Paula Tracey
A Tarnished Southern Belle

Since I ended up staying in DC over the weekend, I found the pull to go back to Mass quite strong. Now, I wasn’t as thrilled with the homily of the young priest as I had been the previous visit, but that is the thing about visiting any church - even a Catholic Church where the readings are set.  I liked the 2nd reading, actually - it’s one I can take to heart, however, I didn’t like the interpretation of the Priests.

Romans 12, Verse 2:  Do not be conformed to this present world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may test and approve what is the will of God – what is good and well-pleasing and perfect.

I am a big believer that we don’t have to conform.  In fact, I believe that within your mind is where you have to find the comfort in your life - and get to the space you need.  I think that God gives us free will and that finding what the “will of God is” is about being satisfied with where you are in life and what you want from your life.  That is free will.  That is the will of God.   Who wants to be a sheep that only conforms to what society thinks is the right way to behave?   Sure, I think we need to know the rules of polite society, but to be satisfied, you have to know when the rules work for you and when they don’t.

By the way, the priests interpretation was that God’s will is found through the Church.  I have a feeling that Paul would disagree with the priest and, like me, cling to the words “renewing of your mind” just like I did. For some people, I think always following the rules and never stepping outside of that box is the only way to truly find comfort.  For some of us, though, we don’t find comfort until we explore the ways society makes us uncomfortable and find our own path.

Though I am more spiritual than religious, my prayers typically follow the same vein:  forgive me of my sins, take care of those I love, and help me find peace within my own heart.  I did get what I wanted from Mass, though, which was those peaceful moments, so unlike the rest of my week when it comes to work…..

By the way, I snapped this photo this morning as the sun gazed down.  This is St. Patrick’s Catholic Church in  downtown Washington DC.  It’s a beautiful day here in DC.  I feel very blessed.

My hotel room is evidence of my thoughts being scattered a bit this week.  The pinstripe jacket to the suit from yesterday is resting on the back of the desk chair and the suit I wore today is carelessly tossed across the back of the easy chair next to my bed.  My bra is hanging on the door to the armoire.   There is one pair of shoes by the door and another pair of shoes by the window.  I am in disarray.

I am also incredibly tired, but because the day was much too intense and busy, I am exhausted but not sleepy.   I had one of those days, days where an eighteen-hour bra would have failed.  I was up at 5:30, out of the hotel by 7:15 AM and not back until after 7 PM.  Starved, I finally had dinner about 8 PM.  As far as the not sleepy part, in the past, I would have turned to a glass of wine (or two) to get me buzzed enough to be sleepy, but in all honesty, I have no desire to wake with a wine headache and I do have another full day tomorrow.

At dinner, though, I did have a cocktail.  A perfectly blended, perfectly chilled oh-please-may-I-savor-you White Knight: “Vodka, Cointreau, White Cranberries and crushed Limes together to form a more perfect union”.  I wanted a second because it was just so incredibly yummy, but was afraid I’d fall asleep at the table.

I want to remember that tonight I talked to Scout, who is an old-flame/client of sorts who, after more than a year of not “seeing each other in that way” had sent me a text the other night telling me he’d like to see me because he misses me.  We had dinner a several months back (June?) and we talked.  I think what he misses is talking to me because in so many ways, I am non-judgmental.   Not quote sure about this, but I can guarantee you that it will not end with what he may hope. I am more than willing to have dinner with him, but he needs to understand that it doesn’t go beyond the hotel lobby.

I also talked to The Major this afternoon.  I have forgotten how to date.  We are working on dinner tomorrow night so that we can see each other before I go back home.

I really must turn off the lights.  Please forgive the rambles as it is where I am tonight with my scattered thoughts when I should be sleeping.

I really need to get into the office early this morning.  Every single one of my technical guys are early birds, arriving in by 7 AM.  If I can get work disseminated to them earlier, I feel better about how I am managing this project.  I’ve tried doing it later in the evenings via email, but either they (a) go ahead and finish before they go to bed or (b) seem to ignore the email til I get there.

