Today is one of those rarities that involves a level of clarity and motivation that usually fades as quickly as it arrived. I feel strong and energetic and compulsively positive. I'm working on 3.5 hours of sleep with cramps and a migraine, but somehow I will perservere today. I really don't know how or why, but I'm running with it...and most likely scissors.
Once in a while a moment comes along that borders a grande change...ususally (or hopefully) for the better. Sort of like spring cleaning in January. Today I'm there. I want to run without taking a breath before the lights go dim. I posted my FB status as time to dust off some long forgotten dreams...so philosophical of me...so me. And that's it...so ME. OMG OMG OMG OMG....breathe...ME.
The ellusive me or prodigal me or lost me or me on vacation arrived home...for a visit for a while forever...who can tell. I'm enjoying me today. Actually too much since I'm doing everything but working. I want to write and market my two new businesses and network and branch out and enjoy all that I've ever dreamed of in a life for myself. I'm ignoring the fact that I am chained to a desk in an overly-cooled office, albeit having a much needed quiet day at the reigns. I'm taking advantage, and glad for the opportunity.
I'm believing that my two recent ventures may afford me some respite from this dreary world I find myself sulking around. I'm exhausted from worrying and the calls from the debt collectors and working working working and missing out on the lovely moments of my daughter's flying-by first years. I'm putting faith in a possibility...a dream. I want to write, and dance, and teach and share good health. I want to support my family doing what I love and make each day valued for more than another day-in-the-life. I'm at least taking those first steps out of the dream and building a reality.
I gave birth to Zadyra...a long day coming. She's my dancer, my performing artist, my confidence, my ME. I want to hold her and hug her tight and reap the rewards of her arrival quickly without blinking. From my tiny ballerina days to my larger than I should be belly dancing days I've always dreamed of the performance. And I always stopped short of going there. I denied a Philadelphia Ballet hope; I hid from performances at Morraccan restaurants; I did all I could to be hyped, but always failed to follow through. Having accepted the opportunity to teach belly dance at a newly opened dance studio, I found myself following through for the first time. I shook through my first class and a few thereafter. I struggle still to select the correct music, and sometimes the best explaination, but I don't give up. I've begun networking in the community and accepting opportunities for private parties for instruction. The next step will be a real performance...not going to hide, but it will take more time with Zadyra, more lessons in me.
My manic excitement sends me off and onward...o please don't stop...I like this, and I know my family will too.
21 July 2010
16 July 2010
The Backwards Alchemist
Thud thud thud gasp thud gasp gasp thud thud thud...my heart pounds in my ears, my chest tight from a shortness of oxygen...pay attention...slow deep, meaningful breaths...slow down...blank the brain...hold it back. Did you know it only takes 1 false drop for the alchemist to taint a moment?
The salt air tickled my nose as the long-familiar scenery sped by on the darkening road. It's been so long: too long, a magical place for me, a home. A spontaneous deal with the devil allowed me a visit to la Mer. O I didn't care. It felt wonderful and exciting and right.
We pulled up to our 24 home at well past bedtime. Anya sensed the change in atmophere and awoke with fascination at this strange place. She wandered and touched and smelled and breathed deeply. Freyja and Bailey wagged and bowed, and learned the place while good friends settled into beers and stories. The trax, second floor deck beconed for company with a rocker and plenty of seating. The house was sparse, but contained all that was needed for a life outside of reality with no maintenance required. I shut the bedroom door behind me and cradled Anya in the full sized bed, hoping she would relax back into slumber. Alas...you know how the story goes...she tossed and turned and grabbed at my locks and kicked my ribs and at 30.75 inches long nearly hogged the expanse of mattress. I put her in the pack n play only to have her wake the other house guests...grunt...long night ahead.
At odd intervals throughout the night sleep was granted, then denied, then granted again. The antique window unit struggled to maintain what should have been a comfortable temperature...I should have put the ceiling fan on. But ahh you could still smell peace in this place. With so little sleep, yet enough, Anya woke at 7:30am with a smile and curiosity; I was only too eager to share with her my secret love.
Pleasantries and coffee filled the early morning as we sat on the balcony watching the sun burn off the dewy air. We have no where to be and no where to go just breath. Anya fascinated by the grainy stuff sticking to her feet and hands, didn't know if she should cry or lick or rub into her hair the small granuals..."that's sand honey, o no don't eat it, do this to shake it off." She waved to the sea gulls that past by and snuggled with the doggies keeping her special company in this strange land. At about that time we ventured off to take Freyja and Bailey on an adventure to Poseindon's realm.
Longport beach: an amusement park for the furry variety. Freyja has never been to the beach, never seen an ocean, and never ran free without blockade fencing; there are far a few locations where Charlie Brown doesn't resonate, "No Dogs Allowed." We all walked onto the small and rugged beach...not quiet what I had envisioned, but should have expected. Rocks and seaweed and dark, muddy sand marked the short beach along the road between here and there. A few other canine vacationers were already on the scene racing in the sand and waves like 5 year olds in Chuckie Cheese. Leashed and testing we laid out a towel and Anya's bucket in a random clear spot wondering if Bailey would show Freyja the joys of a beach dog life.
Within a few breaths Freyja was chomping to get at the foaming white-caps taunting her and chase the wet, smelly playmates on the softness beneath her paws. Rich got brave and disconnected her leash, and we stood there holding in the salty air until we were confident Freyja had found utter pleasure. She sprinted and chased and ran laps and bound into the rough sea. She played tag and catch and bounced and laughed as only a dog could. She was her old self, chasing Bailey around the magical island. Anya was tickled to see so many doggies in one place. Some greeted her with licks and nudges, but mostly they ignored her for the overwhelming fancy of the sea. After an hour of non stop movement univited guests swarmed the beach at Longport, inflicting misery on all variety of life. They were here and there and merciless. Green Heads, the dreaded mascot of the Jersey Shore...and hungry. I kept Anya in movement and bore their mealtime pain. In the water, outside the water...swatting and ouching. Soon the others were doing the same dance as I and the beach quickly cleared. Freyja and Bailey laid down in the back exhausted and gratful for the beach dog adventure.
Time for pizza lunch and naps. It seemed like we had already enjoyed a full day that was barely half begun.
