Mutual Insurance (Kipling)

After two months he sends you a text, "I didn't know if you wanted to catch up this week?" You are curious. You say sure. You meet for coffee.

He is the same - a conundrum, an enigma. His features are classically, carefully drawn, beautiful instead of handsome - dark hair contrasting with a light complexion - he has strong shoulders, narrow hips and long, elegant fingers. His skin is taut over his cheekbones, jaw line, and aquiline nose, the ivory color only slightly, barely more pink on his cheeks. His full lips rest equidistant between a smile and a frown. But his eyes, the color of smoke haze in a blue sky, are not windows into his soul; instead they dart around, rest on the middle distance - he avoids your seeking gaze. His movements belie the refinement of his physical being, he slouches, he is bumbling – he accidentally knocks the spoon against his coffee cup with a clang and drops his napkin on the floor. When he speaks it is in starts and fits with long pauses between. He doesn't explain what happened. What changed. Just that he's missed you. That he thought about you every day. As you leave the coffee shop, both of you bundled in a heavy wool coat, knit cap, scarf, he nervously rubs your arm and then wraps you in a long sigh of a hug. He kisses the side of your head, your hair. Can he feel your heart beat through the layers?

That is all it takes.

Back to the Future (Kipling)

One of the difficult parts, perhaps even the most difficult for me, is the losing of the future you, as much as the losing of the person you are now. It's the knowing that the future you will not be coming for dinner this Sunday, or the next, or any other Sunday ever. The future you will not be setting up the game after, and reading out loud, with chuckles, the rules. The future you will not be cradling my head under your arm while the future me falls predictably asleep, during the movie. The future you will then not ensure the future me wakes back up to brush my future teeth. 

I will not know the smell of your future hair and the feel of your future breath on my neck while the future us sleep. There will be no future us sleeping. Only the future me, and the future you, in separate places. Apart. 

I will not know the topics of conversation that the future you will patter on about, as the future me drives through traffic, in a spring rain, or a cool fall day. The future me will not know the address where to take the future you or where to pick you up or have a key that fits the lock there. 

I will not be privy to the politics, opinions and humor of the future you. 

Trivial Pursuit (Joce)

I’m deep in the September sads. This month always makes me melancholy: the promise of a coming fall, imminent winter, inevitable inversion and long, dark days. It is the opposite of spring – lush, living things dry up and blow away, stone fruits drop and rot into sweet brown mush in the lawn, those things I said I’d do in June, remain undone. I didn’t work on my book. I didn’t lose 30 lbs. My summer fling has flung. The sweaty fervor and electric heat of summer wanes and my hopes go into hibernation.

There are babies being born, weddings on the docket, but there’s nothing in my small, quiet life that warrants a celebration. Like a squirrel, my sister says, I’m just puttering around, putting food away for winter.  I find myself more resistant, more cautious, less willing in fall. Which means it’s going to be a long, and lonely winter.

The Dead Horse Rising (Avery, Ben, Clinton, Jackson, Malik)

From Joce’s  The Art of Dreams Diary, 1994/1995

Army
Lined up like a picture,
my 5-man army boys,
wearing different armor,
lined up, like tin toys.

Looking proud and self-assured,
he winks and spouts a lying word.
Avery is a loving fool,
but sweet and innocent and cruel.

And gentle Ben, his grace well-known,
he wears a smile, angel-sewn.
In the humblest of attire,
A warmth and presence we admire.

Broken-hearted and anxious-eyed,
Clinton’s wishes are denied.
Confusion clutters up his soul,
while life's great chances take their toll.

Jackson, Jackson, with wicked heart,
he builds you up, then takes you apart,
Cheshire in his every way,
he sneaks up, scares, and flies away.

Malik great and Malik tall,
lets you see behind his wall,
then rebuilds it, brick by brick,
reminding you he’s Satan’s trick.

Raiders of the Lost Art (Joce)

From Joce's journal, Aug. 8, 2005

Wanted: dead or alive. Preferably alive.

