Whatever!

That woman is looking for a connection. She gets little bursts of the feelings that she craves when the characters in her movies are happy and triumphant. She seeks to understand herself through them. She looks for what helps them succeed.

I know this because I used to do little else but seek solace from my isolation. More than anything, I wanted to belong and be loved for my true self. I found books about lesbians in catalogs. I got the Ladyslipper Music catalog (but I couldn't afford music.) When we got cable, I would try to watch anything that came along that even hinted of the Sapphic.

Things have changed a lot. When I told my Dad that I was not coming home until late on Tuesday, he sat upright and turned to me excitedly. "You're going out?!" he was smiling. "You should have a life!"

In the days when I stayed home with Mom, we never spoke of my sexuality, preference, needs. Now... my girlfriends come over to meet the family and are welcomed.   My father wants to see me dating and having love in my life.

When I first told him I was gay at 19, he said he'd be disappointed.  Now he knows it wasn't a phase.

Isn't it funny how things turn out? Nothing like what I expected when I was young. I thought I'd marry and make babies and be fulfilled as this wonderful wife. Hmph.

Turns out that I am messy and don't cook (although I can and I have and no one has died from my cooking), I'm not heterosexual, have only felt slight pangs of regret for not breeding and I need a man like I need a sucking chest wound.

The woman sits at the card catalog computer and searches and searches for something, anything. She has two interests.  Animals and "special" people. When she doesn't find something new, she puts a hold on something old and takes it out again.

The library is full of people looking to be part of something.  I guess you could say the world is. 

"Sweet dreams are made of this.

Who am I to disagree?

Travel the world and the seven seas.

Everybody's looking for something." -- Eurythmics

finding journal moments

Thank you, mad secretary.  Your encouragement means a great deal.  I was thinking today, when I had time to think about something, about what the journal means to me.

I am anxious to get back to my own living space... not just because it is cleaner and less cluttered now but because it affords me the convenience of journaling whenever I bloody well want to and I don't have to steal the time at work to religiously read Judi's almost daily installment.

It's hard to be clear about what you mean to say when you are trying to type around 4 in the morning because that's when you are the least likely to interfere with everyone else's needs.  I've lost at least two and probably more entries that I was working on because I fell back asleep.

At least when I fall asleep with the computer on at my house, it doesn't matter because it only affects me.

It's close to 11 now and Dad is on his computer and watching TV in the office, my step-mom is in the Florida room watching TV, my step-brother is in his room next door and the bass of his stereo is pounding, about as lightly as it can, through the wall.

Back at my house, a single fan is pushing air from east to west and the light timer has clicked off.  It's quiet, unless a train is humming through town.  And there are more stars visible overhead.

The night after Hurricane Wilma passed, the city sky was clear and bright from sun bounced off of stars.  I was glad that the dogs stirred to be let outside in the early hours.  I would have missed the sight.

I am anxious to go home.  I want my cat to have the freedom of the whole house and the luxury of her sunny spot by one of the front windows.

The garbage men come today.  I am waiting to see how much they take away.

I hope someone comes and puts in my water system soon.  I've been here at Dad's quite a while. No one seems to mind... it's not like I'm here most of the time.  And they seem to be enjoying having my cat playing upstairs during the day.  She likes to visit my step-brother when he's on his computer and hops onto the sink when my Dad is in his bathroom.

Chances are good that my step-mom lets her onto the screened balcony as well.

But I need to go "home."  Well, heck, I'm paying full rent....

6391/2

moving on or staying still

So I schlepped to the interview. I wasn't nervous... until I sat down before the interviewers.

When questioned I answered off the top of my head.  I spoke fast.  I sometimes stopped myself I was talking so much and asked them... "What was the question?"

Gawd, I dunno.  I want this job.  If I don't get it, I will be no worse off but I won't be any better off and I will dispair.  I will have a renewed interest in trying to find a life again.

My life is good but it can be better.  I need benefits and I sure as hell am not going to get them staying in one place.  I also have a hope of continuing my education but I have put it on hold for so long that it seems like a distant and fading dream.

All I can do know is pray and quite literally, I have been praying.

My hope is that I am the last person they interviewed.  The last on stage is always thought to be the best.

I don't know if I sold myself enough.  The final question was why are you the best person for the job.  Oi.  I gave them my virtues but I should have said more.  I'm older and more experienced than younger people who are applying.  I'm sharper and more energetic than older people who are applying.

