There are so many levels of knowledge.
I only know about machete fighting because it was in a Film Movement flick I watched today. Sure, I know what a machete is, although not in my personal life. Nearly three decades of animal rescue work has informed me of how people use animals for fighting, cocks, dogs, pigs and who knows what the hell else. Animal fighting is another thing that I have seen only on film, professionally. Again, but not in my personal, life experience. Both of those were in that movie today, totally informative and in context, but still disturbing.
I hate, really hate any kind of violence. I, like many people, had a chaotic and horrible childhood. I, like many people, survived and have gone on to have a decent life, although I cannot say that that is true for all of my siblings. I believe that my distaste for any kind of loud or messy disagreements is a result of what I experienced as a little girl. You too, huh? So, looking back over my life, there have been very few times when I shouted or yelled or loudly bothered another person. Well, except for my own child, and in my defense, not having roll-models for what an effective and loving parent is like does not prepare you for the struggles you may face with your own flesh-and-blood, no matter how many hundreds of parenting and psychology books you have read or how many parenting classes you have taken. I thought that all of those books would have given me the tools to be the greatest, most wonderful mom in the world. I was wrong. I was, still am, a great mom, but conflict was one thing for which I was woefully and inadequately prepared. So, there was some yelling going on in that arena, but I am separating that. Yes, I am.
I never fought with my friends or classmates or co-workers. Not only did I roll over and just take it, I was often the peacemaker for other people's disagreements and conflicts. I was always much happier to be walked over, pounded into the pavement and left to dry up, than I was to even stand up for myself. I am better about that now, have been for many years, but I still will do anything to avoid conflict of any kind. Except for that one exception, the exception that proves the rule, or however that saying goes.
When I got married I was still a doormat. God, how painful it is to write that. Doormat. But, that is what I was at work and in my family and, well, everywhere. So, it figures that I would have been fully invested in my doormathood when I chose a spouse. Another thing I hate is going over all those years and all that crap, so I will only say that I married for love. I believed that I had found someone who loved me for who and what I was. I believed that I had chosen well and that I might not live happily every after, but I would live in love and loving support of that wonderful man and that he would return the same to me. I believed that my marriage was forever and that whatever happened, we would work together, as a team, a real team, to make our lives happy and, well, all that stuff that you believe about finding the right person and then marrying him. There were no shining knights or white horses, but I was not interested in perfection, just an ordinary man who would love this ordinary woman. Well, I was wrong about that, too.
He groomed me, testing to see how far he could go and I never, ever, ever saw any of it. I always thought that I was just not experienced in the right way of doing things or talking or any of that stuff and those issues that married people have in their lives. I remember trying to talk things out, have conversations about problems and they always ended with my understanding of how far from right I was. I never saw it as a problem, it was just about how I could learn and improve and maybe find a way to be a good wife. I finally gave up and simply tried to stay out of trouble as much as possible. I was not very successful at that because the rules seemed to be changing all the time and I could never keep up.
They still do that, the rules, and it is only more than forty-two years later, and more than two-thirds of my life, that I can see that I never stood a chance. Maybe in the early years, if I had known, if I had been paying attention, if I had the kind of life experiences that taught me what decent treatment was like, then I might have made a break for it. But, I did not and I am glad because we did have a wonderful daughter and that makes up for a lot. It really does.
Still, I wonder what kind of a life I might have had if I had met and married a nice person, someone who was not carrying such an unhappy burden. I wonder what it would be like to really have someone who could love me in spite of my shortcomings. Maybe in my next life I will have earned the right to have such a person in my life. As for this life, it is too late now for me to find anyone. I am stuck here, glued to this geography by finances and inertia, and my fears that he might be in the early stages of some kind of mental decline. I spent nearly two weeks living elsewhere, helping a friend whilst she was out of town. There, it was wonderful and I thought that if I found a way to manage the whole money thing that living somewhere else could work out just fine. And dandy. Then, I came back here on Monday and I never had a chance to say hello or 'hey' or anything else because when I saw him he looked at me with such hatred or something that I was struck speechless. There have been longer periods than these past five days in which silence was the third member in this relationship, although there seems to be a different quality to it this time.
I am happy to have never experienced a fight with weapons of any kind, not even a nail clipper or spork. I am thrilled to have never witnessed a fight initiated by cruel and insane humans where innocent animals have been forced to fight to the death. I cannot complain, two out of three is not so bad.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Farewell to Peace. Farewell to peace of mind.
I go home today.
In the past nearly-two-weeks:
In the past nearly-two-weeks:
I do miss my cats and have seen them only once during this time. Fortunately there is a lovely cat here who has helped me avoid wonderful-kitty withdrawal, but it is still not the same, you know?
I have learned that I am not thrilled with climbing and descending twenty-six steps several times a day, but I know that I can easily and happily live in a one-room apartment and even work in this kind of intimate space.
One moment I think that I simply cannot go back and live in that other place, and the next I know that I can because I now understand that, with adequate resources I could live in this kind of space if I wanted to. It is no longer 'if I had to', but if I choose to make the changes that I should be making in my life but am too chicken to actually do, change, choose, whatever the hell I should or could do. I have not wept once during this nearly-two-weeks and, here I am, crying whilst writing this. I knew that today would be sad, so I packed my crap yesterday and, except for what I needed last night and this morning, it is all waiting for me near the hoist bin, ready to be loaded, lowered and put in my car when I get the call that my friend is back and is ready for me to fetch her.
She is going to be thrilled to be home and I am equally thrilled to have her safely home. Her cat misses her, as do I. So, I get to go home today. I am just not certain what home means any more.
In the past nearly-two-weeks:
- I have slept easy.
- I have eaten what I liked and not had to worry about the cooking odors bothering anyone.
- I have come and gone with my life and schedule and not had to document any of it for anyone.
- I have been able to use anything that I like without having to worry about whether or not someone else might have an opinion about it.
- I have been able to work on my sculpture with no hindrance or anything that would get in the way of actually doing the work.
- I have taken breaks and visited with old friends who are not welcome at the place where I live.
- I have not experienced one, single panic attack or headache.
In the past nearly-two-weeks:
- No one has yelled at me.
- No one has given me mean and/or dirty looks.
- No one has ridiculed, demeaned, criticized, or embarrassed me.
- No one has threatened me.
I do miss my cats and have seen them only once during this time. Fortunately there is a lovely cat here who has helped me avoid wonderful-kitty withdrawal, but it is still not the same, you know?
I have learned that I am not thrilled with climbing and descending twenty-six steps several times a day, but I know that I can easily and happily live in a one-room apartment and even work in this kind of intimate space.
One moment I think that I simply cannot go back and live in that other place, and the next I know that I can because I now understand that, with adequate resources I could live in this kind of space if I wanted to. It is no longer 'if I had to', but if I choose to make the changes that I should be making in my life but am too chicken to actually do, change, choose, whatever the hell I should or could do. I have not wept once during this nearly-two-weeks and, here I am, crying whilst writing this. I knew that today would be sad, so I packed my crap yesterday and, except for what I needed last night and this morning, it is all waiting for me near the hoist bin, ready to be loaded, lowered and put in my car when I get the call that my friend is back and is ready for me to fetch her.
She is going to be thrilled to be home and I am equally thrilled to have her safely home. Her cat misses her, as do I. So, I get to go home today. I am just not certain what home means any more.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Every day is a storm
Too much happened today. I drove too long to get to breakfast and I ate too much, the most convenient form of self-medication for me lately, mood altering without addressing the precipitating issue. Then I drove home back to this temporary home which is just a long way from city to city and then I forgot to get cat food, but I did remember to tank up the car.
All of that is not too much, not even for a lazy oaf like me.
But. Each part was full of that ozoney smell.
So, we have this friend, the one who is likely to end up losing everything because she cannot seem to get past the notion that she is entitled to have anything and everything she wants without having to actually work for whatever the hell she wants and in the process is pissing away, well, everything. Her solution is to have me live with her in the condo she cannot sell and take care of her and prevent the losses that we, the friends, can see coming. The storm of inattention and unrealistic expectations.
Then there is another of our friends, one of the ones who insisted on this depressing conversation about the other friend.. Her resources are not what she would like, like who the hell has the resources they would like to have for chrissakes anyway. Her solution is that we share an apartment and all that particular flavor of good intentions. The storm of the perfect way to ruin a friendship.
