So my experiment has failed and the answer is, no, 1 voice cannot be heard in a crowd of a billion. Pity, really, I was looking forward to some good debate and action-oriented sentiment and a bit if a rally. I'm not that surprised, honestly, zombies are too self-absorbed to listen for that falling tree.
Post Partum evokes a cloud and suffocating and general confusion and fear. Regular misery and sorrow bring about something slightly different - similar to emotions on ADD. Once again I am faced with the fragile reality of my state of mind (or self - as the case may be). For the duration of my working life I have always, when the opportunity existed, taken the last two weeks of the year as vacation, a time to recharge, my summer vacation - since I never can afford to take holiday in the sunshine. I have worked for the same person for 13 of these working years and have always taken this time off. Suddenly, after two months prior approval, five days before my much anticipated vacation is about to begin, I am informed that it is unusual for him to have approved 2 weeks since he feels it's a support hole and feels that I need to warm a seat. Now mind you I have a company supplied blackberry and laptop and am very reachable in the event that something cannot wait for my return. I am, to say the least, devastated.
I have earned the support of my boss over years of hard work, determination and dedication. The only time in my life that I have been a less than stellar employee was during the throes of my post partum suffering. I have worked double time since then, been available 24/7, cancelled vacation days, worked while sick, at 10 pm, during dinner, while I had plans with my daughter...you name it I have bent over front and back to prove that I am and have worth (contrary to what resembled a preformance appraisal during post partum hell). I know the man is busy, but this is no way to treat a valued employee who has earned the time she is entitled to, he has stopped listening to the world around him, become so PC as to be un-PC. After 13 years, wouldn't I have known of a 1 week at a time rule? After 13 years, and 5 years in the same position, wouldn't we have this all worked out by now?
I spent the day in between tears and confusion yesterday. I spent my evening in between anger and deep breaths. I spent my night tossing and turning and generally suffocating and becoming frozen in the tundra of the new American Life. I tuned into some old friends that kept me company in the darkness of my search for me, the death of my father, my education. I wallowed in the comforting place of music and memories. This morning I drove into work with A Perfect Circle at top volume blanking my brain to allow some numbness to cleanse my thoughts. I'm sitting here at my desk with a resentment and scorn for a person I have always respected and valued and a job I used to love. I don't have any more to give.
I'm tired of being sad and unhappy. I'm exhausted to my core. Some days I don't feel like it's worth it, and if it wasn't for my little angel I wouldn't make it to see the dawn. And then I get it. Or think I may. My working problems only began with my pregnancy and have continued since. A friend asked if I am perhaps giving less than I used to or is it obvious that my priority is no longer work. The answer is no, I work harder and longer, but perhaps the flaw is not in my work but in someone else's perception of a working mom. I'm afraid to step here. This is territory that screams danger. Usually I take that step because I like the good old fashion debate, pushing the envelope to remind people to think and use logic and reality to stop being controlled and led blindly, and to make sure that the little person is not stepped on and beaten down. But here...I am most afraid. The implications are serious and the fall out too dangerous for my family that is already one breath away from drowning.
14 December 2010
10 December 2010
Can One Voice be Heard in a Crowd of Billions
I used to laugh or ignore my sisters and friends when they talked about zombies and the recent onslaught of zombie movies and chachkies and whatnots, not to mention the fabulous "How to Survive a Zombie Attack" posters available to all interested parties. Then I begin to think...what a perfect metaphor for what I see has become of the US citizen. And I am not excluded from this generalized statement either.
We are fat and lazy and removed from all sense of the community of earthlings let alone residents of the country. I'm the last person to claim I am patriotic, and this, my friends, has N.O.T.H.I.N.G. to do with patriotizm, but instead a call to empathy and compassion and respect for humankind. Technology has enabled us to remove ourselves from the reality of the human plight and reinforce we are but the cancer of the earth. We can sit behind a screen and keyboard and say, "O yeah, I'm against that" or "I will join you in your cyber-world sit in" and just hit send to donate money or food or goods to those in need. But what this does is remove our soul and consciousness of the darkness that we are creating. We don't realize that the donation is going to our neighbor's house, or that arguement has gotten physical, or that kid just joined a gang because he's afraid of what tomorrow with bring - we turn our heads and go back to our games, and songs, and movies, and virtual world and tune out - we no longer need Leary's Tune Out opiates. We've lost sight of our community and the living breathing web that we live and that when one strand breaks it will affect the entire delicate foundation.