What I want to do is sit here and write.   The room is cool enough that I need to wear my light robe over the thin black negligee that I sleep in.  I have this fresh cup of organic coffee with just the right amount of cream and splenda.  I have the drapes slightly open, but the sheers still drawn, and can turn slightly to the left and watch the waking bustle of DC as it comes more awake.  I’m at street level this week, which I thought would bother me, but in all hoensty is incredibly cool.

It’s also the perfect climate to climb into bed and linger…the sheets are slightly cool to the touch, but a few moments of snuggling under the layers of sheet and thin down duvet provide just the right amount of toastiness to cuddle and caress me.  It’s soothing - the butter yellow paint of the walls in this twilight.

I also have the Washington Post just sitting there on the foot of the bed, next to my breakfast tray.  It’s fresh and unopened….just waiting for me to thumb through to glance at the headlines on the front of each section, scramble through and pull out the classifieds and the sports to put them into the trash.  The other sections are waiting to be read, knowing that I won’t have time to read each and every article - but each section is hopeful that the headline of their little piece will entice my curiosity enough to do more than scan.  the New York Times is there as well.  But it isn’t as hopeful.  It knows that I consider it second, as the Times is a tad too liberal for my tastes.

I believe the second half of my bran muffin is wondering if it’s going to make it’s way into my tummy soon - or if it will lay there, uneaten.  I’m thinking it may get wrapped in plastic and just be saved for tomorrow morning, or a late night nosh.

and then there is my suit.  It’s calling to me louder than The Post, The Times, or my muffin.  I laid it out on the bed when I thumbed through the (very few) clothes I have left in the armoire.  A huge chunk of my clothes are in the cleaners.

I was up too late.  The Major (more about him later) came over last night when he was done with class, just for a little while.  He said he had missed my face and wanted to tuck me in.  Of course, after he left, I was wide awake.  I don’t know quite what to feel about him yet.  I know that I like his company and it feels right when he is holding me.   It was what he did the first moments of being here - nothing but holding onto me and hugging on me.  Even though I could feel his desire and his urgency, he took it slowly and I was surprised slightly by the mix of the fierceness in his embrace with the tenderness in which his hands held me.  There is something different about sex with him, in that it isn’t as if he is just fucking me.  It’s like his embrace when he first got here - this mix of making love while fucking - the tenderness with the strength and power….the kissing and the way he pauses to smooth back the hair from my eyes or the way his hand cups my chin as he gazes into my eyes.

I hadn’t really intended to write about him this morning as the morning twilight begins to fade and the sun washes over the city, but I had decided when I started here that I was going to write what I felt at the moment - no major censoring, no hiding of relationships, no holding back if something was really on my mind, dying to make it’s way to the paper.  I guess it shows us that at times, we can’t quite control where our muse takes us, as we begin to let the words flow from my fingers and onto the page.  My muse was quiet for so long that I don’t want to scare him into retreating again, so I will allow this stream of consciousness flow here and keep my subject only when necessary.

Sigh.  I truly have more to say, but my coffee cup is empty and my suit is calling a bit louder to me as it’s almost time for me to walk out the door if I am to get in early.  Hopefully my morning will give me some time to steal away from work and make it’s way back here.

Happy Wednesday.

I’m at the same hotel I’ve stayed at the last couple of times in DC.  I love it here.  The location is perfect - in the heart of DC so that there are lots of great places to as well as a safe neighborhood to walk around in after work.  It doesn’t hurt that the National Portrait Gallery is across the street for a quick wander through.

I love the funky decor.  It has an arty feel and a true personality - whereas most hotels are on the sterile side.  In all honesty, the move here has helped me grow back to having a creative side again.  The true straw that pushes me here again, though, is the people.  This staff is just amazing.

When I checked in last night, they gave me a different room, which panicked me a bit.  Once I unpacked, though, I was good.  Yes, I unpack in a hotel.  Everything has to be put in it’s place and suitcases hidden away.  The staff pampered me, though, until my panic left.  I feel like such a baby when I am in a bit of a panic mode.  My ability to travel like I do truly is the result of solid routines.  I wonder, though, if some of my routines (and habits) have become OCD tendencies?