So how come, in a town with 38,000 people more or less my same age, half of whom we can assume are male, is it so freaking hard to meet anyone? I mean, I had waaaay better luck in my po-dunk little home town. Is it because I'm getting pickier, or compared to all the little short skirted hootchies I'm less appealing to the hot-blooded man?

My mother says that when you want something, you have to state very specifically, out loud, what it is you want. Something about putting it out into the world will bring it back to you. Then, when the boomerang comes your way, you have to be open to receive. So, I'm gonna put it out into the world.

Wanted: Darling boy between the ages of 24 and 34. 6 feet tall +, with muscles from working like a man not from being all vain and working out at the gym 5 days a week. Educated, with at least and undergrad and preferably graduate degree. Not obsessed with some trivial, absurd aspect of pop culture, like the Smurfs or Star Wars. Well-read, but if not well-read, than at least, read. And something other than comic books. Animal lover, though no cats because I don't want to have an asthmatic attack when making out on your couch. And you'd better HAVE a couch, or at the very least, a love seat (riiighht?), or a chair big enough for you and me both. Must like to dress up at Halloween and/or any other day of the week when costumes might be called for. No vegetarians or vegans. I'm a very good cook, but this ain't no short-order house. No alcoholics or drug addicts. I like beer, wine and cocktails but I don't want to have to hide them from you when you come on a my house, a my house a come on. If you're totally obsessed with porn and you'd rather jack off into a sock in front of the t.v. than have sex with me, move ON. Been there, done that, and it was real dumb. One word, HUMOR. You must have it, and appreciate it in others. I will tease you recklessly, but it's meant in the nicest possible way, so you gotta be able to take it. Must not be poor, you should be able to take me out to dinner once in awhile and I do like to go to movies and the theaataaa. Must like art and appreciate that I may stay up too late painting when you'd rather just crash. Extra points for piercings, tattoos, brooding glares and big, strong hands. Bad kissers need not apply.

Yes, I realize it's a lot to ask, and I don't mean it to seem unreasonable. I think you'd find that I'm quite forgiving and understanding and willing to compromise on just about anything. As long as I'm being honored with the same respect. In return for all that this Mr. Man has to offer, he will find I am a devoted, fun, sassy, cheeky 'lil redhead with a heart of gold. A bit of a spitfire that can totally pull her own weight. I'm ambitious but not obnoxiously so. I can cook, clean, and keep house like a mutha fucka. I'm crafty and can sew. I can drink like a fish and smoke like a chimney, but only when the occassion calls for it. I can be loud and crazy but also very subdued and introspective. I will spoil you rotten and treat you better than you ever thought you deserved. Soooo, I'm pretty much perfect (according to my mother, and who am I to argue with that)?

Okay boomerang, ready, set, GO!

Goldfish in a bag (Joce)

From Joce's journal, June 8, 2005

I think they could make a sitcom out of my recent love life experiences. Todays episode would be the one in which a guy who I gave my phone number to, after a flirty conversation in a coffee shop, calls me in the morning while I'm still lying in bed. We have a friendly chat for about 10 minutes and I get my hopes up that he might actually ask me out for this evening, being Saturday and all. And then I get a funny vibe. He seems to be steering the conversation in a direction that is a little too familiar. He asks me how I would describe my sense of style and then wants to know what I'm wearing...he wants to see how "comfortable" I can be with him. I keep chatting because I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, he can't possibly be doing what I think he is doing. It's just too creepy. Keep in mind I've only met this guy once...and this is the first real conversation we've ever had. I change the subject...how many siblings does he have? One sister, named Christy. Where is he originally from? Chicago. Where did he go to college? Notre Dame. He says likes the sound of my voice, and he thinks I'm cute. Then he asks me how many guys I've had sex with. Uh, none of your business. I stall and skirt the issue. You're kidding, right? I finally hang up when he asks me if I masturbate.

Thanks, asshole. Call me on a Saturday morning and expect me to have phone sex with you. Do I look like the kind of girl that has phone sex with a stranger? Do you come here often? Does this strategy really work for you, did you think it would really work for you with me?

