3 October 2018
I was recently away for a week for a meeting and time with friends, as well as taking time to write and exercise. Even though this trip was shorter, I feel like something has changed in me again. There seems to be something more concrete, as if my footing is a bit more solid.
Yet there’s something strange also happening at the same time. I am not so sure I want to explore certain elements, but there is some unexplained force regarding my OCD in listening to Persian music as of late…and I don’t know a single word of Persian.
I don’t quite understand where this romanticized idea of Persia came from, has existed for a very long time, but reading some of the lyrics of the songs I have grown to love (and begun to sing along to…in Persian to my best ability) demonstrates a poetic language. My first exposure was to “Dooset Daram” by Arash featuring Helena. It has a haunting melody that truly haunts my mind, body and spirit. It has also found its way into my core to give me the freedom to write some strong poetry. Dooset Daram means I love you.
I think I found my second favorite song on my own. Not from taking screenshots of songs played through a vehicle, or listed in Shazam’s massive song listing, or from frantically typing down names and song titles, hoping I would get them right (there were a few I didn’t, but Google does a good job helping me find what I need…as long as maps aren’t involved!). “Behet Ghol Midam” by Mohsen Yeganeh is one that I know half of the lyrics now in Persian. I have the song and have watched the live version of the YouTube so many times, I have even surprised myself (and feel like inserting <facepalm> because I keep watching a particular guitarist/band member I find myself attracted to; maybe it’s the smile? A smile is universal. I’m just going to roll with things and call it a fantasy. HAH!). There are other songs that are beginning to fill my new playlist.
A year ago, I found myself attracted to a Persian man. For various reasons, I squashed the attraction. Recently I’ve spoken of a new friend; one I’ve sort of been attracted to since a weird night in June. It took me two months to take the initiative to speak to this man, and at a moment he spilled his beer as I “swooped” in to scold him about alcohol abuse, followed by introducing myself to him right away. He is also Persian. And has a beard. I’ve never been a beard person! He has his own poetic language, and I still haven’t forgotten the night he said, “Anyone who meets you can find a way to fall in love with you in less than three seconds.” There are other things he has said, that still makes me smile and appreciate the moments we’ve had, but they are now written into a poem that has been polished and, on its way, to being accepted for publication…somewhere at some time.
We’ve spent the last month, in between the three weeks I’ve been away, hanging out watching movies, talking for the longest time, and he’s been watching football (NFL, specifically NYG) with me. I’ve been having fun. Of course, it was not destined to last. For additional reasons, some out of my control, I believe the time has come for time spent together to come to a halt. That’s okay. He has some things going on in his own life and I have more writing to do. I am hoping some freelance work falls into my lap to help bring in some extra income; I am feeling the super tight squeeze of a divorce and being paid a horrible salary for my qualifications (that’s the problem with living in Socorro…along with working at a university). However, I won’t discount the fact that I do/did like him. My heart simply isn’t there, but we had respect and kindness for each other. That was refreshing.
During my time away, I realized something needs to change once again by May 2019. The numbers don’t lie: women of divorce lose 37% of their income, watch their credit scores plummet (for the most part) and takes them longer to find a job where they’re making a decent salary close to what the income was during their marriage.
Of my marriage salary (utterly pitiful), I was “allowed” $80 a month. My inheritance was taken from me, with broken promises of paying me back, and that never happened because of a dirty game called community property. I don’t get to enjoy the house that I was forced to spend my inheritance on (I wanted to be smart and invest…the Opposing Party most likely felt threatened with me having so much at one time). Yet, looking at this in a different light, I don’t want to live in a place of two past wives, and a friend thinks the house has bad mojo anyways. Several friends knew the best thing for me was to get the hell out. I did just that and more.
I fell in love with myself in Paris. This is powerful. I also think this is the reason why I want to be done writing The Downfall. It needs to be finished so that I can move on. The ending was written some time ago and I’ve been filling in the gap (middle), but I felt like I was dragging my feet through sludge. It was only after returning from Europe, then taking a small breather while in Dallas and before my meetings kept me super busy with stupidly late nights and early mornings, that the a-ha! moment and I found the voice to finally draw the reader in to feel invested in a relationship my protagonist (Kiki) wasn’t sure she really wanted to have, but was critical to the story. Now I’m on the calendar and clock to finish.
It has taken me ten months to feel semi-comfortable working in my office on my desktop again. I find it’s becoming difficult to write around the house and it’s so much easier to type on a regular keyboard. I really think signs are pointing to new beginnings. Maybe I’ll also make time to learn Persian…or Farsi…or Russian. I’m building new dreams and goals. I’m adding to my European travel for 2019. I have no clue what I’m doing the remainder of 2018, but you can be sure that I’m doing whatever I want because a) I can and b) I’m going to do what makes me happy. Men, or rather dating, really aren’t in the equation until sometime 2019, but writing─well, writing is what makes me happy and I can’t quit now. I couldn’t quit when I was in the last six months of grad school and that was at the deepest and darkest moments of my life, so declaring I want to quit after rising from the ashes goes against everything I’ve worked so hard for, and everything I’m still fighting for.
I’m putting in 38 hours in 4 days with my new job because of the subject matter I’m studying and observing. After an afternoon coffee, which I rarely have, I still took a nap tonight which explains why I’m still up. It actually started with adding more Persian music to my playlist when inspiration struck to write this next post around 10pm while reading posts on tips beyond divorce (of which several I have done or am doing). Instead of sleeping, I’m still writing.
Puppy Duke, who is really not doing well although he still doesn’t appear to be in any pain as he wags his tail and wants to cuddle up to me, has had enough thinking that I should have been in bed eons ago, as time is different for a canine than a human. He’s most likely correct, but I write when inspiration strikes and sometimes sleep needs to be sacrificed to get things written down to have a clear mind. Or it’s my insomnia.
Things that are happening at this time cannot be explained. I’m not exactly looking for explanations, but I am accepting that footing I spoke of at first, along with some type of a clarity, that is allowing me to keep moving forward in life and in writing.