Understanding Cowboy....?
Home About Me Archives	October 26, 2008 Further explorations... I finished up the bills last night and went to close the house up before the chill that was forecasted set in. We have so little time here that I dare to let the house vent out. Usually there are just two seasons broken by a day or two of mild weather. So the heater is running or the air conditioning is running behind these closed doors the smell of dog and cigarettes fills the house and every fabric in it. I notice not the slow conversion of fresh air to stagnating odorous offenses. Last night as I approached the front door I saw something strange. There was a white shopping bag and within it a bounty of fruit laying on a bed of paper from a shredder. There were mangos, kiwis, apples, persimmons, a honeydew melon, nectarines, and bananas. I was so touched by the unexpected. There were only three possible people to have done that and I confess it made my week. Then I read the card and it was from the neighbors who I really know little about. I am so lucky. The people that left the fruit are good people. And I do not mean fun people. I mean people who’s heart matches their character which is impeccable. These are people that know me not in the least. As I know so little about them, but they are people that give and people that care. They made me again consider my claim to the “martyr complex” I recently wrote about. I give to them often. Things I know they will like and appreciate. And I give without knowing a thing about their problems or weaknesses. The other two possibility of being the gift givers also are people that I do as much for as they do I, if not more. And I do for them without really wanting anything in return. And the latter two rarely do return gifts and it is ok. What is what I am getting from giving to them is the gladness that the things I do give them – are appreciated. So my neighbors give to me for the same beneficial feeling. Every time they go out of town I watch their mail and newspapers and every time they bring something back for me. And those gifts feel like payment and I tell them over and over --- Please don’t. But last night’s gift was unexpected and unearned. I felt like someone knew I was alive and cared that I was alive. Those truly are the best gifts. The gifts I appreciate the most are those ones made by the hands and the hearts of others. My first love gave me wonderful gifts - A print that she created representing us, A wooden handmade box and many drawings. These are the gifts that really make me happy. Sadly a fire in the French Quarter robbed me everything I ever had from her. All that were left were a few pictures that my wife demanded I destroy and like a fool, I did the second worst act in my life. The first worst act was throwing away anything I had ever written. Anyway am I a martyr? After more research I believe I am not. I certainly am not narcissistic. I do not believe that I am better than anyone. In my life I have entertained corporate executives at the same time I did crack whores and would not allow anyone around me or they that perceived that they are better than anyone. We are all flesh and blood and struggle and breathe and cry. BUT with women, I am. It is what I have become from the ten years in this tomb. It is the web I cast in hopes of finding love. Before this time of my life when I was mobile, and around people daily, it was my wit and personality that drew people to me. I loved entertaining. I loved being around people. And I never lacked for the attention of women. In these ten years though things changed. I love the mind of me. I love the heart of me. I love the giver in me. I love the person who cares enough to stop and ask a crying stranger if I can do anything. But I was a person in a city with bad transportation that could no longer drive. Over the years being along got to be comfortable, but lonely. I still wanted a mate. I thought that a person who would love with their heart might see my true value. Also who would not love to come home to a home cooked meal with their clothes washed and put up. I would be the perfect househusband. I learned painfully at first the shallowness of the world. People seemed interested until they heard the word disabled. Then they were gone. It mattered not that I was not in a wheelchair, and that I did not need a nurse, -- simply the word written or spoken sent them off. I dated two women in my life that were victims of the big D (disabled) word. And in neither did their disability cause me any pause. I now know how much pain there is in being in a state where one is one perfect. I, as many others, are the modern day lepers. Shunned, smiled at sadly, or ignored in passing, who exist on the fringe of being good enough. It is an existence I never saw my life ending in. But it will. So over time, who would possibly love me. Someone who needed fixing. Someone who would be so indebted to me that their loyalty and appreciation would forever tie us together. And I guess that is how it all began. Lord knows I never want someone to love me because they pity me. I do not want someone to love me because they feel sorry for me. I do not want someone to love me because they can get no one else. I want someone to love me because they feel something wonderful that we inspire in each other. That is the true gift of love. So I guess I must turn it all back over to the god of my beliefs. I never expected the last person I loved to ever be a love. In the first emails exchanged I truly wanted a friend. But soon it was not what the gods had planned for us. I need to accept that if ever I am to love again as I have now twice in my life, that it will occur. If not, it will not. I cannot make it happen nor can I barter it to occur by giving and hoping for an allegiance based on that. I need the magic of the emotion that grasps me and surprises me and warms me. That I cannot create or manifest on my own beckoning. It truly is an unexpected paper bag of fruit, on a bed of shredded paper, totally unexpected and without warrant, and to befall me when I least expect it. No matter how much I want it and hope it befalls me again, I never again will try to barter again. In the end, I always get the worst end of the deal. And I think it time I find a person that doesn’t need fixing.
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Understanding Cowboy....?