Perfect Day part two was for the 2 leggers. Towels and blakets and chairs and water bottles and snacks and O my packed into bags and the car. The sun had gotten hot and the sky clear in this after noon hour. I hadn't been to a Sea Isle beach since my teens: that was too long ago now. I vaguely remembered the difference from Wildwood Crest and the beach home of my adult years...as foreign as Sea Isle seemed, the more like home it felt. I carried Anya through the hotest white sand at the entry point while the boys carried everything to our landing space. Anya was overstimulated by all the people and colorful blankes and umbrellas and playing, screaming children of all ages. She looked outward at the expanse of the sea and smiled...my child the pisces, just like her mother.
We found a spot before the waterline, but beyond the hot dry sand....perfect. We set up camp quickly and darted across the broken shells and seaweed to the water - a chill, then refreshing. Anya hesitated as the first wave ended its traverse inches beyond her ankles. She splashed a bit as the second one surprised her little aqua shoes. She walked forward a few steps to touch the next wave that didn't quite make it far enough...then she was hooked. We held her one on each side tightly as she tried to venture a little deeper each wave. Soon she was waist deep and giggling in delight. No sooner the water fell back into the sea and she dizzily teettered backwards, confused. After we were all cool we introduced her to sand.
I grab the bucket and guide Anya towards the little hill just in front of our blanket. Some kids earlier in the day had dug a trench and remnants of castle dreams cluttered the area. I plunked down in the sand, which makes me cringe for a moment, then I plop Anya down next to me. Instantly she lifts her sandy hands flat, towards me not sure whether to cry or be mad. I show her my hands and how I slapped them together to get the sand off, then I toss a pile of sand onto her leg and over my ankle. She smiles, but still holds those hands stiffly outward. I hand her the shovel. She forgets her hands and begins digging. She wrecks each bucket tower I build and is totally absorbed in this digging thing. Feeling the hot sun bake on my back Anya and I go back to the ocean edge for some cooling off.
Slashing away this time I sit her down in the shallows and show her the mini clams and how they dig as the water pulls back. She is fascinated by these tiny, colorful diggers. We sat there ebbing and flowing with the waves. She didn't mind dirty hands in this sand and picked it up and let it flow through her fingers. A few times some clams found their way ito her mouth. Poor things with me shoving my fingers into her clamped jaws to rescue the mini mollusks. This spot in between the wet and dry worlds was Anya's favorite. Can't say I disagreed either. Even daddy came down to join us too.
After some time I needed a cool down and left daddy and Anya to play in the waves. I slowly stepped through the water, stopping every few feet; it had been years since I bathed in the sea. I wasn't close to either lifeguard stand, and wasn't so sure of my footing and strength in Sponge Bob's realm, and frankly didn't feel like joining Bikini Bottom for eternity. I looked beyond to the cluster of vacationers neck deep, rolling in pre-wave relaxation. Instantly Sea Isle was mine again. I held my dad's hand, shaking with excitment and fear as he showed me the ocean beyond foamy, forceful of waves. He showed no fear of the ocean even though he didn't know how to swim...he could float and believed that's all he needed to know. He mocked me until I trudged out past the shell covered bottom to the satin under my feet and the calm beyond. He floated completely relaxed and I paniced as the current pulled us away from the lifeguard tower. But we were safe. We always stole those peaceful moments in the sea. The world didn't exist out here. Free from everything solid and firm and bound and staid. We bobbed with the sea, saw dolphins, and sometimes a fish that the sea gulls would attempt to have for lunch. The boats were more than specks on the horizon and the sounds of people vanished in roar of the sea.
I thought about finding the strength to bring Anya out here when she's old enough. I want Anya to understand the sea and its peace and beauty. Then I wonder if there will be a sea that's safe to swim in by the time she's old enough; I'm clouded by oil spills and trash dumping and melting ice caps. I say a little prayer to the gods of the deep to fight off the human disease. How could humans destroy something so pure? We are the cancer of the earth. I turn around and catch Anya, playing at the water line with her daddy, and the voices of the vacationers are audible again, snapping me out of my nightmare.
I watch her giggling and digging in the wet sand with her daddy, and again think back to our annual vacations here in Sea Isle. I remember having dinner as a family: me, Erica, Chrissy, and Connie, my parents and dad's parents, all filling the dining room and kitchen island in my godparent's beachhouse after our outdoor showers...you know you can't bring sand into the house...and fighting off those nasty green heads with soapy hands. We couldn't wait to gulp down the food and head out to the boardwalk. It was so routine, but we never caught on to it.
The Sea Isle boardwalk might have been Disneyland to this wild-eyed child. We hurried through dinner with the promise of the amusement park, mini golf, and skee ball...don't forget the ice cream. Every night my dad marched us hand in hand the 2 blocks to the boards, and we would play the night away. He played the dart and toss games and won us the life-sized stuffed animals, and bought us cotton candy against our mother's pleas. We rode the ferris wheel and tea cups and thrashed through funland. Other nights we parked in the arcade for a marathon skee ball adventure, saving our tickets each day to turn in for awesome junk at the end of our vacation. My dad lined us up and encouraged us to keep trying...and cheered when we hit anything above the gutter. We thought we had a million tickets at the end of each season...we couldn't wait to cash them in and took dibs on what we would trade for this year. And still other nights capped off time on the greens, or astro turf more applicably. Sister against sister and daughter against father we meandered through the course with the concentration of the US Open. We always held our breath at the last hole to see which one of us scored the whole in one that night.
Our days at the beach seem to be most memorable and accessible to me. I never realized how in tune I was to the beach and ocean and how strong those memories really are. I know that I need to find a way to bring them back to my life, and into Anya's. I have too many memories still scrolling across my mind. I can't even pick another to step into for a time. So I stepped out of the breaking waves back to Anya and daddy and into their little world of clams and receeding water.
We covered Anya up a bit and Rich took her for a walk on his shoulders from one guard tower to the next. I watched them disappear from sight and faded into anther moment in time...to the early morning walks on the beach with my grandmother and father. Every morning after our bike ride or roller skate or walk from one end of the boardwalk to the other, my grandmother and father would pack us kids up and stroll down to the beach for some quieter play in the sand. This was not swimming time, this was adventure time. My dad took us older girls, while the younder ones built castles with yiayia, to the jetties and showed us the tide pools and all the sea creatures that lived in this bizzare habitat. We collected sea shells and star fish and sponges and spent hours of adventures playing around the jetties. We would trek home afterwards tired and full of dreams and napped until lunch and round two. Rich brough Anya up to the blanket sound asleep slumped over his shoulders, exhausted from her first day at the beach.
