Being a woman seems more difficult with each passing day. Ask Lilith...after all she couldn't get it right so Eve replaced her...and look what she did. Go Ladies! Getting it all wrong makes for a better adventure I'd say.
Money was invented when the planet's inhabitants discovered the service industry. It was much easier to pass some metal or gem as payment than carry a chicken or cow or bushel of corn to the local watering hole. The kings and their lackies decidedly had enough barter and trading when the store houses brimeth over and said sparklies are pretty...go get me more. And fictitous money was born. Don't question my history lesson.
What a crock of shit. No matter what I do to keep things a float I can never get enough water out from the bottom. I'm just sick of it. Pardon me while I wretch on the bill collectors and doc offices and insurance companies and supermarkets and gas stations and everyone that wants a piece of the sparklie, that, frankly, doesn't exist. I was one of those kids who got credit too soon and quickly fell into the "bad" pile. For years I worked to remedy my youthful foolishness and was finally able to buy a car and a house and nice things. I was so proud of my ability to get it right. I meticulously budgeted and managed flow and savings. I was prepared for emergencies. Yeah right, no one ever really is. I feel betrayed.
So, before I bitch and moan and complain about life not being fair, let me sympathize with all my bretheren and sisteren because I know I'm not the only one. News folk...shut up about the bad economy. Stop pointing fingers at the politicians and Wall Street and bankers. They all suck and all had a part in ruining our American Dream. And really, let's really think about that American Dream. Was there ever an attainable one? Did it die out after the industrial revolution? Who sold us that dream....those same politicians, stock markets and bankers...think Madoff times infinity.
Being a woman adds to this hell. We fought for equal rights; still fight for equal pay; we want to be mom, wife, supermodel, CEO, and woman...ROAR. You know I just want to say fuck it sometimes! I'm tired of bringing home the bacon, frying it up in a pan, and cleaning up the grease afterwards. I don't need this kind of life. We were so hyped to be free we forgot to build in protections, like keeping family first, not needing two incomes to survive, keeping men manly, and enjoying this short trip to earth before it ends. WTF?! How in all our infinite wisdom did we let this happen...we're women after all.
I'm just done with it. Motherhood has changed me. I'm so different that it's no wonder I look in the mirror and wonder about the strange creature looking back. I'm actually liking this creature more and more. She makes me rethink everything. But she's also a bitch. She hasn't much power, and I feel sorry for her. She's sad and angry and feels so helpless. She hates the world and life and things. But her heart is bigger than the universe, sucking in all that is like a black hole. Not many people understand her. She hates herself sometimes. But I like her. She's becoming my earth mother...I want to find a way to dry her tears and placate her cries. My daughter loves her. Nothing else matters.
The tea movement, the coffee movement, operation this and that, stand up, blog, write letters...5 minutes of fame and the candle goes out. Who hears me? I hear me. I'm tired of listening to me. Screw me and all my wishes and wants and complaints. Me and the rest of us. Well how the hell do I fix it? No don't tell me, it's only more unwanted advise and cliches and Charlie Brown's classroom. Everything is broken. But we live in a disposable society so we will replace and replace and replace instead of fixing it. And we say we're the smartest beings on the planet? We are dumb.
28 April 2010
26 April 2010
My Blue Giants
I don't like being angry. But I am. A good deal of the time. Maybe I just realize my anger more than my quiet. One of my dear friends once told me that age will bring out my cynicism, and that we are fragile, not resilient. I didn't want to believe her, but I do now, and I blame motherhood more so than age. I've always been loyal and steadfast, held strong to my convictions - at least after I learned I had them - but remained open to alternate perspectives, and supported those dear to me without waiver, giving of myself even after I had nothing left. I'm still loyal, but to an ever smaller circle; my convictions...I'm less likely swayed; I support, but clearly have limits; and stupidity...no time or patience for its existence...get off the planet.
Thought warp.