I challenge you to go to that soup kitchen and serve the food, volunteer at an orphanage and spend quality time with the youth of tomorrow, report the pet abuse or spousal abuse or child abuse or rape or car jacking! Connect with your human kind. Stop letting fear and ignorance destroy what has made us unique. This is by no means a Pay it Forward sentiment. This is meant as a lifestyle adjustment - one action, though it can make a difference, must be repeated for a total change to occur: a return to community. We suffer the consequense of our own needs to be special and have something and be someone and appear a certain way...instead all this has done is make us all the same, and useless. I remember my grandmother saying it takes a village to raise a child...and being a new monther I now understand that concept. We have been foolish with our drive to be independent and separate ourselves from our roots, our DNA our history. Humans have made it this far because we worked together and for each other. The further we slip away from what makes us human the more we have become the zombies.
We the people have also lost sight of WE THE PEOPLE. By no means do I single out a president, congress, House, Senate, Commissions, Associations, State, Local...I blame ALL of them. The agenda no longer concerns itself with THE PEOPLE, but a person or group or flippant ideology: a distraction from the important issues. America was built as a new land to include personal, religious, and many other freedoms as a RIGHT, not a luxury. Machiavelli was not invited to this new land...yet I look around and see his Prince everywhere.
I overhear one person say, "O you can't say that or you'll get put on a list," or my favorite, "I wouldn't go and say that...you might make them mad and they'll (insert verb here) and ruin it for the rest of us." WE THE PEOPLE are afraid. We are being governed by fear. We don't need to opiate our masses...although we seem to keep the pharmas in business these days...we are sheep, zombies, fearful little creatures who can't stand up and fight anymore. We sometimes picket and sign petitions and babble to our neighbor...but we don't DO anything. We assume it could be worse or it'll work out somehow or we accept that our fight is meaningless or won't make a difference in the end. We bicker and bumble around in circles always chasing our proverbial tail. We as humankind have devolved while our machinery now houses more intelligence and control and sophistication.
Consider our modern day entertainment and our obsession with "reality" TV, which thankfully is waning from our mainstream channels. We focus on pitting one person against another, glamourizing what should be considered in poor taste, disgusting and disrespectful. We no longer respect anyone including ourselves. We unashamedly cheer on the lowest form of human behavior and then make them role models for the next generation - my apologies to the Snookie and Situation fans. I'm all for sex, drugs and rock n roll, foul language, and pushing the envelope, yet there is a point when we've taken it to an extreme and have set the bar so low that the world sits back and laughs at what should be our shame. People should be free to be who they are; no one should judge based on race, religion, weight, sexual preference or any other difference, therefore, why glamorize the hate of it all.
Our media outlets sensationalize the small stuff and make issue where there should be none. They contribute to the fear mongering of our leaders. We fled the princes and kings and monarchs and oligarchs that behaved in these tyrannical and hypocritical and demoralizing ways - how could we welcome these symbols back into our lives. The News, as it is called, runs ADD segments of horor and misery in a tone that elicits the worst emotional response. No wonder we all have panic anxiety disorder and live in a perpatual state of depression and manic expression. We hear of this shooting and that death and this fire and that accident and this weapon and that funeral and this storm and that economic bomb and this riot and that disease and this loss and that loss and I could go on with every negative imagry available at my disposal. And the happy children who received gifts from Toys for Tots get 15 seconds until we are redirected to the local amber alert. What SHAME. The Media fuels the fear so that we remain puppets and zombies. All the news stations say "exclusive:" All our magazines claim "best results." All our commercials state "may cause serious side effects." Yet we follow like fools, unquestioning, afraid with eyes faced downward.
