Soul Mates and Cranial Rectumitis

Soul Mates:  The Perfect Fit

Soulmate

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

A soulmate (or soul mate) is a person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity.^[1]This may involve similarity, love, intimacy, sexuality, sexual activity, spirituality, or compatibilityand trust.



I believe in soul mates.  Do you?  If you do and you've ever been lucky enough to find yours in this lifetime, you will truly understand the depth of my feelings in this post.  Not everyone is fortunate enough to find that one heart, that one soul, that one truly compatible human being that makes everything sparkle with light and joy.  It's such a beautiful experience that mere words can't do it justice but for the sake of this post I will try to express it as best as I can.

A soul mate is that one person who "gets you".  He (or she) understands you in ways no one else can.  He has your same wacky sense of humor, your same love of all things Star Trek, is intelligent enough to discuss the physics behind the show, and funny enough to make you laugh when you're violently ill.  He will open doors, cook you meals, but is man enough NOT to take your shit and call you out when you're being a moody bitch asshole.  (Hey, I'm a very strong-minded woman and I can be a bit *cough* stubborn/bossy/whiny/moody/bitchy but he has been the only man in my life to call me out on it.  If someone you love is telling you you're being an asshole, you're PROBABLY BEING AN ASSHOLE!)  He was never mean or rude about it, but he is just man enough to say so.  We're both very strong minded individuals and I totally respect that about him.  A strong woman needs a strong man!  I can't respect a weak man.  Just can't.  Like I said, he is man enough to cook me a beautiful dinner, take me camping/fishing/shooting, rub my back, and he also knows when I need to pull my head out of my ass and get a fresh perspective on things!  It's so nice to have all of that in one package.  (I'm not saying he's perfect, he's not, he's just perfect for me.)

I was lucky enough to meet my soul mate in 1999.  Unfortunately, we were in different places mentally, socially, and professionally.  We both knew we were meant to be together but after trying for several years we called it off.  It was the most painful breakup I've ever experienced.  Yet it truly wasn't a "breakup" because time after time we kept reaching out to one another, both hurting, both yearning, yet both knowing it still wasn't right.  Now, at last, we have reconnected once again and it's as if all the pieces finally fit.  It just FEELS RIGHT. I'm going to be spending a long weekend with him soon and see how things are between us.  We have spoken several times a day for the past few weeks and it's as if time hadn't passed at all.  We feel different as people yet the feelings of love remain.  We've had time to mature and experience more of what we don't want and can now appreciate and acknowledge what we DO want...each other.

I don't know what the future holds but I do know this:

No one else has or will ever compare to him.  No one else will ever measure up to him.  He is the standard by which I've compared all others against.  

That may not have been fair but it was how I felt in my heart.  He is truly "The One" for me.  If things do not work out for us this time around, I am truly done with love.  He has my heart, he had it then, he has it now, and he will always have it.  I sincerely want things to work out between us this time and I have a lot of positive signs that they will.  I'm just saying, honestly, that if it doesn't, I am finished with love and romance.  I will throw myself into my work and become the neurotic crazy cat lady who writes books and lives in a remote cabin.

I'll keep y'all informed.

Here is Etta James singing, "At Last".  A true Classic. 

D is for Diary; Blogging A to Z Challenge

D IS FOR DIARY

I've always kept a diary of some kind as far back as I can remember. I've always loved writing, so jotting down my thoughts, feelings, and personal experiences on paper just felt like second nature to me. I suppose its obvious that I chose "Diary" as part of my blog title. This diary is open to all of you to read. It's not private and that's my choice. I want to tell you about a different diary and how it felt having my privacy invaded and that choice taken away.

This is me in 8th grade, one of four students chosen to learn on this new thing called a computer. #atozchallenge

That's me on the flute, Christmas 1985, post-diary tragedy. #atozchallenge

It was the summer of 1985. I had just graduated 8th grade and was preparing to start high school that fall. I was almost 15. We were living in an old farm house, complete with barn, so I decided to have a good old-fashioned barn dance party and invite everyone from my eighth grade class. To my surprise and teenage delight, many of the "popular kids" showed up that afternoon. (I was, and always shall be, a huge, proud, nerd-band-science-math-geek!) We had Cokes and snacks, hung out in the barn, and I was thrilled when my best friend Sherri showed up.  There was music and lots of innocent fun until...

Sherri was dancing, spun around too fast, tripped and fell right on her face. Blood everywhere. I wasn't embarassed, I was concerned for my friend. My mom called her parents and herded my party guests into the house to hang in the kitchen. That was the idea anyway. While we were busy tending to Sherri and waiting on her parental unit to arrive, my "friends" decided it would be fun to go upstairs and sift through all my belongings. (Can you see where this is going?)

Once Sherri went home, I went upstairs to get my friends and try to salvage what remained of the party. My mom was making snacks downstairs in the kitchen. I go upstairs, turn my doorknob, and...IT'S LOCKED. I knock on the door. Someone asks, "Who's there?" I tell them it's me. There is much whispering ang giggling, then silence. I kneel down and look through the keyhole. I can see everyone sitting in a circle on my bedroom floor and one of the girls is holding my diary and reading it quietly to the group. I am mortified. Shame, fear, then anger wash over me. I start beating on the door, yelling at them to put the diary away and unlock the door. They laugh at me. Finally, I am so humiliated and sad I just cry. This makes them all laugh even more. My mom hears me crying and comes upstairs. She asks me what is going on. When I tell her I am locked out of my room and they are reading my diary and laughing, she changes. Quietly, her face turns red and she goes to my door. With three powerful bangs she pounds on my door with all the ferociousness of the FBI on a raid.

(Thanks to my dad, a police officer, for showing us how to do the "triple knock of terror".)

After the power knocking, my mom shouts to all of them to open this ******** door RIGHT NOW! Someone runs over and quickly unlocks it.

My mom marches in, looks around, and tells the whole room, "You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Everybody downstairs right now. This party is over. Take turns and call your parents to get a ride home or I will be happy to call them for you. You're not welcome in my house again, none of you. Go. Now!"

I have to admit, I was pretty proud of her. I was glad she threw them out. I don't know why I thought they were so cool to begin with. Real friends wouldn't behave that way and I knew they were only at my party because, well, it was a summer party.

Since that incident, I've been paranoid about what I write on paper and where I leave my journals. It didn't help that I later dated a man who routinely went through my things and afforded me zero privacy (his own insecurities). Today, I'm happy and confident (and happily single!) with what I write and where I leave it. It's taken me many years to get to this place of confidence and ease.

I could try to summarize and moralize this story but I'm not. It was just my memory of a time when some really selfish kids did a sh*tty thing to me at my own party.
I'll end by saying the most important part of the whole story:

My mom rocks. 

Thanks Mom.

I LOVE YOU.