After a nap under the umbrella we cleaned up and set off for the house for showers, dinner and the car ride home. Maybe we were all tired. Maybe the sun was too much. Maybe we thought we had too much fun and a balance needed to be maintained. Maybe the devil came for his part of the deal. But no more than five minutes into the ride home all hell broke loose. I'm not doing it. I'm just not going to be accused of the rage that I didn't ellicit. I'm not going to accept blame for someone else's tabtrum. I'm tired of being blamed and accused and yelled at and defeated and beaten to a pulp. I'm emotionally spent. I need him to take responsibility for his emotions and behavior and words and to be a man not a man-child. I need to him to show respect and thoughfulness. I need for him to think on his own, jesus fucking christ, just once....please. The rage and victim mentality cannot continue. He's becoming his father I think, and it scares me. I'm running out of excuses and strength. I don't even know what the right course is. I have nightmares now about the last brick falling, and it hurts too much. But I don't know if there is enough mortor for repairs. How do you turn something so beautiful into something too horrid to comprehend?
The salt air tickled my nose as the long-familiar scenery sped by on the darkening road. It's been so long: too long, a magical place for me, a home. A spontaneous deal with the devil allowed me a visit to la Mer. O I didn't care. It felt wonderful and exciting and right.
We pulled up to our 24 home at well past bedtime. Anya sensed the change in atmophere and awoke with fascination at this strange place. She wandered and touched and smelled and breathed deeply. Freyja and Bailey wagged and bowed, and learned the place while good friends settled into beers and stories. The trax, second floor deck beconed for company with a rocker and plenty of seating. The house was sparse, but contained all that was needed for a life outside of reality with no maintenance required. I shut the bedroom door behind me and cradled Anya in the full sized bed, hoping she would relax back into slumber. Alas...you know how the story goes...she tossed and turned and grabbed at my locks and kicked my ribs and at 30.75 inches long nearly hogged the expanse of mattress. I put her in the pack n play only to have her wake the other house guests...grunt...long night ahead.
At odd intervals throughout the night sleep was granted, then denied, then granted again. The antique window unit struggled to maintain what should have been a comfortable temperature...I should have put the ceiling fan on. But ahh you could still smell peace in this place. With so little sleep, yet enough, Anya woke at 7:30am with a smile and curiosity; I was only too eager to share with her my secret love.
Pleasantries and coffee filled the early morning as we sat on the balcony watching the sun burn off the dewy air. We have no where to be and no where to go just breath. Anya fascinated by the grainy stuff sticking to her feet and hands, didn't know if she should cry or lick or rub into her hair the small granuals..."that's sand honey, o no don't eat it, do this to shake it off." She waved to the sea gulls that past by and snuggled with the doggies keeping her special company in this strange land. At about that time we ventured off to take Freyja and Bailey on an adventure to Poseindon's realm.
Longport beach: an amusement park for the furry variety. Freyja has never been to the beach, never seen an ocean, and never ran free without blockade fencing; there are far a few locations where Charlie Brown doesn't resonate, "No Dogs Allowed." We all walked onto the small and rugged beach...not quiet what I had envisioned, but should have expected. Rocks and seaweed and dark, muddy sand marked the short beach along the road between here and there. A few other canine vacationers were already on the scene racing in the sand and waves like 5 year olds in Chuckie Cheese. Leashed and testing we laid out a towel and Anya's bucket in a random clear spot wondering if Bailey would show Freyja the joys of a beach dog life.
Within a few breaths Freyja was chomping to get at the foaming white-caps taunting her and chase the wet, smelly playmates on the softness beneath her paws. Rich got brave and disconnected her leash, and we stood there holding in the salty air until we were confident Freyja had found utter pleasure. She sprinted and chased and ran laps and bound into the rough sea. She played tag and catch and bounced and laughed as only a dog could. She was her old self, chasing Bailey around the magical island. Anya was tickled to see so many doggies in one place. Some greeted her with licks and nudges, but mostly they ignored her for the overwhelming fancy of the sea. After an hour of non stop movement univited guests swarmed the beach at Longport, inflicting misery on all variety of life. They were here and there and merciless. Green Heads, the dreaded mascot of the Jersey Shore...and hungry. I kept Anya in movement and bore their mealtime pain. In the water, outside the water...swatting and ouching. Soon the others were doing the same dance as I and the beach quickly cleared. Freyja and Bailey laid down in the back exhausted and gratful for the beach dog adventure.
Time for pizza lunch and naps. It seemed like we had already enjoyed a full day that was barely half begun.
Perfect Day part two was for the 2 leggers. Towels and blakets and chairs and water bottles and snacks and O my packed into bags and the car. The sun had gotten hot and the sky clear in this after noon hour. I hadn't been to a Sea Isle beach since my teens: that was too long ago now. I vaguely remembered the difference from Wildwood Crest and the beach home of my adult years...as foreign as Sea Isle seemed, the more like home it felt. I carried Anya through the hotest white sand at the entry point while the boys carried everything to our landing space. Anya was overstimulated by all the people and colorful blankes and umbrellas and playing, screaming children of all ages. She looked outward at the expanse of the sea and smiled...my child the pisces, just like her mother.
We found a spot before the waterline, but beyond the hot dry sand....perfect. We set up camp quickly and darted across the broken shells and seaweed to the water - a chill, then refreshing. Anya hesitated as the first wave ended its traverse inches beyond her ankles. She splashed a bit as the second one surprised her little aqua shoes. She walked forward a few steps to touch the next wave that didn't quite make it far enough...then she was hooked. We held her one on each side tightly as she tried to venture a little deeper each wave. Soon she was waist deep and giggling in delight. No sooner the water fell back into the sea and she dizzily teettered backwards, confused. After we were all cool we introduced her to sand.
