Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,

Burning Man 2004 Decompression in the Sierra Foothills, Wandering Male Ego Lust...September 11 : (

Mmmm, I just woke up. I was having such an intense series of dreams -- very sexy, romantic and career ambitious, real deep turn-on dreams. I'm writing from my bed in the back of our rented RV. I can hear one of Mara's roosters crowing away outside. I love that sound.

We've been staying at our sweet new friends Phil and Mara's house in Meadow Vista, (Placer County -- about forty-five minutes north of Sacramento), for the weekend. We have been having such a relaxing and healing time. What a terrific way to decompress from the burn -- here with good new friends in the Sierra foothills in what feels like a forest to me. They have this wonderful property -- a warm, natural, wooden, antique filled home on this big piece of property surrounded by big ponderosa pine trees. They've planted berries and things and there are wild rambling roses, it's just so natural and healthy feeling. Whatever we don't finish eating we save for composting or feed to the chickens.

They live so much closer to the earth and more in harmony with nature than we do at home in the city. Yesterday on a long drive around the area we saw so many deer and stopped and ate fresh figs off of a tree. This was all so exotic to me, this life that is so natural to them.

Mara gave us a tour around the area and took us to see a house where a friend of hers had lived but is now renting it to someone else. She wanted us to see it because it is so unusual. It's very hobbity, this completely handcrafted multi-level tree house that this super talented and creative man built all by himself. It's so incredibly cool, every piece of this house is hand wrought -- from the doors to the window sills -- everything is fabulous and so charming and yes, definitely hobbity. It was fun to see it and meet the owner and her big friendly Rottweiler Braden who liked me and gave me lots of doggy love.

I can hear the sounds of construction in the distance and I feel for the animals and the people who live here who will shortly be inundated with more people. Too bad for this sweet sleepy woodsy place.

When Mara was telling her boyfriend about me a few days ago he got all interested and perky. He got a little too interested if you know what I mean and consequently Mara felt less than and hurt about it. Apparently he likes my astrological signs and has always wanted to hook up with a fiery Aries type, or something like that. Mara was just sharing something about a connection she had made with him and instead of letting it be about her he had to go and let his wandering male interest get all perked up and turned on. As if there was even the slightest chance that we would even meet let alone that I would glance in his direction while I have my Scott and hello, he is with my brand new friend Mara who is a really lovely woman. Wake up you hairy, old, white-haired pussy ranger, Mara is very special and you're lucky to have her. Seriously, this woman is so dear, a talented metaphysical healer, powerful, nurturing, creative, deep, a good mother, just an all around great gal and she's been teaching massage for years, not just giving massages but teaching people to become therapists, so she's like some kind of super massage therapist. Imagine having someone like that for a partner.

My attention starved ego may appreciate the weird, disconnected, abstract interest, because I've got years of this kind of stuff to make up for, but not at the expense of a friend. I'm done being that kind of a woman. I hurt someone once and I've never gotten over it. She's long since forgiven me but I've never forgiven myself.

Why do men do this to their women friends and/or partners? Don't they know how selfish this is and how much it hurts? What the hell is wrong with them? Can't they just learn to shut the hell up and keep some of their wandering nomadic sexuality to themselves? Seriously, why do we have to bear the burden of helping them out with this? Let them process this crap on their own or with their buddies, and if they are too macho to be able to talk about their longings and yearnings for deeper and more significant connections with women when they are with their buds -- for fear of being made fun of if the talk about women becomes anything deeper than, "Hey Bert, check out the rack on that chick," well, then tough fucking luck, keep it to yourself.

Can you imagine how devastating it would be to their egos if we went around doing this? "Ooooh look at the big, thick cock on that guy. Oh Lordy the things he could do to me with that. I wonder what it would feel like to be with a guy like that? Hmm...bet it'd feel goo-oood. Oh and that much-younger-than-you-are guy over there, why he's got a full head of thick, lush hair...lovely. No ageing beer belly on him, and look at how tight his ass looks in those jeans, oh yeah, I'd like to try some of that. I'd unzip that fly with my teeth.

Sorry honey, I was just playing, seriously, just letting my nomadic sexuality wander there a bit, nothing against you, I still love you. You do want me to feel free to be able to process any little blip on my sexual radar with you don't you? You're special like that right? You don't need or want me to hold all this in do you? I need you to be better than all those other guys who couldn't handle my need to be this real with them. I can't help my constant wondering if there isn't something better, younger, hotter, sexier, or more successful than you are out there who might just help me over this middle age hump and make me feel much younger and better than you do. It's nothing personal, really.

Oh check that out...oh yeah, I bet he'd know how to be in a relationship. I bet he'd know how to communicate with a woman, make her feel loved up, secure, cared for, special. Oh man would I love to tap that.

