Patience is a Virtue I Never Got

I have decided to write a series of blogs on life's various virtues. I figured I would begin with the virtue of which I have none: Patience.

Other than having immense control over when I ejaculate, I have little other patience in my life. I am a firm believer that instant gratification should be faster than instant. There are times when waiting for a web page to load on my computer that I am possessed by an insane rage and desire to punch my fist through the screen, should it take longer than I believe is appropriate. (I once upon a time had a 2400 baud dial up modem...it is a wonder that I made it through high school without poppin' a vein in my skull).

It is more likely, in any given situation, that Perez Hilton and Will.i.am would give each other blow jobs than I am to be overly patient.

Actually...let me clarify...Perez would totally blow Will.i.am, and, in the right circumstances, I can be patient.

Take, for example, my current living situation. Yesterday, the "roommate" declared that he isn't moving out. When I made it clear that I was resentful and angry that not only was he breaking his word but also that since he hadn't paid full rent in, perhaps, years...I was particularly upset that I was being forced to pay to subsidize the living situation of a man that I loathe. I spoke calmly and clearly. I made it clear that there was a direct connection between my feelings of disgust for the man and the fact that he is not only comfortably but eagerly and consciously taking advantage of both David and I, lying to the state to get welfare benefits, and a destructive force in our home and in our lives (did I mention that he snuck and registered the dog that he and David got TOGETHER with the state...under his name...did I also mention that David has paid for the dogs food, care, and vet bills...oh yeah...except the $300+ vet bill from last month...which I paid).

But I am patient. You see...in this situation...one where an individual is most blatantly and clearly committing an injustice, is blissfully ok with his behavior, and is unwilling to see how it is fundamentally wrong...it can only turn out one way. And my sweet love David, in order to help remind us of this fact, did something wonderful yesterday. David put up, all over the house, great little cards that I got from my best friend RJ. Each card has a picture of a lotus blossom and the words "Nam-myoho-renge-kyo," on it. That means, "I commit myself to the cosmic law of cause and effect as expressed through sound." Today, the roommate came in and asked me what the cards where and what they meant. I was MORE than happy to translate for him.

You see I believe in karma. Science believes in karma. There is a scientific law that says for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction (Newton's Third Law). It is the rule that guides everything in our universe. In terms of human actions: what one puts out one gets back.

I am sure that this situation is one where I am fulfilling a cosmic debt that I owe. But, acting with integrity and (key word) patience, I know that everything will work out not only right but also justly in the end. I feel sorry and pity for the man that knowingly and willingly, without regard for anyone else, commits unjust acts against others while claiming to desire friendship. I have a deep sadness that my partner is being torn apart by this other persons behavior and by the fact that for perhaps the first time, he will be unable to remain friends with someone he once loved...especially after 10 years with that person. But I know, in the end, it will be as the good book says..."Ye shall reap what ye sow."

And he has sown a shit storm in a land mine covered in Agent Orange and napalm. Pay back is a bitch. I have the patience to wait for that.

I Would Lift It If I Could

I love my partner more deeply and more profoundly than I ever anticipated. In truth, though my love is flawed as are all works of human beings, I have pushed myself above and beyond my own preconceived boundaries in order to match the love and care, respect and kindness, patience and understanding that he has shown me.

Right now, I can see him struggling. A moment ago, I was standing in his Mother's kitchen, I could see his back, framed by the window above the sink, and I was struck with how simply I am in love with him. I love the way his back, in a goldenrod tank top, narrowed to his tiny waist. I love the soft hair that fades down the back of his head until disappearing in a smooth line on his neck. I love his elf-like ears and the set of his spine. And on top of all that I can see on his shoulders the weight of his previous relationship.

As David and I have made our way towards a sustaining and healthy relationship, we have had to deal with the realities of life. Life dictated that he and I moved in together a bit earlier than we had anticipated. Due to the termination of my employment with the Center for Media Justice, David and I made the decision that I should move to New York at the end of March instead of June. The difficulty with that is David's ex partner.

I have written about this individual before. I have talked about the ways his pain has impacted our relationship. I have written about my anger and frustration, my compassion, and the end of my patience. He is the single most divisive and hurtful aspect of our relationship, which is a bit unfortunate. He is a hurting individual that is using his personal pain to heap guilt onto my partner and hateful feelings on to me. And David, caught between loving me and the residual feelings of obligations that he has towards his ex, finds himself lodged between a recent past that was fulfilling and hurtful and a future that, as far as we can tell, promises much of what he has hoped his life would be.

I have some experience with carrying the burdens of the past around. The past is a heavy anchor that drags along the seabed no matter how strongly the winds of fortune are blowing your way. The world can be sending you gale force love and luck, and, yet, a past anchor, caught on the sea floor, will slow, though not halt, your progression forward.

Recently, we had reached an agreement with our roommate that he would move on with his life at the end of July. He would vacate our space, and we would truly move on to the next phase of our relationship. A couple of days ago, he attempted to declare that he wasn't going anywhere. We took appropriate first steps to assure him that he would be.

Of course the response was far from adult, matched previous behavior, and descended into an old pattern of vilification of me and guilt tripping of David.

Nothing about this situation has been simple. Little has been pleasant. And it has been my personal challenge not to lose sight of this man's humanity. I haven't always been successful, but I have never been malicious, I have never been inflexible, and I have never been unreasonable.