Friend number three is also offering to house me if need be, and I am so bummed that I could not keep my own counsel when the scary stuff happened, because your friends should never have to know that kind of crap about you and your problems, but it is too late because I, in my defensee, was really scared by the scary stuff and it is way too late to close that barn door because the horsie is probably in the next hemisphere by now. I now know that the next time I get frightened at the place where I am not living right now, it is in my best interest to do what I have to do and keep my damn mouth shut and just deal with it.
You know, we spew about our problems in that moment when we cannot see that we have other options and just panic and think that just because we have friends that sharing with them could help. It never does. It feels good in the moments of forming the words and thoughts and letting them flow out of us and we forget that once spoken that those words go on the have an independent life. The storm of allowing fear to take control.
I have to go home in a few more days, two to be precise. I cannot even think about it, I feel such distress. Lots of visitors today when I finally made it back here. The sculpture is nearly finished and is on the ground floor because that is where it needs to be for the final parts. Just too messy to do upstairs in the living quarters and I tossed it all in the bucket and hoisted it down. It is cool. I really is. It was the perfect process of preparation and execution and allowing the piece to become, to manifest in exactly the way is was supposed to 'become'. I totally, fucking love it when that happens, when I am able to get out of the way and just breathe the work into being.
So, back here and the place filled up with artists who are just like nature...both abhor a vacuum. Okey-dokey, I freely admit that I do not mind a bit. Not even a teeny, weeny, microscopic bit. The be back in the realm of art and the people who make art is divine and I make no excuses for loving every moment of it. So, four people stopped by in the course of the couple of hours that I worked downstairs. And, this one guy has been by here several times and I do not mind, because I like him and he is fun and funny, even when that is not his intention and he really likes me and it is cool that he wants to stop by and just waste time with me. I am one of those artists who knows nothing about art or art history or much of anything, art related or not. I sometimes think that much of what I know is by default, that learning stuff is inevitable if you just live long enough.
So, anyway, I talked him into contributing to the show, mostly because he makes lots of art, is amazing at what he does, but rarely, like in hardly every, allows his work to be sold. So, he calls and says that he has two pieces that he wants to bring over and when he gets here, one is still wet because he painted it just because we had that conversation about him participating. Both pieces are amazing, the new one that will not be dry when we open in a few weeks and the other that he painted a few years ago and brought to me only because I told him to go home and look through his stuff and then we had another conversation and he shared why he does not sell his work and it is a whole messy situation of not being able to sell because it will affect his financial situation and I am not sharing exactly what that is, but if you have a similar situation you know exactly what his issue is and you now know what a stupid asshole I am for not getting the dope on the circumstances before getting involved.
I suck. But, he is keeping the pieces in the show and we will find a way to manage and keep him safe and all that stuff. How he likes me still is a mystery, but he does. I am so stupid and because I just had to meddle, I am responsible for whatever crap happens over this. The storm of not minding your own damn business.
By the way, I am not moving from one horrible living situation into some other more benign one just because those were offered to me. No fucking way. And, I did go back out to find the cat's favorite tinned food. The pleasure that kitty is giving me here is a great pleasure because she does not take well to anyone except her mom and her mom's companion, who was also her childhood sweetheart and how cool is that.
You know how Scarlet keeps telling us that tomorrow is another day? Well, that is what I am hoping will happen and that I will not mess up or be messed with at all during my final two days here. Even beyond then. I am going to be a quiet, little mouse and stay in my hidey-hole. And, be quiet.
All of that is not too much, not even for a lazy oaf like me.
But. Each part was full of that ozoney smell.
So, we have this friend, the one who is likely to end up losing everything because she cannot seem to get past the notion that she is entitled to have anything and everything she wants without having to actually work for whatever the hell she wants and in the process is pissing away, well, everything. Her solution is to have me live with her in the condo she cannot sell and take care of her and prevent the losses that we, the friends, can see coming. The storm of inattention and unrealistic expectations.
Then there is another of our friends, one of the ones who insisted on this depressing conversation about the other friend.. Her resources are not what she would like, like who the hell has the resources they would like to have for chrissakes anyway. Her solution is that we share an apartment and all that particular flavor of good intentions. The storm of the perfect way to ruin a friendship.
Friend number three is also offering to house me if need be, and I am so bummed that I could not keep my own counsel when the scary stuff happened, because your friends should never have to know that kind of crap about you and your problems, but it is too late because I, in my defensee, was really scared by the scary stuff and it is way too late to close that barn door because the horsie is probably in the next hemisphere by now. I now know that the next time I get frightened at the place where I am not living right now, it is in my best interest to do what I have to do and keep my damn mouth shut and just deal with it.
You know, we spew about our problems in that moment when we cannot see that we have other options and just panic and think that just because we have friends that sharing with them could help. It never does. It feels good in the moments of forming the words and thoughts and letting them flow out of us and we forget that once spoken that those words go on the have an independent life. The storm of allowing fear to take control.
I have to go home in a few more days, two to be precise. I cannot even think about it, I feel such distress. Lots of visitors today when I finally made it back here. The sculpture is nearly finished and is on the ground floor because that is where it needs to be for the final parts. Just too messy to do upstairs in the living quarters and I tossed it all in the bucket and hoisted it down. It is cool. I really is. It was the perfect process of preparation and execution and allowing the piece to become, to manifest in exactly the way is was supposed to 'become'. I totally, fucking love it when that happens, when I am able to get out of the way and just breathe the work into being.
So, back here and the place filled up with artists who are just like nature...both abhor a vacuum. Okey-dokey, I freely admit that I do not mind a bit. Not even a teeny, weeny, microscopic bit. The be back in the realm of art and the people who make art is divine and I make no excuses for loving every moment of it. So, four people stopped by in the course of the couple of hours that I worked downstairs. And, this one guy has been by here several times and I do not mind, because I like him and he is fun and funny, even when that is not his intention and he really likes me and it is cool that he wants to stop by and just waste time with me. I am one of those artists who knows nothing about art or art history or much of anything, art related or not. I sometimes think that much of what I know is by default, that learning stuff is inevitable if you just live long enough.
So, anyway, I talked him into contributing to the show, mostly because he makes lots of art, is amazing at what he does, but rarely, like in hardly every, allows his work to be sold. So, he calls and says that he has two pieces that he wants to bring over and when he gets here, one is still wet because he painted it just because we had that conversation about him participating. Both pieces are amazing, the new one that will not be dry when we open in a few weeks and the other that he painted a few years ago and brought to me only because I told him to go home and look through his stuff and then we had another conversation and he shared why he does not sell his work and it is a whole messy situation of not being able to sell because it will affect his financial situation and I am not sharing exactly what that is, but if you have a similar situation you know exactly what his issue is and you now know what a stupid asshole I am for not getting the dope on the circumstances before getting involved.
I suck. But, he is keeping the pieces in the show and we will find a way to manage and keep him safe and all that stuff. How he likes me still is a mystery, but he does. I am so stupid and because I just had to meddle, I am responsible for whatever crap happens over this. The storm of not minding your own damn business.
By the way, I am not moving from one horrible living situation into some other more benign one just because those were offered to me. No fucking way. And, I did go back out to find the cat's favorite tinned food. The pleasure that kitty is giving me here is a great pleasure because she does not take well to anyone except her mom and her mom's companion, who was also her childhood sweetheart and how cool is that.
You know how Scarlet keeps telling us that tomorrow is another day? Well, that is what I am hoping will happen and that I will not mess up or be messed with at all during my final two days here. Even beyond then. I am going to be a quiet, little mouse and stay in my hidey-hole. And, be quiet.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Pooped
Just sitting here, still downtown, and wondering what it is going to be like when I have to go home. I am feeling pleasantly tired. Lots of strenuous work yesterday and a nice session in front of the less-hollow-all-the-time guy that will be my contribution to the show here next month. I am feeling dreamy and vulnerable, especially that vulnerable crap, for all sort of reasons.
Moving here for a couple of weeks was a great idea, inspired even. My chances of finding a place to live are so small, and now that I am living here I can see how truly small they are. I really have to make friends here, or at least some kind of connections, in order to find a safe and affordable place. Now that I am here and doing actual studio work, my wants have changed. Now I want a place where I can live and work, but I will settle for a place that works for working along with settling for living in my regular location. It feels like moving backwards. I just do not know. Even if it is, it is still movement of some kind. Sort of.