Last night, I ordered a glass of wine before bedtime and when room service arrived he smiled and said “no dessert tonight?”.  Busted.  Yep, about three nights a week, I order a latte and a dessert.   They have an amazing restaurant and yummy desserts.  I had actually planned on dessert last night, but since someone had brought me a couple of chocolate chip cookies, I didn’t need Olive Oil Cake or Pot de Creme.

It made me wonder, though, if I am too predictable or if my routines of comfort are entirely too predictable.  Here i sit this morning with the Washington Post spread on the bed next to me (my daily request) sipping on a cup of coffee (another morning routine - a pot of coffee from room service) and nibble a piece of wheat toast.  When the morning guy realized it was me in this other room, by the way, he came back with the toast (I only ordered coffee this morning) cause he said I needed it this morning.  He was right by the way, I did need the toast.

I appreciate they indulge me and pamper me, even if I am too predictable.

Gotta go hop in the shower.  Maybe later I can write about something a little more profound than my travel habits.

It’s almost Monday.

Tomorrow, I head back to DC for the week.  I enjoy being home in some ways, but in others, I don’t.  I am incredibly frustrated with the oldest kid, who has no concept of others’ needs. It’s close to midnight and she is doing laundry.  The ability for me to fall asleep with the washer running is low.  She is also loud, too loud, and when I ask her to be quiet, it doesn’t help much.   School starts tomorrow, and for that I’m glad, but I still don’t think it will affect her inconsideration. I also don’t tend to write well here at home - except in the early mornings.

When it comes back to sleep, though, I sleep better in a hotel these days.  I slept OK at The Boy’s house last night - at least until around 4:30 when I woke up the first time (since it was 7:30 Eastern.)  But home? It’s rare to get a good nights sleep….

Next Monday, I am going to begin to participate in a writer’s group.  I think I need the structure to get me disciplined to writing again - more than just in the blog.  I’m hoping having that accountability will help me get into a routine.

Come Monday….

Part of my reading the other day was in relation to the men in my life.  The Boy, specifically, has been, of course, on my mind, however, I know deep in my heart he is, long term, not “the one”.  He is, honestly, a convenience.  In the past, I was able to use him as an excuse to my ex for traveling when I had my old business - and as an excuse to clients who tried to get too close to me, as I had a “boyfriend”.  He is a boy and he is a friend, but he is not, at least at this moment, a true boyfriend.  But I digress.

The guides present in my reading told me that this trip to Tucson wouldn’t be the best - that I could salvage parts of hit, however, to be well aware that no matter what, I would leave somewhat unsatisfied in some way.  I debated up until Friday night around 10 PM before I decided whether to go or not….and I didn’t pack until Saturday morning.

Most of the trip did leave me satisfied, but of course, not all….   We bummed around all afternoon, spent some time relaxing with each other - he took care of what I needed sexually - and held me while I slept.  We also talked last night, in depth, about something that has been bothering him with an old friend - and it told me why I was supposed to be on this trip, so that I could rub his back while he got off his chest about having to step away from a guy he’s known for 15 years - someone who has been a closer friend.  He didn’t start to do the whole emotional withdrawal thing until this morning when we got up.

I was expecting it, though, so I was emotionally ready.  He and I have talked too much about the whole state of our relationship this last week for me not to be prepared…and my instincts as well as the advice from my girlfriend, Lee and my advice in my reading….  Stepping back and away is a good thing for me.  I’ll see him the week of September 11th in DC - we have reservations for dinner and such…between now and then, though, I need to step back and put my emotional energy into work - and my writing.

It doesn’t hurt my heart like I thought it would.  Maybe, there are only so many tears and heartache you can have for one man in your life, and after that….you just don’t feel it.

so, I did get what I needed yesterday.  He did make sure of that.  A part of me is sad for HIM though because he is so…deepdown…unable to accept or give love.

Life is much too short for that.

I have always been a vivid technicolor dreamer.  But as most folks tend to do, remembering those dreams after the first moments of waking is difficult.  Maybe I’m exaggerating.  Maybe most people do remember their dreams and it’s only me that struggles to grasp the threads of them when I come full-to waking.  It’s the twilight between awake and asleep that truly is the magical time and I want to better grasp that.