But the time has come for justice to happen. If David and I are to have a peaceful place in which to move forward, we need a peaceful place in which to do it.

I have done what I can do in the situation. I have swallowed what I can swallow, and I have tolerated what I can tolerate. Last week, I almost reached a point of relapse, which, for me, signaled I had reached my mental and spiritual capacity to continue in the current living situation.

And, ultimately, I know the true closure of this piece of David's life is David's to do.

But when you love someone, you want to lift anything you can lift, carry anything you can carry, and bear anything you can bear. David has articulated to me that he craves peace, that he wants peace, love, and joy. Yet, the singal greatest source (other than my occasional craziness) of his consternation comes from a source outside of us. And, because of the key player in the madness, it is all set to get uglier before it will get better.

In many ways, David and I are very similar. But, in some significant ways, we are different. When I am hurting or struggling or in pain, I reach out. I turn to my friends and my family. I post all my business on my blog. I talk about what's going on and what I am feeling. I am a true extrovert.

My love is not.

And for someone such as myself that has a constant craving to know everything that is going on...letting him have his space to center, process, and strategize is tough.

I want to fix this for him. I want to make this better. I want to make it smooth and seamless. But, God has granted me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. I cannot change the reality of our living situation. I cannot change the behavior of his ex partner. I cannot betray what I know is right and just and allow myself to be treated inhumanely and with rabid animosity without addressing it. I cannot stop loving David. I cannot confront his ex for him. I cannot set boundaries between David and his ex. I cannot force his ex to respect the agreements he has made.

But I have the wisdom to know that none of this is permanent, that David loves me, that I love David and that karma is a bitch. For a long time I have backed down, walked away, or been walked over because I was either too young, too scared, or too lacking in self confidence to stand up for myself. Those days are gone. And though I can't stand up for David. I can stand beside him, lending him strength of love and spirit to do what it is that he decides is right for him, and for us, to do.

Rookies versus Dish

So today marked the first game in the Big Apple Softball League. Where the girls are guys and the guys are ladies and they all have tramp tendencies. Except me...I am a straight up slut.

But I digress...so today's adventure begin at 6:30 this morning when I was sure that the alarm going off was some sort of karmic retribution for sins I must have committed in a past life...like killing Jesus or shooting Abraham Lincoln. Nothing short of murdering a religious icon or civil rights leader could possibly justify me having to wake up before the sparrows on a Sunday morning.

David was a gem. He made breakfast, packed snacks, made sure we had bandanas to wipe the sweat from my brow, and filled a water jug covered in silverbacks for our journey to Red Hook Park in Brooklyn. Now only in America could an Ikea co-opt a pier and set up their own ferry service across the East River to shop. The ferry goes from the Upper West Side in Manhattan to Brooklyn. It takes about a half an hour...making the trip quick and painless. It also doesn't run at 7am on Sunday morning.

So David and I took a train to a bus to Ikea...and then had to walk across a giant park of baseball fields until we reached a much more humble softball field, where my game was already in session. I thought, for a moment, we were going to have to hire a camel, a pack mule, and a porter to finish our trip. Instead, turns out, I just needed a port-a-potty. I know peeing in public is a liveability crime and should not be done. But peeing in my pants is a crime against humanity, and that is worse.

The first game was fun. I was an extra hitter, and I managed to smack the ball. I think I even had an RBI. The Lord was with us, and we trounced the Dish thoroughly...something like a katrillion to four. David and Rich...the softball wives...were seated on the benches cheering us on...and the team was in good spirits.

Then we took a break between games

When we came back for game two versus the Dish, we were a little bit like Aretha Franklin....fabulous...but we let ourselves go a little. To start off with...I was now pitching. Ooops. A combination of nerves, rising temperatures, and, well, good old fashion shitty luck and not having pitched in two years brought back the days of yore when I was as surprised as the batter if I pitched a strike. After walking about two dozen people (or four)...I begged Reggie to take me out. He obliged. My team, all the while, was very supportive. That was very awesome actually.

In the meantime...back at Dish Headquarters...the Dish coach must have been handing out spinach and steroids cuz the bitches came back with a vengeance. All of a sudden, every ball they hit smacked the ferry driver three blocks over.

And then Mason got really upset. He was playing third base, and one of those steroid enhance spinach eatin' gaysians stepped up to the plate and hit a line drive directly at him. Mason spun around circles, burst into flames, and now in a red thong snatched the ball out of the sky with a look on his face that said, "Now what. Bitches."

I love her.

Later in the game, I did have one shining moment. One of the Mega-Hitters decided that cuz I couldn't pitch...and cuz coach put me out in right field...that I couldn't catch either. If I see her at the bar I am going to punch that one in his pate. So he smacks one away out to right field...and I caught the spirit...and the ball. Redemption is a sweet sweet liqour.

And karma is a cold dose of water.

My next at bat...I bounced the ball into center field. My old coach Titi told us that once we hit that ball you run to first base like you was a slave in the Old South heading towards freedom. What he didn't tell us was that in the New York league they don't tie down the damn bases, so not only am I out, but I hit first base, trip on it, and end up flying through the air like one of those crazy ducks in Duck Hunt. I hit the ground, roll, end up with a scratched knee, leg, and about half the grit from the field in my boxers.

I am butch as hell.

In the end the Dish won by something like a googleplex to six, but our team was way prettier.