It has been a long time since working on any big art and there is so much that I had forgotten about the process. Gosh, I do not know if I want to write about this. This is deep, personal and inner-sanctum stuff and even though hardly anyone reads any of this spewing, sharing my process is a risky thing to do and I am not sure that I can or should do it. It is not as though I think that sharing will dilute or disturb the process, it is that I suddenly realized that it reveals parts of me that I might not be willing to share. I am not being selfish, just protective. Or something.
Alrighty, this much. I am not the kind of artist that gets an idea and just plunges into producing it. Well, that is not entirely true because I can and have often done just that, especially when someone want something fast, fast and even faster. There is a jumping off of the cliff kind of energy that fuels that sort of project.
My usual process is more studied than that. Some things go fairly quickly, time wise, and some take longer, like weeks or months to fully manifest to the point where the nuts and bolts of the work can begin. Once that happens, when I find myself in that place, the work takes over and I just go along for the ride. And,that last portion is fast.
That was not so bad. I shared a bit and did not share the big, behind the curtain parts. Survived. Whew.
In a couple of hours I am treating myself to lunch with a friend and will be able to sit and eat, gossip and leave all of my crap behind for a while. I love that kind of escape. I am not sure that I would enjoy living in that rarefied space of forgetting and ignoring my regular life, but I do appreciate those moments when they present themselves. Blood sugar be damned, I think that I will have something sweet and forbidden for dessert. Or, maybe not. Maybe.
Moving here for a couple of weeks was a great idea, inspired even. My chances of finding a place to live are so small, and now that I am living here I can see how truly small they are. I really have to make friends here, or at least some kind of connections, in order to find a safe and affordable place. Now that I am here and doing actual studio work, my wants have changed. Now I want a place where I can live and work, but I will settle for a place that works for working along with settling for living in my regular location. It feels like moving backwards. I just do not know. Even if it is, it is still movement of some kind. Sort of.
It has been a long time since working on any big art and there is so much that I had forgotten about the process. Gosh, I do not know if I want to write about this. This is deep, personal and inner-sanctum stuff and even though hardly anyone reads any of this spewing, sharing my process is a risky thing to do and I am not sure that I can or should do it. It is not as though I think that sharing will dilute or disturb the process, it is that I suddenly realized that it reveals parts of me that I might not be willing to share. I am not being selfish, just protective. Or something.
Alrighty, this much. I am not the kind of artist that gets an idea and just plunges into producing it. Well, that is not entirely true because I can and have often done just that, especially when someone want something fast, fast and even faster. There is a jumping off of the cliff kind of energy that fuels that sort of project.
My usual process is more studied than that. Some things go fairly quickly, time wise, and some take longer, like weeks or months to fully manifest to the point where the nuts and bolts of the work can begin. Once that happens, when I find myself in that place, the work takes over and I just go along for the ride. And,that last portion is fast.
That was not so bad. I shared a bit and did not share the big, behind the curtain parts. Survived. Whew.
In a couple of hours I am treating myself to lunch with a friend and will be able to sit and eat, gossip and leave all of my crap behind for a while. I love that kind of escape. I am not sure that I would enjoy living in that rarefied space of forgetting and ignoring my regular life, but I do appreciate those moments when they present themselves. Blood sugar be damned, I think that I will have something sweet and forbidden for dessert. Or, maybe not. Maybe.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Downtown Girl
I live in the countryside, the quasi-suburban kind. I have lived in cities in the past. Frankly, I never thought about the geography in which I was living, sidewalks, no sidewalks, all the same to me. One of the nice things about where I mostly live now is that there is a freight railway fairly close and hearing the trains and their cars clatter and moan is nice, particularly at night. I even like the hwa-hoo-hwa-hoooooooo.
So, anyway, today is my fourth day living in this city and downtown, at that.
It is noisy.
There is noise of people and traffic and emergency vehicles all the damn time. I am amazed that I slept through it on the second night here and am thinking that I was/am simply exhausted from the Mt. Everest flight of stairs up the living quarters in this ancient building. If this were my own place, the first thing that I would do is install an elevator. Not by myself, but I would spend my last nickle to have it done. I suspect that long-term living here would find my level of fitness greatly improved, although I am not so certain that my knees and hip could take it long enough for me to actually become more physically fit. My knees are swollen and I am scheduling my trips up and down the stairway to heck so that I do not have to make that trip any more often than necessary. Lung wise, I hardly even notice it anymore, and that is astounding in just four days...plus one extra night. If only my joints would cooperate.
Fortunately there is a hoist kind of thing. It may even be called a hoist, I cannot remember. I am, however, grateful for it because I realized on coming back here on Thursday that there was no way that I could get both my groceries and myself up the stairs-without-end. I used it again yesterday to bring my sculpture and all the other crap up here where the light is better. I just love mechanized mechanical machines. Luvem.
But, the stairs? I will be complaining about them for the next decade. At least.
So, anyway, today is my fourth day living in this city and downtown, at that.
It is noisy.
There is noise of people and traffic and emergency vehicles all the damn time. I am amazed that I slept through it on the second night here and am thinking that I was/am simply exhausted from the Mt. Everest flight of stairs up the living quarters in this ancient building. If this were my own place, the first thing that I would do is install an elevator. Not by myself, but I would spend my last nickle to have it done. I suspect that long-term living here would find my level of fitness greatly improved, although I am not so certain that my knees and hip could take it long enough for me to actually become more physically fit. My knees are swollen and I am scheduling my trips up and down the stairway to heck so that I do not have to make that trip any more often than necessary. Lung wise, I hardly even notice it anymore, and that is astounding in just four days...plus one extra night. If only my joints would cooperate.
Fortunately there is a hoist kind of thing. It may even be called a hoist, I cannot remember. I am, however, grateful for it because I realized on coming back here on Thursday that there was no way that I could get both my groceries and myself up the stairs-without-end. I used it again yesterday to bring my sculpture and all the other crap up here where the light is better. I just love mechanized mechanical machines. Luvem.
But, the stairs? I will be complaining about them for the next decade. At least.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Hot time
livin' in the city. The back of my neck's getting good and really tired of climbing all these damn steps. This stairway could be the legendary one to heaven. I swear. I am a country girl who is accustomed to traipsing up and down stairs only when the laundry needs to be done or I am hiding out from a tornado.
So, anyway, it is right smack downtown. Which means that there is not any overnight parking and the daytime parking is fifty cents per hour. In this block there is not even an alley behind the building. In the front door on one Avenue and out the backdoor directly onto the sidewalk of the parallel street. Alrighty, there is overnight and probably even daytime parking, but it is all rented by the regular residents and businesses here, with none left over for transients like me. The woman for whom I am cat sitting does rent/own such a space, but her vehicle is in it whilst she is out having fun somewhere.
I did find a municipal parking lot a few blocks away, and when I pulled in, there was a police car sitting there with quite the lovely and comely officer. He assured me that the lot was exactly the perfect place for me and that it was safe and my car would still be there tomorrow because they all (the other various degrees of lovely and just plain cute officers) park their cars there and everyone knows to leave the vehicles there alone and unmolested.
It took me fifteen minutes to walk back here and I can now stop worrying my pretty little head about this and get down to some serious movie watching, cheese popcorn eating and cat petting.
Oh, and the best part of this whole experience that is chock-full of the best of experiences is that I get to play music if I want, or cook what I want and do any darn thing I can think of doing.
Sometimes life sends you a break from reality. Thank you, dear, sweet, kind and loving Universe.
I really should have thought of this before last night.
So, anyway, it is right smack downtown. Which means that there is not any overnight parking and the daytime parking is fifty cents per hour. In this block there is not even an alley behind the building. In the front door on one Avenue and out the backdoor directly onto the sidewalk of the parallel street. Alrighty, there is overnight and probably even daytime parking, but it is all rented by the regular residents and businesses here, with none left over for transients like me. The woman for whom I am cat sitting does rent/own such a space, but her vehicle is in it whilst she is out having fun somewhere.
I did find a municipal parking lot a few blocks away, and when I pulled in, there was a police car sitting there with quite the lovely and comely officer. He assured me that the lot was exactly the perfect place for me and that it was safe and my car would still be there tomorrow because they all (the other various degrees of lovely and just plain cute officers) park their cars there and everyone knows to leave the vehicles there alone and unmolested.
