Welcome Home Steak
2002-05-20 @ 9:26 a.m.
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I've been working on this entry in my head since about 6 a.m. Because this is an honesty entry.
Since I was awake at 6 a.m., I laid in bed (do you say lay or laid? I never can remember) waiting to hear the motorcycle start. Jake said she was riding the motorcycle and that she was getting an early start, so by 6:30 I figured I'd either hear it or she wasn't getting the early start she wanted to. When I got up at 7:30 and Bad said she'd already gone I was disappointed not to have heard the bike. I like hearing that from bed - hearing the motorcycle start which means Jake is in our back yard all in leather heading off to work. It's one of those moments when our two houses feel more like a compound than like separate homes, when it feels almost like communal living. I like waking up to the sound of Jake and Sara's voices outside my bedroom window letting the dogs out. I like knowing they are there, that close. Even when I don't see them for a couple of days, I like the little signs that they are there.
Jake was gone for a couple of days last week. She was off celebrating her birthday with some slut in Florida (and I really do mean that in the nicest possible way - is slut an okay word for you? We like the word slut in my house.). We welcomed her home Saturday night with a steak dinner. Actually Bad requested the steak, but everyone seemed happy to benefit. Sara requested mashed potatoes, and I apparently read Jake's mind to come up with broccoli.
Steak is easy. I drizzle it with olive oil and salt it, then broil it to the appropriate doneness. Mashed potatoes aren't hard either, they just take a little longer. I like to make mashed potatoes with the skin on if my potatoes are fresh. Cut out the bad places, chop the potatoes into cubes and boil them in salted water until they are soft. Then drain and mash with butter, milk and salt. I use an old-fashioned hand masher. I like the texture it makes, even if it leaves a few lumps. Sometimes I use buttermilk instead of the skim milk we usually have on hand. It gives the potatoes a bit of tang. Broccoli is a little trickier, because you have to turn off the water in the steamer before they get too soft. Mushy broccoli is no good. If the rest of dinner isn't ready yet, then turn off the eye under the steamer before they are quite done and leave the lid on. The steam in the pot will finish the job without over-cooking them, and you don't have to worry about them getting cold. We had Bogle old vines red Zinfindel with the steaks. It is cheap and good.
Polyamory sometimes tests the limits of your security. Just because I am non-monogamous doesn't mean I don't get jealous. But just because I get jealous, doesn't mean I want to be monogamous. I don't get jealous of Badsnake so much anymore. Though I have had my moments of insecurity over Sara. But we've all talked about that, and I have gotten better at letting Bad know when I need attention or if I'm feeling neglected. And I go to bed with Bad every night. We've been together for twelve years and I feel safe in the knowledge that she's not going anywhere. I can share her without worry as long as I get my time.
With Jake it's different. We've had this relationship for . . . is it five years now? But I still have moments of concern that I could say or do something to run her off. Hear me out. These are just my own insecurities talking.
Before Jake left, I was very excited for her. I know her new girlfriend well enough to know that Jake would have a good time. I know her well enough to want to get to know her better myself. I like her.
But there was a tiny part of me that wanted Jake to come back just a little disappointed. (Most of you are lucky. Your family and friends don't read your diary. When I am being this honest with myself and with you, I get the joy of knowing that everyone involved also gets to read this. Sometimes one longs for anonymity.) But she didn't. She had a great time. Listening to her stories of her trip I alternated between wanting to hear every detail that she was willing to share, and wanting to run away and isolate myself with just my fears and insecurities.
I can count on Jake, though. I know that. Even if I don't trust myself, I trust her. When I say trust here, it's not trusting her to come back. I knew she would come back (I mean she had to come home - Sara's next door.). I had small thoughts that she might come back different somehow. Don't ask me how. I have no idea. But I trust her to take care of me. "Take care of me" means to make sure I'm okay, to make sure I get what I need.
I grew up in a situation where I had to take care of myself. My father got what he wanted. I'm not sure he ever tried to figure out what I wanted or needed. My mother was too busy trying to take care of herself. It was not a safe place to be a child. Now I live in a fortress of safety surrounded by loving women who would never let anything bad happen to me if they could help it. At forty-five, it's finally safe to be a child.
So when Jake and I got some time alone Saturday night after dinner (you can count on Sara and Bad to ask for some attic time, leaving us alone for a while), I got exactly what I needed. I got to give her a backrub. You might think that's Jake getting what she needed, and it is. But it's also me getting to touch and feel what's going on inside her. I get energy from that, too. I also got to tell her how I felt and hear the reassurances that I needed.
This is a difficult thing for me - sharing my insecurities in order to get reassurances. My insecurities are not my most attractive feature, and asking for reassurance makes me feel needy. But with the help of my girls, I'm learning that it's okay to ask for what I want or need.
Why am I baring my soul in such a public environment? Well, I have to admit that it's my tendency to say whatever comes into my head. For that reason even my closest loved ones have avoided telling me things they don't want the world to know. But it's also because I want to share the difficult stuff. Polyamory is a way of life that I've chosen because I believe that it is a good thing for me and for the people I love. But it's not always easy. Sometimes I cry.
But we always work it out. And I'm learning to count on the fact that we always will.
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