Further explorations...

I finished up the bills last night and went to close the house up before the chill that was forecasted set in. We have so little time here that I dare to let the house vent out. Usually there are just two seasons broken by a day or two of mild weather. So the heater is running or the air conditioning is running behind these closed doors the smell of dog and cigarettes fills the house and every fabric in it. I notice not the slow conversion of fresh air to stagnating odorous offenses.

Last night as I approached the front door I saw something strange. There was a white shopping bag and within it a bounty of fruit laying on a bed of paper from a shredder. There were mangos, kiwis, apples, persimmons, a honeydew melon, nectarines, and bananas. I was so touched by the unexpected.

There were only three possible people to have done that and I confess it made my week. Then I read the card and it was from the neighbors who I really know little about. I am so lucky. The people that left the fruit are good people. And I do not mean fun people. I mean people who’s heart matches their character which is impeccable. These are people that know me not in the least. As I know so little about them, but they are people that give and people that care.

They made me again consider my claim to the “martyr complex” I recently wrote about. I give to them often. Things I know they will like and appreciate. And I give without knowing a thing about their problems or weaknesses. The other two possibility of being the gift givers also are people that I do as much for as they do I, if not more. And I do for them without really wanting anything in return. And the latter two rarely do return gifts and it is ok. What is what I am getting from giving to them is the gladness that the things I do give them – are appreciated.

So my neighbors give to me for the same beneficial feeling.

Every time they go out of town I watch their mail and newspapers and every time they bring something back for me. And those gifts feel like payment and I tell them over and over --- Please don’t. But last night’s gift was unexpected and unearned. I felt like someone knew I was alive and cared that I was alive.

Those truly are the best gifts.

The gifts I appreciate the most are those ones made by the hands and the hearts of others. My first love gave me wonderful gifts - A print that she created representing us, A wooden handmade box and many drawings. These are the gifts that really make me happy. Sadly a fire in the French Quarter robbed me everything I ever had from her. All that were left were a few pictures that my wife demanded I destroy and like a fool, I did the second worst act in my life. The first worst act was throwing away anything I had ever written.

Anyway am I a martyr? After more research I believe I am not. I certainly am not narcissistic. I do not believe that I am better than anyone. In my life I have entertained corporate executives at the same time I did crack whores and would not allow anyone around me or they that perceived that they are better than anyone. We are all flesh and blood and struggle and breathe and cry.

BUT with women, I am. It is what I have become from the ten years in this tomb. It is the web I cast in hopes of finding love. Before this time of my life when I was mobile, and around people daily, it was my wit and personality that drew people to me. I loved entertaining. I loved being around people. And I never lacked for the attention of women.

In these ten years though things changed. I love the mind of me. I love the heart of me. I love the giver in me. I love the person who cares enough to stop and ask a crying stranger if I can do anything. But I was a person in a city with bad transportation that could no longer drive. Over the years being along got to be comfortable, but lonely. I still wanted a mate. I thought that a person who would love with their heart might see my true value. Also who would not love to come home to a home cooked meal with their clothes washed and put up. I would be the perfect househusband.

I learned painfully at first the shallowness of the world. People seemed interested until they heard the word disabled. Then they were gone. It mattered not that I was not in a wheelchair, and that I did not need a nurse, -- simply the word written or spoken sent them off. I dated two women in my life that were victims of the big D (disabled) word. And in neither did their disability cause me any pause.

I now know how much pain there is in being in a state where one is one perfect. I, as many others, are the modern day lepers. Shunned, smiled at sadly, or ignored in passing, who exist on the fringe of being good enough. It is an existence I never saw my life ending in. But it will.

So over time, who would possibly love me. Someone who needed fixing. Someone who would be so indebted to me that their loyalty and appreciation would forever tie us together. And I guess that is how it all began.

Lord knows I never want someone to love me because they pity me. I do not want someone to love me because they feel sorry for me. I do not want someone to love me because they can get no one else. I want someone to love me because they feel something wonderful that we inspire in each other. That is the true gift of love.

So I guess I must turn it all back over to the god of my beliefs. I never expected the last person I loved to ever be a love. In the first emails exchanged I truly wanted a friend. But soon it was not what the gods had planned for us.

I need to accept that if ever I am to love again as I have now twice in my life, that it will occur. If not, it will not. I cannot make it happen nor can I barter it to occur by giving and hoping for an allegiance based on that.

I need the magic of the emotion that grasps me and surprises me and warms me. That I cannot create or manifest on my own beckoning.

It truly is an unexpected paper bag of fruit, on a bed of shredded paper, totally unexpected and without warrant, and to befall me when I least expect it. No matter how much I want it and hope it befalls me again, I never again will try to barter again.

In the end, I always get the worst end of the deal. And I think it time I find a person that doesn’t need fixing.

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