I've awoken to the realization that I'm a borg designed technology zombie with conversion swift and painless via time vampires and ADD villians. The fight is on! And how might you ask I'm planning on defeating the evil empire that has captured my soul? Not so easy I can assure you. Silent baby steps, I cannot allert myself to the slight adjustments I'm making or the ripple effect will be violent.
Step 1: Disengage from all FB games - except one to pass slow times at the office;
Step 2: Purchase book and read it - not to be used for paperweight or wedge;
Step 3: Turn away from shiny screens via above mentioned literary device;
Step 4: Blog more often replacing journal of the 20th century - some technology is a must so as not to be tricked again by said modern evil;
Step 6: Only check blackberry twice when not in the office - the world will not end, I am not the keeper of the button;
Step 7: ...I've said too much already...
I am tired all the time. I am busy all the time. I constantly feel forced to connect. Most of this forced feeling is self inflicted, but some is a direct result of brainwashing...resistance will not be futile.
Stay tuned for updates from the Resistance...
14 February 2011
07 February 2011
A Heinous Beast
I'm not sure why I'm writing this morning: perhaps it's an insomnia induced stupor; maybe I don't feel like focusing on my work yet, or maybe this will never make it to publish. In any case...my head is bleary and achy and my joints are on fire: I'm tired and having a high-level pain day...um...yay...not.
4am...my eyes popped open like a rolling shade. I thought it may have been my 5:45 wake up time and I had successfully slept through the night. Not so. I looked to my side and Anya nestled deep into my ribs, but no toes in my nose or knees in my throat. I listened for the ridiculously loud neighbors in hopes that their rustling and bickering woke me. But alas no. Awake. I tossed around and snuggled and cuddled and messed with the covers and the pillows: no sleep for me this night. Sometime after 5 I dozed off...5:50...alarm...thwap.
I know why I can't sleep. I feel stress and fear nibbling and chomping at my brain. The house, my job, feeling like we are both single parents passing at odd hours with a cordial hello and goodbye, the laundry, changing over Anya’s next size clothes, my aging body, my car, the lack of a means to function financially: the circling vultures sqwak and scream while the clock pendulum swings back and forth. Is it a sink hole, quicksand, the earth's edge, a black hole? I don't really care what analogy or metaphor gets used - the reality of this awful place and feelings keep even the vampires out.
I want to begin a tirade on modern society and the destruction of the family and community and the corruption of what we call capitalism and democracy in this modern society. But that pales in comparison to what aches in me today. I want to beg for miracles for those I love who are facing the pain and agony of illnesses that our modern world mass produces. I cry thinking of my dear friends suffering like my father did...their plight tears open old wounds and I hurt for them like I did my father. I have no strength left. I hear my father whimper when he thought no one was near, "Why? Why me?" And trail off into sobs. I think of my friends now as the mothers we have become and my heart aches as they look into their child's eyes, holding strong. I cannot comprehend their strength. I am proud to call them my friends and those I look up to.
The empath in me hopes that no one faces the world alone, without hope and love. That when the night seems darkest we know that we live, adventure and laugh together. That even though some moments we feel and face alone that we are still joined together by the passing of our breaths. I'm not the praying kind, but if there is some great omnipotent being, I want to have faith that it is not a cruel being, thriving on our suffering and pain. Yet it is so easy to blame some unknown for our misery; it must offer us comfort as a justification or grand plan to our plight. Or we develop platitudes and clichés to make sense of it all. Having watched my father suffer day by day, hour to hour my venom towards all the fluffies is immeasurable.
I know that no amount of words or hugs makes it better. I know that the pain is so deep that it is untouchable. I know that the fear conquers the most rational being. I know it makes no sense.
4am...my eyes popped open like a rolling shade. I thought it may have been my 5:45 wake up time and I had successfully slept through the night. Not so. I looked to my side and Anya nestled deep into my ribs, but no toes in my nose or knees in my throat. I listened for the ridiculously loud neighbors in hopes that their rustling and bickering woke me. But alas no. Awake. I tossed around and snuggled and cuddled and messed with the covers and the pillows: no sleep for me this night. Sometime after 5 I dozed off...5:50...alarm...thwap.
