Unhidden Identity

You know…I think I’ve figured out what’s keeping me from sitting down and writing here every day. It’s that it’s this whole pen name. It’s the separation from my “real” life. Funny thing though, this IS the real part. The regular me? Not so much.

I’m a teacher and I happen to have some internet savvy kiddos. Even those who have moved out of the so called innocence of grade school and into middle or high school have no business knowing what’s going on in the most  intimate parts of my mind. For those kids,  I feel a sense protectiveness. For those kids I guard my name.

I’ve always been that girl who says too much. Who makes the first admission at happy hour. For some reason, I am having a hard time connecting to the idea of being some person behind a pen name. So let me let you in on a little info here to clear the air. My pen name is my name. It’s my nick name, my kid name. The one that I hold closest to my heart. The one that my mom and dad used with me and those who know me the closest call me by. Krissy Jana. I just don’t want to continue this identity as a fake person. Truly, I am the most close to my real self here.

Yes, I am avoiding some unwanted judgement. Yes, I am avoiding any unnecessary negative attention professionally…until I make enough to move on from the classroom (wink wink). Yes, I may be a wimp for now. But that’s kind of me too! I’m three fourths the way there, out of the preverbal closet. Ready to make mom and dad blush, but not quite ready to talk about it afterwards at the kitchen table.

Suddenly, I feel a slight amount of empathy for actresses like Dakota Johnson. I mean, pay me millions and I will gladly shed my insecurities, but I kind of get why she may put her foot down and not want her parents to watch her trilogy on the big screen.

So, hello and welcome. My name is Krissy. Krissy Jana. I love everything I shouldn’t. I’m going to write about it. I hope you love some of it. Either way, it’s me. Someday soon, I hope to connect my real life world with my everyday mom and teacher life. Until then, be glad. You get the good stuff!

That. Felt. Great.

xo,

KJ

Crushing at Twe

My husband and I were married at 20. I had returned from a semester abroad, knew there wasn’t anyone else or anywhere to go but up, and I was ready to transfer to my four year university. College life is cheaper when married.  Take married student housing for one, and student loans for those of us who’s parents were the working yet credit poor and couldn’t absorb our loans. It also just so happened that Steve Martin’s “Father of the Bride” was one of my favorite movies at the time. and I really wanted one white wedding dress and the cheaper chicken (please do yourself a favor and watch the movie…it’s amazeballs.)

My first friend made the jump into an early marriage and that was it. My boyfriend would either live with endless innocent manipulation or just agree. What else was he going to do? #NextBestOption Four months later we were married and in our 600 square foot apartment. It was everything I thought I always wanted, minus the financial planning. We were 20! I had no idea how to pay the bills for goodness sake, it’s really laughable looking back.

We did our best settling into married life and I found myself working as fast as I could to get through my two years. During the summer I began working on the cleaning crew for the summer dorm conference system. It was during this time, surrounded by others my age, unmarried,  it hit me, this was it. I was never going to sleep with another man. If my husband didn’t want me that day or night, I wasn’t going to be having any sex. Of all things right? Why did this matter?

Juan was from some Salvadorian country and he was on my cleaning team. We all worked our asses off, cleaning dorms in the morning so that the five of us could hang out and hide the rest of the day in a random air conditioned dorm while we were supposed to be working. Juan had worked incredibly hard to loose over 100 pounds. He ate well, worked out and was humble about it. He wanted to help others get to that same place and encouraged us to try different exercises that worked well for him. He would show us how to crunch our abs, while lifting that shirt of his explaining what we were targeting and as we cinched those abs, he would place those large hands on our core to make sure they were engaged. Oh yeah. They were engaged. No doubt about that. This was like my free zone. Safe from the real world, guilt or concern for my marriage. Instead, it lead to concern for my own needs. What the fuck? I finally have another man who is showing interest in me with touches to my core, smiles thrown to me while walking behind the crowd of us, holding the door open and keeping his arm elevated so that it would happen to drop down onto my shoulder and lazily skim its way down my back. And I was married. I couldn’t act on it. Physically. Let’s not even try to pretend I didn’t go there in  my head and play out the whole scene.

One night, when my husband was working late, we all converged at my house after a happy hour and sat around. Somehow that conversation turned into my headache and Juan suggested I sit on the floor in front of my floral couch and massage my neck and upper back. Totally innocent  for five seconds. The connection was instant and his breathing changed into some sort of thick exchange of air that I wanted to inhale while his head dipped lower towards the area of my neck he was working on.  All our friends were right there, but it didn’t matter.  It took less than 90 seconds for me to relax back into the massage for Juan to realize it was time to stop. I am not sure that I would have stopped if he didn’t. If everyone else had left and we had been left alone, I am more than sure that marriage vows wouldn’t have anything on spicing up this sexually unfulfilled life.

One man. For life. That’s what I signed on for. It was discouraging to think that what I had was what I was going to get. For the rest of my life. I was a crush girl. I saw sex in many men I passed…what the hell was I thinking by getting married to one man at twenty? Ironically, this man I married was the most faithful and loving man that existed. My selfish desires were my fault. I am so grateful someone had common sense that summer. I could have never made it to here and now.