I grab the bucket and guide Anya towards the little hill just in front of our blanket. Some kids earlier in the day had dug a trench and remnants of castle dreams cluttered the area. I plunked down in the sand, which makes me cringe for a moment, then I plop Anya down next to me. Instantly she lifts her sandy hands flat, towards me not sure whether to cry or be mad. I show her my hands and how I slapped them together to get the sand off, then I toss a pile of sand onto her leg and over my ankle. She smiles, but still holds those hands stiffly outward. I hand her the shovel. She forgets her hands and begins digging. She wrecks each bucket tower I build and is totally absorbed in this digging thing. Feeling the hot sun bake on my back Anya and I go back to the ocean edge for some cooling off.
Slashing away this time I sit her down in the shallows and show her the mini clams and how they dig as the water pulls back. She is fascinated by these tiny, colorful diggers. We sat there ebbing and flowing with the waves. She didn't mind dirty hands in this sand and picked it up and let it flow through her fingers. A few times some clams found their way ito her mouth. Poor things with me shoving my fingers into her clamped jaws to rescue the mini mollusks. This spot in between the wet and dry worlds was Anya's favorite. Can't say I disagreed either. Even daddy came down to join us too.
After some time I needed a cool down and left daddy and Anya to play in the waves. I slowly stepped through the water, stopping every few feet; it had been years since I bathed in the sea. I wasn't close to either lifeguard stand, and wasn't so sure of my footing and strength in Sponge Bob's realm, and frankly didn't feel like joining Bikini Bottom for eternity. I looked beyond to the cluster of vacationers neck deep, rolling in pre-wave relaxation. Instantly Sea Isle was mine again. I held my dad's hand, shaking with excitment and fear as he showed me the ocean beyond foamy, forceful of waves. He showed no fear of the ocean even though he didn't know how to swim...he could float and believed that's all he needed to know. He mocked me until I trudged out past the shell covered bottom to the satin under my feet and the calm beyond. He floated completely relaxed and I paniced as the current pulled us away from the lifeguard tower. But we were safe. We always stole those peaceful moments in the sea. The world didn't exist out here. Free from everything solid and firm and bound and staid. We bobbed with the sea, saw dolphins, and sometimes a fish that the sea gulls would attempt to have for lunch. The boats were more than specks on the horizon and the sounds of people vanished in roar of the sea.
I thought about finding the strength to bring Anya out here when she's old enough. I want Anya to understand the sea and its peace and beauty. Then I wonder if there will be a sea that's safe to swim in by the time she's old enough; I'm clouded by oil spills and trash dumping and melting ice caps. I say a little prayer to the gods of the deep to fight off the human disease. How could humans destroy something so pure? We are the cancer of the earth. I turn around and catch Anya, playing at the water line with her daddy, and the voices of the vacationers are audible again, snapping me out of my nightmare.
I watch her giggling and digging in the wet sand with her daddy, and again think back to our annual vacations here in Sea Isle. I remember having dinner as a family: me, Erica, Chrissy, and Connie, my parents and dad's parents, all filling the dining room and kitchen island in my godparent's beachhouse after our outdoor showers...you know you can't bring sand into the house...and fighting off those nasty green heads with soapy hands. We couldn't wait to gulp down the food and head out to the boardwalk. It was so routine, but we never caught on to it.
The Sea Isle boardwalk might have been Disneyland to this wild-eyed child. We hurried through dinner with the promise of the amusement park, mini golf, and skee ball...don't forget the ice cream. Every night my dad marched us hand in hand the 2 blocks to the boards, and we would play the night away. He played the dart and toss games and won us the life-sized stuffed animals, and bought us cotton candy against our mother's pleas. We rode the ferris wheel and tea cups and thrashed through funland. Other nights we parked in the arcade for a marathon skee ball adventure, saving our tickets each day to turn in for awesome junk at the end of our vacation. My dad lined us up and encouraged us to keep trying...and cheered when we hit anything above the gutter. We thought we had a million tickets at the end of each season...we couldn't wait to cash them in and took dibs on what we would trade for this year. And still other nights capped off time on the greens, or astro turf more applicably. Sister against sister and daughter against father we meandered through the course with the concentration of the US Open. We always held our breath at the last hole to see which one of us scored the whole in one that night.
Our days at the beach seem to be most memorable and accessible to me. I never realized how in tune I was to the beach and ocean and how strong those memories really are. I know that I need to find a way to bring them back to my life, and into Anya's. I have too many memories still scrolling across my mind. I can't even pick another to step into for a time. So I stepped out of the breaking waves back to Anya and daddy and into their little world of clams and receeding water.
We covered Anya up a bit and Rich took her for a walk on his shoulders from one guard tower to the next. I watched them disappear from sight and faded into anther moment in time...to the early morning walks on the beach with my grandmother and father. Every morning after our bike ride or roller skate or walk from one end of the boardwalk to the other, my grandmother and father would pack us kids up and stroll down to the beach for some quieter play in the sand. This was not swimming time, this was adventure time. My dad took us older girls, while the younder ones built castles with yiayia, to the jetties and showed us the tide pools and all the sea creatures that lived in this bizzare habitat. We collected sea shells and star fish and sponges and spent hours of adventures playing around the jetties. We would trek home afterwards tired and full of dreams and napped until lunch and round two. Rich brough Anya up to the blanket sound asleep slumped over his shoulders, exhausted from her first day at the beach.
After a nap under the umbrella we cleaned up and set off for the house for showers, dinner and the car ride home. Maybe we were all tired. Maybe the sun was too much. Maybe we thought we had too much fun and a balance needed to be maintained. Maybe the devil came for his part of the deal. But no more than five minutes into the ride home all hell broke loose. I'm not doing it. I'm just not going to be accused of the rage that I didn't ellicit. I'm not going to accept blame for someone else's tabtrum. I'm tired of being blamed and accused and yelled at and defeated and beaten to a pulp. I'm emotionally spent. I need him to take responsibility for his emotions and behavior and words and to be a man not a man-child. I need to him to show respect and thoughfulness. I need for him to think on his own, jesus fucking christ, just once....please. The rage and victim mentality cannot continue. He's becoming his father I think, and it scares me. I'm running out of excuses and strength. I don't even know what the right course is. I have nightmares now about the last brick falling, and it hurts too much. But I don't know if there is enough mortor for repairs. How do you turn something so beautiful into something too horrid to comprehend?