I know why I can't sleep. I feel stress and fear nibbling and chomping at my brain. The house, my job, feeling like we are both single parents passing at odd hours with a cordial hello and goodbye, the laundry, changing over Anya’s next size clothes, my aging body, my car, the lack of a means to function financially: the circling vultures sqwak and scream while the clock pendulum swings back and forth. Is it a sink hole, quicksand, the earth's edge, a black hole? I don't really care what analogy or metaphor gets used - the reality of this awful place and feelings keep even the vampires out.
I want to begin a tirade on modern society and the destruction of the family and community and the corruption of what we call capitalism and democracy in this modern society. But that pales in comparison to what aches in me today. I want to beg for miracles for those I love who are facing the pain and agony of illnesses that our modern world mass produces. I cry thinking of my dear friends suffering like my father did...their plight tears open old wounds and I hurt for them like I did my father. I have no strength left. I hear my father whimper when he thought no one was near, "Why? Why me?" And trail off into sobs. I think of my friends now as the mothers we have become and my heart aches as they look into their child's eyes, holding strong. I cannot comprehend their strength. I am proud to call them my friends and those I look up to.
The empath in me hopes that no one faces the world alone, without hope and love. That when the night seems darkest we know that we live, adventure and laugh together. That even though some moments we feel and face alone that we are still joined together by the passing of our breaths. I'm not the praying kind, but if there is some great omnipotent being, I want to have faith that it is not a cruel being, thriving on our suffering and pain. Yet it is so easy to blame some unknown for our misery; it must offer us comfort as a justification or grand plan to our plight. Or we develop platitudes and clichés to make sense of it all. Having watched my father suffer day by day, hour to hour my venom towards all the fluffies is immeasurable.
I know that no amount of words or hugs makes it better. I know that the pain is so deep that it is untouchable. I know that the fear conquers the most rational being. I know it makes no sense.
03 February 2011
The Bog of Eternal Stench
So....fucking...tired...snore. What the hell? In an attempt to placate my husband I once again ventured to get Anya to sleep in her crib. After a month of puking and screaming at the idea that we expected her to slumber in her own bed and, therefore, sleeping with mommy (or daddy some nights), we had to get her back into her crib. We took Anya upstairs together and with hugs and kisses Rich left Anya and I to our goondnight routine. Anya and I sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and I Love You and and one round of Wheels on the Bus. Anya laid back to snuggle and finish her milk and I returned the cuddles. When the yawning, rubbing of the eyes, and nesting into the crook of my arm started I knew it was time.
I scooped up all 24 point whatever pounds of toddler and not as gently as I would've liked placed her into her crib - yes I put the side back up earlier in the day. "I love you sweetpea," and I swept toward the door. "Mooooommy, mom mommy mommy mom no mommy mommy pleash pleash mommy...." And here we go. I stood by her crib and let her hug me while I rubbed her back. "You are a big girl and need to sleep in your bed." "NOOOOO mommy pleesh," she continued to wail. Slowly over the next hour I step by step retreated...I refused to pick her up...she's not going to get me this time. I went from hugs over the rail to aloof and not touching her slowly, but giving her kisses on her head every now and then for some comfort. Eventually the tears stopped and she just clung to whatever part of me she could reach over the rail. She sucked her thumb and I thought started drifting off on her feet. She even laid down a few times and I thought, "WIN!" But as soon as her head hit the pillow the mommy pleeshes started all over again.
I was exhausted and heart broken that I was putting her though this, but knew I needed to be the mommy and make some of the rules. I kissed her and hugged her and finally said, "Good night, Anya." As I started for the door...I knew the pitch...that wail...the alarm...that tone...I picked her up quickly and said, "Anya don't you dare....." HHhthwwwaaaaaa muuuuppptt blooooosh all over me, her and the bedroom. If I hadn't been witness to this vomit factor for over a month now only at into-your-own-bed time I would think maybe she's sick, her tummy hurts, or awww poor baby, but, no, that is not the case. My mother snickers at my disgust saying, "You did that to me until I gave you a spoon and said eat it." Whether or not my mother was truely that sinister I don't remember, but I'd try it if I thought it would work too.
Rich got the shampooer and spray and plastic bags and paper towels and helped me strip Anya and myself of milk flavored wretch. I stiffled back my dry heaves, but only due to the ferocity of my anger. I felt like a failure. How could this be happening? Why can't I a) get my daughter to sleep in her own bed, and b) be a mom and deal with the puke myself. I felt defeated and deflated and incapable and beaten; all after an evening long feud with my husband to boot. A wave of anxiety and sadness and betrayal and fear clung to my soul as Anya and I got into the tub to clean up. She wouldn't let me put her down. She screamed and shook and pleaded for me to hold her. I tried reasoning with this scared little peanut, "I can't wash us if I hold you." Rich yelled at me for scaring her, for being less than a caring mommy, for being mad and upset that I was tired, in pain, vomited on, and emotionally spent before bedtime even began. There I was holding a sniffling toddler, wreaking of puke, and the water ran cooler and cooler until...FUCK!
