Sometimes I'm convinced I'll never wrap my head around this shit...

I do not have a handle on touch, nor on my own somewhat convoluted conceptions of what tactility means in relation to other human beings: what, in actuality, does it mean to have physical contact with someone, and in which ways is it most beneficial? In which contexts are we most prone to interpret touch, to seek it out, or to repel it? Perhaps I'm too apt to equate touch, sensation & its nuance with feeling, where feeling, in general, should be taken to mean 'emotion', and emotion in relation to specificity of relation.

My current partner is polyamorous, which is to say that he believes that he is capable (and probably truly is) of having strong feelings (even of loving), and good relationships with more than one person at a time; that dating and caring for multiple others provides a myriad of needs & wants from each of them is perfectly natural, organic & necessary to his emotional well-being.

I, of course, was raised Catholic-not that that has any true bearing on my relationship values whatsoever-in a household where monogamy & the trust, loyalty & 'true' love that supposedly go with it are paramount. It has never been disputed that monogamy is the only way to love, or to share a life; that monogamy is the only way in which touch should occur, that two people should physically express themselves. These things are simply understood, & have colored the way I've thought about how to love, & whom, & when, for a very, very long time.

And herein lies a new dilemma: via the conduit of one's tactile sensitivity, the ways in which it meshes with one's perspective & perception, how does one include more than one total-body stimulus, as it were?

I adore my partner. He's loud, brash, a little crazy; he smells of dirt & green willow & lavender & boy; his mouth tastes like glacier water & anise. But we are not 'together'. We may work together. We may finish each other's sentences, or speak simultaneously, or like the same books, music, movies, and foods. But we are not a unit in that conventional, constrictive way. These cliches that sound to others like romantic paradise are only indicators of this relationship's execution, not its backbone. Not its joints or ribs-its function; not its heart.

I love touching this man, love the absolute sensation of being around him. We're similar enough to make sense to one another (not wholly of course-that would be boring); we're different enough, I hope, to remain exciting. And yet today I found myself getting ready to take a walk on the beach with someone else; some other man. Someone else whose smells & tastes & textures are, while not anathema, certainly perpendicular to my partner's; we walked for an hour. We talked about things I don't talk about with my partner: SCUBA diving, business ventures, the merits of small towns. The pull was not an electric one. This man tastes of cider & salt & citrus. This man does not know about my partner.

I cannot choose. Which is to say, I cannot choose which half of myself to listen to: the one that is governed by a need for interesting, surprising & varied sensation, or the one that loves nothing more than to search for the subtleties of a constant pressure: one partner, or more than one? One source of touch & tactile satisfaction, or the other? Does there have to BE an other?

And these are the questions that lead to the bigger ones: about the feel of singularity, about what it means to 'date' and to be in relationships. About how those lead to consistency, in feeling, in the faces & bodies we see & touch, about what we hear & taste & smell from choice, from a strange chemical compatibility perhaps. About how those in turn lead to comfort, which leads to habit, which leads to permanence.

About how I wonder as I struggle with the words "right", & "love" & "choice" if what I've really been doing is running, & why, & what from...

Epic Post-Holiday Update: or, Sorry I Haven't Written, I've Been Busy Livin'

It's been a very, very busy last 3 months for me here in Port Townsend, WA, where I'm working as a volunteer with AmeriCorps. The weather isn't so hot right now: rainy, windy and generally overcast, but that's the way it goes here on the Pen. I'm starting to miss snow a little, but the slightly-warmer temperatures aren't so bad.

I generally work 6 days a week, if not 7, since I'm always working on something. My primary site (the place I spend the most time, and the job I was hired to do) is Blue Heron School. It's a big school with a lot of new kids and procedures, as it has just integrated grades 4-6 with grades 7 and 8, making it a combination elementary-middle school. There's also an alternative, Montessori-like classroom called OPEPO (OPEPO being an acronym whose actual meaning escapes not just me, but basically every other teacher that works at Blue Heron...), where kids from 1st to 5th grade are commingled and then taught according to their current, subject-specific proficiencies. It makes for a mish-mash, and a rather hectic atmosphere most days. There are 3 other AmeriCorps volunteers also placed at Blue Heron, but we each keep very busy, as we all have target kids with special needs to attend to throughout the day, and also run morning and after-school Homework Club. My target kids run the gamut. Some are just in need of someone to help keep them on track and focused. Others have learning disabilities in one subject or another. A couple are in danger of being lost to their emotional, behavioral or other problems: autism, divorced parents, drug and alcohol-related disabilities.