13 July 2010
Broken Heart
Isn't this blog supposed to be cathartic? I tend to fear posting too much or specifics for fear that the wrong person will read it. Look back at my veiled references to my husband's and daughter's names and other places where I thought I could be crafty and write around them. At some point I became positive and free enough to just say it, and suddenly spouse and daughter earned names (applause here). Yet this morning, I am once again slogging through the truth in fear. Stupid.
Now last week I ended rather abruptly with the ridiculous email, texting, smsing, phone calls of my boss for a situation I could do nothing about - the power went out in the building due to the heat wave. I had barely gotten the car unloaded when he expected me to sprint the almost 20 miles to the office to stand guard (perhaps) since our magnetic locks disengaged from the power outage - security issue. Now after my frantic calls to our IT department, landlord, and facilities resulted in a ton of left messages with no response, I continued to back and forth with my boss and tried to boot up my lazy laptop to start sending out emails. After only an hour the power came back on and the return calls started coming in. He wanted explainations and resolutions and he wanted them now. Really? So for 3.5 hours after I pulled curbside to my home while still technically on vacation I worked in a panic state enforced by my check writer.
Now before I was able to enjoy the last few hours of vacation before bed I realized that my hubby didn't think to pick up milk or fruit or anything prior to our arrival home. I know I'm woman hear me roar, but really a thought like that shouldn't be rocket science. At some point I need to be able to rely on my spouse to think. So out I go to the market for some quick items before I put the baby to bed. On my way I was almost hit by 2 cars...1 making a left into me and the second running a stop sign (insert explitives here). Home again, unpacked groceries, happy milk-belly baby, car unloaded and unpacked, baby to bed and ahhh I get a half hour before I should hit the sack. I sat staring at whatever hubby had on the TV. I have no idea what it was or if I even enjoyed it. At 11 I could no longer avoid the trek upstairs, with a heave and a sigh I slugged off. 5 steps into my journey hubby decides to make an announcement.
"So, my Zoloft isn't working anymore so I'm going to take myself off of it. I'm getting withdrawl symptoms from it not working anymore. Just thought I'd let you know." WTF! "Are you mad?! No way are you 1st of all weening yourself off without a doctor's approval and supervison. And secondly I will not put myself or our daughter through that. Get that out of your head. You need meds or I'm not doing this. Who do you think you are?" I later investigated if it's possible to experience withdrawl symptoms when the drugs stop working...and could find nothing to support that...only a decrease in mg intake would cause withdrawl. So he's lying too? Does he take me for a fool? Why would he put his daughter at risk or his family for that matter? He needs an effing doctor. And for all the years that I've known him he has come up with some excuse to stop seeing any therapist who attemps to regulate him.
I don't know if he is still weening himself without a doctor or if he decided against it after our debate. But I can say that he has become mean, thoughless, aggressive and a little manic. So either he needs his meds upped, changed, or stop being stupid. Whatever the case my be, I'm too tired. Yesterday he left something dangerous open and out within child's reach in the bathroom. As I was filling her tub I turned to find she had it in her mouth. A quick call to poison control basically assumed that I caught her in time and she most likely just licked the top and not tiped it back to drink at that point. I sent hubby a text to be more careful. After all he was also the one who left the Fabreeze out on the coffee table and walked away from her while she unscrewed it and dumped it all over herself and the table. Thankfully a thea was over and caught her before that was drank as well. Use a brain cell please.
So last night at 12:30 when he arrived home from work, when both me and baby were soundly sleeping, a rarity for sure, he woke me up to say, "is she ok?" Half asleep I'm like, "what?" "Is she ok? and now my tracker is ruined because you didn't put the roof or windows back on for me." Awake now I reply, "she is fine obviously because we are both sleeping, and no I didn't ruin your car you did when you left it open during the monsoon on Saturday and again today. Sorry I couldn't get outside before the storm after you left for work, knowing it was supposed to rain, and I was on the phone with morgage people and student loan people until Anya woke up from her nap. Thanks for waking me and the baby up you ass." I went off to pee and tried to sleep in the other room. My mind was racing. I then tried to go down to the couch. Still not possible. Our lonely cat started crying incessantly and my mind was just trying to kill me. I crawled back into bed and snuggled my lil squeak, hoping to fall asleep...it took 3 hours.
I'm so tired today and angry and confused. I was listening to MMR's Preston and Steve on my way in to work. The 2 day topic of conversation has been Mel Gibson's abusive, beligerent tirade. He is a mean ignorant bastard...good thing I never liked him or I'd be real depressed. And for a few minutes I think I don't have it so bad and why can't we just work through it. Then the other part of me says that I deserve to be treated with respect, something which has been lacking in our realtionship for 2 years. My gut tells me I'm being taken advantage of: I can multitask, work multiple jobs, run on little sleep, and think like a machine...something he cannot. But he doesn't even try. I've carried him so long that he doesn't realize he's gone soft with entitlement: very unattractive and pitiable.
My parents didn't raise a dummy or a fool. Sure I'm strong and resilient and focused, but that doesn't make me the pinyata or whatever symbolic object of abuse you choose for imagry. What happened to you? All those stories you told me of your past make sense to me now and take on new meaning. You played my sympathies like the Red Violin. Look at yourself for a change. You're a parent, a husband, a homeowner, a friend, yet you behave like the world owes you for the sake of oweing. You think you're a clown and a beautiful person, but wonder why no one comes calling. You've grown ugly and mean with your ego. What lesson is that for your daughter. You aspired for nothing, you sat and expected the world to fall into place like magic, and along I came.
Now last week I ended rather abruptly with the ridiculous email, texting, smsing, phone calls of my boss for a situation I could do nothing about - the power went out in the building due to the heat wave. I had barely gotten the car unloaded when he expected me to sprint the almost 20 miles to the office to stand guard (perhaps) since our magnetic locks disengaged from the power outage - security issue. Now after my frantic calls to our IT department, landlord, and facilities resulted in a ton of left messages with no response, I continued to back and forth with my boss and tried to boot up my lazy laptop to start sending out emails. After only an hour the power came back on and the return calls started coming in. He wanted explainations and resolutions and he wanted them now. Really? So for 3.5 hours after I pulled curbside to my home while still technically on vacation I worked in a panic state enforced by my check writer.