It took me fifteen minutes to walk back here and I can now stop worrying my pretty little head about this and get down to some serious movie watching, cheese popcorn eating and cat petting.
Oh, and the best part of this whole experience that is chock-full of the best of experiences is that I get to play music if I want, or cook what I want and do any darn thing I can think of doing.
Sometimes life sends you a break from reality. Thank you, dear, sweet, kind and loving Universe.
I really should have thought of this before last night.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Slighty amusing
Unfortunate romance novel titles:
Norwegian Wood
Steel Beauty
Swallowing Darkness
On Your Knees
Bend Me Over
Double Entry
Illegal Entry
Come Monday
Love Me, Love My Dog
Deb's Horny Dad
Naked Parent-Teacher Conference
Yes, I am an immature simpleton.
And, yes, they are all real titles.
Norwegian Wood
Steel Beauty
Swallowing Darkness
On Your Knees
Bend Me Over
Double Entry
Illegal Entry
Come Monday
Love Me, Love My Dog
Deb's Horny Dad
Naked Parent-Teacher Conference
Yes, I am an immature simpleton.
And, yes, they are all real titles.
My perspective is broken
I think that it must have been damaged in the whole divesting thing. Like when I was busily getting rid of this and tossing that in the trash and bundling and filling boxes with all the rest of that stuff, it must have been sitting there waiting to be used for something important and I must have bumped it and knocked it ass-over-teakettle. Like that.
Yesterday was horrible and I felt horrible, which really was the horrible part of it. I wonder if I had too much
chocolate on Sunday and my blood sugar was all wonky. Maybe it was the antibiotics or not enough chocolate or the moon phase or maybe I really am mad, crazy, insane. The thing was, that I felt anxious, just out of nowhere. I rarely, practically never, feel anxiety for no good reason, but I did yesterday and it was weird because that has been a topic of discussion at the other place. So, it had to be the chocolate. Oh, yeah, I was looking at the mannequin that needs filling and realized that I am leaving on Wednesday for ten days and still do not have him adequately filled, nor have his hips been drilled for suspension on his frame.
Did that encourage me to get up and do some of that? Of course not. But, I did saw out a section of his torso and I am filling a suitcase with the flotsam and jetsam with which he will be filled and will take that along with me. That done, I still sent myself to bed with nameless anxiety still coursing through my own ample frame and sleep did not come for hours.
Today is fine, except for where the perspective comes in. That anxiety, those helpless and vulnerable feelings, well, none of that is any part of me and worry that I will begin to pointlessly worry about what might happen instead of simply dealing with things as they happen. That is my usual management style and is my proper perspective, and I do not want to let that be affected by the other things that are happening here. I control that on which I can have an effect. I prepare for what is likely to happen. I respond appropriately when things do happen. I believe that I am safe in a way that I have not been for a long time. That is what adequate preparation does for me. But, yesterday was too intense, it was too real and felt like the recognition of a new reality here. I will not have that. I cannot.
I learned some excellent breathing exercises yesterday and now have some self-treatment ready for if this happens again. I am hoping that it will not, but at least I am prepared.
Yesterday was horrible and I felt horrible, which really was the horrible part of it. I wonder if I had too much
chocolate on Sunday and my blood sugar was all wonky. Maybe it was the antibiotics or not enough chocolate or the moon phase or maybe I really am mad, crazy, insane. The thing was, that I felt anxious, just out of nowhere. I rarely, practically never, feel anxiety for no good reason, but I did yesterday and it was weird because that has been a topic of discussion at the other place. So, it had to be the chocolate. Oh, yeah, I was looking at the mannequin that needs filling and realized that I am leaving on Wednesday for ten days and still do not have him adequately filled, nor have his hips been drilled for suspension on his frame.
Did that encourage me to get up and do some of that? Of course not. But, I did saw out a section of his torso and I am filling a suitcase with the flotsam and jetsam with which he will be filled and will take that along with me. That done, I still sent myself to bed with nameless anxiety still coursing through my own ample frame and sleep did not come for hours.
Today is fine, except for where the perspective comes in. That anxiety, those helpless and vulnerable feelings, well, none of that is any part of me and worry that I will begin to pointlessly worry about what might happen instead of simply dealing with things as they happen. That is my usual management style and is my proper perspective, and I do not want to let that be affected by the other things that are happening here. I control that on which I can have an effect. I prepare for what is likely to happen. I respond appropriately when things do happen. I believe that I am safe in a way that I have not been for a long time. That is what adequate preparation does for me. But, yesterday was too intense, it was too real and felt like the recognition of a new reality here. I will not have that. I cannot.
I learned some excellent breathing exercises yesterday and now have some self-treatment ready for if this happens again. I am hoping that it will not, but at least I am prepared.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Herding fireflies
I have been wondering lately how someone, in this case me, could become an entirely new creation and still be exactly the same in some aspects of a life. I am not sure if my ambivalence is a good thing or not, but it certainly is part of this process of not being the doormat that I have been for the past far-too-many decades.
I was having lunch with a friend last week and was filling her in on how the whole-and-old hundred days project went, still going actually. She is not that close of a friend, truth be told, and she is infamous for not being able to keep a damn thing to herself, much less a confidence, so I do not share anything of a sensitive nature, nothing that exposes my vulnerabilities or needs or any of that heartfelt crap. I suspect that we all have a friend like that who wants to hear all about your life and then uses it to foster her own lagging self-esteem. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know how judgmental that is, but you can only have your trust fucked with so many times before you simply have to stop trusting some people. They do not deserve to be trusted or to have access to the more precious parts of your life and the sooner you come to that understanding and just cut them off, the better everyone will be, even the blabber-mouth. And, those of you who suck away at your friends, drawing the last bit of marrow from their bones, you know exactly who you are. Bunch of wonking psychic vampires.
However, vampires aside, I really have been spending time working on this whole thing. I have been looking for a new place to live. You cannot believe how disheartening it is to use up your days in an effort to find a place to call your own, where you can be safe and sleep easily and come and go when you want and maybe even play some damn music once in a while. So, anyway, I have been looking for longer than a month now and I am pretty much screwed. The only places that I found within my budget are kind of scary. I can manage with an old building that needs lots of cleaning and I can change a lock if I need to, but there is nothing that I can do about windows that do not close properly or the people who hang out in the joint who do not even live there and all that sort of thing. I swear, some of the places made where I live now seem like the safest place in the Universe. I swear.
When I realized that I was finding nothing in my price range, I made contact with a couple of the rental agencies in the town where I will be living. Three of them were really nice and gave me information and sent me out to look at a bunch of apartments. They were not fabulous or anything, but I know that fabulous is out of my reach. Unfortunately, none of those apartments were within the parameters of my budget. Yeah, the basic rent was, but every single one did not include heating and one did not include water usage. I mean, I thought that every apartment included water, but I was wrong. Many of them did not have appliances.
The fourth rental agent told me, upfront, that I was unlikely to be able to afford a decent and safe apartment at the rate that I can pay. She sent me to a few buildings, that were not part of her listings, but where she knew that there were always apartments or rooms to rent in them and shared with me that I probably would not like living in any of them. She was right.
I do not have insanely lavish or unreasonable requirements for a place to live. I need to feel safe, but it is not essential that everyone who lives in the building be law-abiding. What other people do is not my business. It would be nice to come and go from the place with safety, especially in the dark, you know? I do not need anything fancy, no new appliances or even a fairly modern environment. I would like to visit an apartment and not see roaches or mice scurrying away, worse is when the mouse in one place just sat and looked at me whilst the landlord told me not to worry, that as long as I kept everything in the refrigerator I would be fine. And, yes, that apartment did have a refrigerator, but it was a fright.
Someone who truly cares about me recommended a film to me and I sort of like it, but decided to read the novel from which is was made to have a better idea of the content and flow of the story. It was about a woman who suddenly leaves her marriage and goes off, with a small bag of stuff and her first retirement check. It was, the check, somewhere around four hundred dollars, that she used that make a new life for herself and to find an apartment that cost only fifty dollars a month. Clearly, not a new book.
