yobech505

In she walks.  Cool.  What is that?  Her laundry?  Egads and gadzooks!  That pile is huge!  Then, she sets it down next to mine.  Meter stick out.  Who’s is bigger.  Easy to measure.  And damn, mine is three quarters of an inch taller than hers.  Who gets to use the machine first?  Off to the basement or down the street to the laundromat.  It has to get done.  Cleaned?  Folded and put away.   

After it is washed, dried and folded, is it still our dirty laundry?   Does it still set a parameter for who we are, what we’ve become from the years of washing, wearing, folding and putting away?  How much of it have we thrown away, to no longer use?  None?  Some?  Only when it is so worn out that it doesn’t serve the purpose we purchased it for?  

Like that’s going to make a difference! How many of us, in our personal lives, can throw it all away and go scan our phone over the sensor at our local megastore for a whole new set of  garments that we will wear once or twice before they become dirty laundry?  How many of those carriers of laundry baskets can actually pay the price to dispose of the old and purchase the new with the intent to never be where we were before?  We don’t buy a different size than the ones that are worn out.  Often, we don’t even buy a different brand.  

Yes, I know, the body shifts distribution as we grow older, but the two afore mentioned situations are usually close together so we don’t get the big changes that online retailers try to convince us we need to do.  We purchase to replace what we wore out, not what we outgrew.  Herein, we have to consider; do we insist on the same eventual laundry pile we first stacked, or do we say, ‘I’m going to get rid of my dirty laundry and replace it with something easy to clean and keep, until I need to change it again for fear it will become very dirty laundry that, for some reason, seems harder to dispose of.

Is this a need for courage?  What is that, when it comes to dirty laundry?  The metaphor of a change of clothes taken from the dirty pile versus the clean one may not have the effect we need.  Move on to the new bags from the store that are sitting on the kitchen table where they were left right after an entrance.  Wear them.  Or do you wash them first, even if they come in a sealed package?  And, if so,  do you put them with the dirty laundry to be sanitized by an over advertised detergent, or are they separate?

It is determined by some, I surmise, that throwing away the once worn laundry as dirty, and purchasing new, even if washed prior to clothing oneself, every time, would be the equivalent of not having dirty laundry, at least for recycled wearing purposes.  The new would not be dirty, even if you did wash them prior to wearing them.  But once you take them off, they’re dirty laundry, even if you throw them away, instantly.  So how do you get away from dirty laundry?

Maybe you don’t.  Really, why should you?  It’s part of who you are and we all have it, even if we don’t necessarily change our clothes that often.  I suppose it is, at times, more imperative that we clean it up and fold it, put it in a drawer and pay no attention to what it may say about who we were, as if we used a strong bleach to change its color or threw in a cheap red t-shirt to unintentionally dye it.  Maybe we should just take out one at a time, close the drawer and notice the minor impact a garment, clean or dirty, actually has.  

Might maybe.  Who comprehends this stuff in today’s portion of the current era.  It isn’t me, I don’t think.   But damned if I don’t try.   Events come along, leave an imprint then either stay or move over to the next section of life’s stage.  

She’s really nice. And quite alike, or so the early impressions indicate, me.    

It’s been years, which she will understand, and events and other people, which she will also have an handle on, but now, the timing seems to be synchronized.   Still, what is the significance of that?  Is it a direction to be pursued, a hint to be followed or just some scoped event that is more passer by than ‘lets have another glass of wine and look at the next step’.  I don’t plan these things, and neither does she.  So, the inquiry is left wide open.

Go ahead.  Ask me what I would like to be the next direction of a possible voyage to a relationship more in depth than I’ve embraced in a while. If she’s ‘the one’ and I go towards another point on the compass, what will the impact on psyche and ego be? Questions, inquiries and askings are not, perhaps,  the route to the answer, but this is full of them.  

 I’m just stating what’s hiding out front in my wishful desire brain.  

I did begin with something I called, but somebody else invented, logistics.  She’s there.  I’m there, here and over somewhere else, in seeking mode, trying to determine how to work this dilemma, which it shouldn’t become, out.   Seriously, folks, what if, for this level of my existence, she is the ‘one’? That success would depend on, am I that same role player in her life?  After that realization, I conclude that I am not a mind reader.  No, I already knew that.  