It has been over 20 years. I am happy to report that over these past years of marriage, sex and our love life has changed in amazing ways.  The cliche is true. Things do get better with time. Our kids are past that stage of needing us for everything. We have privacy now. The world around us has begun to change. Sexual exploration has changed in the liberal household with the publishing of anthologies such as the famed Christian/Anna ones.  Sex has become less taboo to talk about at work, with the girls, in conversations with friends.  It’s no longer about  that classic repetitive story line free porn, this is a new type of erotic, a visual or audio Viagra for women of all ages. Suddenly, making this connection between being tied up and the anticipation of having your mate have (safe and consensual) control of your body sparked something different in our bedroom too. Did we jump to butt plugs and spanking? Nope. Not quite, but taking the free time I had during any down time to invest in reading hot romance/erotica about sexy relationships kept those juices flowing (thank you Audible).

We are older, our bodies are literally deteriorating, and life can be really hard. Yet, something happens as you get through more and more years of marriage. You start to shed layers of inhibition. You realize that this is your partner, the one you get to make the most of this life with.  They may see some value in your version of porn. You read your romance, they get laid. Things really do get better. Not necessarily because your body gets better with age, or because you get so close. We are on the same team…”Team Multiple Orgasm”.  I have learned to shed my inhibitions as I expand my reading to more provocative books. Do I do every little thing I read in the unrealistic scenes? Can my husband lift me in the shower…you know what? I’ll let you imagine he can. What I can do is show him how I like him to come behind me and wrap his arms around my waist, rub his fingers along the length of my waist, kiss my neck and turn me into a puddle at the kitchen sink as I finish the dishes.

Being a Writing Contradiction

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Writing has always been my favorite subject to teach. I love teaching kids all about authors through the stories they write. We study the authors, look at techniques they use to begin to write (often the hardest part) and we work on practicing writing. They pick up their pencil and write for x amount of time. Every day as an endurance challenge.  Once the kids lock into the writing time, they really do love it. I have seen dozens of packed notebooks full of stories to prove it. The idea is to write and never stop. Don’t. Lift. That. Pencil. When the buzzer rings, a mass gush of breath expels and the kids go around the room sharing their writing.

It doesn’t have to be good. It doesn’t have to make sense. It just has to be writing that has “thrown up from their head through their pencil lead onto the paper”. We call it zombie writing. That’s really what it feels like. A total trans. It may start with 45 seconds, maybe 4 minutes after a while. Eventually, my students can zombie write about the subjects that they have been writing about, or that interest them, for a good 45 minutes. Without interruptions.

That being said, I’ve been off work, not teaching for almost five months now for a ridiculous injury. Let’s say it was a clusterf@*k of bad luck and ridiculous decision making by everybody but me. It wasn’t just the kid that innocently decided to stick his leg out and have a little stretch while I walked forward to retrieve some papers from the carpet seats, thrusting me forward. It may have been the custodian or adult who put that damned rusted out chair up on the desk each day not noticing that the leg was clearly broken apart just waiting for that one idiot to sit on it…in a staff meeting.  What a freaking nightmare! Right in the middle of some serious conversation, I blurt out “Oh my GOD I’m MELTING! Something’s happening! Why am I sinking to the ground?”.

These five months could partly be due to the surgeon who couldn’t get over his ego to admit he forgot to contact my other doctors to verify post op pain management just before wheeling me back into surgery, postponing it three more weeks. Whatever the reason, I can’t work. So, turning a bright eye to the situation, I finally had the time to  become that writer I had always planned on becoming.

Let me clarify, it’s NOT that easy. It’s freaking painful to start writing! I know that if anyone can do it, I can do it.  I have to! I even got the “MOM’s ONLY!” laptop to do the job. So the job must be done. But I’ve gotta tell you, the questions and self doubt you start attacking yourself with when you fist sit down to write are incredulous…

“Who’s going to tell my story?”

“What’s going to happen to my Christian Values if I write the good stuff I really want to write?”

“How am I going to find my audience?”

“It’s way more fun to read about this stuff. ”

“OMG the freaking words you have to write to get a little info across to the reader! This is going to take forever.”

“I’m going to hell.”

After two painful hours I finished two chapters, each in a different point of view since I couldn’t decide and only 1500 words.

Lesson learned.

I should have followed that small print in the teacher manual that insisted that we teachers sit and write during the student’s writing time.  If I had, I am quite sure I wouldn’t be in this position of eye yoga as I glare at my monitor.  What a gift it would have been to have given to myself that time to build writing stamina! You can’t get in trouble if the teacher’s book tells you to do it.

For any of you out there with kids. Allow me to  give you an “I would if I could…” If you don’t have kids, good for you! Enjoy and take this time to build your own writing endurance.

Sit down with your kids or spouse, friend, your cat or by yourself.

Set a timer for one minute or so.

Write without stopping.

When the buzzer goes off, share.

Parents:  NEVER CORRECT their organic writing at this creative stage. EVER. That’s how you get a kid to shut down and hate to write. Put away that red pen.

Just watch what happens over time. This is free, can be done anywhere, and anytime.

Let me know in the comments below if you have experience with this or if you have tried it yourself. I’d love to hear if your kids develop an affinity towards writing.

XO,

Krissy J.