Day 51
I am at work, where it has been a slow day, client-wise. Other than that, it was the perfect opportunity to touch base with a few local agencies, catch up on all the work that piles up here when I am busy and have a nice lunch, one that was not ten minutes of gobbling some thing that I could not even remember having eaten.
It was a chance to do some things that I never have time to do. So, I did them. One was a research project for a client and guess what I found!
An ordinary man can... surround himself with two thousand books... and thenceforward have at least one place in the world in which it is possible to be happy. Augustine Birrell
Huh? Double-wonking-HUH? My first, smart-aleck thought was why I had not been lucky enough to find this quote before starting this journey. My second thought was, hmmmm...only two thousand? My third thought was how much shame I am still carrying about having all of this crap in my life. No, not like in real crappy stuff that does not serve anyone, but in just, plain, too much stuff, particularly the books.
I am feeling weird today because I am thinking that I am the source of all of my difficulties, particularly with some other people. I understand that I am responsible for everything thing that I allow to be part of my life experience. I get that, I really do. People can treat us only as we allow them to do so. I get it. So, I have to ask myself why I am allowing money to control where I am in the world. I could sacrifice to be somewhere else. I am not exactly certain how I would do that, but there are tons of people who live on less money than I have.
I have been firmly entrenched in middle-class life for, well, most of my adult life. I am not going to allow my past, particularly my childhood to define me or how I live now, but I wonder if that poverty is the source of my resistance to just finding a nice and quiet place of my own. I just am not sure, but I am sure that that nice and quiet place of my own to live is not going to be my car, which at this moment seems to be my only alternative.
That means that I have to do something active about where I am and I do not feel like doing anything about my circumstances. That makes two things that I am not willing to do right now, live in my car and be proactive. It seems to be more attractive to me to be as quiet and small as a mouse so that no one bothers me. Unfortunately, that presents another area of difficulty. When all these books are gone, there will be fewer places to hide.
I do not know what I am going to do, but I simply cannot take many more days like the past several.
I think that all of us deserve to have at least one place in the world where it is possible to to happy. I might be a selfish ***** to dismiss whatever it is that holds me here in order to have that, but I want it. I really, really do.
Divested: A nice, big box of books before I came to work today.
Positive thought: I am worthy of having at least one place in the world where it is possible to be happy.
Day 52
There is a room in the basement that I never go into anymore. It contains my kiln and all the stuff that goes with making pottery, ceramics and porcelain. Until ten years ago, I could rarely be found anywhere other than this room when I had free time. When my vision got too bad, it just was not safe enough to be using a device that could get up to 2300 degrees F, or materials that could poison you or tools that might pierce something essential.
The room is all dusty and sad. The clays, despite being stored well are all dried out. The containers of slip seem fine, but some of the bisque that I fired but never finished may be unsuitable for firing now. You can only hold those things for so long. Some of the glazes are dried up as well. The tools are all fine, but most are as dusty as everything else. However, everything there can be restored or replaced without much cost or distress.
I should go back into that room. I need to feel the clay move under the power and direction of my hands. I need to wrap myself in the scents of fresh clay. I need to have bits of clay beneath my nails and skin stained with colours.
The only reason that I am dealing with this is because our municipality is in the process of replacing our water meters or boxes or something. So, I went down to make the room easy in which to work for the replacing guys and to make it fairly presentable so that I would not be shamed by how it looks.
Imagine my surprise when I opened the door to find the room crammed with all kinds of cramming crap. None of which was my own crap, by the way, unless you are counting the large trash bags of old clothing that I remember putting into the damn trash cans more than six damn years ago. What the wonk?
I just stood there and looked around. Old, broken lamp shades. Broken furniture, broken plastic stuff, broken tools and cans of dried-out paint and crusty painting brushes. The place was packed with all kinds of things that I had thrown away years ago, as well as things I do not even remember having in the first place. It had become a dumping/hiding ground for things that someone, not me, had removed from our trash, as well as the trash of our neighbors I am guessing, and had been hidden away down there.
Alrighty, then. I am the person in this house who saves stuff? OK, I do save stuff, like all these books and art supplies and records, but there are all out in plain and unencumbered view, not squirreled away like some dirty little secret. Holy wonking crap, Batman.
I will admit it, I am nuts, certifiably insane most days I think, truth be told, but that room is an indication, a serious one that I am not alone in my mental peculiarities. I am simply one of the inmates. There followed an ill-advised conversation about the stuff, and as uncomfortable as that was, it was also kind of nice because it reassured me that, perhaps, I am not as nuts as I have been led to believe.
As creepy as the whole incident was, still is, I kind of feel better about things, lots of things. Perhaps that is simply another indication of how truly wonked-up I am, but it does not feel like that. It feels, what, empowering or strong or something. Yeah, I feel stronger than I did before this room thing happened. I feel strong. Yeah. I feel hopeful and reassured that I really am on the right path by doing all of this personally painful stuff. I am doing the right thing for myself, and for the right reasons.
This is crazy, but I feel better, right this moment, than I have in a long time. It feels great. Like just having finished the best chocolate cake and coffee and the most amazing conversation and time with my best friends. That good. I have never been up in a hot-air balloon, but this is how I imagine that feeling to be, high and light and with fresh air flowing all around me and the view, oh, the view is so lovely. It is wide and I can see everything I need to see.
I wonder how I came to allow my viewpoint to be defined by other people. When did I give that part of myself away? I know that it was not taken from me, that I most certainly gave it to someone, that I offered up to him on a silver platter. If I had that platter right now, this minute, I would look at my reflection in it and ask myself what I could have been thinking when I gave myself away in that manner. What did I think could be found in losing myself?
I may never know, and I do not know how important it is to understand that. Maybe it is important, that understanding, that insight into how I became so lost in someone else, but if it is, it will come in its own time. I know I can trust that. I am kind of grooving on myself right now and it is nice.
Divested: Books and a whole lot of things and ideas that no longer serve me.
Positive thought: I have nice eyes and they are helping me to see from my new perspective.
Three pictures I just took. My first chalice. My second chalice. My nice eyes.
Day 53
In what is becoming the most bizarre and surreal experience in a life crammed full of bizarre and surreal happenings and memories, it just keeps getting better. Finding all of that stuff in what used to be my clay studio should have prepared me for just about anything.
Today I decided to clean some more of the kitchen cabinets. Some time ago, I cannot remember exactly when, the days and experiences are melding into one incomprehensible glob, I cleared out the two deep cabinets in the kitchen. Aside from some plastic containers and stuff, there was little to be found squirreled away down there.
Today I found a ton of aluminum baking pans, the disposable kind. OK, maybe a few pounds, that stuff is really lightweight. I sort of knew that there were some around because I used to do a lot of cooking for the public meal programs and for friends and if you use those disposables you never have to worry about having your bake ware returned. You just never get those things back. One time I lost a really nice lasagna pan at a family holiday dinner when one of the mister's sisters took it home because she liked it. Alrighty, then.
In the cabinet where I stored all the glass jars and bottles that I had every intention of using for some dumb project or another, there was a surprise. Does anyone know how long spirits keep in opened bottles? Well, there were/are at least a dozen of different kinds of hard liquor, all of them missing what appears to be a single serving/drink. I remember buying some of them because they were needed for a recipe, but others were purchased because I thought they looked interesting or the bottles were cool. Yeah, that is me, the discriminating shopper. It was a heady experience pouring out the contents, and there is lots of nice glass in the recycle bin. I thought about keeping a few, you know, in case of a booze emergency and all that, but if they have not been drunk now, they never will be.
Under the sink were several different kinds of ice cube trays and I have absolutely no idea of why they are there or where the hell they came from. Alongside of them, sort of keeping them company was an array of cleaning supplies, most of which were for cleaning gunk off of pots and pans or the sink. Kind of a humbling reminder of how I used to be a serious enough cook to need so many items to clean the pans, and probably related to uncountable and too-terrible-to-remember cooking disasters.
The very top shelf of the cabinet over the counter was home to a weird bunch of flavourings and cake decorating supplies. They have to be, at least some of them, somewhere around 15 years old. I could only shake my head as I tossed them away, but they did make for some pretty nice looking garbage.
Ah, I saved the best for last. I have a small cabinet that I bought to put extra stuff into, the kinds of things that do not fit anywhere else, like utensils that are rarely used, some of my smaller professional cakes pans and the pillars and things for wedding and holiday cakes. Well, there were a few of those in there, but the majority of the space was taken up by books. I mean, did I think that I would sometime have a reading emergency that prevented me from taking a few steps into the next room to grab a book? I have absolutely no idea why they are there, cannot even remember putting them there, how he hell did they get there. I am completely dumbfounded about this. Anyway, they are now safely in a divesting box.
I also went through and almost entirely trashed two large boxes of papers. Old workshops, classes and community outreach materials that I had for my shelter work. Greeting cards received from friends and family that seemed too dear to let go. Today I let all of that go, keeping only the few materials that can still be used by the new outreach people at the shelter.
I started on some of the fabrics and notions in my sewing stuff, but needed to let that go for now. That area is only slightly more orderly than it was, but that is good enough for now.
In reading back on what I just wrote, there is a clear thread running through all of that about holding emergency supplies, all of the what-in-case, the what-if-I-might-need-these. It reminds me of my grandmother's attic, crammed to the rafters with every sort of wonderful and interesting object, at least to the eyes and interests of a small girl. She and her hubby saved and carefully cared for nearly everything that they bought or gathered. Just in case it was needed. I was greatly influenced by their attic full of things. Dusty, but well kept, those items provided them the sense of security they needed following the terrible years of the second world war. Those last three words probably should be capitalized, but war of any kind does not deserve the respect of upper-case letters. Ever. Still, it was a time of fear and hardship that defined a generation. I suppose that all wars do that. I know that my political and patriotic innocence was destroyed during the conflict in Vietnam. I was defined by that, and I am being redefined with what is happening in the world now. During a large part of my adult life I willingly passed the quality and condition of my safety onto anther person, who promised to keep me safe and love me forever. What I did not know is that we alone are the determiners of our safety and that giving that power away to someone else or some societal power or even to a belief system is never what we should be doing. Young and foolish and trusting, we have all been there.
I do not believe that I would ever want to be young again, and I am certain that being foolish is part of who I am, but I am absolutely certain that I will not give up my willingness and ability to trust.
So. I let go of things that were for specific, potentially emergency/last-minute needs. They are gone, well, at least out in the trash cans or the divesting boxes, but they no longer take up space in the space where more useful and immediately useful things should go. I was looking at those empty cabinets and I am kind of liking their bareness. There is a breathy anticipation in that potential space, but I think that I will be keeping them spare for a while.
And, I was thinking about what qualifies as an emergency. I accept the need for smoke alarms and fire extinguishers, for gauze and ointment, salve, disinfectant and Hello Kitty bandages. A bottle of whiskey and a few disposable and dispensable baking pans are nice to have around. Gosh, even the extra book or two dozen is nice, comforting.
Perhaps it is only the insight and strength that I have wrestled from the happenings of this past week that allow me to have a different viewpoint, a more finely nuanced perspective on what constitutes a thing, situation or circumstance that might evolve into emergency proportions.
Divested: Kitchen refuge books, disposables.
Positive thought: I was strong enough to keep it together today.
Day 54
I knew that I would be away for a few days, but that changed yesterday afternoon and I did not have to trek up here until this morning, which I did following a really delicious breakfast with my Saturday coffee friends. It was a new (for us) place and the coffee and eggs were wonderful. Everyone else had fancy stuff, like loaded omletes, fruit-filled crepes and real, home-made hash. I was trying to be good to my blood sugar and had over-easy eggs, a bit of bacon, light hash browned potatoes and a piece of rye toast. I was the only person who was able to finish her meal. The portions of the other meals were ginormous, truly. Everyone took food home, except for the woman who always mooches off of everyone else's plates.
The boys are taking their naps right now and I am waiting for them to get up so that we can get back to playing. My oldest grandson (2 1l2) is fixated on cake for some reason. He wants it so badly that he tries to be cute and call it K-K like he did when he was little-er. Just before nap time, I was reading books to them and one was a Golden Books copy of the story of Goldilocks and the 3 bears. On one of the pages, it shows the bear family before they were terrorized by that little blond girl. Papa Bear (who A keeps calling Grandpa because the drawing of the bear has reading glasses) us sitting on the porch of the house. Baby Bear is running in the background, holding a butterfly net aloft and Mama Bear is standing in a bed of flowers. I asked A what Mama Bear was doing, thinking that he would say something about the flowers and he told me that she was gardening...that's my boy!!!! He is old enough to help me plant this year and I have promised him a small vegetable garden here at his house with his favorite veggies. So far he has not asked me to help him plant cake, but if he does, I plan to use marigolds and then when they flower I will "plant" cupcakes there for him to find.
The baby is just over a year old and whilst he is a barrel of fun with the weird things he says and the crazy sentences he crafts, it is my A that delights the heck out of me. Daddy drank the last of the juice before he and my daughter left, so A insisted on helping me to make more. He chose the container of concentrate he wanted, telling me what it was, had to pull off the seal and dragged a chair over to the sink so that "you don't have to do that all by yourself, Gramma, I will like to help you." He turned the frozen slush out into the pitcher, turned on the tap, filled the can with water several times and then grabbed a large spoon from the draining rack and stirred it up.
This afternoon we will be playing with their musical instruments and having a snack of the two slices of cake that I bought at breakfast this morning. This is such bliss, being here with them. Their parents are celebrating their wedding anniversary by staying in the big city to see my daughter's favourite comedian, having a fancy dinner and spending the night. I get to have these boys all to myself. In the morning we will have omletes, their favourite breakfast, bananas and jello. Also any cake that might be left over.
How apparent is it that I need to be someplace wonderful like this on a regular basis...like every damn day? I do not think that I have hyperventilated once since I started the drive up here. To what in my life is all of this drawing my attention. Good grief.
So, anyway, I packed up some books before I left this morning and I will do a bit more when I return home tomorrow, but not much, because I will be well and seriously pooped and will probably go straight to bed.
Divested: Books and a temporary, although much appreciated, relief from the heaviness that constantly surrounds my poor heart.
Positive thought: I get to spend as much time here as I like and that is a good and wonderful and cool and groovy thing.
Day 55
I returned home a few hours ago. It is all that I can do to stay awake. I love being there, but am just not accustomed to being that insanely active. Between the chasing to grab them up for cuddles and reading books, eating in the living room (mama does not approve and we tease her about it), scrambling eggs and cutting the crusts off of peanut butter and strawberry sandwiches, building towers and knocking them down, feeding the cats (takes an eternity with those little helpers) and all the rest, I am pooped. The favourite song these days is "If you're happy and you know it". If we listened to that and played along with it one time, we did it three hundred times, I swear. Good thing that we all have such lovely voices.