These things work, or, to be more in line with reality, these things can work.  I’ve never done it, but the stories others relate, true or made up, say they do, and don’t.  There it sparks again!  Another meteor burning up in the atmosphere, or, did it make it to solid ground, leaving a long lasting pock mark?  

I’ll wait.   I’m known as much for being impatient as for being patient.  Wait a second.  That doesn’t help!  An adventure is just past the next row of rolling hills and may open up to workable and fun or close down to, naw, this ain’t working, and little or no emotional hardships but a thought of ‘what if?’   No self inflicted pressure allowed here.  It has to take a route that may include experimentation, giving some of the silly stuff up, and allowing the other to be who they are without consequence, ridicule or judgment.  After all things are determined, isn’t that how a possible relationship should work, if the participants really do find a joyful way of continuing.  

The one?  Let’s leave it up to a form of emotional logistics

Pondering Problems

Thinking.  Pondering is what that means, according to some of the definitions found in minds and words of a few of the things that I’ve perused in writings by others.  So I’m using it, I suppose.   Well, yes, I am doing just that.   Thinking.  About what?  Rambling on with no actuarial direction, making sure the books are balanced?  Or none of the above.  Then, I arrest my movement.  Yes to the above.  

What do I do with relationships, in my singularity of singleness?  Do I have even the tiniest ambitious desire to become two with anyone after being just an individualistic entity for the extended period of time that I have identified with that situation?  I would surmise; probably not.   And why would that be the case?  For the lack of want, or need?  Maybe just the act of being in one causes me to say , ‘What the hell do I want to do that for?”  Especially considering (or pondering, as the terminology dictates) where I have been in the twosome field in my  distant past.   Tend to not lend too much weight into it.  Haven’t done well, as histories of mine have attested to.

There are those who are interested, for sure.  And there is me, who is interested, not for sure.  And these can clash like a banana under the wheel of a semi.  Squish   I have this nice flat relationship where only the skin and some gooey stuff exfoliated from it are visible.  Not very appealing and at least, lacking any convincing authority.  Amicable, but not solidified.  Ewwww.

So what comes after the realizations we managed to allow to float to the top of our relationship mindset?  Do we go on or do we say, No way, Hose A.   Or we could imitate a real coupling, not as is actually happening but more like, this is what it looks like is happening, we go from there, but we end from where?

My record says I am not very good at it.  Not always, but sometimes, I put a terminal conclusion to the two, making it one, me, myself, and they, themself, and ‘ere the twain does meet, or unmeet from that point on.  I have sustained a few, until one of us got tired and began running elsewhere, dropping excuses to mark our trail out of the couple thing.  And there were times when I left the colored stones for her to find.

Let me think about it for a minute.   Pondering as I wait.  I don’t like breaking up.  So, to avoid that, I think (ponder) about it and say, why not just avoid it in the primary place?  If you don’t go there, you don’t have to come back any time.  You don’t have to leave or get left.  You just stay stagnant where you are, unmoved and unattended, emotionally and physically.   Painless.  Feelingless.  So, is it a good hiding spot, or just a temporary pancho pulled over my head until a wind carries it away?  I think I mean the pancho, not my head.

But as I ponder further, I like turning to someone and saying ‘isn’t that beautiful’ or ‘yes, I’ll have another cup of coffee.’  I like getting her a cup of coffee as much as having her bring me one.  And it’s one of the nice things when she orders me to look at the coyote running through the yard, her voice smiling with excitement.  

I have to know what I want.  But I don’t.  Or do I?  So after pondering about it, it becomes pretty self revealing.  The adventure is better than the results that may occur from it. I’ve taken chances before.  Some came with reward and some ended in disappointed characters sitting about feeling sorry for themselves (or myself).  By not making a promise to be someone I am not, making you someone you don’t want to be, or just letting things follow the current until it ends or fades into another one, let’s think, or ponder, ‘what should I do next?’