I certainly believe that I have what they need but what if I'm not what they envision.   What if I didn't smile enough or look them in the eyes often enough.

I imagine myself to be suffering now. If I miss this, I really should reduce my hours and use the time to search for work elsewhere.

I need to be vital to my workplace and I am at the branch library.  I perform functions you'd never expect.  I WD-40 the bookdrop lock mechanism, I remove creatures from the premises interior,  I boost morale, I am kick-ass at customer service, not hiring me would be... regrettable.

Still, I cannot hold me breathe but I need change.  I need to be human and get time off and paid vacation and all the lovely human things that we all deserve.

I can't stand be adulated but not compensated fairly much longer.

Breaking the cycle of BIBLIOPHILIA

It isn't easy and most people who love and collect books and practically worship them will be shocked, dismayed and disgusted with me.  Verily, I might find myself shunned. 

Yesterday, I threw away books.  Some of them were starting to smell.  Some had pages that were starting to brown.  Some of them were perfectly good "gently used" books that are fairly current.

I know there are those of you with shelves and shelves of musty volumes and those with dustless tomes.  My own father has a collection of thousands of books that date back to the 1920s.  There browning pages sit on shelves my step-mother had built into the garage when he refused to let them go.  He thinks he'll read them again. 

As if. 

He's 75 and he still works full time.  It's much more likely that he will drop dead at his computer.

When he dies, we'll get a dumpster.  Some of the volumes are rare, it's true.  But the rarest book in poor condition really isn't good to anyone.

As long as libraries have books, as long as there are libraries, as long as I have a library card, there's no reason to keep 90 percent of the books that I own.  I do have nature books for reference.  But it's even time to buy a new dictionary.  They've come up with new words since I was in college, "fer shizzle."

I know you're out there.  I can hear you sniffling from the book dust.  (It's the excretia of the mites that love book dust that makes your sinuses tickle.) 

I know it's hard.  You were taught reverence for the written word.  You were taught to handle books with honor. That's a good thing.

Lugging tons of them with you through your life, letting them sit idle, being selfish with them... that's not.

I looked at the pile on my porch.  Worth less than $50 in a library book sale.  Our library is overburdened with donated books and other items.  There is no room left.  Every available space is full.

I did something startling.  Cristy and I put them in bags and I put them out on the curb.

Librarians won't tell you, but your musty donations go into the dumpster.   Get yourself free.  Save them the trip.  

 

6366

I'd rather be sleeping.

The thought of wrinkled clothes and angst has had me awake for a while now.  I slipped downstairs to move clothes from washer to dryer about an hour ago.  I have an interview Monday.  I don't expect to get the job.  I'm not on the "A" List of library folk.  It sure takes the pressure off.  It makes it easier to look in other places for work, but the truth is that I love the library. I love finding things out and I love helping people get information and entertainment.

I guess that makes me sort of a reporter/concierge by avocation.  The difference between working in a library and reporting is that I don't have to write about what I find out.

As for the angst, my buddy Cristy is coming over to my place on Sunday and she's going to help me rid myself of the weighty collection of ridiculous things I am burdened with.

I already feel the pain of tossing away memories and yet...  I'm ready.  I have so much stuff that there's no room for people.

You know what?  I want people.  I don't need boxes of stuff that I can't see and don't use.

I go into other people's homes and see how simply they live without a great burden of things.  They have places to sit.  What a concept!

I hope that Cristy will be gentle with me.  I am anxious to be freer.  If I could pack my life into my car...  WOW.  But let's be serious.  My clothes, kitchen and cat would be crammed into my little Saturn.  Toolbox.  Bicycle.  Camping gear.

I am visualizing turning my head, nodding consent to throwing things out, waving them away, even bagging them myself.

I bought masking tape so that the bags can be labelled for the trashpickers.  I don't want to have to clean up bags that have been torn into before the garbage truck comes.  I don't wanna see that stuff.  I'm hoping the label "sheets" will inspire "recyclers" to just take the whole bag rather than make ne clean it up.

They really grabbed every bit of the immense staghorn fern that my landlord pushed to the street.  I was going to cut a few pieces the next day after mentioning it to friends, but when I went to the house the next day to harvest some "puppies" (as my neighbor calls them) the entire plant was gone. 