Mommy and Daddy had a wonderful time and I get to do this all over again next weekend because it will be my daughter's birthday and the two of them have been planning to spend that entire day at a museum, one of her favourite places. The parents and one of the sisters of my sweet son-in-law, are traveling here to go along with them. It is a testament to my girl that she is so willing to share her day out with them. At Xmas one of them bullied her about how the boys are not yet baptized and wanted to know how she was going to feel for all of eternity when she was in heaven and the babies were in hell. The reason that the boys are not yet baptized is because that side of the family cannot decide exactly how that should be done. They are accustomed to managing the lives of everyone around them by committee and majority vote. My son-in-law refuses to cave to his family anymore, which puts all of them in a state of anxiety. I find it all too heartbreaking that they are willing to lose contact with their son simply because they are unwilling to mind their own business. Quite frankly, I am getting the best of this deal, and in the spirit of keeping things peaceful, I offered to stay home and avoid the consequences of ripping that person a new one. Even when your child is an adult with a family of her own, your protective instincts are always right there.
More books went bye-bye into their soon to be gone-gone boxes. Some more art supplies, of the crafty kind, were winnowed, with a few less precious items going into the charity box. One of the broken tables managed to drag itself back into the house whilst I was gone, but it is now more broken and is in three trash bags, making reanimation less likely. I am unable to lift and carry even relatively small boxes of books and had a bag of bags that were dedicated to that use, but which cannot be found now; also lost in action is the box of soap molds that I had in the kitchen, but am trying to just let that go. They will show up, or they will not. Either way, I have no control over any of this except my responses.
The interesting part of this is thinking about the comings and goings of things and if it means that I am now certifiable and should be safely locked away for the well-being and good of everyone, or if someone is just wonking with me because, well, just because it is possible to do that. I do know that I am in trouble because I dared to go away overnight, but, once again, too wonking bad. I had a really wonderful time with my daughter and her wonderful family and am still feeling quite wonderful about the wonderful two days away from here. So, am I nuts, crazy, bonkers, gone south, loco, crackers, insane, hallucinating, disassociating, dislocated, discombobulated, dissed or dismantled?
I might be
a few bricks short of a load
five cans short of a six-pack
not firing on all cylinders
an olive short of a pizza
four quarters short of a dollar (US, and adjusted for inflation)
I think that I
have a screw loose
am bugged out
should be in the bughouse
am as mad as hatter
as mad as a monkey on a trike
have lost my marbles
belong in the booby hatch (ooooh...maybe I could get some boobies there)
Hmmmm...I think that I am a delicious alchemy of all of them.
I am interested in any other ways to describe how stunningly insane I might be. If I am going mad, I would like to do it with as large a lexicon as possible.
Divested: Books, art supplies, gift bags, a pizza maker/thing. And, I am putting all of my humane work materials, including books, video recordings, classroom handouts, leashes, pet toys, health brochures...like that...into a box and donating it to the shelter where I used to work.
Positive thought: I get to be away on Saturday again, perhaps longer if I can convince my daughter and her sweet hubby to get lost overnight again.
Day 56
Part 1
Despite the fact that I am feeling lighthearted, hopeful and am coming to an appreciation of how all of this is exactly what I need to experience at exactly the right and appropriate time, the days are just barely crawling along here. I am getting so much stuff done and whilst it no longer seems the endless task that it did a couple of weeks ago, it still is looking like it will take the rest of my natural life. I think that that is one of this project's most significant lessons for me, that this is a lifetime’s process. Stuff in...stuff out. Hold the gold, at least for a time, and toss the dross. That is one aspect of forward movement that has always escaped me, the passage and release of things, ideas, beliefs and even people as a natural part of living a fully manifested and meaningful life. I am eager and excited about the New, but so unwilling to release the Old, particularly when the Old no longer serves me and, even worse, when the Old is actually harming me. And, it does not even feel as wonked up as those things tend to be for me; it is like "Um...oh...yeah...I should know that. Cool." Especially cool is that the stuff coming in is not things, but experiences and people and all kinds of other stuff I cannot describe. Like maybe pride in sticking with this. Or the reasonable expectation of peace and calm in my future. Yeah, that would be the penultimate in coolness.
Then there is the mechanics of divesting. As something moves out, the little space emptied, it only serves to make the stuff in its proximity appear to need some work as well. Like the old joke about replacing the chair and now the sofa looks tired and when you replace that the rooms needs to be repainted and the flooring re-done, and on and on until everything changes and you find yourself halfway around the world, living in a tract house and teaching knitting to the chipmunks, and everything slows down because you have to stop and make little needles out of toothpicks for their teeny hands.
I keep having these little hiccups of thoughts popping into my head about how I need to honour and hold dear that part of me that clung to things when there was not anything else to comfort me, and how I was powerless to stop that process when it began to bedevil me. But, I am finding ways to stop that now. I do understand that getting rid of this stuff might not be the cure or the prevention for filling the damn place up again, but at least I have that awareness now. I can pay attention and guard against it. Even some of the stuff I cannot immediately release, like the art supplies or fabrics or tools, may be gone at some future time. It is the journey, not the destination; the process, not the finish line. I have spent the past year not buying anything that is not essential. It is not easy, but I am doing it. I now have a small savings balance at the bank. I have no ideas or plans for using it and it comforts me to know that the money is there should there be some emergency or some amazing opportunity that would be made easier by a little extra cash.
I was chatting on Facebook with a friend last night. He asked how the divesting was going (he reads about it in my other writing place) and commented that I must be, after all this time, nearly finished. Not. Even. Close. I stayed up after he finally got sleepy enough to go to bed, which was the only reason he wanted to chat, thinking that doing so would help him relax, at least that was what he claimed to be doing, but I think he just wanted to be bored into slumber. I cleaned out another bookshelf that contained lots of papers. Some need to be shredded and I did save some of those for feeding into that cool, little machine, but other things, like some medical stuff went right into the garbage bag. I probably should not do that, but it is done. It is just that I kind of hate using that cool, little machine. It is never convenient to shred papers right away and so they get placed on the shelf near the machine and are so easily forgotten, until the next papers get put on top of them. Then you end up with another pile of papers that cannot just be shredded, but have to be sifted just to make sure. Oh, the humanity.
I have some more terms for being in a state of craziness. I am not certain, but I think that I am finished looking for any more. It is not as funny to me as it was yesterday. It is easy to be amused in the dark, alone with your thoughts and feeling open to any possibility. The clarity of a new day puts all of that impetuous and irresponsible frivolity in its place. It is one thing to navel-gaze at my own emotional peculiarities, but the dawn's light exposes that I am not the only insane person on the planet. We are, all of us, caught in the thrall of our brain chemistry. We are so sweetly, so exquisitely and endearingly human, us humans. One of the books I tossed in the box yesterday, or the day before, was Desmond Morris' The Human Zoo. I think that it was the follow-up work to The Naked Ape, but I am not certain and I am too tired to look it up. My copy of Zoo is a first edition hardcover that I bought for a dollar at least forty years ago, which I know because of the bookplate in it. The bookplate is a copy of Hokusai's The Great Wave off Kanagawa, part of his series of woodblock prints entitled Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji. The colouring and shading became part of my tattoo, when my daughter and I decided to get inked together. You know the old and wise saying that the mother and daughter who get tattooed together, stay together.
Part 2
So, anyway, I just took Zoo out of the donation box because I think that it might be a good time to read it again, in some hope that I can begin to put the past couple of weeks into a perspective that might be more useful to me than the one with which I am currently struggling. You know, no matter how hard I try or how focused or dedicated to resolving all of the crap, for some inexplicable reason, I am acting as if I am the only player in this game. Like I am working in isolation to move all of this stuff out of my life. I hate to belabour this, I really do, but it is not the books, I doubt it ever was, not even from the beginning when I came up with this harebrained idea. I believed it was that simple, but there were greater forces at work here and I am not saying that I am ungrateful or anything like that, but I am saying that this is the kind of hard work that I would like to avoid, or at this point, just walk off into the sunset and away from it, like some Hollywood ending where everyone lives happily ever after, without any consequences. Even in Cinderella, someone had to be responsible for cooking and cleaning, laundry and making sure that the toothpaste tube was not all wonky from someone squeezing it in the middle. All that said, I am trying to pay attention, careful attention so that I do not miss any of the significant lessons here and end up having them re-presented until I finally do get them, so that they stick. I am sick of not paying attention and having to repeat things over and over and over again.
So, anyway the list. I am still interested in hearing any others. Just saying.
Most of the stuff I found on the Internet this morning is tumbled in with euphemisms for being dumb. I think that my favourite for the day is having a chink in my armour. Yeah, I like that one the best.
flew over the cuckoo's nest
a few french fries short of a Happy Meal
a few cards short of a deck
a few bricks short of a load
enough of the few whatevers, that list is probably endless and most of them are references to not being very smart
nutters
wing nut
nutty as a fruitcake
fully loaded fruitcake
mad as a hatter
kooky
cuckoo
unbalanced
mental
harebrained
Freudian flipped
maniacal
unhinged
bonkers (think I am beginning to repeat terms now)
zany
gaga
freaky
screw loose
bats in the belfry
gone bananas
off my rocker
berserk
loco
mental
off
psycho
twisted
unbalanced
whacked out (apologies to our beloved Wacky, of course)
aberrant
my wheels are spinning but my hamster is taking a nap
all my chickens flew the coop
Here are some that I do not understand:
doolally
my kangaroo is loose in the top paddock (like running amok in the garden or something like that?)
not quite the full shilling
my lift does not go all the way to the top (is this a being dumb reference about elevators?)
Feeling better already!
Divested: Books, knick-knacks, more gift bags (for cripe’s sake!)
Un-divested: Hey, we knew it was going to happen eventually, the Morris book.
Positive thoughts: The sun is actually shining today and walking will be much more pleasant. I did not eat cake yesterday. Yeah, you go girl!
Day 57
I began at work, gathering materials to share at a job fair. If you do not have them (job fairs) where you live, they are opportunities for employers and placement agencies to connect with the unemployed or those who are interested in changing careers/jobs/areas of interest. This one was one of the best in recent memory. I attend them, not as a potential employee, although I am often offered jobs, but to meet people in different industries so that I can use them as resources for my clients. There were three significant qualities to today's event.
I was greeted with hugs by the organizer, whom I have met only three times, usually in the context of trying to worm my way into some event or just asking for general favours. I guess she likes me. Nice.
I met several of my clients. Some are still looking for employment, and one of them is so outstanding in his experience and qualifications that it is nearly unbelievable that someone has not snatched him up by now. I suspect that his standards for what he wants to do at this point in his life are higher than what is currently available in our location, and I admire him for holding out for what he really wants. I got hugs, several, from him, too. He also introduced me in glowing terms to several other people. Really nice.
Another person was one of my first legit clients. She is now working, as of two weeks ago, in the field she wanted. It is only part time work, but she got the job by being a volunteer for that organization. Seeing her was one of the day's highlights.
Whilst just hanging out, I made contact with a couple of people who may noodle over to see me at work. Also nice.
Instead of dropping off my handouts, taking a quick look around, I found myself returning to my car nearly three hours after the time I got there. I will admit that I am a dyed-in-the-wool, Birkenstock-wearing, tree-hugging pacifist, so it surprised me that I had such a successful conversation with the U.S. Army recruiters that were there. Truth be told, I really only wanted one of their camouflage pens, but they were so personable, that we ended up having a mini-meeting. Surprising, but nice.
After that, I grabbed a dollar burger at the drive-through and went to the hardware store where I had a gift card, only $5/US that was burning a small hole in my pocket. I got a lot for that five bucks, including a candy bar, which was divine, by the way.
The final stop was the grocery store where I bought a ton of meat, well, at least for me. In fact, I went $38 over my budget, but I do not care. The shopping trip unearthed some stuff about what I am doing as regards my frugal life, particularly in the realm of cleaners and that is percolating as a post that I might not actually share because of the conclusions I had to face about what I am willing to do or not do right now. Frankly, until all this stuff was messing with my head, I had not been aware that my thoughts about any of this had changed, much less the radical shift in my life-as-I-am-living-it philosophy. Not so nice, or at least not very comfortable.
Then. I came home. Dum-da-dum-dum-duuummmmmm.
Before I left early this morning I tossed more books in boxes and decided that sentimentality be damned and trashed a couple of things. Like put them in the garbage can in the kitchen. They were acountertop grill, electric, for grilling meat and stuff, but I used it only for vegetables. I love grilled veggies and it was perfect whilst it lasted. But, a couple of years ago it began acting all wonky and could not be trusted to perform as designed. I kept it around, hoping that it could be fixed or would magically heal itself or something. Along the way, the cord got lost and this morning was its time to go. So, into the can it went. It was accompanied by a cracked broiler pan and a forty-year old pizza pan.
When I got home, I tossed the bag from the drive-through food and the candy wrapper into the garbage can. Then I put away the groceries. Then I went back to the can and looked inside, moved some stuff aside and realized that those three kitchen pieces were gone. All I could do was to stand there and stare at the space they formerly occupied. I give up. From now on I am going to hide, sneak, disguise, obfuscate and smuggle the trash out of here. I am certain that the far reaches of the garage are filling up with objects suitable only for archaeological study in, oh, say, a few thousand years or so. Good, wonking grief.
Just so that the day does not end on the futility of trying to affect any sort of enduring change in one's life, and the additional burden of being expected to carry the burdens of other people in addition to my own, I would like to share a some cool things that I learned today.
I heard, on the radio during my travels today, that the recent earthquake(s) in Chile were horrible and everything, but it/they produced something very interesting. It is a side-effect of some earthquakes. Because of the sifting of the tectonic plates in that area, weight was increased near to the axis of the earth, increasing it's rotation by one-millionth of a second per day. So, in case you noticed that things were spinning out of control just a bit faster in the past few days, that is the reason.
The political hi-jinks of the current U.S. government can only help to make other national governments feel ever so much better about themselves. It is a time of great ironical hilarity, but also a struggle to feel patriotic.
There are four simple things to do to keep your brain all juiced up. Move it, as in get physical as often as possible. Seek new challenges, like brush your teeth with your non-dominant hand or learn to knit or kayak or or study a new language or play with your mental blocks or something. Spend 10 to 20 minutes each day that require you to pump up your intellectual activities, you know, like playing board games or computer games. And the final one is to be more social by volunteering or be with friends or join a book club and the best part about this last one is that you can do it just when you have the time, not every day.
