Sam said I could push his buttons more than any person he had ever encountered in his life.
I pointed out that he pushed mine on purpose whereas I only stumbled upon his buttons.
That should make a difference.
He was a goat. I was a bull.
No wonder we can't get along he'd say in our pissing match eras.
I accused Sam on a few occasions of being a 'mean drunk.' He could slice and dice if the conditions were right, but he never laid a hand on me in anger.
I can't say the same for me.
I'm the one who insists on peace and harmony in the band room.
I pointed out that he pushed mine on purpose whereas I only stumbled upon his buttons.
That should make a difference.
He was a goat. I was a bull.
No wonder we can't get along he'd say in our pissing match eras.
I accused Sam on a few occasions of being a 'mean drunk.' He could slice and dice if the conditions were right, but he never laid a hand on me in anger.
I can't say the same for me.
I'm the one who insists on peace and harmony in the band room.
I paint in my bamboo forest and the birds come closer and closer to me.
I raised my children without violence and broke a family cycle doing it.
I scold Sam for being mean and bossy to our bandmates.
I want to flow like a fountain.
I want to be like Buddha and Jesus.
I want to be kind and nice and....
Then... I'm the one who literally flies at Sam in a rage, tackling him in his living room. making him wrestle for his life until we give out and lay panting on the floor.
Then... I'm the one who literally flies at Sam in a rage, tackling him in his living room. making him wrestle for his life until we give out and lay panting on the floor.
I'm the one who storms out of the band room, knocking Sam over with my guitar in the Telecaster Spanking Incident.
I am the one who can snap, capable of blind fury.
"You are a lot stronger than you look," says Sam with admiration.
I have not learned to tame my emotions while Sam is master of his.
He doesn't mind my tirades.
He says he has a very low threshold for boredom and he sure doesn't have to worry about that with me.
He likes a good row and wants me to learn how to shake it off. He wants me to yell and let it out! He knows I am built on rage, despite my good intentions.
"These amps go to ELEVEN!" says Sam. "Now HIT SOME LICKS! YOU'LL FEEL BETTER!"
As for me, I try to avoid setting her, me, KD, off.
It is exhausting, sometimes taking several days to recover from.
Also there is a little part of me that is afraid of what I might do.
As dreadful as it sounds, I quit my last waitressing job because I kept imagining stabbing my shrill, red-haired, Irish boss through the heart right there in the wait station.
The big serrated knife.
Always out, always there on the cutting board.
My gritted teeth, my clenching fists.
What if for just one moment fiction became fact?
I write. I make up stories.
My characters, my paintings talk to me.
I could swear I lived through exact conversations in my stories where customers and co-workers are killed like flies, but I know for a fact it can't be true.
There were no actual murders at Leons, or at the Colonel Ludlow Inn, or at Pauls Fine Dining or other places I worked. Just my stories.
But if I didn't know that, I would swear every word was true.
Basically, my anger makes me ashamed.
Where's the Zen, KD?
Where's your peace and love and harmony and all your beautiful benevolence now, KD?
Fallen like a house of cards.
Sam, however, is fascinated.
He grew up in what he called a "Beaver Cleaver" family.
I have not learned to tame my emotions while Sam is master of his.
He doesn't mind my tirades.
He says he has a very low threshold for boredom and he sure doesn't have to worry about that with me.
He likes a good row and wants me to learn how to shake it off. He wants me to yell and let it out! He knows I am built on rage, despite my good intentions.
"These amps go to ELEVEN!" says Sam. "Now HIT SOME LICKS! YOU'LL FEEL BETTER!"
As for me, I try to avoid setting her, me, KD, off.
It is exhausting, sometimes taking several days to recover from.
Also there is a little part of me that is afraid of what I might do.
As dreadful as it sounds, I quit my last waitressing job because I kept imagining stabbing my shrill, red-haired, Irish boss through the heart right there in the wait station.
The big serrated knife.
Always out, always there on the cutting board.
My gritted teeth, my clenching fists.
What if for just one moment fiction became fact?
I write. I make up stories.
My characters, my paintings talk to me.
I could swear I lived through exact conversations in my stories where customers and co-workers are killed like flies, but I know for a fact it can't be true.
There were no actual murders at Leons, or at the Colonel Ludlow Inn, or at Pauls Fine Dining or other places I worked. Just my stories.
But if I didn't know that, I would swear every word was true.
Basically, my anger makes me ashamed.
Where's the Zen, KD?
Where's your peace and love and harmony and all your beautiful benevolence now, KD?
Fallen like a house of cards.
Sam, however, is fascinated.
He grew up in what he called a "Beaver Cleaver" family.
He was a PK (Preacher's Kid).
His parents were intelligent, kind, and supportive.
He figured his birth family just didn't have that much stuff to work out in this lifetime.
He thought maybe my birth family had a pretty full plate and our work is far from done.
In fact, Sam insists we travel to see my parents at the Eastern Shore.
Sam's parents are dead. He misses them.
He knows I feel estranged and haven't seen my folks in several years.
All the more reason to go, says Sam.
We had an idyllic time especially when it was just the two of us and even though my parents had no idea that I had felt estranged, it felt good to see them.
He figured his birth family just didn't have that much stuff to work out in this lifetime.
He thought maybe my birth family had a pretty full plate and our work is far from done.
In fact, Sam insists we travel to see my parents at the Eastern Shore.
Sam's parents are dead. He misses them.
He knows I feel estranged and haven't seen my folks in several years.
All the more reason to go, says Sam.
We had an idyllic time especially when it was just the two of us and even though my parents had no idea that I had felt estranged, it felt good to see them.
Families are tribes, after all, for better or for worse.
But the best part was being with Sam.
Our love was intoxicating.
Our band was our pride and joy, and we played countless hours as a duet, but the music that we loved so much was hard on our romance.
This was my dilemna, not Sams.
To me, it felt like much too much.
Loving Sam brought out my girly side, which I both enjoyed and detested.
I had grown accustomed to Sam's style of barking in the band room, but if I'm feeling all girly, it hurts my feelings.
I want to play music.
I want to be treated like one of the boys.
I've been divorced twice and had explosive endings to all my relationships.
My youngest child is leaving for college and for the first time I have an empty nest and no torch.
I don't want to be a couple with anyone, not even Sam.
But on the other hand, I can't stay away for long.