Oooh and how about him? Just look at that big fat wad of career sacrifice and success he's carrying on him. Imagine the wallet on that guy, and the car he's driving, niiiice one. I bet he runs a big company that he's just about ready to sell so he can spend the rest of his life traveling the world with me. Oh yeah, I bet he has three houses, a private island and more money than even God would know what to do with. Imagine the credit cards and the jewelry and the scads of romantic gifts, oooh yeah. Oh, but I'm not comparing him to you honey. You're still as special and precious to me as ever. It isn't about that at all...it's just natural and healthy for me to always be looking for something better, something else, something...not you." Imagine the male ego deflation and self esteem devastation?

Phil and I had a fight with Beau last night. He was being lazy and selfish while we were both being helpful and kind and finally, after putting up with his poor attitude all day, we both kind of snapped at him, and cornered and faced with having to look at his own behavior and the effect it was having on the only two friends he has here, he did the only really mature thing he could, and threw a roll of paper towels at Phil, which somehow managed to smack me on the side of the head instead. Then he threw a little mini teenaged fit, flipped off the lights over his bunk bed, yanked the curtains shut and went to bed. Well, good, he needs the sleep, but it hurt as well. I can't stand the feeling when we're in conflict, it hurts so much.

My breasts are tender and hurting, maybe I'm going to find my long lost period. Anyone seen it lately? I know I sure haven't.

Despite several good Jacuzzi baths at the casino/hotel in Reno and a long, long, looong, soak in Mara's terrific hot tub last night, (we were both naked in the warm water under the big strong trees and the dark star filled sky with the sounds and scents of nature all around us, it was so great), I still feel dusty and my head itches. I took out all of my, not-ever-as-good-as-when-Sonia-did-them, dreads on our last day at Burning Man, well, actually Phil did. I was so worried he was going to cut my real hair out with them but he did a really good job, and it felt so good and freeing to be rid of them.

Normally I have to go through this Burning Man persona shedding thing when I come home and am forced to face the reality of how uncomfortable it feels to have pretty, alternative hair, in a community where no one else does, and everyone stares at you. I have to go through that, Am I brave enough to keep this the way it is? thing, and inevitably I take it all out and blend back in like a turtle. It hurts me too much to be the one nail that because it sticks up, everyone wants to smack it down flat so that it will look like all of the others and won't stick out any more. This time it wasn't about the sacrifice of my personal, creative, self decorative choices, in exchange for social equilibrium in a world that can't stand color, this time I just wanted it out for comfort sake, and oh man did it feel good to have it all off and put my head over that bucket and have my first hair wash in over ten filthy dust and sweat covered days. I washed a male camp mates hair as well and that was nice.

Maybe I still feel dirty because we keep coming back to our dusted out RV to sleep and I'm still wearing clothes that were in here during all of the dust storms. There was so much dust coming in that it settled on every surface in this fine but super thick covering. It covered all of my bras and panties so that when I picked them up a cloud of dust puffed off of them and made me sneeze. It looked as if I'd left them on some prehistoric sand dune for a week, as if time were passing slowly back here in our neglected motor home while we had been off playing somewhere else for ages.

I've been working on it a little at a time -- cleaning the RV. I have to turn it back in, in spotlessly clean condition or face a whopping five hundred dollar fine. They warned me about this before we drove off, "Oh, you're going to Burning Man??? Uh oh. You'll have to bring it back in perfect condition or we'll charge you FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS!" Yikes, and this is the filthiest I can ever remember the motor home being. It's just impossible to keep it clean out there or even here with a lazy, trash dropping fourteen year old boy. His wrappings and leavings are constantly fluttering to the floor where they get kicked about, mingle with other pieces of trash and food and then end up being covered with dust, yuck.

Oh my god, when I went to save this entry I had to look at my watch to see what the date was and the sudden shock of realizing it's September 11 hit me with a sickening
thud. I never understood my Mother's connection to Pearl Harbor or the day President Kennedy died like I do now. Of course I cared and felt sorry about it. I watched videos and did what I could to connect to these terrible events -- about as much as anyone could who wasn't alive then -- but now I have a whole different understanding of them. I hate that despite what I think is a high level of empathy I really do have to, walk a mile in someone else's moccasins, before I can truly understand what something feels like. And this leads me to the thought that because I wasn't there, in lower Manhattan, on that terrible day, despite how bad I feel about it, how deeply I mourned for everyone, I will never know what it felt like to be right there.

However, I do feel, that with the way we take in news these days, with the overwhelming amount of visual and auditory information that we have to process, when something like this happens, you really do have some kind of feeling for what it must have been like and you can't help but feel as if you are a part of it and connected to the suffering of the many people who were there. My heart goes out to all of you and I will be thinking of you and holding your hands all day and for some time to come on this terribly sad anniversary.

Love you guys,
Jacqui who wants to live in the mountains

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