I'm not one to pretend to be a film critic. I like my bubbly films for different reasons and not necessarily because of their story line, fantastical effects, political agenda, or actor-studdedness, but just because. I'm perfectly happy being this type of film watcher, takes away any stress really. I like Bridge Jones because I am an anglophile and she filled a void for my modern day Marc Darcy craving. I salivated over Moulin Rouge for its true love story and cinematography, and let's not forget what it did with some favorite songs. I emmersed myself in the Tomb Raider films because Angelina Joilie is hot and I love a woman who is smart and kick ass; I like Indy and period and comedy and kids movies mostly, but I have my moments of wow for those mass market masterpieces. My husband even turned me on to comic gone big screen super heroes. But in general I like it or I don't. I watch to escape and be absorbed by the story and characters, not for some greater purpose.
As an english major I have more than read my share of classics and shoulds and musts and definitly the don't-tell-anyone-I-read-that ones. I do bandwagon with my reading compatriots that the book is far better than the film, mostly because it's true. Take Chocolat for example. The film destroyed any faith I had in book turned movie - Harry Potter remedied that though. Joann Harris' Chocolat richly painted the small French town and its inhabitants: there was no mayor, only the tempted priest; no love afair with Johnny Depp, just a symbol of the gypsy life as yet another decadent tempation to the folks of the Christian town. The book stepped out on a limb, dancing with witchcraft and undermining abstinence - Eve became the savior. When the book went big screen it was considered too risque and was forced to undergo a makeover, thus a beautiful film to watch, but a story lacking free thought. Enjoyable, but for different reasons.
I haven't bought or rented any film in longer than I can remember. I refuse to pay a week's salary to dinner and a movie on a Friday night, and who has time to rent and watch anything with a 1 year old flitting about. I haven't joined NetFlix and my DirectTV doesn't have OnDemand, and no DVR either folks. But I was determined that I was going to experience Avatar. So much hype and commentary abounded regarding this film, and frankly, I thought it might just be cool enough effects alone. My household sits in front of an old 32" tube TV with a curved screen. There is no HD, no widescreen, no surround sound to be had. Don't freak...there really are houses that haven't caught up with the Jones'. But really we don't know much different, and don't care to since we'd rather experience real life than reality TV. My husband hadn't heard much about this movie, he kept asking me what it was about. Honestly, I didn't know myself, but decided there was something about this movie that we had to see. Target, debit card, thank you.
Dinner time Anya decided that it was time to melt down...epicly. She didn't want her strawberries, she didn't want her fish, she didn't want her ravioli, she didn't want her dolly, but maybe her milk...nope. We gave her a bath and some motrin and tried the milk again. Clean and tummy full of milk she still fussed and cried and didn't know what she wanted. Then...after a few more rejections and tears...she stopped, got off the couch, went to her toys and started playing like nothing was wrong in the universe. humpf. Really?!
Select to Play.
Anya nestled in my lap and fell asleep just in time for the Navi Avatars to stand up and run. Nice. What beauty and spectacle! I was in love. I'm not here to give a play by play summary or even an official personal review. One cannot mistake the commentary or underlying meaning. You can always debate true love of a woman or love of having his limbs returned? Was technology or spiritual energy the true god here? Maybe one day I will review all the detours I want to take. But for now I want to be one with the Navi and their world and their beliefs.
I closed my eyes during the fighting sequences. I couldn't stomach the pain. I cursed at the Colonel and Parker for their reckless destruction. And even though I knew that Jake Sully would come around, I hated him for being such a jack ass to start. I'm a little over all the anti hero crap really. But the movie was more. I admire the age old warning of respect to nature, I was pleased to see the interconnectedness of life taken to a newer platform, and I was fascinated with the Neuromancer feel, but as natural, not machine...softer edge to the matrix. The movie was a pleasure and I could probalbly debate meanings and sequenses and philosophies and religion and politics for hours. But for now I'm going to languish on Pandora without questions.
I feel an urge to start excavating, but I know exhaustion is near. I'll have to pop it into the DVD a few more times then have vodka and a discussion party. Any takers? What a tease...even for me.
Thought warp.