Do you ever feel embarrased even when you technically didn't do anything wrong? I do. Today, for instance, when some pervert that I mistook for a nice, cute guy wanted me to prostitute myself to him over the phone.  He probably would have gotten a lot further, maybe even real sex, if he pursued me in a slightly more traditional way, say, I don't know, taking me out to dinner on a Saturday night!

The longest lonesome

From Joce's Quillmark Journal, 6th grade

March 18, 1989

It’s been a long time since I have written because I just got too busy to write. Too lonely. I feel like sleeping, dreaming, crying and being sad. I don’t know why. I want to paint my feelings but not good with paintbrush.

March 20, 1989

I think I’m eccentric. I love weird art like Picasso and big earrings, radical outfits, writing in diaries. I’m like two people I’ve got a wild side that likes wacko things like Big and Bold colors and black lace and leather. But my other side likes country living.

March 27, 1989

Yesterday I got my hair cut shoulder length. It used to hang all the way past my waist.

Fargo (puppy) died last Thursday. He drowned in the well.

April 23, 1989

I don’t know what I’ll do if any more happens. Life, I guess is like a shirt. It is new and fresh and no wrinkles or stains but soon it wears out and is torn and dirty and then thrown away. What shall I do? Things bother me so much. I’m starting to do bad and might even get a C-. Mom says I never smile and I know I don’t. I need a good friend to talk to. I feel like a doll sitting on a shelf not being able to take part in my own life. Waiting for spiderwebs. I guess it’s what you call lonesome.

P.S. got perm today 

To the moon, Alice! (You, Joce, Conover)

Dear Ones,

Last night the wind whipped like demons and rattled the trees like “plastic for Halloween” bones. There was an exorcism of the environment and I think, perhaps, it hailed. Winds of change? Here’s hoping. I think I’ve mentioned it before, but I’m not much of a sleeper, and when I’m not sleeping, I’m thinking. Last night, as I often do, I was thinking of you and this place. There are a few stories that are itching the tips of my fingers. A new quiz. And perhaps a musical interlude. But first…

I have a lot to say to you, but the thing is, I’m really busy with other stuff, including a new job, plus my old job, and planning a big bash for my 35^th, and being an insomniac, obviously, so you’ve taken a well-worn back seat. Plus, I haven’t been on a “date” (see below*) since January and I’m taking a break, I don’t know for how long, hopefully at least months, because dating is the pits. See The Big Book of Bad Dates.

And when I come back, you might notice some changes. In fact, you might have already noticed some changes. I have yet to finish Part II of this posting but one of the things I’d like to talk about is that I have known many, many wonderful men. Some of them I loved and some of them loved me back. I have not lived a loveless life and sometimes when I read back over my blog it feels like that is how I’ve been portraying the whole shebang. So, I’d like to talk about some of the good ones, the “best men,” if you will. The other thing is that I’ve managed to pigeonhole myself into only talking about one topic: dating, and I think I have other things to say about other things. So, because I’m taking a sabbatical from dating, maybe you’ll indulge me a few postings about my other interests.

So hang in there, kiddo. I’m still here. And I’ll be back.

Luv u 4-evah,

Joce

* Short story short, as often happens, there was an ill-advised re-rendezvous with a bad date. 

The Best Man, Part IV (Murat)

From Joce’s Moleskine journal, age 27

November, 2004

Murat, the bio-energy healer came to the house this afternoon. He is a very slight Turkish man and he has energy from God in his hands. He diagnosed all my problems: he said I have allergies (to bright light, pollen, smog, smoke and heat), chronic bronchitis or fluid often in my lungs, I have a genetically weak nervous system that is extremely sensitive. Joint problems (plaque between the bones) in my back, lower back and legs (aches and cramps) and arms. All over I have muscle aches. I take negative energy from crowds and it gives me a headache. I am very sensitive and my soul gets depressed. My kidneys are very tired. I get tired easily and cold and hot very easily.