You ask, "Well do you have any answers or resolutions?" Or you ask, "What what the hell are you actually doing about it then?!" Have you mummbled, "I'm not fat, lazy, a zombie or otherwise." Or maybe you are calling me an idiot or liberal or far something. I choose to call myself me. I don't care if you like me, agree or disagree with me. I just want to know if one voice can be heard in a crowd of billons.
We are fat and lazy and removed from all sense of the community of earthlings let alone residents of the country. I'm the last person to claim I am patriotic, and this, my friends, has N.O.T.H.I.N.G. to do with patriotizm, but instead a call to empathy and compassion and respect for humankind. Technology has enabled us to remove ourselves from the reality of the human plight and reinforce we are but the cancer of the earth. We can sit behind a screen and keyboard and say, "O yeah, I'm against that" or "I will join you in your cyber-world sit in" and just hit send to donate money or food or goods to those in need. But what this does is remove our soul and consciousness of the darkness that we are creating. We don't realize that the donation is going to our neighbor's house, or that arguement has gotten physical, or that kid just joined a gang because he's afraid of what tomorrow with bring - we turn our heads and go back to our games, and songs, and movies, and virtual world and tune out - we no longer need Leary's Tune Out opiates. We've lost sight of our community and the living breathing web that we live and that when one strand breaks it will affect the entire delicate foundation.
I challenge you to go to that soup kitchen and serve the food, volunteer at an orphanage and spend quality time with the youth of tomorrow, report the pet abuse or spousal abuse or child abuse or rape or car jacking! Connect with your human kind. Stop letting fear and ignorance destroy what has made us unique. This is by no means a Pay it Forward sentiment. This is meant as a lifestyle adjustment - one action, though it can make a difference, must be repeated for a total change to occur: a return to community. We suffer the consequense of our own needs to be special and have something and be someone and appear a certain way...instead all this has done is make us all the same, and useless. I remember my grandmother saying it takes a village to raise a child...and being a new monther I now understand that concept. We have been foolish with our drive to be independent and separate ourselves from our roots, our DNA our history. Humans have made it this far because we worked together and for each other. The further we slip away from what makes us human the more we have become the zombies.
We the people have also lost sight of WE THE PEOPLE. By no means do I single out a president, congress, House, Senate, Commissions, Associations, State, Local...I blame ALL of them. The agenda no longer concerns itself with THE PEOPLE, but a person or group or flippant ideology: a distraction from the important issues. America was built as a new land to include personal, religious, and many other freedoms as a RIGHT, not a luxury. Machiavelli was not invited to this new land...yet I look around and see his Prince everywhere.
I overhear one person say, "O you can't say that or you'll get put on a list," or my favorite, "I wouldn't go and say that...you might make them mad and they'll (insert verb here) and ruin it for the rest of us." WE THE PEOPLE are afraid. We are being governed by fear. We don't need to opiate our masses...although we seem to keep the pharmas in business these days...we are sheep, zombies, fearful little creatures who can't stand up and fight anymore. We sometimes picket and sign petitions and babble to our neighbor...but we don't DO anything. We assume it could be worse or it'll work out somehow or we accept that our fight is meaningless or won't make a difference in the end. We bicker and bumble around in circles always chasing our proverbial tail. We as humankind have devolved while our machinery now houses more intelligence and control and sophistication.
Consider our modern day entertainment and our obsession with "reality" TV, which thankfully is waning from our mainstream channels. We focus on pitting one person against another, glamourizing what should be considered in poor taste, disgusting and disrespectful. We no longer respect anyone including ourselves. We unashamedly cheer on the lowest form of human behavior and then make them role models for the next generation - my apologies to the Snookie and Situation fans. I'm all for sex, drugs and rock n roll, foul language, and pushing the envelope, yet there is a point when we've taken it to an extreme and have set the bar so low that the world sits back and laughs at what should be our shame. People should be free to be who they are; no one should judge based on race, religion, weight, sexual preference or any other difference, therefore, why glamorize the hate of it all.