I'm not one to pretend to be a film critic. I like my bubbly films for different reasons and not necessarily because of their story line, fantastical effects, political agenda, or actor-studdedness, but just because. I'm perfectly happy being this type of film watcher, takes away any stress really. I like Bridge Jones because I am an anglophile and she filled a void for my modern day Marc Darcy craving. I salivated over Moulin Rouge for its true love story and cinematography, and let's not forget what it did with some favorite songs. I emmersed myself in the Tomb Raider films because Angelina Joilie is hot and I love a woman who is smart and kick ass; I like Indy and period and comedy and kids movies mostly, but I have my moments of wow for those mass market masterpieces. My husband even turned me on to comic gone big screen super heroes. But in general I like it or I don't. I watch to escape and be absorbed by the story and characters, not for some greater purpose.
As an english major I have more than read my share of classics and shoulds and musts and definitly the don't-tell-anyone-I-read-that ones. I do bandwagon with my reading compatriots that the book is far better than the film, mostly because it's true. Take Chocolat for example. The film destroyed any faith I had in book turned movie - Harry Potter remedied that though. Joann Harris' Chocolat richly painted the small French town and its inhabitants: there was no mayor, only the tempted priest; no love afair with Johnny Depp, just a symbol of the gypsy life as yet another decadent tempation to the folks of the Christian town. The book stepped out on a limb, dancing with witchcraft and undermining abstinence - Eve became the savior. When the book went big screen it was considered too risque and was forced to undergo a makeover, thus a beautiful film to watch, but a story lacking free thought. Enjoyable, but for different reasons.
I haven't bought or rented any film in longer than I can remember. I refuse to pay a week's salary to dinner and a movie on a Friday night, and who has time to rent and watch anything with a 1 year old flitting about. I haven't joined NetFlix and my DirectTV doesn't have OnDemand, and no DVR either folks. But I was determined that I was going to experience Avatar. So much hype and commentary abounded regarding this film, and frankly, I thought it might just be cool enough effects alone. My household sits in front of an old 32" tube TV with a curved screen. There is no HD, no widescreen, no surround sound to be had. Don't freak...there really are houses that haven't caught up with the Jones'. But really we don't know much different, and don't care to since we'd rather experience real life than reality TV. My husband hadn't heard much about this movie, he kept asking me what it was about. Honestly, I didn't know myself, but decided there was something about this movie that we had to see. Target, debit card, thank you.
Dinner time Anya decided that it was time to melt down...epicly. She didn't want her strawberries, she didn't want her fish, she didn't want her ravioli, she didn't want her dolly, but maybe her milk...nope. We gave her a bath and some motrin and tried the milk again. Clean and tummy full of milk she still fussed and cried and didn't know what she wanted. Then...after a few more rejections and tears...she stopped, got off the couch, went to her toys and started playing like nothing was wrong in the universe. humpf. Really?!
Select to Play.
Anya nestled in my lap and fell asleep just in time for the Navi Avatars to stand up and run. Nice. What beauty and spectacle! I was in love. I'm not here to give a play by play summary or even an official personal review. One cannot mistake the commentary or underlying meaning. You can always debate true love of a woman or love of having his limbs returned? Was technology or spiritual energy the true god here? Maybe one day I will review all the detours I want to take. But for now I want to be one with the Navi and their world and their beliefs.
I closed my eyes during the fighting sequences. I couldn't stomach the pain. I cursed at the Colonel and Parker for their reckless destruction. And even though I knew that Jake Sully would come around, I hated him for being such a jack ass to start. I'm a little over all the anti hero crap really. But the movie was more. I admire the age old warning of respect to nature, I was pleased to see the interconnectedness of life taken to a newer platform, and I was fascinated with the Neuromancer feel, but as natural, not machine...softer edge to the matrix. The movie was a pleasure and I could probalbly debate meanings and sequenses and philosophies and religion and politics for hours. But for now I'm going to languish on Pandora without questions.
I feel an urge to start excavating, but I know exhaustion is near. I'll have to pop it into the DVD a few more times then have vodka and a discussion party. Any takers? What a tease...even for me.
23 April 2010
The Monster Under my Bed
The whole writing thing for me is like that first dip of the season in the freshly opened pool...first the big toe, then maybe a whole foot, then back out. Then right foot followed by the left foot, and then sitting on the edge splashing my upper legs. When I finally get my whole body in it's that moment of shock, perhaps I'll call it numbing pain, and then it's as if everything is gloriously comfortable and perfect submerged in the water. Then, the next time...it's just the same old thing.