For a change Rich had a hot relaxing shower before his own bedtime, and as irnony has it, we needed that hot water. I had to turn the water off, still holding Anya, I stepped out of the tub, under the heat fan and wrapped a few towels around Anya to keep her warm. She had stopped sobbing and shaking but clung to me as if it were the end of the world. We stood there dripping, in the center of the bathroom and the smell of vomit baking under the heat fan. I stared off into nothingness: broken and a shamed of my lack of motherness at the moment. I remember rocking for a bit and that my feet started hurting and my back was breaking. I tried to pry Anya off of me and lean her on the sink. Success but not without rebellion from the stinking bog machine. Eventually, 30 or 45 minutes later Rich boiled some water and directed my frozen wet stink into the tub with Anya. I washed her first and handed her out of the tub while I bathed like they did the year my house was built (for those not in the know the 1800s). At least I couldn't smell the stench any more.
Rich ran another round of cleaning product on Anya's room as I sat in a towel in the dining room in silence while Anya banged a concerto on the piano and giggled at herself. After all efforts to remove said vomit from Anya's room created a smog of chemicals Rich took Anya up to our bed to fall asleep and I dried my mop of maybe cleaned hair. My arrival to my room produced a sound asleep toddler, a drained spouse and anxiety. Rich went downstairs to clean himself up and watch some TV to cleans himself of the grossness and frustration. I crawled into bed bone chilled. Hour after I hour I stared at the clock, my feet felt dead of blood. I started getting reflux and couldn't get the rot of bile from my throat. 12, 1, 2, 3 I turned up the heat 2 degrees, put on 2 pairs of socks, and downed a gallon of milk and finally fell to sleep...all the while Anya off in dreamland without a stir.
I scooped up all 24 point whatever pounds of toddler and not as gently as I would've liked placed her into her crib - yes I put the side back up earlier in the day. "I love you sweetpea," and I swept toward the door. "Mooooommy, mom mommy mommy mom no mommy mommy pleash pleash mommy...." And here we go. I stood by her crib and let her hug me while I rubbed her back. "You are a big girl and need to sleep in your bed." "NOOOOO mommy pleesh," she continued to wail. Slowly over the next hour I step by step retreated...I refused to pick her up...she's not going to get me this time. I went from hugs over the rail to aloof and not touching her slowly, but giving her kisses on her head every now and then for some comfort. Eventually the tears stopped and she just clung to whatever part of me she could reach over the rail. She sucked her thumb and I thought started drifting off on her feet. She even laid down a few times and I thought, "WIN!" But as soon as her head hit the pillow the mommy pleeshes started all over again.
I was exhausted and heart broken that I was putting her though this, but knew I needed to be the mommy and make some of the rules. I kissed her and hugged her and finally said, "Good night, Anya." As I started for the door...I knew the pitch...that wail...the alarm...that tone...I picked her up quickly and said, "Anya don't you dare....." HHhthwwwaaaaaa muuuuppptt blooooosh all over me, her and the bedroom. If I hadn't been witness to this vomit factor for over a month now only at into-your-own-bed time I would think maybe she's sick, her tummy hurts, or awww poor baby, but, no, that is not the case. My mother snickers at my disgust saying, "You did that to me until I gave you a spoon and said eat it." Whether or not my mother was truely that sinister I don't remember, but I'd try it if I thought it would work too.
Rich got the shampooer and spray and plastic bags and paper towels and helped me strip Anya and myself of milk flavored wretch. I stiffled back my dry heaves, but only due to the ferocity of my anger. I felt like a failure. How could this be happening? Why can't I a) get my daughter to sleep in her own bed, and b) be a mom and deal with the puke myself. I felt defeated and deflated and incapable and beaten; all after an evening long feud with my husband to boot. A wave of anxiety and sadness and betrayal and fear clung to my soul as Anya and I got into the tub to clean up. She wouldn't let me put her down. She screamed and shook and pleaded for me to hold her. I tried reasoning with this scared little peanut, "I can't wash us if I hold you." Rich yelled at me for scaring her, for being less than a caring mommy, for being mad and upset that I was tired, in pain, vomited on, and emotionally spent before bedtime even began. There I was holding a sniffling toddler, wreaking of puke, and the water ran cooler and cooler until...FUCK!