Do you remember the super-model, Kathy Ireland? I do. I remember that she was in the Sport's Illustrated swimsuit issue for a gazillion years and that she did calendars and a few sort of ( really) bad movies. Well, that pretty face went on to build a company that produces more than a billion dollars a year in home products, and some other things, but I do not know what they are.
Divested: Books, and I thought three broken kitchen things, but maybe not.
Positive thought: I discovered today that I am doing a kick-ass job at my job and the rest of my life ain't too shabby either.
Day 58
I am so tired tonight. Part of it is the bread that I ate for dinner, but it is mostly because of my long and long day. It was light on clients, but that happens and it gives me a chance to catch up on all the things that get shuffled along and stay undone when I am busy. I followed up on several of yesterday's job fair connections. One of them resulted in a meeting for the18th. Cool. I have a feeling that this is going to provide some real benefit to some of the people I serve.
So, what else? Well, I had to make myself go and pop books into boxes, or nothing would have been divested today. Done and done.
Several months ago I was taking a new medication for my high blood pressure, which until that moment, when it was prescribed, I did not know I even have. I guess that is the way of the old blood pressure issue. You do not know that you have it and by the time any symptoms show up, well, I guess it gets all dramatic. All in all, I am still kind of bummed out about all my crappy health issues lately. I was just going along, enjoying myself when all this stuff poked me in the eye. So, anyway, I am enmeshed in the side effects of this blood pressure medication. I am having two side effects. The first is a terrible cough because some component of the medication settles in your lungs and your body tries to cough those particles out and attempts to cough your lungs out along with them. Sort of like tossing the baby out with the bathwater. I would miss my lungs. I really would. We have been together for a long time and you just do not take that for granted. You know, I could tolerate the night-time coughing even though it competes with myCPAP machine to deny me a decent night's sleep. I mean, that stupid machine keeps waking me up anyway, so I might as well cough as long as I am up. Right?
Unfortunately, even though I am officially retired, I still work and you just cannot cough all damn day at work, especially when you work in a damn library. Just saying. I did not take the med last night because I am an idiot and did not realize until yesterday that my coughing up of the lungs is because of the medication. I called my doctor from work today and they are not happy with me, but what the heck, it is my blood pressure, my lungs and my rockin' and boppin' and coughin' the night away. I have an appointment on Monday for the official chewing-out of the disobedient patient. Tickets are still available at the box office. Ah, good times. I can hardly wait.
The second side effect of this medication is one that is not supposed to exist, at least not in our universe. What happens is that my lower, right leg and foot swell up. Edema. Just the right, lower leg and foot, nowhere else. It is not listed as a side effect, and even the web sites that have been created by the people (usually former and dissatisfied users) who hate this drug do not have a thing to complain about regarding swelling. But, I do not have to be a rocket scientist to recognize that my lower, right leg and foot swell up only when I am taking this drug. I have been ignoring that because it causes the occasional pitying look from the doc, but I could barely put on my right shoe today. And, you should know that my shoes are actually clogs, so you really should be able to shove nearly anything into the darn thing, you know, like a late-season zucchini or a side of beef or practically anything. A foot should not really be a problem. One would think.
I am still tired and I think that it is bedtime here in the suburban Midwest. I am going to wash my face and brush my teeth and drag my swollen leg behind me like a cranky, old character from an American Western film, off to bed, where I will prop my poor, little, huge leg up on a nice and soft pillow and finish The Graveyard Book and finally drop off to slumberland where I will periodically wake up, rip off my mask and cough out the rest of my lung. Now, if I wake with drool caked on my face and pillow, that will be myTrifecta for the week. I am working on my personal best. Sleep tight.
Divested: Books
Positive thought: Ummm...oh, I know! Instead of having to clean tomorrow, I will be hanging out with two of my friends, and we will have coffee and tea and ridiculously fattening snacks, but not any drinks because we are old and alcohol pretty much puts all of us right to sleep.
Day 59
My, how time flies when you are having fun. Erp.
So, anyway, I am out having fun with a friend late this afternoon, and we are discussing a mutual friend who is driving one of us insane with demands of time and energy and more time. He is going through a rough period and as any good friend would do, we try to be as supportive and understanding and present, as in there, as much as possible.
But, he wears me out. Part of the problem is that he suffers from a mental disorder; he says that he is bi-polar. I know of this beast because I took lithium for many years in an attempt towards some semblance of normalcy in my life, although in those days it was called manic-depression. My doctor told me to take the drugs and be patient because some people experience a reduction in their symptoms as the years go on. Years? Yep, and that is how long it took me to move beyond all that horrible cycling between the extremes. Looking back, that was relatively easy to do. I had the drugs to get me through and my cycles were long. I felt manic for long periods of time, and they were glorious. I felt capable of doing anything. Then there was the long and gradual descent into the depressive phase, which was not so wonderful, followed by the long and painful transition back to that wonderful state where I could do whatever I wanted to do without tiring or losing energy.
It has been decades since it has bothered me, although I wonder if that kind of bad brain chemistry ever fully resolves. Our friend is a doctor and does not believe in using meds for himself. Fine. Whatever floats your boat, baby. Take em' or don't. Your choice. The single saving grace here is that he has retired himself from doctoring. He has even stopped volunteering at the free clinic.
But, it is becoming my choice that I do not choose to deal with his daily exercises in excitement and enthusiasm and the descent into despair. I have seem him cycle up, down and back and forth several times in the space of an hour. Gosh, no one should have to live with that. You know? Emotionally it is terrible, but the physical cost to him must be enormous. Today he bailed on an important meeting for a project that he initiated. That is not a good thing.
And, the bottom line on this is that he just has to stop imposing his disability on everyone around him, and using his excuse of not agreeing with the use of meds for his mental disorder is a double-decker bullshoe sandwich. In a world where going around and expecting fairness will only cause you heartbreak, it is not fair of him to keep doing this. He has already lost his wife and any expectation of contact with his adult children. It just makes me plain sick to consider the possibility that he is going to lose his last few friends, as well. And, even though I am writing about this in the personal, it is our other, mutual friend that is most significantly affected.
I am confused and reluctant to decide how I know when (or if) enough is enough. I am not sure where my responsibility to another person lies in a circumstance like this. I am not sure where such a duty lies in my more intimate relationships. I wonder when the scales of accountability are loaded, where my position will be. I fear that despite my desire to be fair and supportive and accommodating, that I will find that I have not been a nearly good enough friend or spouse, that my best just has not been good enough.
I do not need to fix anyone. I do not even want to, truth be told. I am busy enough just trying to fix myself, and that task is sufficient to keep me busy for several life times.
I know, truly know and understand, that I cannot rescue anyone, particularly someone who is not interested or invested in saving himself. I get that. But, it feels like abandonment. It feels like desertion. It feels like I have failed someone who I like or love. Or, whatever.
I am so not the person that I was 59 days ago. I look back and I love the person I used to be. I love myself for trying so hard even when I was so stuck and what I tried was variations on a theme of ignoring what my life was really like. I do not blame anyone for what was happening then, not even myself. That alone is such huge progress.
I was thinking tonight, wondering where that disappearing garbage is and how I am going to find a way to actually find and trash it and all of the other things that still need to be gone from here. I was thinking, oh, I do not know, that maybe I could disguise things in order to get rid of them and then I thought, well, who really give a crap besides me and maybe I should give the throwing-away of things a single shot and if the stuff keeps disappearing from the trash can, that maybe I could just let it go and not worry about where it is being hidden away. I was thinking that maybe that issue is no longer my problem. I was thinking about how I have not been reduced to tears in a couple of weeks. That, the not crying, feels really weird, but nice, you know?
I guess that my greatest struggle here is not that I am getting better, really moving towards health and healthy independence, but that I worry that I might be doing it at the expense of a few other people. People who have come to depend on my pathology, as relates to how it helps them. Being in a relationship and then changing the dynamics of that unspoken agreement that two people hold, well, it seems, once in a while, like a really cold and heartless thing to do, even if it has the potential to move both parties closer to health.
No matter how careful we are, no matter how we consider and plan, we do nothing in isolation.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: There lies within me the ability and will to do the best for everyone.
Day 60
Two months. Of this. Wow. I can hardly believe that I could do anything for sixty straight days. But, it appears that I have. Today was nice and easy. I spent most of it out of the house and tomorrow will be pretty much the same. I am tired, but the weather here is as spring-like as it gets and it seems a shame to waste it indoors.
Tomorrow will be a day with the babies and we will try to spend most of it walking around the block and playing with the trikes and wagon. I think that by two o'clock all of us will be ready for a nap.
Boring, but that is all there is to say.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: I love bread pudding, but found out today that I
Day 61
It is after one o'clock on Saturday night/Sunday morning, but I only returned home a short time ago. I spent the day with the babies and it was grand. We have such a wonderful time, even though they are not actual babies any longer and are beginning to spread their delightful, little boy wings and assert some independence. I love watching them grow in this way, and I am honoured to be a part of helping them to become autonomous beings, but it sure does make the day a bit bumpy sometimes.
I had a couple personal bumps today of my very own, which did not occur to me until I had typed the lines above.
I went to see a film and have lunch with two friends yesterday. One of them is all sweet and wonderful and perfect...just like me, of course...but the other one is kind of bossy and insistent on always having her way. No biggie-deal, but yesterday she kind of irritated both me and our other friend. Then, we met for coffee this morning, as we usually do on Saturdays, and she was still whining about something that happened yesterday that disappointed her. OK, fine.
Then today. I had fed the boys by the time everyone came back from the museum and I stayed around to have dinner and chat and share stories. Two of my dinner companions are sort of relatives and I felt myself all angsty and feeling critical of part of the conversation. Hmmm, now, a pattern is developing.
The common denominator with both of those little tales (well, aside from me, of course{Smiley shakes her head at how hopeless I truly am, just hopeless}) is that my tolerance for other people's bullshoes is rapidly decreasing. I mean, I like all of the people in those two snippets of stories, and, sure it is only two crummy occasions, but it is leaving me feeling so much less patient and supportive of the baloney that other people dish out...you know, the kind to which you listen without comment or criticism, but mostly without any comment.
So, am I just a cranky blitch or a newly emerging cranky blitch or what?
Where did my tolerance go?
Why are little things like this bothering me all of a sudden? And, I do not mean just a little bit, I mean a kind of middle-sized portion of having it bother me.
Am I on a downward spiral to being so completely unable to deal with other people's crap that I will eventually end up living in a cave somewhere, eating roots and twigs and lobbing clumps of dirt at the sweet little woodland creatures that wander by?
You know, right this minute, even though I had no idea this was going in this direction, that wonking cave is looking pretty damn good.
Good wonking grief.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: I do not know for how long, but for now I still have friends.
Day 62
I am still cranky. If this is going to be even a semi-permanent part of who I am for a while, I do not think that I will be able to take it. For crying out loud, I am the nice friend, the one that others come to for comfort and how the hell am I going to be able to do that if I bristle all over the damn place all the damn time? I managed to be nice to everyone today, even the person who yelled at me because I was not cleaning the bathroom correctly. Yeah, even that person.
God, I am all over the place. I feel so unsettled and worried about going fully insane without any warning. I know, I really do, that a huge part of this is because I have become so adept at staying low-key in order to avoid any kind of confrontation. It is like there is a leak in that control and some kind of nasty goo is oozing out of me and staining how I am able to move around in my world. My ability to stay all calm and reasonable is being threatened by these new feelings, the ones of feeling irritated and everything. It is like my inner-Gandhi is about to start dealing out a nice measure of whoop-ass on everyone around me. Am I going to just snap sometime this week? Am I going to end up on the front page of the newspaper? Is my first vacation in years going to be in the county lock-up?
I know that I will get through this. If I can be a nice person when things are tough, then I can be a nice person when things are improving and I can be a nice person on the other end of this.
I am trying to manage as best I can. I walked today. I cleaned like crazy and look where that got me. I ate chocolate and had tea and biscotti . I should be fine for a couple of hours. I have my doctor appointment tomorrow concerning my cough and the swelling of my leg due to the medication, which I stopped taking nearly a week ago. In twelve hours I will be at the clinic and will be a bad patient. I just know it.
Anyway, soon to bed because I am worn out and going all Chekhovian, one of his characters, the ones who were limp and nervously exhausted. Oh. I guess that was all of them.
Divested: Books, three of which I found on a shelf in the bathroom. Eeeeewwwww.
Positive thought: I was stalwart and demanded the return of my faucet. I got it back. I am woman, I am strong, I am plumber.
Day 63 Do not read this because it is all whiney. I swear.
I need this safe place to write out all of this stuff, but I need to know that no one else will read it because it is sad and I do not want anyone else to be sad just because I have to vent here.
Please. Go do something else that is wonderful and makes you happy and the world a better place.
I just re-read this before posting, something I never do. I do not feel better for having spewed it all out, but that takes time sometimes. Anyway, I just could not add to the burden of sadness in the world by allowing those words to stay on the page.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: I am able to enjoy the sweet and tender tips of the iris that are poking through the soil. Truly, if I can still find a positive thought, things cannot be as bad as they feel right now.
Day 64
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: Walking in the fog is a lovely experience.
Day 65
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I helped three people today.
Day 66
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: I helped one person today.
Day 67
Divested: Books, art materials to the children of a friend, purses.
Positive thought: I am able to have coffee with my friends tomorrow and they have promised to take some more books, bless their hearts.
Day 68
Divested: Books, at least a dozen frames that will never display anything around here.
Positive thought: I can still feel hopeful.
Day 69
Divested: Books, more frames, an assortment of useful things that are too great a burden to carry any longer.
Positive thought: I will be able to get away tomorrow for a few hours to play with the babies and their mommy.
Day 70
Divested: Books, pizza oven, train set.
Positive though: I can get through this.
Day 71
Divested: Books, more art supplies.
Positive thought: Tomorrow is my day to be out and about for at least twelve hours.
Day 72
Divested: Books, hopefully the chunk of my brain that keeps judging.
Positive thought: I helped three people today; frankly, I kicked ass in the realm of resumes.
Day 73
I had to go back and count and it has been ten days since I have been able to write anything here. I am going to try to do so now, but I cannot make any promises that I will be able to actually do it. What happened last week on Monday was something terrible. I tried to write about it then, because doing that, writing, helps me to process what is going on in my life. So, I sat down at the old computer here and began to let it all flow out through my fingertips, just like I always do. Then, what happened is that I could do it, the writing, but I could not bear to share it, you know, hit the post button.