I'm a cluster writer because of this. Or maybe you say I'm not dedicated. Perhaps my writing self-esteem is lacking. Or maybe I'm afraid of what my soul may give away. Haven't I vanquished enough demons? Doesn't the world now know my deepest and darkest? Maybe, but I still keep the boogie man under my bed for safe keeping.
So what about me? Really?! After a year of nightmares, therapists, doctors, groups, articles printed and emailed, videos from the doula, and you still ask, "what about me?" Honey, get a grip...this one is not about you. And if you keep trying to get me to turn back into my co-dependent-wonderwoman-miracle-worker it ain't ever gonna happen. Seriously, am I supposed to think it's cute that you've developed a sibling rivalry with your own child? Fucking man-up, dude. Life is not cherries or chocolates or warm fluffies. It's lemon in your papercut, salt in your razor burn, and vinagar for wine.
ARrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrg. Heartburn. Exhaustion. Disgust. Disappointment.
I want my child to strive for what her heart desires: to work hard, to achieve goals, believe that anything is possible. But. But she also needs to learn that nothing is free, hard work doesn't always pay off, you can't always get what you want...and contrary to the Rolling Stones commentary on life, sometimes you don't even get what you need. I've grown sour on the motto that you can have or be anything you want if you just work hard and give it 110%. Opportunity knocks and closes doors, and you aren't always standing in the right doorway. You have to learn survival and have back up plans and know that life isn't paved in gold and dreams are to be reached for, but can't control your choices. In the end we have a lazy, self-righteous, ingracious group of adults who think it's ok to merely be. Hippies went out of fashion for a reason, and with them the notion that the Universe always provides. Go live in Haiti or Brazil or the Congo; go anywhere but here, and you'll see that it doesn't always work out in the end.
"It always works out somehow." You're kidding me right? People die. Families separate. Poverty is a fact. Pollution and disease are real. Money and power are evil. It really doesn't always work out: you just learn to be miserable and survive and shut up. And for those lucky ones that get to put on a pair of rose colored glasses and say it's half full, I'm happy for you, but I lost mine, so I hate you. Conspiracy theorist and bandwagonist are the true anti-christ, spreading messages of panic and fear in the modern people. Does anyone have original thoughts anymore? Is there really nothing new to invent? Are we really that thoughtless and careless?
I used to be an eternal optimist. I could pep talk and comfort the hardest hit. I would pick up and dust off the downtrodden, and take most of them home to mend and stregthen. They say people come in and out of your life for a reason for a time for a season. I do believe that. Or at least I did. With the advent of technology and social networking we prevent this beautiful experience from enriching our lives. We can't come and go. We can't hide and seek. We are all just bobbing in the same wave. Don't get me wrong. I am enjoying this shared moment. I love the proximity that modern technology has given me to those old and new, near and far, dear and not so much. Hey conspiracy folk - the Matrix is already here.
Who the heck is this woman? My patience. My humor. My strength. My love and peaceful nature. Maybe I gave them away. Why am I jaded and dark and pissed? The boogieman is whispering...time to close shop for the day.
I'm a cluster writer because of this. Or maybe you say I'm not dedicated. Perhaps my writing self-esteem is lacking. Or maybe I'm afraid of what my soul may give away. Haven't I vanquished enough demons? Doesn't the world now know my deepest and darkest? Maybe, but I still keep the boogie man under my bed for safe keeping.
So what about me? Really?! After a year of nightmares, therapists, doctors, groups, articles printed and emailed, videos from the doula, and you still ask, "what about me?" Honey, get a grip...this one is not about you. And if you keep trying to get me to turn back into my co-dependent-wonderwoman-miracle-worker it ain't ever gonna happen. Seriously, am I supposed to think it's cute that you've developed a sibling rivalry with your own child? Fucking man-up, dude. Life is not cherries or chocolates or warm fluffies. It's lemon in your papercut, salt in your razor burn, and vinagar for wine.
ARrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrg. Heartburn. Exhaustion. Disgust. Disappointment.