She makes her way and discovers that the neighborhoods around her have fabulous trash and spends part of her days making the rounds, as it were, finding the things she needs in order to have the things she needs. She makes acquaintances, but no real friends, and meets a man who cooks for her. They also have a lot of sex, which I totally can get behind, you know? The short story of this story is that she does without and does well, but the man with whom she eventually ends up is well-meaning in the context of his life, but is not a particularly nice person and she has to compromise herself in order to be with him, and not in good ways. You know, your traditional happy ending, but she is not any better off in the end. Oh, yeah, sure, she comes to an understanding of what is important to her, but she chooses to spend her new and hard-won freedom with someone who does not deserve her. What kind of a fucking happy ending is that supposed to be? Where is the pay-off, the reward, for the sacrifices that she has made. Seriously. I would love to know how trading one piece of crap situation for another, although different yet still crap buffet kind of a situation is an improvement. In what universe does that make sense?
So, then, I took a break from looking for an apartment that I can afford and spent the last two days of last week looking at apartments that I cannot afford. I am not certain why I thought that was a good idea, but I did, and I did find some really nice locations. They were not amazing by any standards, but they are still not available to me. Which brings me to today, Mother's Day. I know that I am jumping all over the damn place here, but this is my life these days. So, anyway, I do not need to be the center of the Universe, but it would be nice if someone had wished me a nice day. You know? My daughter got busy and forgot, which is fine because she has those wonderful children and they and her husband are treating her to a day of adoration.
I called her and we had a nice chat and I heard one of the babies ask about when she was going to open her box of chocolate and when she replied that she would do it later, he, in all of his three-year-old helpfulness and love of all things sweet, creamy and melty, told her that he would put the box "right here, next to your soda." Her youngest was all excited because she got cards and he just loves cards. They are the most wonderful boys and I am a total fool for them and their parents. No problems, no worries, just more love and fun than anyone deserves to have. We talked a bit more and then wished each other the best and I got dressed and went to the drug store and bought myself a box of chocolates. It was a small box and I, over the course of the day, have eaten every one of them.
In the divesting I found one of those metal shelving things and I put it together today so that I could reorganize my studio and it was not until I was nearly finished that I realized that my plans are to not be here much longer, certainly not long enough to make real use of the newly organized (which I have not completed yet) studio. And, I just sat there and looked around at my easel and all the materials and realized that little of this stuff can go with me when I actually go. Maybe it is some kind of residue from looking at dozens of terrible apartments and rooms, but I sort of forgot for a few hours that I am trying to get out of here.
And, I realized that I do not want to leave. Even though it is difficult here and there are times when it is not all that safe, I know this place and its creatures. If I pay attention, I can keep from rattling the cages. If I stay here I have all my stuff, the art and the loom and my clay studio. I have my cats and a car to use. I get to garden a bit and have some money to lunch and have coffee with my friends. I get to volunteer at my amazing job and, oh gosh, so much more. If I leave I have pretty much my clothes and sewing machine and all that crap.
Is it selfish that I want more than that? What happens if I leave and it is all worse?
I have all of these parts of my life that cannot reconcile with one another. I know what I want, what I need, but I fear that I am too fearful to go out and find it. It seems too risky. I cannot count on a happy ending. It shames me to admit this, but I want a damn happy ending, dammit. I do . I really do. I know that that is not available to me here, but is it really is available to me out there, wherever the hell 'out there' might be?
There is the good, the bad, the not so horrible and the really terrible. I feel like I am wandering around in the dark and there are all of these tiny lights around me. They blink on and off at whatever pace or schedule or timetable or mood that strikes them. Sometimes, when the wee light shines it gives me hope for a peaceful and calm life. Sometimes that light serves as the illumination that reveals the brooding shadows that might devour me if I do not keep careful watch. I reach out and try to bring the lights together and they just slip through my fingers.
I was having lunch with a friend last week and was filling her in on how the whole-and-old hundred days project went, still going actually. She is not that close of a friend, truth be told, and she is infamous for not being able to keep a damn thing to herself, much less a confidence, so I do not share anything of a sensitive nature, nothing that exposes my vulnerabilities or needs or any of that heartfelt crap. I suspect that we all have a friend like that who wants to hear all about your life and then uses it to foster her own lagging self-esteem. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know how judgmental that is, but you can only have your trust fucked with so many times before you simply have to stop trusting some people. They do not deserve to be trusted or to have access to the more precious parts of your life and the sooner you come to that understanding and just cut them off, the better everyone will be, even the blabber-mouth. And, those of you who suck away at your friends, drawing the last bit of marrow from their bones, you know exactly who you are. Bunch of wonking psychic vampires.
However, vampires aside, I really have been spending time working on this whole thing. I have been looking for a new place to live. You cannot believe how disheartening it is to use up your days in an effort to find a place to call your own, where you can be safe and sleep easily and come and go when you want and maybe even play some damn music once in a while. So, anyway, I have been looking for longer than a month now and I am pretty much screwed. The only places that I found within my budget are kind of scary. I can manage with an old building that needs lots of cleaning and I can change a lock if I need to, but there is nothing that I can do about windows that do not close properly or the people who hang out in the joint who do not even live there and all that sort of thing. I swear, some of the places made where I live now seem like the safest place in the Universe. I swear.
When I realized that I was finding nothing in my price range, I made contact with a couple of the rental agencies in the town where I will be living. Three of them were really nice and gave me information and sent me out to look at a bunch of apartments. They were not fabulous or anything, but I know that fabulous is out of my reach. Unfortunately, none of those apartments were within the parameters of my budget. Yeah, the basic rent was, but every single one did not include heating and one did not include water usage. I mean, I thought that every apartment included water, but I was wrong. Many of them did not have appliances.
The fourth rental agent told me, upfront, that I was unlikely to be able to afford a decent and safe apartment at the rate that I can pay. She sent me to a few buildings, that were not part of her listings, but where she knew that there were always apartments or rooms to rent in them and shared with me that I probably would not like living in any of them. She was right.
I do not have insanely lavish or unreasonable requirements for a place to live. I need to feel safe, but it is not essential that everyone who lives in the building be law-abiding. What other people do is not my business. It would be nice to come and go from the place with safety, especially in the dark, you know? I do not need anything fancy, no new appliances or even a fairly modern environment. I would like to visit an apartment and not see roaches or mice scurrying away, worse is when the mouse in one place just sat and looked at me whilst the landlord told me not to worry, that as long as I kept everything in the refrigerator I would be fine. And, yes, that apartment did have a refrigerator, but it was a fright.
Someone who truly cares about me recommended a film to me and I sort of like it, but decided to read the novel from which is was made to have a better idea of the content and flow of the story. It was about a woman who suddenly leaves her marriage and goes off, with a small bag of stuff and her first retirement check. It was, the check, somewhere around four hundred dollars, that she used that make a new life for herself and to find an apartment that cost only fifty dollars a month. Clearly, not a new book.
She makes her way and discovers that the neighborhoods around her have fabulous trash and spends part of her days making the rounds, as it were, finding the things she needs in order to have the things she needs. She makes acquaintances, but no real friends, and meets a man who cooks for her. They also have a lot of sex, which I totally can get behind, you know? The short story of this story is that she does without and does well, but the man with whom she eventually ends up is well-meaning in the context of his life, but is not a particularly nice person and she has to compromise herself in order to be with him, and not in good ways. You know, your traditional happy ending, but she is not any better off in the end. Oh, yeah, sure, she comes to an understanding of what is important to her, but she chooses to spend her new and hard-won freedom with someone who does not deserve her. What kind of a fucking happy ending is that supposed to be? Where is the pay-off, the reward, for the sacrifices that she has made. Seriously. I would love to know how trading one piece of crap situation for another, although different yet still crap buffet kind of a situation is an improvement. In what universe does that make sense?
So, then, I took a break from looking for an apartment that I can afford and spent the last two days of last week looking at apartments that I cannot afford. I am not certain why I thought that was a good idea, but I did, and I did find some really nice locations. They were not amazing by any standards, but they are still not available to me. Which brings me to today, Mother's Day. I know that I am jumping all over the damn place here, but this is my life these days. So, anyway, I do not need to be the center of the Universe, but it would be nice if someone had wished me a nice day. You know? My daughter got busy and forgot, which is fine because she has those wonderful children and they and her husband are treating her to a day of adoration.