For a change Rich had a hot relaxing shower before his own bedtime, and as irnony has it, we needed that hot water. I had to turn the water off, still holding Anya, I stepped out of the tub, under the heat fan and wrapped a few towels around Anya to keep her warm. She had stopped sobbing and shaking but clung to me as if it were the end of the world. We stood there dripping, in the center of the bathroom and the smell of vomit baking under the heat fan. I stared off into nothingness: broken and a shamed of my lack of motherness at the moment. I remember rocking for a bit and that my feet started hurting and my back was breaking. I tried to pry Anya off of me and lean her on the sink. Success but not without rebellion from the stinking bog machine. Eventually, 30 or 45 minutes later Rich boiled some water and directed my frozen wet stink into the tub with Anya. I washed her first and handed her out of the tub while I bathed like they did the year my house was built (for those not in the know the 1800s). At least I couldn't smell the stench any more.
Rich ran another round of cleaning product on Anya's room as I sat in a towel in the dining room in silence while Anya banged a concerto on the piano and giggled at herself. After all efforts to remove said vomit from Anya's room created a smog of chemicals Rich took Anya up to our bed to fall asleep and I dried my mop of maybe cleaned hair. My arrival to my room produced a sound asleep toddler, a drained spouse and anxiety. Rich went downstairs to clean himself up and watch some TV to cleans himself of the grossness and frustration. I crawled into bed bone chilled. Hour after I hour I stared at the clock, my feet felt dead of blood. I started getting reflux and couldn't get the rot of bile from my throat. 12, 1, 2, 3 I turned up the heat 2 degrees, put on 2 pairs of socks, and downed a gallon of milk and finally fell to sleep...all the while Anya off in dreamland without a stir.
01 February 2011
Double Negative
I feel verbally empty...bahahah...yeah like that is possible. In reality I just feel silent. It's not like I have nothing to say, but my voice betrays language currently. I am caught between an emerging me and the me of my yesterdays. It's not that I miss the concept of an old me, I feel lost in the whirl of the up-and-coming me.
I hear the philosopher echoing in the folds of grey within my skull; I sense the rage of a college student finding her principles; I see the strength of a mommy with convitions and hopes; I taste the honey of dreams; yet I smell the pain of age and financial strain and confusion. I envy the young...wait...what did I just say...young...when did I become not young?! I believe middle age came a knocking and my mommy brain didn't think to ignore the visitor as if it were a collections agent. What trickery! I am not mourning my pre-baby self, I am lamenting my youth. WTF! Now let's think for a minute...I am not old, but i am no longer young, and that my friend is a fact.
The saying goes with age comes wisdom. Raised to respect others, especially my elders - they've been there done that...they know a thing or two - I believed that saying whole-heartedly. Now I cynically view the general population as idiots that become more ignorant by the hour. Wisdom where for art thou? Deeply entrenched in the workforce my elders morphed into peers in a blink, and I find it difficult to respect these same people whom I looked up to when I witness bad behavior, disrespect, arrogance, rudeness, stupiditity, and I could go on, but will spare myself and you.
Every human is fragile. Perhaps by physical health, mental state, emotional situation, whatever their edge...there exists that moment when we realize that we are susceptible, gossamer beings. Our nature evolved, originally, by protecting each others threads, yet once we reached the pinnacle of compassion we began to spiral into de-evolution and capitolized on another's frailty...any fracture or spindle solicits an attack. I am disgusted.
I corrolate my disgust to age. It was ok to be an independent sprite in high school, an elitist in college, a powerhouse after graduation, but then somewhere along the way I pondered me. I shiver at the realization that at some moment I will no longer breath. I miss my little girl, husband, sisters, mother and the rest of family and friends to an ache much like missing my father. I understand the importance of a family and the courage of life and accept that priorities adjust and change and realign for good reason. What escapes my comprehension involves those that fail to grown themselves, see blindly, and travel life without looking outside. I also despise sheeple and hope that I can raise my daughter to not one herself....let's not go there today.
