I’m getting TIRED of The Year of Letting Go.

No. Really.

Let’s look at this…

January… on the first I began to suspect something… well, wonderful.
January 9, I found out the truth of something I wanted more than any other thing on this earth.
By January 16th… it was no more. The only thing I have ever truly, fully regretted in my life.

That was very, VERY hard to let go. And handled incorrectly from any way I look at it.

Then a few months of ups and downs, lots of emotional confusion. Podling finished 6th grade… goodbye to my pre-adolescent… HELLO adolescent! Not sure if that goodbye is good or bad, but certainly inevitable, and she’s cool no matter what, even when she’s a bundle of emotion. But I have to let go of my baby, and learn how to work with the new young lady she’s become.

Summer came round, and I began to find my stride in a few things… I have hopes, aspirations, and plans to progress.

Old Joy is still on her way out, New Joy is emerging in fits and starts.

Ok. That’s not a bad thing to let go.

Then tragedy struck, and by the end of the summer I had lost one of the dearest people in my life. Ever. Even now, tears spring up thinking of it.

I said goodbye, with her friends and family, in the beginning of September.

Bad goodbye. BAD. VERY hard to let go.

Today has been, with certainty, another, very final letting go that has been looming since that second week in January. Maybe earlier than that, but I was just too stupid to see it. Definitely didn’t want to see it.

It’s amazing what we tell ourselves when we fall in love with someone. I had. I did. So completely that I lost myself irrevocably. I let go of myself entirely earlier this year, and that was a mistake, given that it gained me nothing, and now I still have to let go of HIM. And I still don’t want to.

Oh well. Goodbye to that. Goodbye to my heart and soul, my hopes for fulfillment. Goodbye to safety and security in the knowledge that I AM loved.

Goodbye Joy that trusted unconditionally.

Goodbye to believing that two people who love each other can make it work.

Nah. Even when they’re made for each other, and deserve each other. Doesn’t work out.

I’m not doing THAT again. Ever.

whew. I can’t even convey how much it hurts. Words don’t do justice to the sadness and betrayal. I really could rant on and on about being misled and taken for granted, used, and made a fool of.

But why not just let it go? It’s the year for it.

Ok. I will.

Seriously.

Can we have enough of the Year of Letting Go?

I don’t even want to THINK of what the next two months could possibly have in store for me before I’m free of it!

Dad has heart surgery in two weeks. I’m having that “bothersome lump” on my chest smashed on Monday…

The only letting go I want to see there are goodbye to WORRY and IRRITATING HEALTH ISSUES.

UNDERSTOOD, UNIVERSE???

I have had it! ENOUGH, already.

Stick a fork in me.

Well done.

And I am NOT the only person who’s been letting go of people and things that mean a great deal to them, all freakin’ year long.

Can next year be something a bit more upbeat, please? How about “The Year of Fabulous Surprises” or “The Year of Finding Peace”… maybe “The Year of Financial Freedom”???

Can we? Please?

I

know

how

people

feel

when

they

decide

to

kill

themselves.

Not going to do that, myself, because I just can’t cop out that way.

No.

I’m going to demand resolution and retribution from this life.

But goddamn, do I KNOW how it feels. The despair, the absolute rock bottom lack of hope for the future, the feeling that disaster is all that waits in store, fear of medical unknowns, exhaustion from pain (emotional in this case), knowing nothing, Nothing, NOTHING is going to change to make the source of the pain disappear, and knowing that seeking temporary oblivion only works until it comes back and slaps you RIGHT across the face again.

Am I REALLY that much of a masochist?

No. But I’m also not a fucking coward.

So, no final oblivion for me.

Pity. I think that would probably put MORE than one person out of my misery.

Too fucking bad.

There’s still something sitting by my jewelry box that needs to be put into your hands. (And what better place for it to sit… something that represents one of the most priceless jewels ever to adorn the planet?)

Not nagging, by any means. I’m all about the busy myself. In fact, I seem to be managing to keep life busy enough that I’m avoiding the sad. Well, most of the time. Nights are worst. Not much I can do about it, though. I’m not the only woman forced to go forth into the world alone. Grandma did it. So can I. So I do what she did; stay busy. Yeah. I know. I’m avoiding the issue. What else can I do when the issue will never, EVER go away, but there doesn’t seem to be a satisfactory resolution? Find little happinesses in little things and keep moving.