Some days are about as perfect as a day in a public school can get: they've all done their homework AND turned it in (these two things can be mutually exclusive, mind you); there are no fire drills-planned or otherwise, detentions, trips to the nurse or the principal, everyone has a lunch, and everyone listens well and is respectful all day long. Some days, I'm not sure how we're making it, the kids more than myself: over the weekend, one of the kids has bounced between mom's house, grandma's place, and biological dad's before showing up at school on Monday; someone else forgets (either truly or selectively) to take midday meds; no one's work is done, nor turned in; so far we're up to 1 sprained wrist, 1 broken thumb, 2 fights on the playground and 3 trips to the office.

It can be discouraging. You wonder how some of these kids are able to get out of bed every day and make it to school, let alone get any work done. On weekends, I've picked up some work doing invasive species removal and remediation. For anyone who's confused, this consists of seeking out specific habitat areas that have been damaged by the spread of species not originally found in that area. The immediate effect is that the invasives choke out and eventually kill all the native plants in a given radius. The long-term is that the death of the native plants (and/or animals) results in subsequent damage to the ecosystem as a whole; in our case, salmon migration paths and spawning areas are damaged by soil runoff and worse pollution, as certain invasives are causing our streambed to erode more quickly and it's affecting the salmon habitat. So, every Saturday and sometimes Sunday, we're taking teams out to a site about 30 minutes outside town to, ultimately, clear and restore a 2-acre square habitat. It's long and dirty work, since we usually spend at least 4 hours at a time outdoors, digging, pulling, bagging and stacking English Ivy. Often we have groups of teenagers out with us: members of the local Youth Corps young adult volunteers, or "smart kids who did something stupid", aka, Jefferson County Corrections juvenile offenders. It's hard to tell if we're getting through to them. It's hard to tell if they care about the work they're doing.

Then again, you must wonder how this can possibly be the right place for me; it all sounds like pretty hard work for little reward...

My kids are fantastic kids. At least three times a day, I'm taken completely off guard by an excited kid barreling down the hall and hugging me. I have a group I call the "Motley Crew": a somewhat ragtag little band of 4th grade boys, who, for some reason, seem to think I'm pretty cool. I've taken to having lunch with them at least one day a week in the cafeteria. It must be a treat for them because, one day, I let Mack (an inquisitive little guy with an upturned nose, messy brown hair and terrible ADHD) pick the table. As I noticed we were missing a troop, another one of the Motley Crew, Isaiah F, came barreling up with his tray full of pizza and apple slices. He plopped his tray down, looking relieved, and said, "Man, you gotta tell me where we're sitting! I don't wanna miss out!"

Ivy Pull weekends are just as rewarding. We've cleared nearly an acre since the project started, and our work with the juvenile corrections kids (mainly high school aged boys) seems to really be getting through. One of them, who's about 15, is allowed to ride his bike to the site, as he lives just up the street. After the first pull we did with their group, he was all excited to be able to identify certain species of plant, teach his mom about them, and start working to remove invasives from his own back yard. He also sent us a lovely thank you email, including the information that he was, "really excited about the (lunar) eclipse" because as he "considers himself a man of science, he thinks it's really cool."

And, before Christmas break, another of the Motley Crew-Brandon, whose home life is not the greatest, yet is still the sweetest kid-spent all morning searching for me so he could give me a Christmas card, which read, "Dear Michele, I hope you have a very fun and good Christmas. Thank you for helping me at school, Your Friend, Brandon. Ps-I need help in Ms. Manning's class."

This, of course, is why I'm here-why the whole team is here, really: there's still work to do. I plan on being in Port Townsend for at least another year-the duration of time I would have been overseas had the Peace Corps worked out for me. There are good people here, and lots to do. Hopefully the instructor for the local kayak-building class will be back from vacation soon-rumor has it that this spring we are graduating to canoes and/or a 10-ft. dory. I'm learning a new trade, and the classes are free, so I can't really say no!

I've also obtained a new 4-legged companion. His name is Puck and he is a rescue dog, found on one of the reservations on the West End. As the lady who found him could not keep him, and I was headed that direction to participate in a service project (fundraising for the local Quileute Tribal School), I picked him up and he is currently sleeping on the floor with his sock rabbit toy. He's about 2 years old, half Newfoundland-half Chow, and a very good dog. However, he really hates the bathtub, and chews his rawhide bone on the bed.

Starting in March, I'll be teaching a beginning boxing class at the local YMCA. I'll also be getting paid for it. This will be a great chance to get back into boxing and to make some extra money, which I'm hoping to use for travel to South America with a friend in the month between one AmeriCorps contract and the next. I'm not very good at staying in one place, I suppose

There's some local travel in the future, as well. I'm heading to Vancouver, B.C. for a weekend shortly, then to Glacier National Park in Montana for spring break. Hoping to get some good hiking and backpacking in, and as the weather starts to warm, more and more kayaking. This area is beautiful and surrounded by national parks land, beaches and places of interest besides.

Well, I suppose that's about it, as I now have to get back to typing and sending work-related emails. I hope this finds everyone well.

Love to all...if you're reading, and even if you're not...