Then I deleted what I had written and wrote something else that I had been thinking. It was fine. It was about other aspects of what this process has been for me. It was all true, but it lacked the quality that my usual, stream-of-consciousness writing does have, and that is complete honesty, the in the moment kind. My habit is to let the writing happen and it pours out of me as pure and dedicated to my inner process as it is possible to be. Every day since that day, I sit down and try to write. I cannot. I get all blocked by my unwillingness to continue on that same, unadulterated path that is essential to who I am and how I manifest in the world. The problem is that my smaller world, the one in the right here and in this place world, is experiencing things that cannot be shared without creating even more unhappiness. It was not just that one day last week, it has continued and there does not seem to be anything that I can do to have an effect on it. I get to be here and just keep on taking this crap. It is too hard to do whatever I am supposed to be doing right now. Even writing this convoluted and stupid explanation is difficult.
But, something else happened just a few minutes ago and it was reading the nice message that a friend said about what I write here. She said something about my strength and honesty. I am not feeling so strong these past days and my ability to be honest is seriously compromised. I feel like a total idiot. I feel stuck and frightened and stuck and just plain stuck. And, that is why I have not been able to write about any of this, not here, not even in my private places. And, if I cannot be as clear and transparent as I try to be, then it seems pointless and, yes, dishonest to write all around what this process has become for me. I mean, if I am not going to continue to let it all hang out, then what is the point.
You know, the point of this whole blasted idea was to help myself become a better person. I keep saying this, but it turned out to not be about the books, but about what my life wanted, needed me to do. Insisted that I do. You go along in your life, just doing the best that you can and try not to make problems for anyone else and somewhere along the way you get lost. You just lose track of the person you are and end up being what someone else or what some other people want you to be and you do not even notice that where that other person or those other people are concerned you have become exactly what they insist that you be but you,gosh how do I want to say this, you just bury yourself to accommodate them. I mean, you are still there and you do your best to have a decent life in spite of all of that but if you go too far away from what other people have come to expect from you it begins to fall apart, the whole thing, the facade or whatever you want to call it, the thing that allows everything to go smoothly. When one person in that unspoken agreement changes even a little bit, it throws everything out of balance. When one person gives the appearance of planning on changing a whole lot, then everything goes to pieces. The worst part of all of this is that I am changing, but what I am doing is not having a direct affect on that other person or persons. Their problem is that my willingness to tolerate a few things has changed and whilst I am not asking or even hinting that some change should or could be happening with them, they are so pissed that I am not the same person. I mean, how ****ed up is that, that my process and who I am becoming does not affect them and they still are all pissed about it. It is insane, and not in a good way. That is what is happening here and that will have to do for an explanation, I guess. But, I miss writing. I think that it is essential to what I am doing now and I am going to try to write every day. Every damn day, whether I want to or not. But (oh those damn 'buts'), I will not be writing about this thing. I will still be as honest as I can, but it will not be the pure, stripped to the bone honestly that helps me thrive.
So, anyway, I have added parts of two days to my volunteering. One of the places where I already volunteer has added two evening periods to help people with certain issues. It is in the evening, so that people can come after work. Tuesday was the first session and the organizer was upset because it was not hugely attended, but she is supposed to be the expert in the area and her angst is her own issue. I think that I have made two friends of the other three volunteers that night and so that is a huge bonus for me. The third person there was a guy and seems kind of shy. There will be a new person tonight that can only come on Thursdays and I am looking forward to meeting her, as well.
My gig at the library is still one of the most amazing experiences of my whole life. Yesterday had only one appointment, but there were two walk-ins and I put in a ten-hour day that did not have time for even a short break. The work is so energizing that the time flew by in what seemed like only a couple of hours. By the time I got to my car I realized that I was starving and gobbled my sandwiches. I always take two because I have one for lunch and another to keep me going on the way home in case it turns out to be one of the long days, like yesterday was. It is true that the best seasoning is a healthy hunger, because they tasted divine and were more satisfying than if I had eaten them at lunchtime.
I had an appointment with a research company this morning, one of those that create panels to test and give feedback on new or potential products. My original intention was to go through the process to see if I would feel comfortable recommending it to some of my clients as a way to make a little extra money whilst they are looking for a new job, but I really liked the people and the process and think that I am going to participate and accept some of their calls for panelists, the ones for which I meet the demographics. It would be a nice way to make a bit of extra money, which would come in handy for my Saturday morning coffee with my friends. This should be a lot of fun, as well, and I hope that they choose me for some of their testing and evaluating protocols.
Some sad and glad news is that my friend, the one with the gallery, returned to her other home across the little pond this morning. She was unwilling to be on the road with the St. Patrick's Day hooligans and decided to leave today whilst they were all home and sleeping off their shenanigans. I always miss her so much when she is over there, but that is where her sweetie lives and you just cannot disrespect the heart. The sculpture on which I am working, well, sort of, is for a show at her place in June. She and her sister are going on a short trip out west the two weeks before the opening and she asked me to curate the exhibit for her and stay at her home above the gallery during that time. Both of those things, cool and groovy and I am looking forward to living in a city for the first time in over 35 years, even if it is for only two weeks.
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I know how lucky I am when anyone likes the dumb stuff I make, although I would keep on making it just for my own pleasure.
Day 74
I finished the rolls for my client and took them over to her house. She and her daughter were waiting for me and they loved the darn things. The mother told me that they were just like the ones she used to make and that she was surprised as it was my first time.
Yeah, even I know that was a compliment.
So, I sat there with them and had one of the rolls. I like icing as much as the next person, but I should have left it off. Once on there, the roll, there was no way to get rid of it unless I wanted to distract them by pretending that I saw Elvis in the driveway and when they were looking out of the window I could have scraped it off and put it in my pocket. But, neither of them have very good vision and they would not have taken the bait. I ate it all, but the roll part was wonking amazing. I would make them again, but it is too much in the realm of carbs and I do not think that I could get even close to that fine result is I used whole grain flour.
I know that they were super pleased because the two of them started talking about all of the family dishes that neither of them is able to make any more. They kept asking if I could make this or that and did I have any good recipes for one dish after another. I told them that I was too busy right now to do much cooking for other people and they told me how disappointed they were, that they thought that I could do this each week for them. It was lovely, sitting there with them. I think that the best part was that it felt like being with old friends and it was nice to have people being nice to me for a change, even though they really are strangers to me. Maybe that is what I have to do, spend all of my time with strangers who do not know what a messed up jerk I am.
Anyway, I do not want to become their even once-in-a-while cook, mostly because it would mean doing all of the cooking here at my house and someone would not like that very much. Factor in the shopping and having to be reimbursed and transporting the food at the proper temperatures and the pans and casseroles and getting them back and all the rest, and I simply do not want to have even one more person depending on me for so much, not even two wonderful and lovely women like them.
But, it was nice doing this and appreciate the break it gave me from all the other stuff.
Divested: Books, more purses
Positive thought: I made nice rolls.
Day 75
I cannot believe that there are only 25 days left in this project. I will not be finished with the larger issues that this has produced, and I will see this through the end, whatever that may be.
I had breakfast with the only other two of our Saturday morning coffee group that were in town this weekend, and I paid for their meals. I know that I cannot afford to do that, but I seriously needed to self-medicate myself today. Mood alter. Disassociate. Whatever. It is worth having to scrimp on other things for a while. One of the two women is the person that irritates most everyone else. I kind of like her weirdness. She often makes me laugh inside with some of the stuff she says. Anyway, today she was not doing all those things that annoy the second woman, and I am wondering if it is because there were only the three of us and that there might be something about the smaller group dynamic that affects her behavior. I spent the rest of the day taking the one who gets so annoyed at the other one around on her errands. Neither of them drive and I often drop one of them off somewhere on my way home.
One of the places we stopped was a shopping mall. In the process of following my friend around all of the stores, I found part of my presents for my oldest grandson, who will be three years old next month. My daughter wants everyone to buy only clothing for him, but what the hell kind of a birthday would that be? I usually do what she wants, and she prefers to have gift cards that she can use to buy clothes whenever the boys outgrow their current stuff. The baby will not be two until September, but he is very tall and wears the same size as his older brother. So, I really do get that this makes things easier for my daughter, but my sweet, little baby is getting some kind of fun thing, too. I saw one of those nightlight kind of things today, the ones that are sort of rectangular in shape, light up and have this moving scene on them. The store at which I saw them had mostly things like fish tank or underwater scenes, but one of them was race cars. I did not buy it right away because all they had was the display model, which had been running all day for months and I was concerned that the mechanism might be wearing out or something. I know that he would love it for his bedroom and now have to try and figure out what they are called and then find a new one somewhere. Anyway, it is not actually a toy, which she insists the boys stop getting because they already have so many (yeah, I get that, too). I returned home after 5 and it was so nice to be away all day like that. Home should be the place where you can feel safe and warm and comfy and all that jazz. I mean, does anyone actually fall for that crap?
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I am very happy to be able to sleep in late tomorrow if I feel like it.
Day 76
I managed to stay away for most of yesterday and that greatly helped my ability to cope. Today it is quiet here. It is my most sincere hope and desire that it stay that way for a long time, because the past several weeks have taken me to the very edge of my endurance. The quiet is what happens every single time, and I am expected to pretend like nothing happened. Just the exact same story every single time. Except this time. This time something different happened. This time. Crap. Never mind, what happened is irrelevant in the face of what I learned. This is going to be another weirdly confused whatever the hell these things are.
It is the same everywhere, with everyone, you go along and do the best you can when things are not too bad and survive when things are not too great. I credit this divestment project with giving me the ability to see this most recent period from an improved perspective.
The most important lesson that I have learned is that I am not close to being the kind of person that I wanted to be and that I thought I was. I would never have been able to admit this before, mostly because I did not believe it and it is that I have been behaving as though I am a victim. Disgusting behavior, but it is what I have been doing. I cannot look back and determine when it happened, but that is who I am. I sit back and I take it, whatever is done to me. The worst part of this revelation is that I guess that I am not all that surprised. Consciously or not, I have been paying attention, on some level of awareness, I guess. So, now I can add another layer of shame. Oh, goody.
So, gobsmacked as I am feeling, I have some decisions to make here about how I move through my life. On the outside, I appear to be a successful, active, and empowered person in my community. My name is mentioned in the local media on a regular basis. Wherever I go, there are people who know who I am and much of what I do, even though I am a teeny-weeny fish in a very small pond. And, no one, not one single person knows how different my life is in this house. It chills me, but I would bet you that there are many people in this small pond who are experiencing much the same disconnect between what happens in the privacy of their houses and how they are seen outside of that environment. The world is full of secrets.
Part two of this most important lesson is the most important part. It is that I am complicit in how I am treated. No one took my power away from me. No, baby, I offered it up on a silver platter. I am completely and totally responsible for where I am now. If this is a choice, and it is, then I should be able to choose some other way of being here. Ah, that is why the last two weeks happened. They were precipitated by the way I have been changing on a nearly microscopic scale, but even small changes are significant when there have not been any changes for decades.
Because I initiated all of this, it is not difficult to understand that the other person in this dance is not having a very good time, which brings me to the second most important lesson that I have learned. I was privileged to have shared with me that the other person sees me as the offender, not only in what has been happening since I began this mess, but as the catalyst for what this other person does or does not do, has done or has not done during the entire time that we have been together. That other person sees himself as the victim of my something...what that is I have no idea, but he believes that everything he does he is compelled, forced to do because of my behavior, or more properly, my misbehavior. His perception is that there would not be any problems if only did what I am supposed to do. There should follow something of an explanation, but I cannot. I do not know what it is. What I can share is that I am completely adrift, perhaps even hopeless in that I still think that I could be what he wants, if only he could express what that might be or tell me the rules that I am violating or keep those rules from changing all the time. My magical powers do not extend to mind reading, I guess.
The third most important lesson that I have learned is that neither of us have not a clue about what the other person is experiencing, what we feel or how we are likely to react to anything. I suppose that this would be the perfect place to begin again, to try to make this work in a way that is satisfying to everyone. But, I think that I am not all that interested in trying.
What all of this means, convoluted as it may be, is that I am the decider here. Oh, not for everyone, or even just for anyone, just for me. I am not so happy about it, but if my life is going to change, if I am to be released of this fear, then only I can do what needs to be done. Oh. Goody.
Divested: Books, another bookcase.
Positive thought: There is always a light at the end of some tunnel or another.
Day 77
I am hoping that today's slightly elevated mood is a result of all of the hard and extraordinarily painful work that I have been doing lately, and just not some fluke or the calm before the next storm. When I typed that this is day 77, there was something about that number that caught my attention in a way that none of the other days has done. I thought, maybe it is a lucky number. Even though numerology or lucky stuff is not an interest of mine or part of my wonkified belief system, I could not get 77 out of my head.
So, I did a little Google-ing. It was of no help. Seventy-seven is not a prime number, it is not anything special. The only link of even the slightest interest was an article in the Independent, which was about a list of 77 things you need to know about 07, in reference to the year 2007. Apparently 7 is the lucky number here, and putting another 7 next to is does absolutely nothing to increase its value. Unless it is in dollars or pounds or other currency. So much for hope in a bit of magical numerical support today. For a moment I thought about listing 77 good things and then I came to my senses about what the obligation to yet another list would be. Whew! That was a close one.
So, yesterday, I spilled my guts about some stuff that held significance for me. In the support of honestly, I have to admit that I re-read that posting and I nearly deleted it. You know, I never have thought of myself as a victim-victim. But that is what I am. Self created. I always thought that I was a nice person just going along in her life trying to be nice and do the right things and not be any kind of burden on anyone. Then I read what I wrote yesterday and the comments and it is so depressing, you know? This morning I cleared another really deep bookcase and found my buffalo drum, which I thought that I had left at a friend's house and would never see again. But, there it was, in all of it's dusty glory, on that bottom shelf, next to my rain drum.
And, I looked at them and the thought that I do not deserve to have those lovely and precious things in my life just swam around in my head and I straightened up and looked around at the things that I am probably going to keep and I just have not the heart to release and they sadden me as well, because I am no longer certain who it is that lives in this flesh. Realizing that I am the architect of everything that happens to me is something that I have accepted, known, in an intellectual sense, but never actualized it into the context of how I live. I mean, I believe that I present and represent myself as the inner person that I am, but I am feeling all scattered about who that really is. It is clear that I need to stop living in my head and allow all of this to be present and lived in my gut. It is sure to be messier, but I am thinking that it would be in my best interest to do so. You know, I was also wondering (gosh, think...wonder...all stuff in my head, got to stop that) if any of this personal process would even have happened if I had not gone public by creating this blog. I believe that I would have caved, stopped the process, when it started to go badly. I mean, I could still have done that, but this writing is making that more difficult.