Our media outlets sensationalize the small stuff and make issue where there should be none. They contribute to the fear mongering of our leaders. We fled the princes and kings and monarchs and oligarchs that behaved in these tyrannical and hypocritical and demoralizing ways - how could we welcome these symbols back into our lives. The News, as it is called, runs ADD segments of horor and misery in a tone that elicits the worst emotional response. No wonder we all have panic anxiety disorder and live in a perpatual state of depression and manic expression. We hear of this shooting and that death and this fire and that accident and this weapon and that funeral and this storm and that economic bomb and this riot and that disease and this loss and that loss and I could go on with every negative imagry available at my disposal. And the happy children who received gifts from Toys for Tots get 15 seconds until we are redirected to the local amber alert. What SHAME. The Media fuels the fear so that we remain puppets and zombies. All the news stations say "exclusive:" All our magazines claim "best results." All our commercials state "may cause serious side effects." Yet we follow like fools, unquestioning, afraid with eyes faced downward.
You ask, "Well do you have any answers or resolutions?" Or you ask, "What what the hell are you actually doing about it then?!" Have you mummbled, "I'm not fat, lazy, a zombie or otherwise." Or maybe you are calling me an idiot or liberal or far something. I choose to call myself me. I don't care if you like me, agree or disagree with me. I just want to know if one voice can be heard in a crowd of billons.
08 December 2010
Of Mice and Moors
Romeo and Juliet - star crossed lovers - destined for destruction and misery...no Cinderella tale for them. And I begin contemplate Disney versus Shakespeare.
Both Juliet and Cinderella were high born, and both were banned from their love. Romeo from perhaps the other side of the tracks or the opposing palace, depending on whose interpretation you ascribe, and Prince Charming, ruler of the kingdom. Why does Cinderella live happily ever after, but Juliet suffer death and pain? Is Disney to blame for our perpetual belief that it will all work out in the end or that we will find gold at the end of the rainbow? Was Shakespeare the realist that kept the population in check from run-away fantasies and behavior?
The comparisons and contradictions zip around behind my eyes. I'm not able to focus...so I wonder...am I to be Juliet or Cinderella.
I always tell my husband that if it's not worth fighting for it isn't worth anything at all, and I believe we are worth fighting for. Then he replies that he doesn't believe in fighting for anything, you should just walk away - this coming from a man with some anger issues that have been a source of legal trouble for him in the past - does he even know who he is. There in lies the fundamental difference in our foundations. By nature I am a peacemaker, but when it comes to something I believe in my battle gear comes out. Perhaps I should look to our modern love stories as well if I am going to blame our books and movies on our perceptions...in today's world we always see the guy fighting to win over his lady. We consider this chivalrous and manly and honorable because those that don't always lose. We say this is romance and that is what it's all about. So again we have the venus versus mars syndrome.
It takes 2 to make any relationship work, but not 50/50. A wise person once explained to me that a relationship is 70/30...at any time one person is pulling 70 and the other 30, then at another time it is reversed. So why then do we perpetually expect 50/50...come on now...this has nothing to do with equality. So when trying to maintain the relationship and survive the hurdles life throws does someone throw in the towel instead of pulling their 70 (or 30) percent of the current burden. We all need a hand at some point...and aren't you supposed to be able to rely on your better half?
I'm so tired of the lemons....I hate lemonade. I don't really feel I have the right to complain since there are others far worse off than I and with situations out of a nightmare instead of daily life dredgery. I will allow myself the disappointment and saddness though...I am human. Time to eat an apple or prick my finger or something like that....I'm keeping away from the damned spots because they never end well.
Both Juliet and Cinderella were high born, and both were banned from their love. Romeo from perhaps the other side of the tracks or the opposing palace, depending on whose interpretation you ascribe, and Prince Charming, ruler of the kingdom. Why does Cinderella live happily ever after, but Juliet suffer death and pain? Is Disney to blame for our perpetual belief that it will all work out in the end or that we will find gold at the end of the rainbow? Was Shakespeare the realist that kept the population in check from run-away fantasies and behavior?
The comparisons and contradictions zip around behind my eyes. I'm not able to focus...so I wonder...am I to be Juliet or Cinderella.