Now before I was able to enjoy the last few hours of vacation before bed I realized that my hubby didn't think to pick up milk or fruit or anything prior to our arrival home. I know I'm woman hear me roar, but really a thought like that shouldn't be rocket science. At some point I need to be able to rely on my spouse to think. So out I go to the market for some quick items before I put the baby to bed. On my way I was almost hit by 2 cars...1 making a left into me and the second running a stop sign (insert explitives here). Home again, unpacked groceries, happy milk-belly baby, car unloaded and unpacked, baby to bed and ahhh I get a half hour before I should hit the sack. I sat staring at whatever hubby had on the TV. I have no idea what it was or if I even enjoyed it. At 11 I could no longer avoid the trek upstairs, with a heave and a sigh I slugged off. 5 steps into my journey hubby decides to make an announcement.
"So, my Zoloft isn't working anymore so I'm going to take myself off of it. I'm getting withdrawl symptoms from it not working anymore. Just thought I'd let you know." WTF! "Are you mad?! No way are you 1st of all weening yourself off without a doctor's approval and supervison. And secondly I will not put myself or our daughter through that. Get that out of your head. You need meds or I'm not doing this. Who do you think you are?" I later investigated if it's possible to experience withdrawl symptoms when the drugs stop working...and could find nothing to support that...only a decrease in mg intake would cause withdrawl. So he's lying too? Does he take me for a fool? Why would he put his daughter at risk or his family for that matter? He needs an effing doctor. And for all the years that I've known him he has come up with some excuse to stop seeing any therapist who attemps to regulate him.
I don't know if he is still weening himself without a doctor or if he decided against it after our debate. But I can say that he has become mean, thoughless, aggressive and a little manic. So either he needs his meds upped, changed, or stop being stupid. Whatever the case my be, I'm too tired. Yesterday he left something dangerous open and out within child's reach in the bathroom. As I was filling her tub I turned to find she had it in her mouth. A quick call to poison control basically assumed that I caught her in time and she most likely just licked the top and not tiped it back to drink at that point. I sent hubby a text to be more careful. After all he was also the one who left the Fabreeze out on the coffee table and walked away from her while she unscrewed it and dumped it all over herself and the table. Thankfully a thea was over and caught her before that was drank as well. Use a brain cell please.
So last night at 12:30 when he arrived home from work, when both me and baby were soundly sleeping, a rarity for sure, he woke me up to say, "is she ok?" Half asleep I'm like, "what?" "Is she ok? and now my tracker is ruined because you didn't put the roof or windows back on for me." Awake now I reply, "she is fine obviously because we are both sleeping, and no I didn't ruin your car you did when you left it open during the monsoon on Saturday and again today. Sorry I couldn't get outside before the storm after you left for work, knowing it was supposed to rain, and I was on the phone with morgage people and student loan people until Anya woke up from her nap. Thanks for waking me and the baby up you ass." I went off to pee and tried to sleep in the other room. My mind was racing. I then tried to go down to the couch. Still not possible. Our lonely cat started crying incessantly and my mind was just trying to kill me. I crawled back into bed and snuggled my lil squeak, hoping to fall asleep...it took 3 hours.
I'm so tired today and angry and confused. I was listening to MMR's Preston and Steve on my way in to work. The 2 day topic of conversation has been Mel Gibson's abusive, beligerent tirade. He is a mean ignorant bastard...good thing I never liked him or I'd be real depressed. And for a few minutes I think I don't have it so bad and why can't we just work through it. Then the other part of me says that I deserve to be treated with respect, something which has been lacking in our realtionship for 2 years. My gut tells me I'm being taken advantage of: I can multitask, work multiple jobs, run on little sleep, and think like a machine...something he cannot. But he doesn't even try. I've carried him so long that he doesn't realize he's gone soft with entitlement: very unattractive and pitiable.
My parents didn't raise a dummy or a fool. Sure I'm strong and resilient and focused, but that doesn't make me the pinyata or whatever symbolic object of abuse you choose for imagry. What happened to you? All those stories you told me of your past make sense to me now and take on new meaning. You played my sympathies like the Red Violin. Look at yourself for a change. You're a parent, a husband, a homeowner, a friend, yet you behave like the world owes you for the sake of oweing. You think you're a clown and a beautiful person, but wonder why no one comes calling. You've grown ugly and mean with your ego. What lesson is that for your daughter. You aspired for nothing, you sat and expected the world to fall into place like magic, and along I came.
09 July 2010
1 Year Renewal
O shhhhhh already. I fell off the face of blogtown - consider it a long vacation. I'm not even going to look back where I left off. I recall a lot of bitching and complaining and too much negativity and fear. Not that it has gone away or changed so much, I merely don't feel like listening to myself any longer. That's fair for all of us I believe.
I finally took a long weekend - of 6 days - and loaded myself and Anya into the car and sped across Pennsyltucky to the land of Pittsburgh to visit my mother. It was...nice. I relaxed for not being in the office or staring at my walls and being away from anything that tends to cause agida. However, Anya took this opportunity to turn into a she-devil child promptly upon arrival, and they tell me it's her age. Great. A few days off fraught with nightmarish screaming and clinginess and anti-social behavior from the 15 month old just in time for a rare visit with yiayia and her best aunt and uncle. Good grief! I enjoyed my time no less, but arrived home unrested - motherhood...grunt.
I am tempted to look at back my posting last year, same time, and yet another trip to Pittsburgh, however, pre-mom move and I was not the navigator. I am not living in yesterday today, but I remember I was consumed by the fog and lost in a painful physical and mental horror flick, but thankfully they don't kill the leading lady, and here I am today basking in the sun away from the masked murderer and languishng in more of bad episode of prime time drama than the chiller channel.