So...silence...oblivion...muteness...me? Yes. I find myself often in a place of polar points...at once verbal and assertive and contemplative and mute. At times I can stop myself from a tirade or blasting bandwagon and propoganda, then at others I crawl into my void and philosophize. I sometimes think I am too quiet, especially around my daughter. She evokes a depth of meditation that I cannot verbalize. I enjoy the smiles and cuddles, scoff at the defiance, and revel in motherhood...I fall profoundly into my abyss...which at the moment is a positive place.
Darkness need not be bad, scary, morbid, hurtful: it can offer healing, safety, realignment, comfort. I hear the pendulum mark the passing of the sand. I feel the pain of the dunes slowing me and the rocks weigh me, but I am far from my destination...yet I accept that the easiest of my days are behind me.
I hear the philosopher echoing in the folds of grey within my skull; I sense the rage of a college student finding her principles; I see the strength of a mommy with convitions and hopes; I taste the honey of dreams; yet I smell the pain of age and financial strain and confusion. I envy the young...wait...what did I just say...young...when did I become not young?! I believe middle age came a knocking and my mommy brain didn't think to ignore the visitor as if it were a collections agent. What trickery! I am not mourning my pre-baby self, I am lamenting my youth. WTF! Now let's think for a minute...I am not old, but i am no longer young, and that my friend is a fact.
The saying goes with age comes wisdom. Raised to respect others, especially my elders - they've been there done that...they know a thing or two - I believed that saying whole-heartedly. Now I cynically view the general population as idiots that become more ignorant by the hour. Wisdom where for art thou? Deeply entrenched in the workforce my elders morphed into peers in a blink, and I find it difficult to respect these same people whom I looked up to when I witness bad behavior, disrespect, arrogance, rudeness, stupiditity, and I could go on, but will spare myself and you.
Every human is fragile. Perhaps by physical health, mental state, emotional situation, whatever their edge...there exists that moment when we realize that we are susceptible, gossamer beings. Our nature evolved, originally, by protecting each others threads, yet once we reached the pinnacle of compassion we began to spiral into de-evolution and capitolized on another's frailty...any fracture or spindle solicits an attack. I am disgusted.
I corrolate my disgust to age. It was ok to be an independent sprite in high school, an elitist in college, a powerhouse after graduation, but then somewhere along the way I pondered me. I shiver at the realization that at some moment I will no longer breath. I miss my little girl, husband, sisters, mother and the rest of family and friends to an ache much like missing my father. I understand the importance of a family and the courage of life and accept that priorities adjust and change and realign for good reason. What escapes my comprehension involves those that fail to grown themselves, see blindly, and travel life without looking outside. I also despise sheeple and hope that I can raise my daughter to not one herself....let's not go there today.
So...silence...oblivion...muteness...me? Yes. I find myself often in a place of polar points...at once verbal and assertive and contemplative and mute. At times I can stop myself from a tirade or blasting bandwagon and propoganda, then at others I crawl into my void and philosophize. I sometimes think I am too quiet, especially around my daughter. She evokes a depth of meditation that I cannot verbalize. I enjoy the smiles and cuddles, scoff at the defiance, and revel in motherhood...I fall profoundly into my abyss...which at the moment is a positive place.
Darkness need not be bad, scary, morbid, hurtful: it can offer healing, safety, realignment, comfort. I hear the pendulum mark the passing of the sand. I feel the pain of the dunes slowing me and the rocks weigh me, but I am far from my destination...yet I accept that the easiest of my days are behind me.
04 January 2011
Sinterklaas
So I'm going to call a spade a spade and say, "Santa Day was so much fun!" Am I christian, pagan, aetheist, gnostic, buddist...I'm not really sure myself. The reality is that I like the story of Jesus' birth and the wise men and accept that Christmas is actually January 6th (christian), I decorate a tree and celebrate the solstice(pagan), I think December 25th is Santa Day (aetheist), I contemplate the goodwill and spirit of something greater (gnostic), and honestly my husband says I'm more buddist than he. I think Americans in general secularized this holiday, and I'm fine with that. The spirit of "Christmas" is possible every day of the year, but if we must only meditate on it once a year: I'll do it in December.