How can I tell you how big the plant was?  I think it would have barely fit inside my little car if the seats were removed and would have weighed about as much as two grown men.  That sucker was BIG.

The poor thing was not unlike a piece of bread tossed to fish, with people tugging at it until it finally disappeared.

My neighbor hacked three "puppies" off with his machete for me.  One for my step-mom, one for my sister and one for old times sake that I put back up in the tree.

I wish I'd taken two more for my friends, but I suppose they'll live.

I have so many people on my mind.  I hung up on Mo last night because Em FINALLY picked up her phone.  I just said "Call me back!" only moments after she identified herself and hung up on her.  Mo, I'm so sorry!!!

I should have let my house phone ring but I was calling Em on a cell phone and was expecting a message instead of a voice.  I was sooo raised by wolves.  Wolves?  Heck... monkeys.

I need to not be worn out on Monday.  That's why I washed clothes at 4 a.m.  I need to make good use of time.  I need to be rested, crisp, nicely dressed, shiny.

They probably already know who they want for the job of rectifying library card accounts and retrieving inter-library loans.  But at least this time, I'm actually getting an interview.  None of this denial of an interview (for a full-time position doing actually LESS than what I have been doing for four years) due to "lack of training." (What a crock!) 

I'm over trying to find justice on that.

Here's over two hours flown by.  No point to trying to sleep now.

6345

little misunderstandings

About a year or so ago, after Hurricane Frances, I worked with another woman of my "persuasion" from the library who was also helping out FEMA reps.  I hadn't really known her before then, but I liked her right off and she appreciated my sense of humor.

I later found out that she was gay and that explained why we got along so well.  The few minutes we chatted were filled with fun.

One day, she came to this branch to help us for the day.  We chatted as we worked the desk together.  She told me about her girlfriend.  I enjoyed her presence.  She's a good person.  We have mutual friends.

She was feeling sick that day and was stuffy in the head.  At the end of the day, I wanted to reassure her after all she had revealed to me that I was the only one who knew about her life.  In the parking lot as we prepared to leave, I leaned across my car and told her that her life was not a matter of public record.

She looked at me angrily and stated, "I don't care!"  She got in her vehicle and drove off.  It took me a few moments to realize that she hadn't heard me right.

A little while later she left the library system.  I never got the chance to explain and apologize.  I even wrote her a note that I was going to ask another co-worker to deliver and even tried to catch her via e-mail. 

She probably still thinks I'm an ass.  I have always felt bad about it because she could have been a great friend.  I hadn't gotten along with anyone so instantly and so well since college.

I miss a friend I never had.  Que lastima! (What a shame!)

 

time capsule on-line

No foolin'

Send yourself a message in 3, 5, 10 or 20 years!

(I don't make this stuff up.)

http://forbes.codefix.net/capsule/

A response to the previous entry from a very good friend.

Ahoy, Jean!

Once again, AOL says you don't want me posting to your journal. So,
after several failed attempts to please the AOL gods, I submit this
to you via email.

*******************************
Y'know, sometimes reading you is difficult, because I often closely
identify with where you're at and how you're feeling. This is one of
those sometimes. A cringe-inducing sometime.

My own ribs tightened up reading about your ties to your stuff and the
feelings, memories, it represents. More stuff and things than any one
person ever needs to have, hauled around one place to the next, but I
felt I couldn't let it go. To me, the letting it go was tantamount to
trucking Mom, my grandparents, certain old loves out to the landfill. I
discovered that I had kept nearly every bit of correspondence, no
matter how inane, in addition to the usual cargo of clothes and
ornaments, books and photos, ancient bedding and dusty tools. Things I
never used, never read, never brought into the light of day. But
their physical presence enabled me (I thought) to maintain my slipping
memories. The memories might fail, but the love never does.

It took the better part of a summer, going through these things. Most
of them were jettisoned: donated to the library yard sale, given to
Goodwill, passed out to friends or just tossed. Difficult though it
was - there was a lot of remembrance, explanation, anecdotes, tall
tales
and bleary-eyed snuffling - I felt liberated when the last empty box
was shredded. I kept a few select doo dads, but unless the item in
question has usable life (like Grandpa's tools, which I use nearly
every day now that I have them out of storage), I chose to let the
stuff go. It was a wonderfully freeing experience, right up until my
brother left his abusive marriage and passed on all the family stuff he
had in his house back to me. *sigh* Now the cellar is full of furniture
and boxes again, all of which need to be sorted through. I don't dread
it this time, because when I tossed through the last load, I never lost
the love.