In less than a month I will be taking time to read this from the beginning. I am certain that I will be embarrassed by some of what I have written, but it is my hope that I will be able to see and honour the progress that I have made.
Something happened yesterday that is not about me, but might affect how I will live in the future. In this country (USA) we have been wrestling with the process of legislation concerning some significant changes in how we provide health care. If these new initiatives and plans actually manifest, that means that I can leave here and have some expectation of having access to some kind of health supportive care. Frankly, the fear of not having access to doctors and medicine is one of the two major factors in why I have not left before this. The other factor is that I always hoped that my daughter would be able to have some kind of relationship with her father if I just stuck around long enough. She is not privy to either of these reasons, but I know that she longs to have some connection to him, keeps hoping that he will take an interest in her. When her children were born, that was two new opportunities for hope to increase that it would happen for her. She once told me that even though he was never there for her, that sometimes when a man becomes a grandfather that he takes advantage of that new development and finds a way to become a grandparent in a way that he was unable to parent his own child. It still makes me feel so sad and weepy that she held on to that hope and then that it failed to manifest for her.
Despite the fact that children know much more than we give them credit for knowing, I managed to shield her from the worst of what was happening all these years. Even though it puts a strain on our relationship, the fact that she does not know much of what happened or happens, I would still do it again, exactly the same way because there are some things that children should not carry as burdens.
So, anyway, as of today there is one less barrier to making a life for myself somewhere else. I still have to find a full time job. I think that will be relatively easy to do, but only beginning the process will tell. An unwanted consequence is that I will not have as much time to volunteer, but that is too bad. Oh, rats, I forgot that I made a commitment to that gallery for two sculptures. That throws a wrench into the works, but I will manage.
Still feeling better about most things here and that is progress of a sort. Back to work. Sigh.
Divested: Books, but not drums.
Positive thought: Every day that you survive increases and enhances your ability to continue to survive.
Day 77 and a bit more than nine-tenths: The Witching Hour
I just finished going through another bookcase. In a house full of cases that are fairly well organized and often contain only a single genre of books, this one was a nice mixture of fiction, biographies and books on tape. Most of the books are now in boxes and bags for my friends, the charity shop and just one bag for the used book store.
I kept only a few authors. Wilde. Nin. Woolf. A couple of advance reading titles that I never got around to reading and that still interest me. I found all the volumes of Virginia Woolf's diaries, even a duplicate or two. My introduction to Virginia was the Albee play which I saw as a film in mid60s. Whilst she is not a character in it, the story is of a dysfunctional couple spending an evening torturing one another. How heartbreakingly appropriate that is for me right now. I think that the first book I read was To The Lighthouse, and then, maybe Night and Day.
There was something about her characterizations that tantalized me. She was clearly a brilliant writer, but there was always something of the unspoken in her work. That unaddressed but thrumming sub context that kept me reading, always trying to find out what that was. It was many years later, after having read most of her writing and then leaving it, only to eventually be drawn back, that after time, I knew about her life, at least a bit, the parts that she shared and that others wrote about.
Holding those books tonight, brushing the dust from the covers and the top edges of the pages with my fingers, I found myself thinking about the past few weeks. If you do not know about Virginia's life, she struggled with depression and great despair. She had breakdowns and came and went in and out of her life as best she could. Despite the unsettling nature of living with mental illness, she managed to keep writing and writing magnificently, right up to the day that she killed herself.
Virginia was a product of her time. She suffered criticism of her depictions of upper, middle-class life. She was at the very least, a borderline anti-Semite, despite the fact that she married a Jewish man. That, however, did not prevent her from having a love affair with him that lasted most of the rest of her life. I cannot remember it very well, but she wrote something about not wanting to be parted from him after twenty or so years together.
In the midst of everything that her mental illnesses caused her, she found love, enduring and beautiful love.
And, that was all that I could think about as I held those books and cleaned the dust from them. She was troubled her entire life and he loved her. She loved him. Perhaps not exactly the same way, but in a manner that suited them, each to their own needs and in support of each other. Mostly, I guess, because no two people can be everything to each other, everything that the other wants.
So, alrighty, I am all about the books tonight. And, I am also reminded of one of Oscar Wilde's more famous quotes and it is that the things which one is absolutely certain about are never true. When I married it was for forever, all that sappy stuff about good and bad, sickness and health, until death do us part. I never expected that it would be high noon, sun shining, birds singing all the time, but I never expected to live in fear, to be bullied and threatened. I never expected that I would not be loved in return. And, I know how foolish it is to compare, but if Virginia could find someone who loved her for what she was, in spite of what she was, then it is such a leap of faith to expect, or at least to hope for something like that for myself? Is it too much, too vain, too selfish to want some of that for myself? I was certain that I had found a life partner. You know, like a real partner. Even when it fell apart after ten years or so, I still believed that. I think that I still believe that. How foolish I am. It is not true.
In a way, I was right about that revelation that I had weeks back, the one where I realized that many of these books were a desperate attempt to find my own stories. I have, for decades, been searching for a way to connect my experiences with what my heart desired. Even Virginia could not come close to helping me there. In a time of sadness, tonight may be close to my personal best, and how exquisitely sad that is.
And, even though I already did this for today...
Divested: More books, more artsy stuff.
Positive thought: I am willing to think about accepting that what is true simply is not.
Day 78
I emptied two more bookcases. I am on a roll, rolling, rolling, rolling those babies right out of here. I stopped counting or even estimating how many books are gone, so the total is anyone's guess. In the beginning, the number was important, essential, to the process, but now I do not give a rip. Anyway, it was just another day in the divesting part and I was mostly left alone to do it. Nice.
On one of the fourteen shelves that I cleared today, only a few books stayed. They were mostly art resources and I think a couple of biographies. But, the best find was a folder with two things that I wrote a gazillion years ago, in the bright ages (as opposed to the current dark ages). I know, looking at the mess that I am now, it is difficult to believe that I was ever a serene and empowering person who could offer something supportive to someone else.
Apparently, at one time, I was enamoured of the tortoise. I sort of remember liking or feeling an affinity for tortoises, and as I read this thing it seems that turtles were a part of my infatuation. At some point I wrote this thing, and made it into a card or something and attached little turtle fetishes to it and probably gave it away or used it for some workshop. Or something. I cannot recall anything about that part. But, the card says 2001. I think that both of these were from the time when I worked in the herb shop and we held all those workshops and stuff.
I have met the Turtle, and he is me.
I have a shell to protect me from the ravings, the comings and goings of those who would seek to disturb and perturb me.
I carry my protection with me wherever my journey leads me.
My protections prevents me not from living fully and consciously.
My creed has passed to me from our ancient ancestor, the Tortoise, whose deeds are legend.
Like my ancestor, the Tortoise, I choose to live in the moment.
I choose to honor my goals, but not be held hostage by them.
I choose to take my time doing whatever needs to be done.
I choose to travel at the pace appropriate for me, resisting the contrived pace that others would set for me.
I choose to arrive at the finish line centered, informed, confident, successful and far ahead of that annoying, self-absorbed little hare.
I am the Turtle.
Were you listening?
©2001 J. Xxx
Okey-dokey. Dorky. I know.
The second thing that I found was a quarter-page thing about bubbles. Now, bubbles and I go way back. I have always loved the look of them, they way they move through the air, their impermanence. Everything. To this day, I carry bubbles with me everywhere I go. In the past, it was one of those pint sized bottles, because that was the smallest size available. In our modern times, you can get them in the tiniest containers and I have several different kinds. My favorite is the little ones that are sold for wedding favors. I am serious about bubbles. Really. Besides, if you find yourself in a situation where there is a small and disturbed child in the vicinity,
Bubbles
Bubbles are perfection.
They exist as bubbles before we breathe then, as we breathe then into this realm and after they expand into invisibility.
Bubbles demonstrate how our sense of control is simply an illusion, a pleasant fantasy.
When we breathe a bubble, it is in a particular direction.
When the bubble has been formed, it takes the path it was designed to take, even if we press against the air to push it into another direction.
A bubble will follow its own pat,, its own destiny.
Bubbles contain all the colors of the Universe in an ever-changing circle of movement and creation.
Bubbles are precisely the size they are supposed to be.
Bubbles exist in this realm for precisely the length of time they are supposed to exist.
Bubbles meeting other bubbles create a new form appropriate for the union.
Breathing a bubble helps us to breathe properly, filling our lungs from the bottom to the top, expanding them for our maximum benefit.
Breathing a bubble helps us to focus on the moment, slowing our pulse rate and enhancing our ability to calm ourselves.
To become peaceful in the midst of that which is not peaceful is only one of the bubble's many gifts to us.
© 1998 Jxxx, Wxxx
If I had this in me ten and twelve years ago, where the hell did it go?
Divested: Books, two more bookcases.
Positive thought: I get to go to work tomorrow, and be with my favorite client on Thursday.
Day 79
Prime number day, but nothing special. Well, if you factor in my feelings that I am going all paranoid on my ass, then I guess that there is some small measure of specialness about today. No, seriously. I must be having a hormonal imbalance or low blood sugar or mini strokes or something relatively benign, because I feel just great except for the paranoia. Maybe it is a delayed reaction to the past few weeks because it is still quiet here and nothing icky is happening to distract me. Just do not know, but I feel icky. Not cranky or out of sorts, just icky, out of kilter. Icky. I wonder if there was a polar shift or the planet took a hit from a plasma cannon. That might explain it. Icky.
One of my friends called to invite me to lunch for my birthday next week and she said that I feel icky because I do not have sufficient quantities of junk food in my system. Not enough chips (crisps to most of you guys) or ice cream or candy or deep fried stuff. Not enough soft drinks or alcohol, for that matter. Too few donuts and kringle and cheese curds and pixy sticks.
Maybe.
And, then there is person on one of the medical sites that I manage who is driving everyone insane with her insanity. I think that she is a stitch, but everyone else is not nearly as fond of her as I am. I figure, if you have all this wonky stuff going on your head, it eventually has to come out in some way, and that site is a safe place for her to be weird without anyone giving her crap about it. So far no one is calling her out on some of the outrageous things she shares and I hope it stays that way until she has a chance to settle down.
Probably not that either.
Maybe. Maybe I just need sleep and a good book to take me there.
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I have great hopes that tomorrow will be another day, special, lucky, numerical, or not.
Day 80
After all of our lovely spring-like weather, today dawned calm, but by late morning, just as I was fetching my friend C (former social services client), it went totally cyclone-ish. We had lunch and the usual fight over whether or not I was going to allow her to pay for me. As usual, I won, but only because I am now smart enough to tell the waitperson that we want separate checks prior to being seated and so that C will not overhear.
I had planned on spending the afternoon in one of our lovely parks, but the winds made that impossible. So, I drove down to the shore of the little-pond and we sat and watched the waves crash over my car. I had to keep turning the windshield wipers on so that we could see. I parked so that her window was downwind of the worst of it and we kept that one open so that we could hear the roar and crash of the waves on the rocks. It was wonderful with all of that wild nature practically surrounding us and still being safe and snug in the car. I took a few pictures, but not many because the wind kept rocking me off balance and once I nearly was blown over, which I mention only because the images are off-kilter.
I went through some more art supplies and wonder if I am taking this part too far. Whatever. I am taking another bag of goodies for the children of one of the women with whom I work when I leave in a few minutes for the evening session at work.
Divested: Books, art supplies.
Positive thought: Tomorrow I have the entire day with my daughter and the babies and we are going to make spring decorations for everyone.
Day 81
I just got home from a day in paradise. We made spring decorations for all of the other grandparents, aunties and mommy and daddy. We made a big mess, but we cleaned it up and then had lunch and some of us had naps. After those who actually slept woke up, we bundled-up and walked outdoors, drew on the driveway with chalk, rode our trikes and patted our favorite trees until grandma's knees gave out.
By that time, it was nearly time for dinner and we had pizza, bread sticks, macaroni and cheese and root beer, or as the babies say, beer soda. Soft drinks are not something the boys usually have, so it was a special treat. The younger babe had never had any of this stuff before and it was not to his liking. He kept saying that the fizzing bothered his nose. Finally it was play, then bath and finally story time. Both of us, my daughter and I, were sort of glad to have them settle in for the night. We watched some cooking face-off on her television, which was nice because I do not have television here, although I was disappointed to learn that she is thinking of getting rid of the whole system, as it is the only place that I get to watch the darn thing. It is kind of nice watching it there once in a while and not having any responsibility for providing it for myself.
I divested very, very late last night and loaded the car before I left for my visit with them this morning, so I did not have to worry about making any noise when I got home tonight. Tomorrow's coffee with my friends should be interesting because we are going to a breakfast being provided by the local slow food people. They are not sharing the menu and that should be cool. There will also be a farmer's winter market and I am hoping to find some nice cheese or smoked meats.
Divested: Books, knick-knacks, resource materials and books from my shelter days to be donated to a shelter next Monday.
Positive though: I am certain to make some new friends tomorrow at the breakfast/market.
Day 82
I am stuck on numbers. They seem to hold some significance, but they really just mean nothing. There must still be remnants of all of that adrenaline lazing around in my body, bits lodged here and over there, like the shreds of breakfast bacon that you find stuck between your molars later in the day, only there is not any floss that will remove these stubborn things from my head. So, I decided to ignore numbers entirely. Yeah, like that would work, even though I was sincere, it was a dumb idea. Doing that made them more stuck. Maybe part of it is my birthday next week.
So, today was fine at the slow food event. Sort of. In retrospect, I wonder what I was thinking when I suggested this to the coffee group. I want to state, just for the record, that I am not judgmental. Really. I am not. Honestly. Really, I would tell you if I was so inclined, but I am not. Not in the least. Judgmental? Me? Never! Sigh. I wonder if this sort of protesting is like when you preface something that you are going to say by stating that you are not a prude. I mean, if you have to say that, then it probably means that you are a flaming prude. I know all about that because I find myself, on occasion, defending my non-prudishness. So, if I am sort of a closet prude, then I most likely am an equally closeted judge. But, really, I am not judgmental. Really.
Never mind, back to the breakfast. I have known these women for many years. We have traveled the globe together, well, parts of Europe anyway. We are a medical professional, a legal professional, a teaching professional, a executive professional, another executive professional, a business professional and a professional nun. And, me. Because these are all high-powered people (even the nun, who spends most of her time traveling all over the place), they have certain expectations. For lots of things. And, you know, that is fine, no problem, who gives a rip, you know? One of the precepts of the whole Saturday morning coffee thing is that it is fun to try new places to meet, drink the java juice and eat. Right about this time of the year, everyone is sated with the usual places. There is a yearning for new and exciting and different locations, preferably alfresco. Unfortunately, there is often tons of snow on the ground around here, with more to come before Spring demands that it go away.