I called her and we had a nice chat and I heard one of the babies ask about when she was going to open her box of chocolate and when she replied that she would do it later, he, in all of his three-year-old helpfulness and love of all things sweet, creamy and melty, told her that he would put the box "right here, next to your soda." Her youngest was all excited because she got cards and he just loves cards. They are the most wonderful boys and I am a total fool for them and their parents. No problems, no worries, just more love and fun than anyone deserves to have. We talked a bit more and then wished each other the best and I got dressed and went to the drug store and bought myself a box of chocolates. It was a small box and I, over the course of the day, have eaten every one of them.
In the divesting I found one of those metal shelving things and I put it together today so that I could reorganize my studio and it was not until I was nearly finished that I realized that my plans are to not be here much longer, certainly not long enough to make real use of the newly organized (which I have not completed yet) studio. And, I just sat there and looked around at my easel and all the materials and realized that little of this stuff can go with me when I actually go. Maybe it is some kind of residue from looking at dozens of terrible apartments and rooms, but I sort of forgot for a few hours that I am trying to get out of here.
And, I realized that I do not want to leave. Even though it is difficult here and there are times when it is not all that safe, I know this place and its creatures. If I pay attention, I can keep from rattling the cages. If I stay here I have all my stuff, the art and the loom and my clay studio. I have my cats and a car to use. I get to garden a bit and have some money to lunch and have coffee with my friends. I get to volunteer at my amazing job and, oh gosh, so much more. If I leave I have pretty much my clothes and sewing machine and all that crap.
Is it selfish that I want more than that? What happens if I leave and it is all worse?
I have all of these parts of my life that cannot reconcile with one another. I know what I want, what I need, but I fear that I am too fearful to go out and find it. It seems too risky. I cannot count on a happy ending. It shames me to admit this, but I want a damn happy ending, dammit. I do . I really do. I know that that is not available to me here, but is it really is available to me out there, wherever the hell 'out there' might be?
There is the good, the bad, the not so horrible and the really terrible. I feel like I am wandering around in the dark and there are all of these tiny lights around me. They blink on and off at whatever pace or schedule or timetable or mood that strikes them. Sometimes, when the wee light shines it gives me hope for a peaceful and calm life. Sometimes that light serves as the illumination that reveals the brooding shadows that might devour me if I do not keep careful watch. I reach out and try to bring the lights together and they just slip through my fingers.
Friday, May 7, 2010
The Pentagon
bemoans the lack of adequate funding.
The warn that they will not have enough money to support the Troops we have stationed all over the world.
I say, do not buy weapons.
Do not buy ammunition.
Do not buy armor.
Do not buy rations.
Do not buy tents or boots or dust gear.
Do not spend a single cent on anything but bringing them home.
Now.
Their most recent complaint is that they want Congress to cut spending in certain areas.
They cry, please stop certain funding programs; we are headed towards fiscal calamity because our military personnel are too highly compensated, both in pay and benefits.
They wring their hands and moan about increased health care costs, which are estimated to be $51 billion next year, which, by the way is only a tenth of their total budget.
They warn that future pay raises will be an unbearable burden.
I get it. I really do. And, there is a simple solution. Take all of the energy currently being used to maintain these campaigns and spend it on working for peaceful settlements to conflicts.
And, bring our men and women home. Return our husbands, brothers, sons, mothers, sisters and daughters home. Bring them home now.
Do not think for a single moment that I am not fully aware of what a simpleton I am. I get that, too. I really do. Just bring them home. Please.
Please excuse this edit:
I could not include this in my posting because it did not appear until after this had been published to the blog. You know how when you hit the Publish Post button and you get the page that tells you that it was successfully done? Well, sometimes there is a notice about the widgets or whatever, and sometimes it is an ad. Or, maybe they are all ads, but I never pay much attention to them, so I am not sure.
The warn that they will not have enough money to support the Troops we have stationed all over the world.
I say, do not buy weapons.
Do not buy ammunition.
Do not buy armor.
Do not buy rations.
Do not buy tents or boots or dust gear.
Do not spend a single cent on anything but bringing them home.
Now.
Their most recent complaint is that they want Congress to cut spending in certain areas.
They cry, please stop certain funding programs; we are headed towards fiscal calamity because our military personnel are too highly compensated, both in pay and benefits.
They wring their hands and moan about increased health care costs, which are estimated to be $51 billion next year, which, by the way is only a tenth of their total budget.
They warn that future pay raises will be an unbearable burden.
I get it. I really do. And, there is a simple solution. Take all of the energy currently being used to maintain these campaigns and spend it on working for peaceful settlements to conflicts.
And, bring our men and women home. Return our husbands, brothers, sons, mothers, sisters and daughters home. Bring them home now.
Do not think for a single moment that I am not fully aware of what a simpleton I am. I get that, too. I really do. Just bring them home. Please.
Please excuse this edit:
I could not include this in my posting because it did not appear until after this had been published to the blog. You know how when you hit the Publish Post button and you get the page that tells you that it was successfully done? Well, sometimes there is a notice about the widgets or whatever, and sometimes it is an ad. Or, maybe they are all ads, but I never pay much attention to them, so I am not sure.
This is the ad that popped up when I hit that button. I mean, if we are able to immediately match an advertisement to a post that did not even exist a few minutes earlier, then we have the means to end armed conflicts that kill our loved ones. Seriously. As a society, I fear that we are fatally fucked up.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
I tinkle
Like a little bell. Just a soft sound, easily lost in the flow of air through which I am gliding along, but it is there anyway. Just me, and the tiny sound of me making a small difference. I know that I have never had any significant effect on any person or place or anything, much less on the whole world. And, that is fine with me. As long as I am not hurting anyone or anything I am totally cool with that. If I can be helpful to someone once in a while I like that very much. If it helps to reduce my karmic debt from my previous lives, so much the better.
Today there were no regularly scheduledcontestants clients and I planned to fill the day with bringing all of my unfinished projects up to speed. And, I did quite a nice job of that. I expanded my research for the issues connected with a particular category of clients and I updated the website. I saw one of my clients struggling with one of the computers and I stopped by to say hello and to help if I was asked, which I was, which I did. I returned to my desk and did some more background work and I was tooling along nicely when another person here stopped by to tell me what someone , who is in both of our programs, told him. It was that the several sessions the client and I had together helped her to see her circumstance from a new and fresh perspective and that she feels that she will be able, at some point, to consider that she can choose options other than the ones she thought were available to her.
I hear that kind of thing often, but each time is like the first time and it gives me such a nice thrill to know that stuff. The interesting part of this is that I was criticized yesterday for being 'too nice' to her by someone who overhead my last session with the client. I was told to be more assertive and to firmly push her in the direction she should be going. I defended myself by stating that it was not my job to make her do anything and that my job was to facilitate forward movement, in the particular process in which she is involved, in the way that was best for her. The reply was that I was spending too much time with this person and my very professional, considered and grown-up response was a teeny, nearly imperceptible, toss of my head and a sweetly stated "Too bad." O.K., that last part was only in my head, but I did kind of toss my tresses and I did thank the person offering the advice and said that what she shared gave me some ideas and was very helpful.
Later on one of my first clients from last year stopped by. I sometimes saw him at the facility where my friend M lived. The last time we met was at least six weeks ago and he was depressed about not having found a job. Well, today he shared that he now has a permanent job in his field and that the HR person informed him that it was his résumé that got him the job. The résumé that I helped him craft. Yeah, baby.
I am more than content to be a little tinkle in a big percussion section of the ginormous orchestra.
I tinkle. You tinkle. Together we create the music of the Universe, in perfect harmony with the Cosmos. Supernovas for everyone!
Today there were no regularly scheduled
I hear that kind of thing often, but each time is like the first time and it gives me such a nice thrill to know that stuff. The interesting part of this is that I was criticized yesterday for being 'too nice' to her by someone who overhead my last session with the client. I was told to be more assertive and to firmly push her in the direction she should be going. I defended myself by stating that it was not my job to make her do anything and that my job was to facilitate forward movement, in the particular process in which she is involved, in the way that was best for her. The reply was that I was spending too much time with this person and my very professional, considered and grown-up response was a teeny, nearly imperceptible, toss of my head and a sweetly stated "Too bad." O.K., that last part was only in my head, but I did kind of toss my tresses and I did thank the person offering the advice and said that what she shared gave me some ideas and was very helpful.