I want my child to strive for what her heart desires: to work hard, to achieve goals, believe that anything is possible. But. But she also needs to learn that nothing is free, hard work doesn't always pay off, you can't always get what you want...and contrary to the Rolling Stones commentary on life, sometimes you don't even get what you need. I've grown sour on the motto that you can have or be anything you want if you just work hard and give it 110%. Opportunity knocks and closes doors, and you aren't always standing in the right doorway. You have to learn survival and have back up plans and know that life isn't paved in gold and dreams are to be reached for, but can't control your choices. In the end we have a lazy, self-righteous, ingracious group of adults who think it's ok to merely be. Hippies went out of fashion for a reason, and with them the notion that the Universe always provides. Go live in Haiti or Brazil or the Congo; go anywhere but here, and you'll see that it doesn't always work out in the end.
"It always works out somehow." You're kidding me right? People die. Families separate. Poverty is a fact. Pollution and disease are real. Money and power are evil. It really doesn't always work out: you just learn to be miserable and survive and shut up. And for those lucky ones that get to put on a pair of rose colored glasses and say it's half full, I'm happy for you, but I lost mine, so I hate you. Conspiracy theorist and bandwagonist are the true anti-christ, spreading messages of panic and fear in the modern people. Does anyone have original thoughts anymore? Is there really nothing new to invent? Are we really that thoughtless and careless?
I used to be an eternal optimist. I could pep talk and comfort the hardest hit. I would pick up and dust off the downtrodden, and take most of them home to mend and stregthen. They say people come in and out of your life for a reason for a time for a season. I do believe that. Or at least I did. With the advent of technology and social networking we prevent this beautiful experience from enriching our lives. We can't come and go. We can't hide and seek. We are all just bobbing in the same wave. Don't get me wrong. I am enjoying this shared moment. I love the proximity that modern technology has given me to those old and new, near and far, dear and not so much. Hey conspiracy folk - the Matrix is already here.
Who the heck is this woman? My patience. My humor. My strength. My love and peaceful nature. Maybe I gave them away. Why am I jaded and dark and pissed? The boogieman is whispering...time to close shop for the day.
22 April 2010
Bounty, the quicker picker upper
More than a month past...should I apologize for being away. I'm sorry. Really. Every day I log in and then log out. Or just stare at the link, debating what to do with it. I'm confused perhaps. Have I gotten shy all of a sudden? Do I not want to share my secrets? Am I just so different that I don't feel I belong here any longer? None of that for truth.
When the fog started to lift I wanted to take in all the clarity, and I believed the more distance I put the easier it would be to comprehend. I am afraid that I was incorrect. The more time that passes the less sense I can make. The pain still jabs and I want to cry for those days yesterday, and now I want to cry for those days tomorrow. I found a new pain...the growing kind.
Anya has gone from tettering to running in moments. She gives tude and responds to what she's asked to do even though she can't really talk back. Her grunts and screams and limited sign language at a minimum help us to meander through the new connections her brain makes, and by the way I think we're getting close to those first words. She's developed a personality with a rainbow of color with her squishy smile and belly giggles. She takes running leaps and crashes to the floor; she tastes food, discarding what she doesn't like that moment as dog food - yet chooses to sneak dog food out of the bowl as a treat; she gives hugs and kisses, then turns biting, pinching and pulling like Jekyll and Hyde.
This little creature never stops.
Hubby got a part time job (thank the universe!), and maybe now the financial devestation can start to rebuild - just before total ruin. We're adjusting to the new schedule. She loves her Wednesday nanny; and, we love our Wednesday nanny. Freyja on the other hand is making the day a little too noisy, and we hope she adjusts to our weekly house guest soon - who wants a bark collar! The daily routine changes so there is never a bored blink, making it very difficult to get Anya's routine set. Poor kid, no wonder she's become so demanding. Poor mom and dad really.
Work is work and most days I have to remind myself that without my job Anya will have to live in a box under the county line bridge. Not an option. I still hate being away from her. I miss so much, and I think some of her lashing out at me is because she doesn't get enough time with me. I feel guilty. I don't want to be super mom nor do I need to be. I just want to be mom right now. But life sees it differently.