Enter me and my great idea. I miss the summer farmer's and artisanal foods purveyor's markets. Here, in what usually seems like the tundra, the only one, until deep into Spring, is the winter market in a nearby town, which happens to be the town in which most of them live, except for the business professional. And, me. I mean, what could be more perfect. We go to the market, where I know that they will find lots of cool things to chew and swallow, and perhaps even buy and we get to sample offerings and support the efforts of some of the local farmers and the stuff they grow, milk, churn, harvest, cure, bake, preserve, all that jazz. Personally, I thought that the elk sausage, flax crackers and just-made-yesterday curds were divine. Man, I really thought that it was the kind of nearly perfect idea that I always long to have. I was so wrong. I think that there have been few occasions when I have been this seriously wrong, and this is in a life that is rife with wrong ideas. Lordy.
The breakfast was a sampling from several chefs using local food products. There were six food dishes and four beverages and you got some of each. I thought that each was well thought-out, well prepared, well served, and delicious, although the cured ham was only a tiny bit salty for my needs, one of which is the desire to control the swelling in my lower, right leg. Although, I have to tell you that that sweet, pink meat was worth it, even though I am unable to flex my right ankle all these hours later. One other person thought so, too, except for the salt thing because she does not experience any swelling issues and likes this kind of dry-cured pig product.
Do you hear that sound? Listen. It is the faint call of crickets, heard only just during the silence that precedes criticism. Lordy.
The frittata was too eggy. The grilled bread and cheese surrounding the ham was too greasy and on and on. All right. I guess I am a totally judgmental person because I just sat there and watched and listened to them pick apart this lovely, wholesome, albeit a bit plain for some tastes, food, and I kept thinking what the hell is the matter with you babes? Okey-dokey, the word in my head was not babes, which surprised me because I really love these women. They are more family than friends. I mean, I would have given any of them the sweater off of my back even though I was wearing a sleeveless blouse underneath (think horror film quality flabby arms). I would bail them out of jail as often as needed, or babysit their cats or lend them my favourite books, all of which I have previously done, well, except for the bail and jail thing; I just threw that in to illustrate how devoted I am to each and every one of their fussy and over-privileged hearts. I am sort of waiting for the next time that someone grouses about going to the same old places all the time so that I can smile sweetly and say those powerful words...slow...food. Sometimes my inner brat just cannot control herself.
A slow and easy afternoon found me organizing my jewelry making supplies and I finally fixed my medical alert bracelet and it is back on my wrist. Cool. I made a huge taco salad for dinner and watched a film borrowed from the library and this poem filtered down from my brain into my fingertips. Or, maybe it came from some other organ, you know, like a broken heart, or at least one that learned some difficult lessons over the past several weeks. It is about this turn of the year, my birthday, and I really like it. I tried to write a title for it, but the stanzas seem to want to be not defined. So be it.
You did not know me the last time.
The chapters when I was real.
Those days that flowed through time and space
Leaving me breathless in the thrall of just being.
You did not know me at the ball.
The place where joy was ordinary.
All the seconds and the pauses
Made up the passage of simply living.
Memory's clouds holding static.
Dynamic acts were only that.
Unappreciated for the colours they dripped
Onto the face of day's end. Then forgotten.
Remembrance is not regret,
Holding dear the loss of heart.
It just seems so, in the time appropriated
By such warmhearted disregard.
The breath of time escapes my grasp.
Some moments and days are left undone.
Making time for safe passage takes more
Energy than anyone has to spare.
Pages turn, fresh chapter manifesting.
Divested: Books, a whole bunch of loose beads at the bottom of my tool box.
Positive thought: Every year is more wonderful than any of the previous ones.
Day 83
This afternoon found me at the yearly concert for awarding educational scholarships to local musicians, high-school age. The orchestra that sponsors this is always excellent and it is nice to toss in my few dollars to help young people manifest their music and further their education. I must have had the seat in the sweet spot today because there was an extra dimension to the performance. Some kind of energy or something that put the entire performance over the top of their usual amazing talents. Just wonderful.
I then visited a friend that I have not seen in nearly a year. She is not in the best of health, and I hate to say this, but some of it is of her own making and it can be difficult to be as supportive as I would like. The reason that I have not seen her for all this time is that the last time we spoke I was encouraging her to come to Saturday morning coffee. She was one of the original couple of members and was not coming because of some of those health issues. That last day that we spoke was my first such call to her about sticking with the group and she told me that my call was too much pressure on her and that I should leave her alone. At the time I attributed it to her feeling so poorly and thought that it would pass, but it did not.
I stopped at her house on my way home from the concert because it was either that or go home and that is such an easy choice, to choose not going home. I figured that even if she slammed the door in my face or simply refused to answer that I truly had nothing to lose if she still did not want to talk to me. I was surprised and pleased by how welcoming she was and I am still feeling ashamed that I have not tried to contact her for all of these months. She had a friend staying with her and before I realized it, several hours had passed in remembrance, laughing and sharing. She promised to allow me to pick her up on Saturday morning and I am going to let her arrival be a surprise for the rest of the group. I am going to the budget movie with two of those other women and I hope that I do not blurt out the whole surprise thing in my current state of excitement.
I got groceries on the way home and made a treat of a dinner for myself. Now I am sated and tired and am going to go off to bed in a few minutes, even though it is still early here. My plan is to sleep in as late as possible and then have a nice and lazy morning. Sounds like a wonderful idea.
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I am nearly old enough to really get real and kick some ass around here. Fine, that is not going to happen, as I will just slink off to my own life when the time comes, but it is kind of nice to think of myself as being capable of such outrageous and self-empowering behavior. Yeah, that is me Kick-ass-and-take-no-prisoners-granny. Whoot-whoot!
Day 84
Birthday Girl here cannot believe how far this stupid project has come. For a month or so there I had become a divesting dervish, tossing everything in my path into a box or bag or the trash. Tons of stuff are gone from here and I am getting down to the stuff that I did not want to address and the areas of my life that I was unwilling to explore.
I had a reprieve during the time when it was scary, not that anyone in her right mind would choose such a diversion, but it happened and I survived. Mostly. The thing that comes after is the week(s) of silence, you know, the time intended for me to think about whatever the hell it was that I did to create the unhappiness. As bad as I am at preventing the scary times, I am worse at figuring out what I did wrong in the first place. I like to think that I was not the precipitating force, and that is mostly true. This time I was informed that I was just a bit too uppity and did not know/remember my place. So much for trying to make myself a better person and maybe have a shot at feeling good about myself.
After that is what this book I have been reading calls the honeymoon period. I am not sure exactly what that means in the context of my own life, not having had one of those when first married, but I do get the concept. There is the pretense of being nice to me and I am supposed to be appropriately and gushingly grateful for this period and pretend that the scary time never happened. I used to play along with that crap because it meant that it would be relatively quiet around here. Yeah, at least as long as I remembered my place and all the rest.
Something is different this time and it is me. I no longer yearn for apologies or understanding of what happened. Truly. And, this time I actually do not want to be understanding of how I brought this on myself by my not being compliant. This time I am not pretending that nothing happened, that those words were not spoken or threats made or any of it. I have to be honest and say that I have not done this before and I do not know what to expect, but I am trying to find a way to live without all of that fear all the damn time. You know, you just get to the place when enough is enough and then you get to the next place where enough is too damn much. Ah, today Juds is a man...errr...ummm...a woman who is not going to take the crap sandwich that she is expected to dine on every day. Yay, Juds...whatever.
My plan, if I actually have one, is to just do whatever I need to do to get on and without doing anything to make things worse, but if that happens to be the only alternative, the whole making things worse because I refuse to be that mouse, then so effing be it.
So. Today I went to the budget movie with two of my friends. I had popcorn, which was insanely expensive, but I enjoyed every single kernel. Then we went to have soup at our favourite cafe, but it was too late, all the soup was gone. Then we went to a restaurant that one of my friends likes and we had soup and lovely sandwiches, which we mostly had to take home because of the soup and the popcorn at the movie. We had the sweetest waiter and he kept bringing coffee and water and just let us jabber on as long as we liked. At least that is what we thought until he brought me a foo-foo decorated plate of tiramisu with a birthday candle on top and some lovely cream on the side. And, three chilled forks. Even though cake was not on my agenda today, I did have a nice dessert with my friends. Then I came home and whilst it was not horrible, it was not the way that I wanted today to end, but I did stand up for myself and even though that is kind of new for me, it sort of feels good, in an unsettling way, but I intend to get used to doing the standing up thing more often.
Okey-dokey, that it is for the issues, but the divesting, oh, my, what a mess. I intended to move on out some of the health and gardening books today. I am sad to report that they may have been moved to different places on the shelves, but they are still, all of them, on the shelves. I was forced to go and grab some more novels just to get some books in the box.
Standing in front of those books (the ones still shelved) was so distressing. It is like this should be so much easier for me by this time. For a moment or twenty I felt doomed to fail with this project. All of a sudden this is difficult again, similar to the way it was when I began. So, anyway, I know that I will get beyond this and those books will eventually be gone. It just feels so wrenching to let them go. Across the room there are the three cases of art related books and I looked over at them and realized that those are going to present an even greater problem so I had better get my act together about these gardening and health titles. Oh, my god, then I looked down and saw all the animal and nature books and how am I going to let those go when they would be so cool to share with my grandbabies when they are older???? Doomed I tell you, doomed.
Sixteen days is not long enough for this to resolve. I will not be finished on April 14th. I am finally realizing, in a real and sincere way that this hundred days is only the beginning of how I am changing my life. I still have so much work ahead of me, and I do not mean the damn books, you know?
I do not want to be thinking about this on my birthday of all times. All I wanted was a nice and easy day. I had that part, and then I had the rest of this day. However, I am going to honour this if it kills me, which it will not, it just feels like some kind of potential in the moment. I do not remember if I shared this before, but our daughter does not know about what goes on here. I accept that children always know more than we give them credit for knowing, but I have been extraordinarily successful about keeping the worst of it from her. That means that sometimes she does not understand things, but that seems to be the price that I was, still am, willing to pay to avoid burdening her. I never wanted her to be concerned with adult issues and her impatience with me is simply one of the consequences I never anticipated.
What a mess this seems sometimes. Especially at night. Alone in the dark-time. Lordy.
Divested: Books, thank goodness for more novels.
Positive thought: Tomorrow truly is another day, another world of opportunities. Oh, yeah, I had a nice birthday, too.
Day 85
Who would have thought that a veterinary clinic would be a good place to get rid of books? When I began this and found that I was filling up some of the usual places that one could expect to dump books, they were not even on my list. Today they took another box and it made the trip there to treat Lili's lumpy jaw just a little bit sweeter.
However, before I went there, I was looking around in my files here on the old computer and made a shocking discovery. I found that I have been a whiney pain in the azz for a long time. Clearly, I do not pay any attention to my life and am apparently going round and round in circles all the damn time. Even worse is that my complaints, with all of the attendant moaning and groaning, are on the same subjects. Sure, the details may change a bit from time to time, but the story remains the same. What a wonking bore I am. I am going to share my reduntantly pathetic writing only to help to divest a bit of the shame that I am carrying along with all of this crap, like books and stuff.
Please accept my apologies for this from last June.
I am just griping today. I am in trouble about last weekend's holiday, you know the one, where we honor fathers and all that rot, with apoligies to present company and lovely fathers, or course. I spent Thursday and Friday with our grandchildren and their wonderful mother. I stayed the night on Friday so that my daughter and my son-in-law (I really dislike calling him that because he is exactly like a son to me, but if I call him 'son', well, you can see what misunderstandings that might cause, and quite frankly, I am adept enough at causing misunderstandings without the assist of not using the proper terms, but I still do not think of him in any in-law way.) could go out to see a film and have a meal uninterupted by the boys, who do actually eat nicely, but fill in every single spare moment with doing silly things to make one another laugh. At two-years and nine months of age, they are too young for liquids to come shooting out of their noses, or rude noises and odors to do the same thing at the other end of their bodies, and you can imagine how much all of us are looking forward to that. I think that they are great entertainment, but, then, I do not have the pleasure of experiencing it at every single meal.
Saturday morning found me having kissed and hugged everyone goodbye followed by coffee with some of my friends, Right after that I headed north to attend a wedding shower for a niece on the mister's side of the family. It was a whole family shower, not my favorite way to spend the day, but it was what it was. Am I accompanied to any of the mister's side of the family things? Nope. Want to guess if he attends anything to do with my side of the family? Did not think so. Nearly two and a half hours there in a car without air conditioning, slightly less time than that coming home, and I arrived there after 9 p.m.
Yes, I was gone for nearly three days. Yes, it was Father's Day weekend. Yes, I am pretty ****ing broke and all that he got for a present was two cards and dinner out on Sunday, on me. Yes, there were not any additional presents purchased, wrapped or given. I gave what I had. Was it enough for a person who does not remember anyone else for just about anything? You get one guess. Is anyone one in this house speaking to me or even looking at me? You know the drill, but I should not complain about that because the alternative could be worse. I almost asked him if today was a better day for his FD dinner, but I just could not bear another rejection. Too ****ing chicken to take the chance. I suck.
I know that I am being petty. I know what to expect. I know that the definination of a psychotic is a person who keeps on doing, over and over, the same thing, the same way, expecting different results. Just call me the big P, but how do you convince your heart to give up hope? I do not want to feel depressed about this; I do not even want a passing blue mood. I think that I may be coming to the point where I might stop caring and just leave. Unfortunatly, I do not have anywhere close to here to go, my only options being another state or far north of here on my friends' old people commune. I might not have a choice, but how the hell am I supposed to live so far from my daughter and her family?
Yesterday was better. I spent most of the day out of the house.
I have an anger problem. The problem is that I never express any. Sure, I come here and gripe, moan, groan and weep, but in my real life, I am a calm and peaceful person. I have not raised my voice in over thirty years. So, I began yesterday with a class in anger management. My UI benefits have run out, but during the months that I was receiving those checks, the arrival of each one was a fresh assault on the wounds left by the loss of my job. I truly resent that the company demanded so many concessions over the past year and a half when they apparently had every intention of closing the business right from the beginning. The insult to that injury was that because we gave up so many hours of wages, cramming all of the work, and the attendant stress, into fewer hours, it significantly reduced the amount of UI benefits to which we were entitled. ****ed coming and going.