Later on one of my first clients from last year stopped by. I sometimes saw him at the facility where my friend M lived. The last time we met was at least six weeks ago and he was depressed about not having found a job. Well, today he shared that he now has a permanent job in his field and that the HR person informed him that it was his résumé that got him the job. The résumé that I helped him craft. Yeah, baby.
I am more than content to be a little tinkle in a big percussion section of the ginormous orchestra.
I tinkle. You tinkle. Together we create the music of the Universe, in perfect harmony with the Cosmos. Supernovas for everyone!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Captive's Log, Dream Date Tuesday
I hope this does not turn into a dream log, but there was another one, dream, last night that is related to the emotional environment here.
So, when my psyche last left off, there was the veil-ish thing that, if I stayed on my side of it I was fine. Push or poke through, and the cage-rattled creature would make me not fine.
Last night I was related (familial) to the person who was my boss before our company closed us down a year and a half ago. She, ah, let us call her Amy, was, and probably still is, a sincere, serious and practicing Christian. In our real life relationship, she never quite understood how I could be so spiritually misguided, not being anywhere near her in the beliefs thing, not even close.
So, back now in the dream she was some kind of relative to me and it made for some problems at the place where we worked. One of the other employees there, let us call her Beth, was particularly incensed with me nearly all the time, even though I was doing my job well. Whenever I finished a project she would come yelling from someplace off-stage with a constant flow of berate-ment about how I had messed everything up and on and on. Then she would sort of disappear...poof...from the scene and I would do another project and Beth would return and that repeated several times. Then we all flipped to Amy's house where I was taking care of her children. Amy kept telling me that I was doing a fine job with them, but there was something she had to share with me about her philosophy of raising children. Not that there was anything wrong with what I was doing, but that there were differences in our approaches to child raising. I sat down next to where she was folding laundry and listened to her, thinking that this was great and that I was sure to learn some really important stuff. As Beth talked, she kept lifting a sheet from the laundry basket and with her arms held wide to either side of her, she kept talking.
The thing is that the sheets were nearly transparent and she never actually folded them, but just kept lifting them as a panel between us and then letting them drop back into the laundry basket and lifting another sheet. The dream ended with me thinking that this was so much like the other dream, although the sheets were lacked the luminescence of the previous dream's veil (or whatever the hell it was) and that even though I did not bring the veil or the sheets, that I might be the catalyst for them being there between me and the creature and now Beth. Then I woke up. I tried to reenter the dream, but I could not and I finally got up because my throat hurt and my head hurt and I needed to pee. Oh, and it was nearly 7 a.m. and Lili wanted me to get the heck out so that she could have my pillow.
Two dreams with me and barriers and people who do not particularly like me. The creature, well he does not like me because I fail him, his words. And Beth does not like me because I am this little pagan pain in the ass. For a while her prayer group was praying for me and my movement towards enlightenment and salvation in a more traditional way than just trying to life a decent life. Maybe she does like me, I am just not certain, but I think she might have, because she often shared personal things with me that she did not with other people who worked with us.
I used to keep a dream log. Faithfully. It is a very informative thing to do if you are interested in understanding and having a front-row seat on how your life is going.
Well, time to take another big dose of medicine and get into bed and read some more Ackerman and time to shuffle off this (aching and hacking) mortal coil, to sleep, perchance to dream...oooh, perchance Hamlet will have luminescent undies. Now, that is what I call sweet dreams.
So, when my psyche last left off, there was the veil-ish thing that, if I stayed on my side of it I was fine. Push or poke through, and the cage-rattled creature would make me not fine.
Last night I was related (familial) to the person who was my boss before our company closed us down a year and a half ago. She, ah, let us call her Amy, was, and probably still is, a sincere, serious and practicing Christian. In our real life relationship, she never quite understood how I could be so spiritually misguided, not being anywhere near her in the beliefs thing, not even close.
So, back now in the dream she was some kind of relative to me and it made for some problems at the place where we worked. One of the other employees there, let us call her Beth, was particularly incensed with me nearly all the time, even though I was doing my job well. Whenever I finished a project she would come yelling from someplace off-stage with a constant flow of berate-ment about how I had messed everything up and on and on. Then she would sort of disappear...poof...from the scene and I would do another project and Beth would return and that repeated several times. Then we all flipped to Amy's house where I was taking care of her children. Amy kept telling me that I was doing a fine job with them, but there was something she had to share with me about her philosophy of raising children. Not that there was anything wrong with what I was doing, but that there were differences in our approaches to child raising. I sat down next to where she was folding laundry and listened to her, thinking that this was great and that I was sure to learn some really important stuff. As Beth talked, she kept lifting a sheet from the laundry basket and with her arms held wide to either side of her, she kept talking.
The thing is that the sheets were nearly transparent and she never actually folded them, but just kept lifting them as a panel between us and then letting them drop back into the laundry basket and lifting another sheet. The dream ended with me thinking that this was so much like the other dream, although the sheets were lacked the luminescence of the previous dream's veil (or whatever the hell it was) and that even though I did not bring the veil or the sheets, that I might be the catalyst for them being there between me and the creature and now Beth. Then I woke up. I tried to reenter the dream, but I could not and I finally got up because my throat hurt and my head hurt and I needed to pee. Oh, and it was nearly 7 a.m. and Lili wanted me to get the heck out so that she could have my pillow.
Two dreams with me and barriers and people who do not particularly like me. The creature, well he does not like me because I fail him, his words. And Beth does not like me because I am this little pagan pain in the ass. For a while her prayer group was praying for me and my movement towards enlightenment and salvation in a more traditional way than just trying to life a decent life. Maybe she does like me, I am just not certain, but I think she might have, because she often shared personal things with me that she did not with other people who worked with us.
I used to keep a dream log. Faithfully. It is a very informative thing to do if you are interested in understanding and having a front-row seat on how your life is going.
Well, time to take another big dose of medicine and get into bed and read some more Ackerman and time to shuffle off this (aching and hacking) mortal coil, to sleep, perchance to dream...oooh, perchance Hamlet will have luminescent undies. Now, that is what I call sweet dreams.
Monday, May 3, 2010
I feel terrible
Actually, I feel like crap, but did not want that to be the title.
I have to find a way to stop catching whatever is going around, illness-wise. I have a cold or something that I caught from the boys. There is just is not any way to prevent these transfers between us because I am not giving up hugs and kisses, even the sloppy ones. When we were playing in the yard on Saturday, the little one, my BuddhaBoy, stopped what he was doing every few minutes to run over and give me a kiss, sometimes with a hug, often not. I knew that he was coming down with something, but I could not bring myself to stop his affections. Because my immune system is so wonky, it takes only a day or two for me to manifest whatever illness I encounter. So, now I am feeling like crap. I have a sore throat and my joints ache. I have a headache and am in serious need of a serious nap. Or two.
I cannot nap until I haul my coughing and wheezing self to the pharmacy and the grocery store. There are no over-the-counter meds here, none at all, and I need them to make me presentable at work later this week. I need a whole basket-full of that stuff and I need it now. The only food in the house is some bread ends, condiments, two apples and some freezer-burned green beans. Oh, and a package of cooked and frozen chicken thighs that look like they have been there since the Carter Administration.
Were it not that the cats need food, I would stay home and make a chicken, green bean and applesauce casserole and serve it with a side of jalapeno jelly for dessert.
All I have to do is wash my face, drag a comb through that snarled mess of stuff on the top of my head and go out and get all that stuff. I dunt wanna.
O.K., I am going, but I am not happy about it. And, when I am at the grocery store I am buying ice cream, dammit. And, maybe some soup from the deli. And some soda. Then I am coming home, will eat my ice cream, then my soup, take a long and steaming shower and go to bed. And Diane Ackerman is going with me.
I have to find a way to stop catching whatever is going around, illness-wise. I have a cold or something that I caught from the boys. There is just is not any way to prevent these transfers between us because I am not giving up hugs and kisses, even the sloppy ones. When we were playing in the yard on Saturday, the little one, my BuddhaBoy, stopped what he was doing every few minutes to run over and give me a kiss, sometimes with a hug, often not. I knew that he was coming down with something, but I could not bring myself to stop his affections. Because my immune system is so wonky, it takes only a day or two for me to manifest whatever illness I encounter. So, now I am feeling like crap. I have a sore throat and my joints ache. I have a headache and am in serious need of a serious nap. Or two.