4th of July weekend always summons memories of the shore and boardwalk and lazy summer days; with no money to pay the mortgage and an infant in tow a shore trip was not in the cards. The long weekend made it simpler to contemplate a trip westward to see my mother to have her now quaterly visit with her granddaughter. Hubby's part time job makes it impossible for him to take any time off since the creditors want more than we have coming in, so anything I planned for the weekend would have to be a mommy and baby adventure. I don't know how or why, but I decided that if I didn't have some actual extended time away from the office I was going to rupture the time space continuim with a supernova. So a trotted off to my boss' office and said, "I am going to visit my mom, I would like to take off next Friday through the following Wednesday, please tell me you are ok with it." A simple yes would have sufficed, but as usual my boss' inappropriate timing for humor went something like, "do you really need another vacation...didn't you just have one...hahaha." "um...not for over three years if you want to get technical...". "(clearing throat)...well then enjoy." Phone call to mom then panic set in.
I'm not a driver. I don't like going very far alone...retract...I don't like going very far unless someone else is driving. I make a much better passenger than navigator and usually this works out just fine. But not this time. I can do it. I can do it. I've made this trip thousands of times. What the hell am I afraid of. O crap. What if....and here we go. All the worst case scenarios audition in my head for the lead role in Road Trip 2010. Maybe we could take the train....8+ effing hours you're joking. Maybe we could fly...how much...ugh...driving it is. I distract myself with an OCD style organization and planning of the next few days. Cleaning, packing, calls, emails, filing; I'm working manic-style and accomplishing everything with a smile. My spring cleaning at the office and my travel preparation move along so smoothly I have no time to realize time's up.
I actually enjoy time alone. I knew Anya would sleep a bulk of the trip, and I knew enough coffee would keep my eyes open for the 4-5 hours it would take to traverse the great expanse of Pennsylvania...Philly to Pittsburgh may as well be NYC to LA as far as I'm concerned. As soon as Precious passed out I turned the radio and CD off and listened to nothing but the road. Quiet. Peace and quiet and nothing but green. I drifted off into lottery-winning day dreams and allowed co-pilot cruise control to prevent the driving tension from taking over. I was amazing myself through each tunnel and over each mountain. We stopped at Somerset Plaza to stretch our legs. Out of the air-conditioned car and into the lazy summer heat we entered the fairly empty plaza for a diaper change and pee break. Anya toddled into the plaza with doe eyes at the food court lights and smells of Roy Rogers and Starbucks coffee. Why are Roys only available at travel plazas now? Re-loaded with caffeine and kinks out of our legs we got back into the car for the last hour-ish of our trip. No sooner had Anya decided she'd had enough of her car seat than exit Allegheny Valley approached.
Yay...I did it. We're here. A few miles off the exit and we're home for a few days! WTF?! Road construction SUCKS! Another hour of backed up traffic on the 2 lane road to New Ken gave Anya's vocals time to generate a migraine. I pulled into the driveway, grabbed a screaming Anya, dropped her off in the back yard with yiayia and barely made the bathroom and 2 Advil. We're here.
We spent the mornings and afternoons lounging and eating and cooking and just doing not much. The late afternooons and evenings were spent at Thea Eleni's house for holiday weekend parties and excellent swimming. At night after Anya went to bed mom and I would get comfy on the king-sized bed and watch TV together. She introduced me to "You're Cut Off" and "The Gates" both of which I have now set to Autotune with Royal Pains and The Good Wife. I really could have stayed another week. Mom's house is so peacful and bright and comfortable. There is always a balance and that was achieve through Anya making life fairly diffucult for me, clinging to mommy and crying if she was more than 1 inch away. She pushed her yiayia and thea and uncle and cousins away and fake cried and threw tantrums constantly. She began running up to me and biting my thighs and alternating with strangling hugs. She usually loves the water, but I suppose the big pool was too much for her and it took until our last day for her to enjoy playing in the water and not clinging for dear life. She was still adorable and funny and coy...but man did mommy need a mommy break.
Sadly going home day came on quickly. My brain knew before I did and got weery and aggrevated about 24 hours before lift off...very similar to my Sunday night melt downs. I hate them. Every muscle in my body becomes tense, my back and hip and knee eminate pain, I get short and cranky and lose any sort of patience the universe tries to send my direction. It's my jeckyll and hyde time. I even considered extending my vacation by a day to turn down the monster, but decided that daddy needed some time with Anya before mommy went to the looney bin. Wednesday morning arrived with a sadness instead of tension. Over the morning hours I bathed Anya, packed the clean laundry that mom helped with, collected all evidence of our visit and packed it into the third floor closets for next time or into the car for home. Mom packed care packages of the food we cooked together for me to take home. We called yiayia in Greece and ate a spinach omelette and drank coffee. Down came the gates, out came mom's cats and into the car seat with thumb in mouth and twirling hair with other hand went Anya. On the road again....
Anya was asleep before I backed out of the driveway. There was that quiet again...and I loved it. Anya slept until Bowmansville Plaza...almost home and had to stop. Ugh. But hey...she was a trooper the whole trip - we would have made it in 4 hours. We shared some breadsticks and and trudged through the swampy heat back to the car. Ten degrees warmer in Philly than Pitt and boy did that make a difference. It was too hot to think about cooking so a KFC pit stop was in order before we pulled up to the house. I was able to unload the car while Anya slept. As I was getting her out of her car seat she woke up and looked out the window as the biggest grin crossed her face and she started clapping and babbling and hugged me. My little bratastic was home and she was happy.
She ran through the first floor and hugged Freyja who bowed to her with tail wagging. Calvin popped out from Anya's tent meowing his joy and jumped on the counch and let Anya snuggle with him for a full ten minutes. I zipped around unpacking as much as I could while I had the energy. Within that same 30 minutes Rich came home and hugged and kissed our welcome home, and my boss called, texted, emailed, SMSed, and called again...so much for that positive attitude after a nice vacation.
I finally took a long weekend - of 6 days - and loaded myself and Anya into the car and sped across Pennsyltucky to the land of Pittsburgh to visit my mother. It was...nice. I relaxed for not being in the office or staring at my walls and being away from anything that tends to cause agida. However, Anya took this opportunity to turn into a she-devil child promptly upon arrival, and they tell me it's her age. Great. A few days off fraught with nightmarish screaming and clinginess and anti-social behavior from the 15 month old just in time for a rare visit with yiayia and her best aunt and uncle. Good grief! I enjoyed my time no less, but arrived home unrested - motherhood...grunt.