So, I took the class and found out that where anger is concerned, I do not express it (big surprise) but that I stuff all of it and that, according to the instructor, I am a ticking time-bomb. Yeah. Right. All I wanted was some coping skills, sweetie, not to be told that four decades of managing to be a nice, level person (and doing all the work and therapy that requires) was for naught. Are my neighbors going to express their disbelief and shock when they are interviewed by the six o'clock news guys after I blow up the car? In addition to every other personality and character flaw that I have, I do not believe that I am delusional about me and stress. But, that may be what everyone says prior to the day they snap and blow up the car.
I am pretty sure that it might be a good idea to take the class again. Sigh.
After that I went to the library to get lots of good stuff to read and watch during the coming week. Then I drove to the radio station where I was interviewed for an hour about my new volunteer job at the L. It was supposed to be a half-hour, which was easy, but it was going so well that it continued. Fine, except that I had a little panic attack about 45 minutes in and as a result I am unable to remember much about the whole experience. I have since talked to a few people who heard the program, and they tell me that I did a good job. This morning someone told me that I have a great voice for radio, which is nice, because it goes along with my made-for-radio face.
Following that, I attended the first of a six-week course on chronic pain management. They are using a program developed at Stanford, and I think that it is going to be of great help to me.
All in all, except for the whole ticking time-bomb thing, it was a wonderful day, which ended in coming home to even more silence. It continues to amaze me that you can actually experience something that does not have a measurable quality. I can measure sound, but it just seems wrong that my heart is forced to carry the burden for doing the same for silence.
One thing that came out of the anger management class is that some changes are inevitible for me. I believe that my tipping point will come and that I will erupt in a frenzy of sweeping out of this house all of the things that are no longer useful or loved and that one of the swept items will be me.
Well, even though it was mostly the same-old-damn-same-old, I did have one thing right. I did reach the point where stuff got swept out of the house, even to the point where it looks that my days here are numbered.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: Maybe I do not have to go to work tonight and someone will call in the next hour or so to give me that good news.
Day 86
It was so nice to leave work this evening and not have it be dear black. As I was waiting in line to check out my books and DVDs, I glanced over and saw the darkening, but not yet dark sky. I walked outside and the air was bliss. It was supposed to get up to 60 degrees F during the day, but I swear it was at least that temperature still at nearly 8 p.m. I walked down the path to the car and the water in the little pond and the sky were a thousand shades of azure and aquamarine. It was so lovely that it made another eleven hour day cooped up indoors worth the wait just to see it. And, by the way, it was back to another kick-ass body of work today. 'Bout time.
One of the books I brought home was Heyhoe's Green Cooking, which I am seriously hoping is not as disappointing as her website. Tomorrow might tell, if I do not spend it sewing. I finally washed and dried and washed and shrunk all of those old clothes and can now get to making the totes and purses and whatever the hell the fabrics want to become. First, I am hoping to sleep in late and even later. For some reason, I cannot seem to hold on to slumber past 6, but I am certainly going to try. With any luck, tonight's dinner pizza will put me in a carbohydrate coma and I will not get out of bed until noon. Ah, one can only hope.
Divested: Books, but barely that.
Positive thought: Dreams cannot hurt you if you do not let them.
Day 87
I try my best to see the positive side of things.
I am a glass half-full kind of girl.
Presented with lemons, I make lemonade.
When it rains, it is just the angels watering the flowers.
I walk on the sunny side of the street.
My bread always falls butter side up.
I do not step on a crack or break anybody's back.
I climb every mountain, and I never make one out of a molehill.
I never look a gift horse in the mouth.
Even better, I never put my cart before my horse.
Yep, I am chock-full of horse sense.
I do not worry, I be happy.
In my world, the unicorns eat sunbeams and poop rainbows, the birds are always singing and it is always high noon and...oh...my...god...someone please just stab me with a fork.
I am the Platitude Princess. I am the Cliché Queen. But, you know, they are called clichés for a reason. Just saying.
I am a glass half-full kind of girl.
But, I have realized, over the past several weeks or months or years or milliseconds or something, that when my glass is not half-full, that I am also a completely empty glass kind of girl.
When I have a less than full day, as in few or on two occasions no clients, I feel like a failure.
I wonder why the heck do I even try when no one wants me.
I must be the worst helper in the historical record of helpers.
What kind of hubris makes me get out of bed in the morning and actually go to a place where no one wants me or my help.
When I find myself with a difference of opinion to that held by someone else, I think that I must be so stupid to hold such a belief.
I keep those opinions to myself (well, most of the time) because I do not want anyone to realize how stupid I am.
I worry about how I got to be so stupid.
I wonder if my stupidity is terminal.
When I find myself wonking up around here, my immediate response is how inept I am.
It is all about what I did wrong and how I keep wonking up, how I am an imperfect mess, like it is my calling in life to wonk up.
It is all bout how if I just got my stuff together that I would not be in trouble all the time.
Even better, I obsess about this. Like the other day, finding that stupid piece of crap that I wrote last year, the one that is the same stuck-in-the-mud litany of dissatisfaction and stuckness. Yeah, I should just let it go, but it so finely illustrates that I am having absolutely no forward movement in my life. It illustrates that I am still woncking around with the exact same issues nearly six months later. It indicates that I have been seriously stuck for years, decades, no exaggeration.
Even worse, it is a pretty darn clear indication that I am stuck in the persona of a victim.
I am stupid for having gotten myself in this place.
I am stupid for allowing myself to be defined by someone else.
I am stupid for not paying attention to all of this.
I am ashamed that I have not done more with my life, that I chose to be here and participate in my own unhappiness.
I am so wonking stuck.
Even worse is that I will likely still be here six months, a year, a damn decade, writing the same crap like it is brand new and not the parameters of the life I apparently chose.
And, the absolutely worst part is that I am a bore.
Divested: Books
Positive thought: It is my most fervent desire that I begin to pay attention and get unstuck.
Day 88
It is still relatively early here and I have not divested a darn thing. Be right back.
Whew, that was close. Good thing I found just the right blend of stories for the nursing home that I will be visiting in a couple of hours. The rest of the day is filled with babysitting a woman for whom I care when her husband is out of town. Looking back on that sentence, it seems that the word babysitting is an unkind word to use, but it really is that. She is fully abled, can drive and take care of her own needs, but falls apart when her husband travels. She wanted me to tote her around for the next five days, but I simply cannot. I have invited her to join me and another woman for whom I occasionally care, for dinner on Easter Sunday. I am just so crazy about these two women and another that I get to take around every other week, I just love them.
One is a former customer from my bookstore days. She used to come into the store just to have someone with whom to chat and when the business was closed for good, I knew that I still needed to keep her in my life in some way. She just returned from three months visiting her children in other states and Sunday will be our first get-together. She was a nutritionist by profession and is one of the most fascinating and funny and entertaining people I have ever known.
It was so warm here yesterday that I had to use a fan to be comfortable enough to sleep last night. Lili, Charley and I awoke to all the lovely birdsong provided by the birds that have come back to stay with us until we become the tundra once again.
So, anyway, I am trying to avoid addressing this new stuff, but I guess that if I am going to be responsible in a more responsible way for my life, then I am just going to have to suck it all up and do some difficult things.
The first is that I am not going to do, no, erase that, ummm, I am going to begin to stand up for myself. No more standing or sitting there and allowing someone to say mean things to me. I have to be honest and say that this scares the crap out of me, but I am determined that, the next time it happens, that I will say something like, ummm, like "I do not like being spoken to that way." No, it has to be something like "I do not allow people to speak to me like that." It cannot be about what I like or do not like, even though it may be something that I do not like. It has to be, what I say, about what I will allow to happen to me. I suspect that the first few times I actually do this, that it will not be taken very well by someone else.
So, I am going to practice saying that and things like that. When I am driving somewhere in the car, instead of singing along to the oldies or talking back to the conservative talk show hosts, I will spend some of that driving time practicing what my responses are going to be when, well, you know, when that other stuff happens. I want to be able to speak those self-supportive words with confidence in my voice and in my manner, instead of stumbling and stuttering them out. I want to project confidence and assurance, even it I am not able to feel that from the start. The first few times will be more in the manner of a performance. OK, fine.
I think that part of this is that someone expects me to be perfect and do everything perfectly. I kind of have that expectation of myself, but I think I came to it only because it was expected of me. I certainly was not born with the awareness that I had to be perfect at every damn thing. I get to be imperfect. I get to make mistakes. I get to forget things and mess them up and all the rest. It is appropriate and just plain all right that I am a wondrously flawed human being who wonks up once in a while, or even often, and the world does not come to an end. I get to be like everyone else. I do.
There are more things that I have to change about how I move through my life and the world, but I am going to be a person who does not rush to attain some new level of perfection in this process of change. I am letting perfection go. Buh-bye, Perfection. Please do not allow the door to smack you in the ass on your way out.
That said, there is one more change that I am going to make now. Or soon. Or something. Doing this thing is going to precipitate some of the behaviors that my first change is going to address. Gosh, this is so lame. That a grown-up and adult woman allowed this to happen is just so stupid. In my defense, it seemed like a good idea at the time because I was all in love and loving and supportive and in the context of the time it was a nice and supportive thing to do. So, anyway, the thing is that there is not any noise in the house. A gazillion years ago, when I was first married, my husband was a shift worker. That means that every two weeks he worked different work shifts, on a rotating basis. I thought it was horrible, I mean, how is a person, in this case my husband, supposed to physically and mentally adjust to working different times and sleeping different hours when there was never any adjustment period to help the old body, well, just plain adjust to the new and constantly changing schedules. It seemed like extreme cruelty for an employer to expect such a thing and for men (only men in this profession until the past few years) to put up with it. Even though my husband liked that kind of schedule, as a new and loving wife, I felt that it was my responsibility to make our home environment as supportive as possible.
That meant doing everything in complete coordination with his insane schedule. Absolute quiet when he needed quiet. Only the foods he liked and nothing else. The house filled with only the things and people of which he approved. Even when he was up and active, there could not be a single thing of which he did not approve. If I wanted to cook or clean or sew or do anything, I had to do it when he was out of the house. Well, we get the idea. If he did not like it, it did not exist in our universe. Everything narrowed down to his tastes, desire, wishes and demands. I never even noticed that it happened, I was in love and happy to do whatever he wanted.
That just does not serve the basic needs of a human being, unless you are the human that is being served. I have said this before, but I did not have my power taken from me, I offered it up on a silver platter. And, now, over the past three and a half years since his retirement I have tried to have some of my power returned to me, and, not only has that been stunningly unsuccessful,but power is never returned voluntarily. I mean, what the hell was I thinking that that would happen.
So, here I am, cleaning up my act, clearing out the burden of all of these books, divesting my ass off, just distracting myself from the real work that needs to be done. I know what that work is, but I am not certain that I even want to do it anymore. I thought, so many times, that if this thing happens or that time elapses, or whatever artificial marker I created, that things would be better. I thought that in our waning years that we would find some way to come back together, that we could regain the happiness I felt then. And, I did feel happiness. I felt safety and comfort and joy in being with him and being a good partner. Now, when I hear his key in the lock, all I feel is anxiety, panic and fear. Even if I were the worst wife in the history of wives, I should not have to have all of that adrenaline pumping into my bloodstream at his approach. Not even then, and I do not believe that I am the worst wife ever. Another thing on which I have to work is taking responsibility for my reactions to external things like the key in the lock thing. I need to belly-up and take control of how I allow myself to react. Gotta be a big girl about this.
Then, there is nothing to do except try these two new things or behaviors I guess that I should be calling them. The alternative is to do nothing and keep feeling and thinking and writing the same damn stuff every six months. I cannot do that. I am still sickened by having found that piece of writing a few days ago. I have a sense that this is not going to turn out very well for me, that my unhappiness will simply take another form, maybe worse, maybe not, but still a form of unhappiness. I am going to be alone, aren't I. I am going to be criticized for the changes I am making and it is my own fault because I kept these secrets all this time. There are consequences for everything we do, and this is one of mine. Well, at least what I do from now on is on my own terms. I really hope that I can stick to this and not fall back into bad habits. I should be saying that in a more positive manner, from a stance of higher energy, but perhaps hope is enough for now. I mean, how do we ever know these things for certain?
This is a glorious weekend and time of the year. I plan to enjoy the lovely weather and three days of being with lovely people and having lovely food and good conversation. Good, little pagan girl that I am, I am still hoping for some nice chocolates and a marshmallow bunny or at least some Peeps. Purple ones. I think that I am going to have a much smaller garden this year. In this season of new growth and limitless potential I am going to find ways to do what needs to be done. More stuff will be gone and continue to leave when my hundred days are over.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: I can do anything I want if I want it enough.
Day 89
Seriously. If this group of women is not the most wonderful and amazing group of women anywhere, well then I guess that wonderful and amazing women simply do not exist anywhere.
I have to share that the comments generated by yesterday's posting has just about blown my socks off. And, yes, I do wear socks, and, yes, they were completely blown off of my feet.
I really do forget that I am not writing this stuff in a private place where the only person who will ever eventually read it is only me. You would think that sitting here at my computer, having to log onto the site and wend my way to this blog would be a reminder impossible to ignore, that I am not doing this in isolation.
I also forget how perilous it is to write in this way. All we have, when we communicate on-line is our words. Really, that is all we have anyway, but you know what I mean. If I am writing directly to someone in a thread here, I am conscious about what I am doing. I edit my natural spewing and make every attempt to finely nuance what I write so that I am less likely to be misunderstood. Pure writing is a treacherous way to communicate. It lacks everything that in-person conversation has, facial expression, tone and tenor of voice, smiles, posture, more body language, and most importantly, the quality of expression and the depth of relationship possible only within the contract of honesty, respect and honour we offer with our eyes.
All of that got lost here yesterday and I accept full responsibility because I started it with what I wrote, and I forgot that people who care about me, and for whom I have such fondness and love, might read it. Here I do not filter. I do not edit. Crap, I do not reread what I write forcrissakes. The only thing that I do is to preview my posts so that I can catch, go back in, and edit out the worst of the profanity.
That said, in the context of what the safety and freedom of writing here offers me, yeah, I know that I should not be surprised, but I am, and I am not sure exactly what I can do about that sort of thing. One thing that I could do is to stop writing, but I really do not want to do that. What I should have done from the very beginning is to find a place somewhere on-line where I could do this anonymously. Then, it would not make a rat's ass of difference to me what anyone thought about it. This part is selfish, but I would also have been afforded the release of any responsibility to what anyone else thought or how what I wrote affected them. I have never had a one-night-stand, but I am guessing that that is the kind of anonymity of which I am thinking. In that realm, no one would know who I am and, more importantly, I would not know who anyone else was.