I cannot nap until I haul my coughing and wheezing self to the pharmacy and the grocery store. There are no over-the-counter meds here, none at all, and I need them to make me presentable at work later this week. I need a whole basket-full of that stuff and I need it now. The only food in the house is some bread ends, condiments, two apples and some freezer-burned green beans. Oh, and a package of cooked and frozen chicken thighs that look like they have been there since the Carter Administration.
Were it not that the cats need food, I would stay home and make a chicken, green bean and applesauce casserole and serve it with a side of jalapeno jelly for dessert.
All I have to do is wash my face, drag a comb through that snarled mess of stuff on the top of my head and go out and get all that stuff. I dunt wanna.
O.K., I am going, but I am not happy about it. And, when I am at the grocery store I am buying ice cream, dammit. And, maybe some soup from the deli. And some soda. Then I am coming home, will eat my ice cream, then my soup, take a long and steaming shower and go to bed. And Diane Ackerman is going with me.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Another day of dis and dat
Mostly of dis, as in disappointment at not finding a new place. Sunday is a good day to look around without having to make a ton of appointments. Still no luck, though.
Yesterday began with the usual coffee with my friends. I know that I should not be spending money on gasoline and all the rest, but I really need to be with people who know me, listen to my crap when I cannot hold it in any longer, do not judge me and who lovingly support me in whatever I need to do and however I need to do it. And, whilst a lot of what I share with them is mindless crap, they do not care. They know me and know me well and that is enough for them. I am not certain how I came to be this lucky in my friendships, because some of the circumstances of my life are things about which most people do not want to know, much less listen or be supportive.
One of these women and I met a half-hour early so that she could have breakfast and get to work on time. Her schedule often requires her to open the business where she works at a time when the rest of us are just settling in for a nice chat. It was a new place for us and we got there and the people were so nice. When we told them how many of us there would be, they opened a side room and it was only moments until the mugs of steaming brew arrived and minutes until some weirdly goopy, yet yummy, skillet things arrived and as the others dribbled in it only got better.
After, I drove straight to my daughter's and spent the day playing with the boys, briefly napping (them), watching a little television (me, and it is a rare and nice treat to do that), playing in the backyard, digging, counting and picking flowers, climbing fences and the compost bins, pretending to mow the grass, playing cars, finding and talking about bugs and worms and making music with the sticks and branches that the last storm blew off of all of their trees, and then snapping the sticks into little pieces and adding them to the compost. Back inside I gave them baths and I cannot begin to express what it is like for an ancient person such as myself to bathe two squirming, soapy and slippery little boys. I did not even begin cleaning up the mess until just before I went home.
Dinner was one of their favourites, spaghetti, meatballs, broccoli and fruit. We planned on having brownies, too, but no one wanted any. When we were finished it was time for another bath and then stories and more television (for them) until mom and dad came home. Then the three of us sat around and talked about their day out and what the boys did to make me laugh whilst they were gone. One story was about last Monday when I was there for the day and when dinner time came they did not like the casserole thing my daughter left for us (I thought it was fine) and I tried to make peanut butter and jam sandwiches for them, but found that the jam was gone.
After looking around, I decided on chocolate syrup to go with the peanut butter. I, as the designated naughty grandma, thought that was a fine idea. Really, I did. My daughter told me that he has not stopped talking about that sandwich all week. Not that he wanted another like it, but that grandma had made it for him and just for him. That is, perhaps, the ultimate grandparent and grandchild experience and maker of memories. If I am lucky, he will remember that drippy and delicious sandwich for a long time, along with all of the other fun things and loving things and other important things that we have done and will do together.
At three years of age, he is all mine, my buddy, the short person with whom I can have one adventure after another. His little brother is our constant companion and partner in crime. Because I am do not have the main responsibility for them, I get to do all of the little things for which there simply is not time in their regular days.
We are all so close, my daughter, her husband, my friends and I, and I guess that all of us appreciate and hold dear how precious all of this is. At least that is my hope. But, they do not know, any of them, how fragile our contact with each other is, within the context of my life. I think that those of my women friends in whom I have confided bits and pieces of my life understand some of this, mostly because they are women who have life experiences that have informed them. But, the truth is that no one really knows what this is like because I am here, living in this skin, by myself. My daughter and other family members know nothing of what happens here, and I will not allow my problems to become their concern. I know too many people who have allowed marital issues to infect and adversely affect the peripheral and familial relationships. No one should ever have to take sides. Ever.
Looking for a place is difficult, not only that finding a place I can afford is such a pain, but knowing that when I do find something, that days like yesterday will no longer be a part of my life. This is so fucking sad. I am sitting here, holding one of the cats on my lap, awash in purring and fur-some comfort, still here and wondering what price I am willing to pay for peace of mind.
Yesterday began with the usual coffee with my friends. I know that I should not be spending money on gasoline and all the rest, but I really need to be with people who know me, listen to my crap when I cannot hold it in any longer, do not judge me and who lovingly support me in whatever I need to do and however I need to do it. And, whilst a lot of what I share with them is mindless crap, they do not care. They know me and know me well and that is enough for them. I am not certain how I came to be this lucky in my friendships, because some of the circumstances of my life are things about which most people do not want to know, much less listen or be supportive.
One of these women and I met a half-hour early so that she could have breakfast and get to work on time. Her schedule often requires her to open the business where she works at a time when the rest of us are just settling in for a nice chat. It was a new place for us and we got there and the people were so nice. When we told them how many of us there would be, they opened a side room and it was only moments until the mugs of steaming brew arrived and minutes until some weirdly goopy, yet yummy, skillet things arrived and as the others dribbled in it only got better.
After, I drove straight to my daughter's and spent the day playing with the boys, briefly napping (them), watching a little television (me, and it is a rare and nice treat to do that), playing in the backyard, digging, counting and picking flowers, climbing fences and the compost bins, pretending to mow the grass, playing cars, finding and talking about bugs and worms and making music with the sticks and branches that the last storm blew off of all of their trees, and then snapping the sticks into little pieces and adding them to the compost. Back inside I gave them baths and I cannot begin to express what it is like for an ancient person such as myself to bathe two squirming, soapy and slippery little boys. I did not even begin cleaning up the mess until just before I went home.
Dinner was one of their favourites, spaghetti, meatballs, broccoli and fruit. We planned on having brownies, too, but no one wanted any. When we were finished it was time for another bath and then stories and more television (for them) until mom and dad came home. Then the three of us sat around and talked about their day out and what the boys did to make me laugh whilst they were gone. One story was about last Monday when I was there for the day and when dinner time came they did not like the casserole thing my daughter left for us (I thought it was fine) and I tried to make peanut butter and jam sandwiches for them, but found that the jam was gone.
After looking around, I decided on chocolate syrup to go with the peanut butter. I, as the designated naughty grandma, thought that was a fine idea. Really, I did. My daughter told me that he has not stopped talking about that sandwich all week. Not that he wanted another like it, but that grandma had made it for him and just for him. That is, perhaps, the ultimate grandparent and grandchild experience and maker of memories. If I am lucky, he will remember that drippy and delicious sandwich for a long time, along with all of the other fun things and loving things and other important things that we have done and will do together.
At three years of age, he is all mine, my buddy, the short person with whom I can have one adventure after another. His little brother is our constant companion and partner in crime. Because I am do not have the main responsibility for them, I get to do all of the little things for which there simply is not time in their regular days.
We are all so close, my daughter, her husband, my friends and I, and I guess that all of us appreciate and hold dear how precious all of this is. At least that is my hope. But, they do not know, any of them, how fragile our contact with each other is, within the context of my life. I think that those of my women friends in whom I have confided bits and pieces of my life understand some of this, mostly because they are women who have life experiences that have informed them. But, the truth is that no one really knows what this is like because I am here, living in this skin, by myself. My daughter and other family members know nothing of what happens here, and I will not allow my problems to become their concern. I know too many people who have allowed marital issues to infect and adversely affect the peripheral and familial relationships. No one should ever have to take sides. Ever.
Looking for a place is difficult, not only that finding a place I can afford is such a pain, but knowing that when I do find something, that days like yesterday will no longer be a part of my life. This is so fucking sad. I am sitting here, holding one of the cats on my lap, awash in purring and fur-some comfort, still here and wondering what price I am willing to pay for peace of mind.
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