As I've grown older Christmas has lost some of its spark and luster: it became perfunctory. As a child I wondered at the secrets of Santa, awed at the ideas of Bethlehem and wise men, I swam in presents that made me smile and giggle. As a teen Christmas felt greedy and demanding because mom and dad didn't get me what I asked for and it was a counting game at the end of the day, but I couldn't underestimate the "feeling" of Christmas. After my father passed I picked up the slack for my mother and became Santa for my sisters. Then each year, whomever was financialy more stable did so. We were a family and Christmas was my dad's holiday, so we would keep him alive in its spirit. Then my thirties happened. What the hell is Christmas anyway...too much money, too much pressure, too much too much. Now suddenly Christmas is seeping back into my heart as I watched Anya's amazement at the wrapping paper, lights, gifts, and all day partying with her family. She was so caught up in excitment that she thought Ron and Audrey's new puppy was a present for her too.
My little Anastasia Grace looked at the pictures of her with Santa and says, "tanta," "stanta and beebee," or something of the sort. Opening her stocking was a hoot. She had no idea what to do. I sat on the floor with her and showed her to pull everything out. One at a time she loved each item. Opening presents was a whole other affair. The first taste of recklessness she truely experienced. She was afraid to rip up the paper and the OCDs we already instilled in her (parents of the year) about throwing trash away were comical as she tore teeny tiny pieces of paper and threw them out one at a time. By the end of the day she was ripping with abandon and eager for one more present. She was exhausted and overwhlemed and ecstatic all day. She made me giggle again.
I started drinking at nooish. Yay. I started to feel the stress of the holiday and nipped it quickly with some vodka and some more. I was loopy by 2, but still managed a wonderful ham and mashed potatoes, and yum on the gouda and provolone chianti spread and Chrissy's spinach dip was the bomb. We feasted throughout the day. Anya had cookies and snacks and turkey and o my. She was in her glory and I was so warm and fuzzy and happy that the "feeling" of Christmas was in my home. We played Dance Dance Revolution on the Wii and Anya jumped in her bouncy bounce and Freyja knawed on her bully sticks and everyone had smiles on their faces. I love that my family and Rich's family and our close friends return every year to share this day together.
Christmas came and went without major incident, at least none that I care to declare. Our visiting plans post Christmas were interrupted by a rare Northeast bizzard that snowed everyone in to the east, but left us with a sprinkling of irritation only. I was peeved for a moment, but decided that I spend all year running around so I shoudl enjoy the excuse to be a couch potato for a change. And so I did. I was sad when my mom had to go back home, and melancholy about my vacation coming to an end, but I can say that I enjoyed my holiday and my family and my life. Now next year Anya will ask to write Santa a letter...can't wait!
As I've grown older Christmas has lost some of its spark and luster: it became perfunctory. As a child I wondered at the secrets of Santa, awed at the ideas of Bethlehem and wise men, I swam in presents that made me smile and giggle. As a teen Christmas felt greedy and demanding because mom and dad didn't get me what I asked for and it was a counting game at the end of the day, but I couldn't underestimate the "feeling" of Christmas. After my father passed I picked up the slack for my mother and became Santa for my sisters. Then each year, whomever was financialy more stable did so. We were a family and Christmas was my dad's holiday, so we would keep him alive in its spirit. Then my thirties happened. What the hell is Christmas anyway...too much money, too much pressure, too much too much. Now suddenly Christmas is seeping back into my heart as I watched Anya's amazement at the wrapping paper, lights, gifts, and all day partying with her family. She was so caught up in excitment that she thought Ron and Audrey's new puppy was a present for her too.
My little Anastasia Grace looked at the pictures of her with Santa and says, "tanta," "stanta and beebee," or something of the sort. Opening her stocking was a hoot. She had no idea what to do. I sat on the floor with her and showed her to pull everything out. One at a time she loved each item. Opening presents was a whole other affair. The first taste of recklessness she truely experienced. She was afraid to rip up the paper and the OCDs we already instilled in her (parents of the year) about throwing trash away were comical as she tore teeny tiny pieces of paper and threw them out one at a time. By the end of the day she was ripping with abandon and eager for one more present. She was exhausted and overwhlemed and ecstatic all day. She made me giggle again.
I started drinking at nooish. Yay. I started to feel the stress of the holiday and nipped it quickly with some vodka and some more. I was loopy by 2, but still managed a wonderful ham and mashed potatoes, and yum on the gouda and provolone chianti spread and Chrissy's spinach dip was the bomb. We feasted throughout the day. Anya had cookies and snacks and turkey and o my. She was in her glory and I was so warm and fuzzy and happy that the "feeling" of Christmas was in my home. We played Dance Dance Revolution on the Wii and Anya jumped in her bouncy bounce and Freyja knawed on her bully sticks and everyone had smiles on their faces. I love that my family and Rich's family and our close friends return every year to share this day together.