It is too late for that here. I already know and love so many of you. I have never met any of you in person, but I still know you. I do. I think that you know me, too, mostly because I seem to lack any kind of filtering system for keeping my business to myself. I also know that not everyone here loves me back and that is not a problem because I am old enough and have sufficient life experience to have learned that not everyone likes everyone else, much less loves them. And now, the time for being anonymous is long past. Like me or not, what you see here is exactly who I am, warts and all.
Another thing happened here yesterday. Some time ago, I received a private message from someone who shared that she mostly did not have a clue about what I was writing, but that she liked reading it. Part of that is that I have intentionally kept what I write as obtuse as possible, an attempt to keep this all about me and my process in this stupid project to get rid of those damn books. But, in my replies to the comments, I shared things that I was not ready to share and, later, it made me feel like I was being defensive instead of staying true to being honest, which is what I was also trying to do, things like how I am looking for another place to live and my searching for a job and all the rest. I did not want to write about what I was trying or thinking about doing, but wanted to wait until I could share that this is what I have done or what is in the actual process of being done. Not hopes and silly dreams, but accomplishments, like the actual forward movement about which I am so fond of talking. And, writing.
And, in the trying of this here, I have hurt the feeling of some people. At least one of them feels misunderstood and that just pains me so much, because one of the most important, significant and dedicated aspects of what I am doing is to avoid causing any unavoidable pain to anyone. When I realized how this project was not about the books or any of the other crap that I need to divest from my life, I was struck with how this whole thing was going to cause hurt and pain in some of my personal relationships and that there was not anything that I could do about it. What is that called? Collateral damage? It should be spelled collateral 'damn-age'.
So, anyway. This is Saturday here. On Saturday mornings I have coffee with some of my friends. The coffee friends, many of whom I met on pilgrimage. Yeah, I have a spiritual side, too, who woulda thunk it. So, on Saturday morning, way too early by the way, we meet some place or another and have coffee and tea and sometimes pastries or breakfast or both. This morning there were only four of us. Frankly, I think that us four are the ones who are the closest and I can say that with no hesitation because I adore all of these women and do not think that I would be anywhere near to the person that I am without them in my life.
One woman left early because she just received a promotion and had to get to her store. That left three coffee-souls and one of them, who happens to be an attorney, turned to me and asked how I was doing. I told her that I was fine and she called me a liar. I explained about where I am in this relationship thing and how I have been finding resources for food and health care for when I leave
One of the nice things about having an attorney for a friend is that she is generous about giving gratis legal advice when it is needed. One of the bad things about having an attorney for a friend is that she is generous about giving gratis legal advice. Oh, it might still be needed advice, but sometimes you just do not want to know stuff, you know? Some of what she told me today is great, some of the other stuff is not so great, but at least I have information that I did not have before.
As for here, if I can avoid writing too much of my internal process that would be great. If I fail at that, just ignore me. Only eleven more days until this project is officially completed. It will not actually be finished, but the hundred days will be. Gosh, really? Just eleven days? It hardly seems possible. If nothing else, I kept to my intent of sticking with this and that makes me feel proud and accomplished, even if the rest of it does not.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: Tomorrow I get to spend a big chunk of the day with three cool, interesting, funny and lovely babes that are even older than I am. I intend to be a wisdom sponge.
Day 90
Today has been officially declared an angst-free zone. I began by sleeping 13 of the past 24 hours and it feels great. I had eggs and grits for breakfast and chocolate-covered almonds and green tea for dessert. I am overflowing with fat and antioxidants. Yum.
The only things being divested today is sadness, worry, fear and, of course, books. Three bags of them.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: Each day is unique, but there are always more to follow.
Day 91
It remains high noon here. The sun is shining. The birds are singing and rainbows are shooting out of everyone. Even the unicorns are happy.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: I will have time to sew today.
Day 92
Oh. My. God.
Because there are so many rainbows shooting out of everyone (up to our asses, if you must know), the unicorns started eating them and are now pooping butterflies.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: Good thing I like butterflies.
Day 93
The unicorns followed me to work today and between all the shooting rainbows and eating rainbows and pooping butterflies it really was only a matter of time until someone called Security.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: I can do this for a few more days.
Day 94
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: It's a lovely day in the neighborhood...
Day 95
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: Making purses and make-up bags from all of these old clothes is more fun than anyone deserves to have. I know it. I appreciate it. I am re-purposer, hear me sew.
Made it so close to the end without messing up the dates, so had to change this to the correct day of 95. Crap.
Day 96
Typing more accurately today.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: I did a great job troubleshooting today's problem with my sewing machine.
Day 97
I was finished here with this, the sharing thing. When I came here to write the day's divesting and thought, I could not. I dithered about it until nearly two hours past the day and here I am.
My hundred days are nearly finished. I accomplished what I set out to do with this project. Hell, I did a whole lot more than that. Clearly, I learned a great deal about myself and how I move through the world, my life, my marriage, many of my relationships.
It sounds so lame to keep saying this, but it really was just about a few damn books. Well, not a few, unless we are counting in the hundreds and hundreds and even more than that. But, really, it was about the books. Except that it never is just about the books or the kitchen gadgets or old clothes or all that crap in the garage. We carry so much wisdom inside of ourselves. We are crammed to the wonking gills, vestiges of our watery ancestors, with wisdom. When someone asks me to help them find out, discover, you know, gain access via some magical thing that will help them to make decisions or make sense of their lives, I often agree, but not in the way that they think I might. The craziest part of nearly half a lifetime of doing this divining is that my jobs have been a conduit to doing the same things in a public forum. So, I know all about wisdom, even when I am caught in the thrall of my own life and think that something could be about something as mundane as books.
I believe, now, near to the end of this, that I must have known and trusted that beginning this part of my journey was going to take me where I and my life needed to go. So, I am not pretending surprise at where this has brought me, despite my assertion that I thought that it was about getting rid of some books. That part is just as real, just as valid and just as wonking true as trusting my inner wisdom to bring me to this moment and the ones to follow. It was the device that my life required to get my big, fat ass moving.
So, even though this really was all about me, it was not, you know? It was about all of the work that I needed to do and all of the people that figured in the big picture. And, man, did they figure. I am trying so hard to be fair about this, to be supportive of the process and not feel disappointment at what some people have expressed to me. I hate when this happens. I want to explain and justify who I am and how I have done this thing until I am wonking blue in the face and I fall down, exhausted and depleted and feeling as fully justified as it is possible for a frail and disgustingly humanly-endowed human to be. I want to say things like 'who the hell asked you' or any of a dozen things to express to some people how I feel betrayed by their judging of me and how they felt compelled to go out of their way to let me know just how stupid and stuck and pointless I am. Or was. No, still am. And, except for this paragraph, I am not going to do that, because I have come to understand that sharing all of my inner process crap here was, well, yeah, about me and my process, but that being so open, not filtering a single thing that popped into my head and just letting it pour out of me onto these electronic pages made it a part of their inner process as well, and that their response to me and my stupid book idea was essential in the forward movement in which I seem to be so invested. So be it.
In addition to all of the things I learned, you know, empowering or life-affirming crap or, oh, gosh, all that stuff, even when it was painful I could see that it was leading me someplace great. A great place in a life that deserves to have a great and wonderful next place. Oh so lame, but oh so true. I learned who my (get ready, cliché alert) real friends are. I learned that I probably am, although I am not entirely convinced, that I am stronger and more capable than I thought that I was, especially in the stop-being-a-wonking-door-mat/punching-bag department. I learned that even when you have had such a crappy day that you cannot sleep, that tomorrow will still come and give you another chance.
What else did I learn. I learned some painful stuff that does not have a pay-off, you know, like in a silver lining or a hidden gem or even a lesson that is not just, simply pain. Yeah, I had the pleasure of learning those things, too. I learned that some people cannot ever be trusted. You can love them until the cows come home. You can give them unlimited chances for manifesting different behavior. You can fall down and keep on taking the crap and keep on hoping for the best, for some kind of improvement in the relationship, but that will never happen. You can be more sad about that than anyone should ever have to be and it will not make any difference except in learning the infinite ways in which your heart can be broken. I learned that, given the chance, some people are happy to pour their own crap all over you and expect you to be grateful for the opportunity to learn from their crap. When your gratitude is not properly expressed or, heaven forbid you do not feel gratitude, those same people are more than thrilled to condemn you even further. Or, simply dismiss you; that might be even worse. And, you get the idea about that kind of learning and it is pointless and more than a little masochistic to keep belabouring the point, so I am going to stop, except to say that I am probably more thankful for that kind of learning than the stuff that makes me feel better.
Well, I guess that I have to say that I am glad for the experience. All of it.
It is not finished, not in three days, not in a hundred more days, not ever.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: I am proud that I was, mostly, able to come up with a positive thought each day, although I have to admit that many of them were a stretch of the greatest magnitude. I am also proud of the fact that I never tried to pass off the responsibility by admitting that I just could not think of a darn thing of a positive nature to write and that I often sat at this keyboard for long periods, simply refusing to give up.
Day 98
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: The teals are back and soon enough there will be babies. Yippee!
Day 99
Dum-da-dum-dumm-dumb. I went shopping at the Salvation Army store and lost my wallet. I can only hope that the person who found it has greater needs than mine. There was a nice man who helped me to look for it, but it was long gone, probably snatched up just as I dropped it, as I noticed that it was gone only a minute after entering the store. He offered to buy whatever I needed, but I declined, promising myself that I will take better care of my resources. I am not dwelling on it, and did the whole acknowledge and wallow, and allowed it to pass through me and fall harmlessly to the earth where the Mother transformed it into a positive and learning experience. OK.
I do not mind wasting or frittering away a bit of money once in a while. This process has taught me that much, at least...that if I believe myself to be poor, then I will be, not only in money, but spirit. I guess it was just the Universe making sure that I got the lesson. But, as always, this sort of thing comes at an unfortunate time, although I cannot think of any time when losing all that money could be a good time, you know? This coming weekend is being spent across the little pond and in the giving of a workshop. I do this for free, well, mostly. The foundation person with whom I am doing this pays for my room for the two nights we will be there and the retreat center has a refrigerator so that I can keep food there instead of eating out, which I really, really was looking forward to doing, by the way. Two days away from this place and a chance to eat food that I do not have to prepare myself. Combine that with helping the workshop participants on their journey to the examination and expression of their inner process, well, it just does not get any better than that.
So, anyway, I was talking about this with a friend yesterday afternoon, the part about how I could have gotten myself into such a wonking mess here and still have the ability to help other people with their own work. She reminded me that I am like the boiled frog. I was not plunged into the scalding water of my wonked up life in an instant, but began in the sweet and tender stream of that fairy tale of eternal and unconditional love and the unwitting sacrifices that we make to be a part of that story. Well, I am paraphrasing, but that is the general idea of what she said. She told me that I do not have to feel such shame about all of this, that I get to have the rest of my life be honoured for the work that I do in the world in support of other people.
And, you know, that is all fine and good. I do recognize that where the rest of my life is concerned, that I am an effective and useful person. I do good, godammit. I am not a completely screwed-up person everywhere I move, just in this one place in my life. This is all so sad. The saddest part is not that I will be living in a tiny apartment, not have a car or transportation to see my daughter and her family and that I will have to find a home for my cats. It is not about leaving my studio behind or any of the rest. That part is wonking horrible and I will miss it, but even though I am feeling pain about it, I absolutely can go on and find a new life and be happy when I finally have the means to go there. The sad part is about my marriage.
It was supposed to be forever.
I was supposed to be loved just because I am worthy of love.
I was not supposed to be mistreated for not being able to be someone that I cannot be.
I love that my friend is so understanding and supportive and I respect her opinions, but she is wrong about one thing. I get to be just as sad and heartbroken about this aspect of my loss as I need to be, for as long as I need to grieve.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: Three more days and I will be in a place where no one hates me. Where are the butterfly-pooping unicorns when you need them?
Day 100
Here I am, at the end of this stupid experiment. The project from hell. I wonder, will I celebrate this as an anniversary or just try never to think about it again...ever.
It is only Wednesday here and the preceding five days have been a lesson in contrasts.
There have been the possible reanimation of a friendship contrasting with the possible ending of a close friendship. Both are part of the same dynamic.
Saturday also saw another opportunity for me to practically beg the mister to attend his grandson's birthday party. I simply cannot express how sick it makes me feel to have to do that, particularly since I am unwilling to share with any of the players just how heinous that process is for me.
I lost my wallet and am doing my best to take responsibility for caring more effectively for my resources. I am getting rid of all my crap and my good stuff takes a hike on its own. Yoo-hoo!!!! Lesson, where are you?
Three days in a row with kind of icky stuff.
Then, today happened. I had only one client scheduled and two more showed up and I had an eleven hour day of truly kick-ass work. And, you know, even though I try to maintain my own equilibrium and not be defined or affected by the crappy stuff that just happens, it is part of my truth that a really fabulous day can make me feel like nothing bad can happen to me. One factor in this is that one of the walk-ins was a man who was released from prison just a few days ago. He has been in and out of jails for most of his adult life. I spent five hours with him and I think that he is one of the guys who is going to make it. Not everyone who goes to jail uses that experience to change their lives, you know, like in actually learn something useful about yourself while you are there. I have spent enough time volunteering in correctional institutions to have seen how some people are just going to keep making the same, or new and improved, mistake after mistake. I think that this man has a chance this time. He is still equivocating about the things that took him to prison this most recent time, but he has a good personal support system and what sounds like a decent parole officer.
So, when I finally got home tonight and returned some telephone calls, I found that the husband of the woman with whom I am giving this weekend's workshop is in the hospital and the two of them are planning for him to be released tomorrow and that all of us will trek around the little pond and give the workshop. Now, that is perspective at its best. Or, insanity, but it really all comes down to the same thing.
And, there you are. The long and short of life. Good balanced with bad and everything in between. Nothing profound about any of it. And, all in just five days. Amazing.
I was privileged to have a front row seat at the big picture this week and I have to tell you that I used it to learn some things. And, I did not have to go to prison to do it.
Not too shabby.
But, the truth is that if I knew what this would have been like when I started this, I am not positive that I would have embarked on this little piece of my journey. Some of the costs have been more than I wanted to pay. Just keepin' it real.
And, just keeping on. The past hundred days have been the prologue to an even larger project, one that is probably just as stupid as this one was, but I am keeping an open mind.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: I get to do good in my life in the support of finding balance and meaning.