I always tell my husband that if it's not worth fighting for it isn't worth anything at all, and I believe we are worth fighting for. Then he replies that he doesn't believe in fighting for anything, you should just walk away - this coming from a man with some anger issues that have been a source of legal trouble for him in the past - does he even know who he is. There in lies the fundamental difference in our foundations. By nature I am a peacemaker, but when it comes to something I believe in my battle gear comes out. Perhaps I should look to our modern love stories as well if I am going to blame our books and movies on our perceptions...in today's world we always see the guy fighting to win over his lady. We consider this chivalrous and manly and honorable because those that don't always lose. We say this is romance and that is what it's all about. So again we have the venus versus mars syndrome.
It takes 2 to make any relationship work, but not 50/50. A wise person once explained to me that a relationship is 70/30...at any time one person is pulling 70 and the other 30, then at another time it is reversed. So why then do we perpetually expect 50/50...come on now...this has nothing to do with equality. So when trying to maintain the relationship and survive the hurdles life throws does someone throw in the towel instead of pulling their 70 (or 30) percent of the current burden. We all need a hand at some point...and aren't you supposed to be able to rely on your better half?
I'm so tired of the lemons....I hate lemonade. I don't really feel I have the right to complain since there are others far worse off than I and with situations out of a nightmare instead of daily life dredgery. I will allow myself the disappointment and saddness though...I am human. Time to eat an apple or prick my finger or something like that....I'm keeping away from the damned spots because they never end well.
Assholeness Part Deux
Today's world is unique and our generation is suffering the consequenses of it's own design. We grew up in the opiated 70s and prosperous 80s and tech revolution. We have access to information and distractions that our grandparents couldn't even dream. We are now the ones raising disrespectful, selfish children and don't take resposibility or accept blame for anything and we pass that onto to the next generation in the process. We behave like spoiled brats that are owed something. Admittedly, I'm guilty of the I've earned it mentality myself. We have no community and we stand up for nothing or only in word, not action. Take, for instance, all our Facebook status adventures...do we believe that we are making a difference just by saying so. We are dumb, stupid, ignorant and arrogant. Our easy lifestyles have made zombies out of us all.
Women are entering the workforce in droves. The unemployment of America has hit everyone, but our men seem to cry poor me...I am man and now I feel emasculated. Some blame their women, some the government, but none stop for a second to ponder their part in this puzzle. We are greedy and selfish as a people. We don't care about anyone, including ourselves. We feast on cakes and wine and must have things, instead of remembering what's important in life...life itself. We can't take things with us. Frankly, we don't even know if there is a place beyond here. Things are fleeting and easy: instant gratification and temporary happiness. The love I have for my daughter can never be described or replaced or explained. The emotions I have for those people who bless my life in many different ways makes the hardships seem bareable.
I cannot take anyone elses blame any longer. I cannot accept anyone elses cranial malfunctions another minute. I cannot carry the world one more breath. I didn't hear Atlas got laid off, and really...you can't outsource his job.
Women are entering the workforce in droves. The unemployment of America has hit everyone, but our men seem to cry poor me...I am man and now I feel emasculated. Some blame their women, some the government, but none stop for a second to ponder their part in this puzzle. We are greedy and selfish as a people. We don't care about anyone, including ourselves. We feast on cakes and wine and must have things, instead of remembering what's important in life...life itself. We can't take things with us. Frankly, we don't even know if there is a place beyond here. Things are fleeting and easy: instant gratification and temporary happiness. The love I have for my daughter can never be described or replaced or explained. The emotions I have for those people who bless my life in many different ways makes the hardships seem bareable.
I cannot take anyone elses blame any longer. I cannot accept anyone elses cranial malfunctions another minute. I cannot carry the world one more breath. I didn't hear Atlas got laid off, and really...you can't outsource his job.
I'm not letting general assholeness ruin my holidays
I'm still here. Long vacation, eh...lost a little in life's labrynth. I could apologize, but really I don't have to. I've wanted so many times to drop in and leave a note...but I found I was too happy to write, too tired to elaborate, too angry to articulate, just not today. Today, however, I feel the need to complain, generally vent, be the ass I am and share my dirty laundry.