You wrote: "What am I missing?  I'm not rich or into dress up, but I
have what I need and a bit to share.  Where do I fail?"

You're missing nothing. You're bright - scary bright - funny,
sensitive, considerate, generous of both heart and spirit, aware of
both self and others. If you fail at all, my friend, it is in selling
yourself short, settling for will-do instead of demanding your due.
That so-and-so doesn't respond to your entreaties; that whomeverthehell
manipulates your feelings to keep you handy for feeding her ego; that
whassherface merely uses you at her convenience does not reflect
anything wrong with you, Jean. That's them. Their bullshit. Their
behavior. All of us have enough baggage of our own without readily
volunteering to porter that of our would-be lovers.

You're nobody's bell hop, babe. Not even for the people whose stuff
you're still carting around. Believe it.

Unity87

40 on the 12

The electricity is back on at my home.  I am still staying at my parent's for a little while longer at least.

I am taking advantage of the emptiness of the place to clean it as much as I am able.  The clutter has got to go, and it's very difficult to get rid of things even though I have no use for them.

I'm entitled to keep a few things, but it is ridiculous and counter-productive to keep everything.  I've just been burdened with the things of my family's past lives.  I'm ready to have less so that I am more ready to move about with a great burden of things.

I want someone else to help me release things that I know I don't need.

I collected stamps as a kid. My collection is probably worth a little over $500.

I have a few model cars.  No one knows about that fascination of mine (until now), but the rule is that I have to be totally taken with the car, that's why I only have a few.  Is it very valuable?  No. 

And then my boxes are full of doo-dads and knick-knacks and Christmas ornaments and books and all kinds of stuff.

I don't have the time for a yard sale, and the truth is I don't have the patience for people pawing through things in my front yard, either.  Half this town knows me from the library, I don't need some of them knowing where I live!

I'm the only one hanging on to the memories the things represent.  That's probably because I am by myself.  I no longer find much comfort in my mother's dress or ornaments my grandmother made.  My memories are empty and my new ones are sketchy because they go largely unshared.

Writing that was like having someone drag their nails across my heart.  Em seems to be blowing me off.  I don't understand how people who seem to have strong principles, intelligence and profess to care for people can just decide to not respond to phone calls, e-mails.

I realize that Hurricane Wilma did a lot of damage and things are still messed up in South Florida, but I know that Em's voicemail was full and now it's not. 

I care for and trust people and they suddenly decide to just cut me off.  It makes me wonder what is so bad about me?  They want me in their beds, but not in their lives.  What am I doing wrong???

Talking with Cristy gives me some insight.

I didn't give Vicki space she needed.  I know that.  She would have dumped me anyway because she changed her mind about loving me.  I acted badly because I was so hurt and so confused and so worried about her.  Communication was bad there.

Em is sweet and funny and smart.  I loved the way we fit together when we hugged.  I loved the way she teased me.  But she has a lot of physical problems and a lot of emotional stress.  I thought having me in her life was good for her.  "You're always there for me," she said.  That hasn't changed.

I do understand though... she has children and they have major issues.  I can understand her needing to put us aside. 

I can't understand no communication whatsoever from a woman who used to call and talk to me for hours.

Alas.

Somewhere out there, there has got to be a woman who is smart, patient, free and willing to love and be loved.  Communication is something you work on together.

Maybe it's my destiny to be alone.  I'm really starting to mind being alone.  I didn't use to get lonely.  I'm lonely. 

I've had the wonderful feeling of someone who I thought loved me sleeping with her head on my heart.

I've helped lovers feel good about themselves.  I helped two of them quit smoking for good (thus far, anyway.)

I'm willing to share all that I am and all that I have and anything else that comes along.

Okay, yes... I've been alone a long time and might take some time adapting to togetherness, but I can do it.  I'm willing to accept that I am or can be self-centered.  Who isn't, really?

What am I missing?  I'm not rich or into dress up, but I have what I need and a bit to share.  Where do I fail?

I wish these women who blow me off had the gumption and the kindness to tell me.

 

 

I know a lot of my journal seems like whining but I'm just laying out what I feel.  I don't think that's wrong.

 

 

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