I am tempted to look at back my posting last year, same time, and yet another trip to Pittsburgh, however, pre-mom move and I was not the navigator. I am not living in yesterday today, but I remember I was consumed by the fog and lost in a painful physical and mental horror flick, but thankfully they don't kill the leading lady, and here I am today basking in the sun away from the masked murderer and languishng in more of bad episode of prime time drama than the chiller channel.
4th of July weekend always summons memories of the shore and boardwalk and lazy summer days; with no money to pay the mortgage and an infant in tow a shore trip was not in the cards. The long weekend made it simpler to contemplate a trip westward to see my mother to have her now quaterly visit with her granddaughter. Hubby's part time job makes it impossible for him to take any time off since the creditors want more than we have coming in, so anything I planned for the weekend would have to be a mommy and baby adventure. I don't know how or why, but I decided that if I didn't have some actual extended time away from the office I was going to rupture the time space continuim with a supernova. So a trotted off to my boss' office and said, "I am going to visit my mom, I would like to take off next Friday through the following Wednesday, please tell me you are ok with it." A simple yes would have sufficed, but as usual my boss' inappropriate timing for humor went something like, "do you really need another vacation...didn't you just have one...hahaha." "um...not for over three years if you want to get technical...". "(clearing throat)...well then enjoy." Phone call to mom then panic set in.
I'm not a driver. I don't like going very far alone...retract...I don't like going very far unless someone else is driving. I make a much better passenger than navigator and usually this works out just fine. But not this time. I can do it. I can do it. I've made this trip thousands of times. What the hell am I afraid of. O crap. What if....and here we go. All the worst case scenarios audition in my head for the lead role in Road Trip 2010. Maybe we could take the train....8+ effing hours you're joking. Maybe we could fly...how much...ugh...driving it is. I distract myself with an OCD style organization and planning of the next few days. Cleaning, packing, calls, emails, filing; I'm working manic-style and accomplishing everything with a smile. My spring cleaning at the office and my travel preparation move along so smoothly I have no time to realize time's up.
I actually enjoy time alone. I knew Anya would sleep a bulk of the trip, and I knew enough coffee would keep my eyes open for the 4-5 hours it would take to traverse the great expanse of Pennsylvania...Philly to Pittsburgh may as well be NYC to LA as far as I'm concerned. As soon as Precious passed out I turned the radio and CD off and listened to nothing but the road. Quiet. Peace and quiet and nothing but green. I drifted off into lottery-winning day dreams and allowed co-pilot cruise control to prevent the driving tension from taking over. I was amazing myself through each tunnel and over each mountain. We stopped at Somerset Plaza to stretch our legs. Out of the air-conditioned car and into the lazy summer heat we entered the fairly empty plaza for a diaper change and pee break. Anya toddled into the plaza with doe eyes at the food court lights and smells of Roy Rogers and Starbucks coffee. Why are Roys only available at travel plazas now? Re-loaded with caffeine and kinks out of our legs we got back into the car for the last hour-ish of our trip. No sooner had Anya decided she'd had enough of her car seat than exit Allegheny Valley approached.
Yay...I did it. We're here. A few miles off the exit and we're home for a few days! WTF?! Road construction SUCKS! Another hour of backed up traffic on the 2 lane road to New Ken gave Anya's vocals time to generate a migraine. I pulled into the driveway, grabbed a screaming Anya, dropped her off in the back yard with yiayia and barely made the bathroom and 2 Advil. We're here.
We spent the mornings and afternoons lounging and eating and cooking and just doing not much. The late afternooons and evenings were spent at Thea Eleni's house for holiday weekend parties and excellent swimming. At night after Anya went to bed mom and I would get comfy on the king-sized bed and watch TV together. She introduced me to "You're Cut Off" and "The Gates" both of which I have now set to Autotune with Royal Pains and The Good Wife. I really could have stayed another week. Mom's house is so peacful and bright and comfortable. There is always a balance and that was achieve through Anya making life fairly diffucult for me, clinging to mommy and crying if she was more than 1 inch away. She pushed her yiayia and thea and uncle and cousins away and fake cried and threw tantrums constantly. She began running up to me and biting my thighs and alternating with strangling hugs. She usually loves the water, but I suppose the big pool was too much for her and it took until our last day for her to enjoy playing in the water and not clinging for dear life. She was still adorable and funny and coy...but man did mommy need a mommy break.
Sadly going home day came on quickly. My brain knew before I did and got weery and aggrevated about 24 hours before lift off...very similar to my Sunday night melt downs. I hate them. Every muscle in my body becomes tense, my back and hip and knee eminate pain, I get short and cranky and lose any sort of patience the universe tries to send my direction. It's my jeckyll and hyde time. I even considered extending my vacation by a day to turn down the monster, but decided that daddy needed some time with Anya before mommy went to the looney bin. Wednesday morning arrived with a sadness instead of tension. Over the morning hours I bathed Anya, packed the clean laundry that mom helped with, collected all evidence of our visit and packed it into the third floor closets for next time or into the car for home. Mom packed care packages of the food we cooked together for me to take home. We called yiayia in Greece and ate a spinach omelette and drank coffee. Down came the gates, out came mom's cats and into the car seat with thumb in mouth and twirling hair with other hand went Anya. On the road again....
Anya was asleep before I backed out of the driveway. There was that quiet again...and I loved it. Anya slept until Bowmansville Plaza...almost home and had to stop. Ugh. But hey...she was a trooper the whole trip - we would have made it in 4 hours. We shared some breadsticks and and trudged through the swampy heat back to the car. Ten degrees warmer in Philly than Pitt and boy did that make a difference. It was too hot to think about cooking so a KFC pit stop was in order before we pulled up to the house. I was able to unload the car while Anya slept. As I was getting her out of her car seat she woke up and looked out the window as the biggest grin crossed her face and she started clapping and babbling and hugged me. My little bratastic was home and she was happy.
She ran through the first floor and hugged Freyja who bowed to her with tail wagging. Calvin popped out from Anya's tent meowing his joy and jumped on the counch and let Anya snuggle with him for a full ten minutes. I zipped around unpacking as much as I could while I had the energy. Within that same 30 minutes Rich came home and hugged and kissed our welcome home, and my boss called, texted, emailed, SMSed, and called again...so much for that positive attitude after a nice vacation.
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