I did the oh-do-we-dare talk about religion the other day, and admitted that when it comes to the spiritual world, I do believe that those who pass on never really leave us and that there are those in the world who have spiritual gifts.  In all likely-hood, most people have some sort of small spiritual gift, but I think that as we grow from childhood to adult hood, we probably abandon it as it doesn’t have it’s place in the logical and science.  But I digress.  I was talking about dreams, but then again, I was also thinking about those with spiritual gifts.

Be it messages from the Other Side, messages from Guiding Spirits, or simply messages from our own Subconscious, I think - no, I believe - that many of our dreams are supposed to mean something to us.  It’s not about saving the world or a cure for a rare disease coming to the average person, but if we can find a way to listen to them, it tells us something.    I had one of those dreams last night, waking with the gossamer threads between my dream world and my real world.  It wasn’t one of those bad dreams, that wake you with a start, the dreams had lots of peaceful moments, but of course, I still awoke wondering “what did that mean?”

(quickie re-cap:  casual time in the dream with The Boy, but for some reason his granddaughter was there, except she wasn’t 4 like she is now, but an infant.  A mutual friend of ours came up in conversation and we had both seen her briefly, in Texas, where she doesn’t live, and he had started smoking - a habit I told him was bad for him - and he said he knew, but he couldn’t quit.  We were on a deck, with water rushing by - river like….and I lost my hat into the water, but he rescued it for me.  See, strange pieces of gossamer threads)

Recently, I had a session with a medium.  It wasn’t my first with him (and won’t be my last).    The subject of dreams came up and he told me that I should pay attention to my dreams…that my dreams are more present and I should record them to see how the patterns unfold.  I have never been disciplined enough to keep a dream journal and am wondering how I can be true to the advice.  I also wonder if the patterns will truly unfold before me, or if I am going to have to go more to someone experienced.

Though I lack discipline, by the way, I know that paying some attention to the overall patterns and underlying themes of my dreams is a positive thing for me as I continue to explore my desires to grow as a person…

Enough rambling. I need coffee and food and to get some work done.

Like any writer, I have a million and a half things running through my head…details and pieces that are screaming out to be included into a story here or there.  Like the elderly man sitting on the steps of the CVS eating ice cream of some sort each morning when I passed (it was different each day!) or the way a new beau leans into you, taking in your scent as he whispers in your ear “you smell wonderful”.  The task, however, seems to be taking those snippets and weaving them into something more.

I am great at beginning pieces, however, what I am lousy at is completing them.

It’s the writer’s doubt that begins to creep in of who would want to read this and where am I going to share it anyway so that someone will read it?

I had told Melissa that I had lost the joy and ability to write for the sake of writing - that everything seemed to need a goal.  Is it a piece of my novel?  Is it an article for a magazine I write for? Is it a piece geared towards one particular themed publication?

It’s as if I didn’t have a right to write something if it didn’t have a home.  I am struggling to get out of that mindset.  I have agreed to participate in a writer’s group, which I think I need desperately - to share what I am writing, to be prompted to write, to be told that what I write isn’t crap - and of course to be told when what I am writing IS crap

I may not be accomplishing much these days in completion, but I do have to say it feels really good to be able to be here and writing on a regular basis.  Something I haven’t been able to do in ages.

I had this amazing day today.  I missed the 8 AM Mass at St. Patricks, however, I made the 10 AM Mass.  It was only 4 blocks away from the hotel - an old, lovely church.  Small, beautiful stained glass windows everywhere.

Then, I had a blind date of sorts that turned out to be amazing.  We went to brunch as a starter….then he was the perfect gentleman and offered me his arm as we strolled down the street.  Portrait Gallery. Then this amazing and relaxing afternoon…then dinner before he had to drive back to Quantico.  We made plans to do something a week from Friday for sure - and hopefully this week before I head back home…

Am exhausted and heading to bed.  But I wanted to write pieces of this down before I forget what an amazing day I had…

My afternoon lounging space.  Sunny outside, shady in spaces.  80’s.  Me, my laptop, and a glass of wine….

The courtyard of my hotel on this lovely Saturday afternoon.