Row Row Row Your Boat

I owe some writing, eh?
Suffice it to say that I've been excruciatingly busy, the kind of busy where it's not even fun anymore because whenever I have a minute to myself there's something not getting done and I know it.
Which naturally leads to emotional break-down along the lines of uncontrollable tears and general hysterics best kept confined to my couch.

So, I did that this weekend and it.... sucked.
It's just not fulfilling anymore, the way it used to be, to have a tantrum.

Why do it?
It's relatively beyond my control.
I have to admit that I tantrum out a hell of a lot less than I used to and that, at least now, I know that there are really valid reasons like the stress of incredibly high expectations and the onslaught of Tucson's oppressive summer heat whereas in the past, the reasons may have been more like, "That cat food commercial was REALLY sad! Oh GOD I HATE my LIFE"

I don't hate my life.

But I definitely struggle, still.
I am a woman of emotion. It drives me. I feel things rather than see or hear them. Words, when spoken to me or written to me, trigger my empathetic nature and can pull me around a bend I never ever knew was in the creek.

That said, I am trying to not worry when those quick entries to unexpected rapids happen.

Now, THAT said, I'm not doing so great with it.

Especially in relationships.

I realize that I used to be much more of an brazen idiot. While a lot of the bravado was alcohol-induced, it worked and I met a lot of great people and had a lot of really cool relationships.

These days, I am so much more protective than I ever knew I could be and I am so much more hesitant to rock any boats that I think might be a little fragile.

The bummer is that, in not wanting to do the boat rocking, I'm probably so much dead weight that the ship is sinking. Fast.

In my relationship, it is half past get up-off-your-ass o'clock and high time to go over there, tell him how I feel, make him sweat it out and define what this thing is that we've been up to sort of a little bit for the last three+ months.

And all I do is sit by the phone, or send witty emails that I hope express my sincere desire to marry him, have adorably short dark children, and make him a good home.

Word, right?
Want someone needy?
I know.
It's fucked up.

But I do.
I've never felt this way about someone, ever.

And that has been a remarkably hard thing for me to admit since for all of my life, I have been the owner of the arm that others are not surprised to see waving in the air, waiting to be called upon to say something uncomfortable.

Saying uncomfortable things is what I DO, for god's sake. Sometimes I do it badly. Sometimes I do it eloquently. Sometimes I lose friends over it and totally, totally get misunderstood. Sometimes, I deserve the reaction to what I have to say.

But never, NEVER am I afraid to say what I want to say to someone.

Until right now.
And given the current climate, I am simply terrified to say things to him.

I have been explicitly advised by the object of my intention that he feels.... ummmm.... a lack of confidence around me.


Now, this can be a lot of things but the two front runners are:
1. I am so intimidatingly gorgeous, so wicked smart, and so utterly charming that I stopped his male ego in its tracks.
2. Or, more likely, that I have been stuttering for so long and stumbling around contrary to my nature that it's projected onto him in an unfortunately emasculating way.

What's a girl to do?

The only thing I can really think of, right or wrong, is to drop by relatively unannounced and start talking.

This thing needs definition.
It needs boundaries and face time and more kisses.

And it needs it soon because to let these things keep going on half-assedly is to go ahead and heave ho the whole thing.

I am not ready to do that, I guess.
I thought this weekend that maybe I was ready, that I had to be ready because I wasn't going to have a choice.

The only way I wouldn't have a choice is if I continue to sit around in my duff and continue to not be the full force of personality that I am.

I intimidate him.

But I know in my gut that if I just took hold of the oars, I would be a lot less intimidating and that this whole thing?

Might not sink after all.

Wish me luck because for some inexplicable reason, to me anyway, this is fucking haaaaaard.

Also, I got a big tattoo Saturday.
On my back.
In honor of my dad.

I had to close that book.
It says, "Ex Libris REW" and has a star.

Look it up; you'll know it's perfect.

arizonasarah at 2:24 p.m.

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