I just want to make sure this important thing remains a part of the priority “to-do” list.

In fact, I think this reminder is more for me than anyone else. Part of me is afraid of forgetting… No, that’s not quite it. I’ll never forget. Maybe I’m just not quite ready to let go and move on.

Yeah. Real surprise there. I don’t let people go easily. I’m like a little wolverine that bites, latches on, and doesn’t want to let go of my prey.

It is to sigh.

acquired via APJ’s blog.

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It’s true.

As they saying goes… “It’s always something.”

Last Friday… went to the fair to shoot video of Tanjora doing their fire performance, only to have it start raining (and VERY cold) by the time their show time rolled around. So, of course, the sound techs for the fair said there was no way they were plugging in and turning on their sound equipment (because nobody wants to be electrocuted or blow out expensive equipment)… Still… the show must go on.

So Tanjora danced and spun fire and all sorts of things to the sounds of people drumming on the plastic chairs on the stage, playing finger cymbals, pounding on empty fuel cans, tapping with sticks… whatever could be found.

And you know… it was pretty cool. People even came out and stood in the drizzle to watch! (Of course, any time you see someone flinging fire around, it tends to grab your attention.)

And I got it all on video. Ok, except for the parts where the battery died (twice) and I had to switch out to another.

Saturday was a day of shopping. Found a $600 chair that I need to have. Ok, I need the $600 more… for other things, but still.

I sat in the chair for no more than a couple minutes and I felt SO GOOD when I got up. One of those iJoy chairs. (And really… am I not meant to have something like that? It has my damned NAME on it!)

Sunday… got up, got beautified, put leaves in my hair, and went back to the fair to dance with Ananka. It’s always a fun and relaxed show.

Then I had a meeting to get to after the fair, but it got cancelled. So… I slept a lot.

Monday… the new quarter started at school. Every day I have a 2 1/2 hour gap between classes. NOT quite enough to go home and get anything done… but long enough to sit around at school and get completely bored. Yes. I do try to get homework done during that time.

But… everyone ELSE in my classes has the gap as well, so we’re all sitting around together being bored. This leads to mischief. Today we’re going to go BBQ and play Halo. At least that’s the plan. If the meat ever gets here…

Yeah, so Monday… after school I had my annual physical. It’s a little late. But I need to get it done before I’m no longer insured.

I survived it. Still dislike the parts I’ve always disliked, but you know… I always hated being a girl.

Now, maybe moreso. Doc found something he didn’t like in the exam, so now I have to go have my chest smashed between plates and have an ultrasound of one. I’m not averse to the ultrasound part… but if my boobs are going to be smashed, I’d really rather not have it done by cold plates. This… is the absurd part mentioned in my post title.

Yeah. A little bit of worry here, but nothing to get too excited over yet. Appointment is on the 5th.

Tuesday I ditched dance class. Actually, I slept through it. Fell asleep at about 4, woke up some time that night… went back to sleep and slept through til 6:15 or so. That’s ok. They’re all preparing for two different shows this weekend, and I’m unable to be in either of them, so I don’t think I’m needed. I definitely needed the sleep. Sleeping a LOT lately. Probably the seasonal change. I’ll need to enact some countermeasures soon, so I don’t fall into depression or something.

Last night I had that meeting I was supposed to have on Sunday. Got a gig set up for a local Indian restaurant. They want dancing on Wednesday evenings. We’ll see how this goes. I’m going to see if I can switch it to Thursdays. That would work a lot better, since the people I would have fill in when I couldn’t dance have to teach on Wed.

Zipped over to rehearse with Suicide Lounge after the meeting… and one person wasn’t there. So instead we chatted, and listened to music, decided there are some other songs out there we could add to our sets, talked about they lyrics I’m still trying to write to RP’s melody, and ate REALLY really good food. (Because lecram always cooks the good stuff.)

Now I’m enduring the day while waiting for my virtual machines to finish setting up.

…who asked…

what is the cocktail of the evening?

Please let me direct your attention to THIS PAGE.

I just got my bottle last week.

And verily I say unto you,

it is good.