I catch myself having to change the song on the radio, like when Live, Lightening Crashes, comes on, because the words make my heart hurt. I have to change the channel on my favorite shows, like CSI and Criminal Minds, because they remind me of the dangers out there. I want revolution for this; I want to bitch smack that person; I think this person deserves the chair (mind you I'm anti-death penalty); I fear that natural disasters might separate me from my child or I can't get to her; there is terror when I think about someone grabbing her in that second I blinked; I can't stand stupidity. Now none of this paralyzes me as it did before, but Im becoming hyper vigilant...just as exhasuting.
I've got myself on good vitamins. I've started dancing again, and even got a gig teaching belly dance once a week. Who would have thought. I have to admit I needed that confidence boost. Now if I'm working out at home or lesson planning Anya tries to mimick me or turns off the TV video.
I do feel much more human than I have in 2 years. I am forcing my body to move even when it hurts...sometimes I win. A sense of humor, one of my prodigal sentiments, started to assimilate back into my emotional responses. Wow that feels good. I don't like being so serious. Maybe it's just that I can partake freely of my vodka and coffee again. What ever it is...thank you...my family thanks you...and maybe my friends will like me again. It's clean up time.
When the fog started to lift I wanted to take in all the clarity, and I believed the more distance I put the easier it would be to comprehend. I am afraid that I was incorrect. The more time that passes the less sense I can make. The pain still jabs and I want to cry for those days yesterday, and now I want to cry for those days tomorrow. I found a new pain...the growing kind.
Anya has gone from tettering to running in moments. She gives tude and responds to what she's asked to do even though she can't really talk back. Her grunts and screams and limited sign language at a minimum help us to meander through the new connections her brain makes, and by the way I think we're getting close to those first words. She's developed a personality with a rainbow of color with her squishy smile and belly giggles. She takes running leaps and crashes to the floor; she tastes food, discarding what she doesn't like that moment as dog food - yet chooses to sneak dog food out of the bowl as a treat; she gives hugs and kisses, then turns biting, pinching and pulling like Jekyll and Hyde.
This little creature never stops.
Hubby got a part time job (thank the universe!), and maybe now the financial devestation can start to rebuild - just before total ruin. We're adjusting to the new schedule. She loves her Wednesday nanny; and, we love our Wednesday nanny. Freyja on the other hand is making the day a little too noisy, and we hope she adjusts to our weekly house guest soon - who wants a bark collar! The daily routine changes so there is never a bored blink, making it very difficult to get Anya's routine set. Poor kid, no wonder she's become so demanding. Poor mom and dad really.
Work is work and most days I have to remind myself that without my job Anya will have to live in a box under the county line bridge. Not an option. I still hate being away from her. I miss so much, and I think some of her lashing out at me is because she doesn't get enough time with me. I feel guilty. I don't want to be super mom nor do I need to be. I just want to be mom right now. But life sees it differently.
I catch myself having to change the song on the radio, like when Live, Lightening Crashes, comes on, because the words make my heart hurt. I have to change the channel on my favorite shows, like CSI and Criminal Minds, because they remind me of the dangers out there. I want revolution for this; I want to bitch smack that person; I think this person deserves the chair (mind you I'm anti-death penalty); I fear that natural disasters might separate me from my child or I can't get to her; there is terror when I think about someone grabbing her in that second I blinked; I can't stand stupidity. Now none of this paralyzes me as it did before, but Im becoming hyper vigilant...just as exhasuting.
I've got myself on good vitamins. I've started dancing again, and even got a gig teaching belly dance once a week. Who would have thought. I have to admit I needed that confidence boost. Now if I'm working out at home or lesson planning Anya tries to mimick me or turns off the TV video.
I do feel much more human than I have in 2 years. I am forcing my body to move even when it hurts...sometimes I win. A sense of humor, one of my prodigal sentiments, started to assimilate back into my emotional responses. Wow that feels good. I don't like being so serious. Maybe it's just that I can partake freely of my vodka and coffee again. What ever it is...thank you...my family thanks you...and maybe my friends will like me again. It's clean up time.
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