He stood on my upper legs while I laid down on the floor and pressed his feet into my back. He moved my arms and pressed the side of my head with his fingers. He held his hand over my forehead so I could feel the heat from his hands. I took very, very much energy from him and it will take 2 more times before I will be healed. After he finished I felt so relaxed and positive. He was drained!

When's it Going to Stop? (Joce)

From Joce's Quillmark Journal, 6th grade

March 7, 1989

This weekend was great on Friday I went to Janice’s house and we went bowling. It was great. I won second the first game but I got last on the other game. We opened presents and I got this really great stuffed bunny, he’s grey. I named him Walter. I like Billy Ralston too (a little). He’s got a good sense of humor and he’s fairly cute. His sisters great. The only problem with Bobby is that he hates me!!! He told me today I was ugly. I asked him if he wanted me to get a face lift (it was a joke). After that he said not even a face lift would help my face!!! My heart was broken. Billy’s skin is perfect not one pimple his hair is sort of long and it curls under so he sort of looks like a little boy. He’s shorter than me, about 4’8”, I’m 5 feet (life’s a bitch). My sister has had two boyfriends, I know because I read her diary. I’ve only had one and I still love him, Joey. I hear now he’s got another girlfriend and I suppose she’s very pretty. I heard from Sharon that he’s already French kissed her. I almost cried. He doesn’t know that I still love him. I think I might write sometime but I’d feel like a fool.

Dec. 18, 1989

Drug wars, divorces, earthquakes, pollution, when’s it going to stop? I confronted Dad about it he said he’d be glad to switch from Styrofoam to paper – someday! What is it with people! Well, I want a typewriter for Christmas so I won’t have to write my life in a pocket sized book anymore.

Jan. 8, 1990

I didn’t get a typewriter for Christmas it was a big dissapointment. 

5th Grade, 4th Grade

Sunshine on My Shoulders (Joce)

From Joce’s Quillmark Journal, 5^th grade

5/31/88

Dear Diary,

I often wonder about my class, my friends, and my teachers. Sometimes I cry because I know I’ll never see my friends again after I move. I’ll miss Andy’s jokes and clown acting and Peter’s rude remarks. Tara’s tomboyishness that I wish I could be like. Sharon’s high flying bangs and Erika’s feelings about me she always told me I was great and made me feel strong. John’s niceness to accept me as a friend. Aaron’s rock collection of rocks that anybody would wish to have. Brandy who always made me laugh and most of all Joey who danced with me at the dance even though he made fun of me a lot. Peter and Aaron my art buddies making me smile on a rainy day when I was like the grey sky and not sunshiney. And then there were people like Nathan who is just there to remind me always to be happy because he usually is even though I haven’t known him very long he’s still a good friend in my point of view.

I would only like one thing that is to be remembered by everybody in a good way. And to be everybody’s friend.

Joce

4th Grade

Bad Dates, A Beginning (Joce)

From Joce’s Ramona Quimby  “Fill in the Blank Diary”, 4^th Grade

I have brown colored hair

And green colored eyes

I am 4 feet and 4 inches tall

FEBRUARY

The nicest person in my class is Joey

I like him/her because He loves me were going out

Glue or tape the best valentine that you received here, or draw a picture of it!

Dear Joce,

I love you would you go out with me. Love, Joey P.S. Don't tell anyone

APRIL

The sport I’m best at is skating

The hardest thing about growing up Trying to tell your mom about your boyfriend but she gets mad 

BOYFRIENDS

Angie + John

John + Erika

John + Joce

Joce + Joey

Kelly + Peter

Erika + David

MAY

I was treated unfairly this month when Joey was pulling my hair and yelling

This made me angry because He usually likes me were not going out anymore 

In May, I most want to forget: Joey

The biggest surprise I had this month was John actually likes me amazing he used to call me fat 

One hope I have for next month is John still likes me

SEPTEMBER

This year I’m in the 5^th Grade

I think I will like my new teacher this year because He's really nice and he's a boy 

I look different this year because I have longer hair I got braces