What is it about a voice that can make me fall in love with it?

The thought crossed my mind just now. A strange thing happened. Well, maybe not so strange, but it gave me pause.

I was surfing through iTunes, checking out the audiobooks available. (Not that I can afford any, but I just wanted to see what was there, I suppose. More than I expected. Digression. Pardon.)

I came across “Shopgirl” by Steve Martin. I had seen the movie, and knowing it was a book BEFORE a movie, and since I tend to generally appreciate books even more than movies, I clicked the link and played the preview. To my delight, it was read by the author himself.

So there I was, listening to this excerpt of a clever story written by a clever man, and I found myself falling in love with Steve Martin’s voice. I did! I screwed my brows together when I realized this reaction, and pondered what could possibly make me feel so fond of a stranger.

Yes, the man is well-known; a celebrity. This is not an excuse. Celebrity doesn’t impress me. If anything, it makes me less likely to respect a person outright. I think one would actually have to work harder to gain any credibility in my eyes. (That’s probably unfair to any celebrities I may meet, but since it’s unlikely I’ll be meeting many in the course of my life, it won’t matter much.)

Oh, but I was so soothed, listening to the voice of this man, this stranger, this celebrity actor/comedian/author/playwrite/whatever-else-he-is. Even as I marveled at the ridiculousness of the feeling, still I was enraptured and listening.

How fascinating was the simple description of his Mirabelle, and how she walked, and how she wore her clothes, and how a stranger would admire her legs as she sat in a cafe.

How could I be so enchanted by almost nothing at all? Is it the skill of the writer combined with the skill of the reader, and realizing they belong to the same person?

The little sample of this audiobook ended and I began to think. (Careful there, Joy. Don’t strain anything.)

I haven’t often “fallen for” a voice. Usually fondness for a person’s voice comes over time, and familiarity. I appreciate and enjoy the voices of friends. As I know a person better, I am more attuned to the subtle changes in tone that come with varying moods.

I am a mother. I am keenly aware of the sounds my daughter makes, sometimes annoyed to distraction by whining, other times completely smitten by the joy and eagerness of adolescent enthusiasm.

But that, too, is something I learned from proximity, from familiarity.

So why, then, every so often, do I come across a voice that absolutely endears me to the owner? I’ve never been so struck by the voice of Steve Martin before… why now?

IS it the content and context as well as the sound?

But the last time I heard a voice that nearly made me swoon, I’m fairly sure the content wasn’t earth-shattering. The context might have been significant. This, too, was another brilliant mind that had already proved it could produce wonders.

I fell madly, completely, irrevocably, tragically, adoringly in love with that one. It hasn’t gone away.

After some thought, THAT voice and Steve Martin’s voice really aren’t all that alike… except… there IS some quality that they share. I’m not sure what it is. Pitch and tone aren’t really the same. Inflection, maybe? The precision with which words are produced and slip off the tongue? Maybe I’m just a sucker for someone who isn’t a mush-mouth like most of society seems to be these days.

Good lord. Does this mean I’m going to fall in love with Steve Martin?!?

Nah.

Although… the man IS tall. And brilliant…

But back to this voice thing, because it’s the voice issue that perplexes me.

So I didn’t fall in love with Steve Martin, but I did feel an odd fondness for him as he was reading his book to me.

It was like hearing my Dad… who is no vocal virtuoso by any stretch of the imagination… read to me as a child. That was familiar, and comfortable, no matter that he stumbled over words, or didn’t always pronounce things properly.

Same general feeling.

Just like the voice I DID fall in love with. Comfortable, evoking trust. Hmmm… maybe I should ask THAT voice to read some of its owner’s work to me.

But what is it about certain voices that trigger these responses? Are we hardwired to respond to certain kinds of sounds, depending on our own genetic code and that of the other person?

Or is it that we become attuned to certain speech patterns, accents, pitch, tone, timbre, turn of phrase… throughout the course of our lives? Maybe something that happened, or someone I met once impressed upon me a longing for a certain kind of voice.

Nature, or nurture?

Maybe a bit of both? It seems to me that I HAVE tended to respond to the voices of certain “types”. That is hardly definitive, though.

Ohhh, the question begs research.

What IS it about a voice?