When is something unfixable? I mean...at what point do you just decide that it's broken beyond repair or the previous repairs haven't fixed the problem? So you have this old car that you love; it's been your best friend through cold winter snow storms and hot summers to the shore, you've belted out dance tunes and sad songs inside it's metal protection on your crusing getaways, but you dump money into every month...when do you send it to the car graveyard and buy a new one? Or when do you decide it's not even worth donating...just chuck it? I'm a tosser. My parents were pack rats so I keep very little and it has to have extreme sentimental value (even then I can sometimes justify the decluttering). So I apparently don't really know how to translate that to my life outside of "things." So I ponder...I would never toss out my child even though I have to leave the room to catch my breath and count to ten sometimes. Or my pets even with their costs and frustrations when they pee outside the litterbox or scratch up the rug. Or my sisters or mother or my family in general if they are having turmoil that conflicts. Or my friends even if they offend me at times. So why then would I even consider that for my partner?
I keep promises. I make committments firmly and dedicate to their fullfillment - sometimes even to my detriment. I believe in sanctity and partnership. I know in this world we need togetherness just to survive these times and is a fulfilling part of life...at least in my perspective. I don't do anything half hearted either: I do it completely or not at all. I'm fully capable of taking care of myself. I'm willful, strong, independent to a flaw and know that I don't need anyone but myself...but I want to share my life, love, desires, hurts, beliefs with someone. It's not about not wanting to be alone...it's about not being selfish like these times glorify.
I don't glorify much. Least of all the trials of life and family and motherhood. I know these require work and patience and a will to work through the hard times. I believe that if it comes easy it usually isn't worth much. I don't give up either. I fight to the death so to speak. Maybe...maybe that's it. Maybe this battle has been going on longer than I knew and the warriors are spent and littering the field with their rotten carcases and stinking up the place. And now the remaining knights must retreat limping and bleeding and wander nowhereland since their home has been destroyed beyond repair.
PArt of me says that everything is fixable. Do you rebuild or find a new home?
When is something unfixable? I mean...at what point do you just decide that it's broken beyond repair or the previous repairs haven't fixed the problem? So you have this old car that you love; it's been your best friend through cold winter snow storms and hot summers to the shore, you've belted out dance tunes and sad songs inside it's metal protection on your crusing getaways, but you dump money into every month...when do you send it to the car graveyard and buy a new one? Or when do you decide it's not even worth donating...just chuck it? I'm a tosser. My parents were pack rats so I keep very little and it has to have extreme sentimental value (even then I can sometimes justify the decluttering). So I apparently don't really know how to translate that to my life outside of "things." So I ponder...I would never toss out my child even though I have to leave the room to catch my breath and count to ten sometimes. Or my pets even with their costs and frustrations when they pee outside the litterbox or scratch up the rug. Or my sisters or mother or my family in general if they are having turmoil that conflicts. Or my friends even if they offend me at times. So why then would I even consider that for my partner?
I keep promises. I make committments firmly and dedicate to their fullfillment - sometimes even to my detriment. I believe in sanctity and partnership. I know in this world we need togetherness just to survive these times and is a fulfilling part of life...at least in my perspective. I don't do anything half hearted either: I do it completely or not at all. I'm fully capable of taking care of myself. I'm willful, strong, independent to a flaw and know that I don't need anyone but myself...but I want to share my life, love, desires, hurts, beliefs with someone. It's not about not wanting to be alone...it's about not being selfish like these times glorify.
I don't glorify much. Least of all the trials of life and family and motherhood. I know these require work and patience and a will to work through the hard times. I believe that if it comes easy it usually isn't worth much. I don't give up either. I fight to the death so to speak. Maybe...maybe that's it. Maybe this battle has been going on longer than I knew and the warriors are spent and littering the field with their rotten carcases and stinking up the place. And now the remaining knights must retreat limping and bleeding and wander nowhereland since their home has been destroyed beyond repair.
PArt of me says that everything is fixable. Do you rebuild or find a new home?
21 July 2010
The Birth of Zadyra
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.
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.
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.
28 April 2010
Stupidity the in-thing
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.
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.
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