Christmas came and went without major incident, at least none that I care to declare. Our visiting plans post Christmas were interrupted by a rare Northeast bizzard that snowed everyone in to the east, but left us with a sprinkling of irritation only. I was peeved for a moment, but decided that I spend all year running around so I shoudl enjoy the excuse to be a couch potato for a change. And so I did. I was sad when my mom had to go back home, and melancholy about my vacation coming to an end, but I can say that I enjoyed my holiday and my family and my life. Now next year Anya will ask to write Santa a letter...can't wait!
Me
I suppose a "Happy New Year" is in order to you and yours. Two days back from the quickest moving two weeks of vacation ever, and enter 2011. Let's just start in shall we? I don't believe in New Year's resolutions. I think they are silly really. I can make resolutions any moment of any day, and, frankly, will hold on to them better this way. Who wants to start their new year off fucking up all ready. The running joke seems to be how soon until you break your promises into the new year? REALLY? Why.
If I make a promise I mean it. I will try so hard I screw myself up following through. Over the years this has led me to make less promises for sure. I have also learned that setting myself up for failure damages any sense of self-worth or confidence I achieved. Every year I wish for a better year than the last, and hope that I survive the trials and tribulations I will face. I also vow to try and win the lottery.
What will this year bring? I would like to teach belly dance in more studios. I would like to advance my Arbonne business. I would like to be financially stable again. All of these hopes hinge on my taking personal action to achieve them. But don't mistake these for resolutions. These are on going personal dreams. There is no failure to be had here. I will be me and work towards making my dreams a reality, but I will not destroy myself in the process.
I tried hard not to fill my FaceBook wall the first few days of the new year with negative comments about going back to work and not being on vacation anymore and O the misery. I knew that coming back to the office was going to suck. And I still harbor anger towards my paycheck writer for his inexcusable behavior regarding my time off. But this I must face and do so with the least amount of self-fullfilling depression possible. To my credit I've woken up before my alarm, although have stayed in bed for the cursory snooze anyway; I've packed my breakfast and lunch; I came home and actually played with and gave Anya a bath before I plopped on the couch exhausted; I went to bed at 8, but watched TV until 9:30...woohooo late night; totally fucked up my famously yummy split pea soup and had to throw it out - my bad; O and I put on makeup two days in a row for work - eveyyone said I look fab and did I change my hair - doh! I'm still looking forward to the day I cash in my winning lottery ticket.
So here I am. 2011. Anya turns 2 this year. What the Fuck! Yeah - did I tell you I vowed to have a trucker mouth this year? I pulled my combat boots out of the closet too. I look back at my blog with it's swiss cheese style and find it so painful still. I always feel one step out of the midst...sometimes It catches up to me and I can't breath for a bit, but I keep running and have freedom for a time. I almost want another child, but don't feel that it would be fair to do so in our financial rings of hell...not to mention my vodka therapy and I would love to start smoking again. I put Manson in the CD player and blackened my eye makeup. I feel tough as nails and miss my youth suddenly. I had so much fun being reckless and carefree and me. ...One thing I do resolve this year is to be me.
If I make a promise I mean it. I will try so hard I screw myself up following through. Over the years this has led me to make less promises for sure. I have also learned that setting myself up for failure damages any sense of self-worth or confidence I achieved. Every year I wish for a better year than the last, and hope that I survive the trials and tribulations I will face. I also vow to try and win the lottery.
What will this year bring? I would like to teach belly dance in more studios. I would like to advance my Arbonne business. I would like to be financially stable again. All of these hopes hinge on my taking personal action to achieve them. But don't mistake these for resolutions. These are on going personal dreams. There is no failure to be had here. I will be me and work towards making my dreams a reality, but I will not destroy myself in the process.
I tried hard not to fill my FaceBook wall the first few days of the new year with negative comments about going back to work and not being on vacation anymore and O the misery. I knew that coming back to the office was going to suck. And I still harbor anger towards my paycheck writer for his inexcusable behavior regarding my time off. But this I must face and do so with the least amount of self-fullfilling depression possible. To my credit I've woken up before my alarm, although have stayed in bed for the cursory snooze anyway; I've packed my breakfast and lunch; I came home and actually played with and gave Anya a bath before I plopped on the couch exhausted; I went to bed at 8, but watched TV until 9:30...woohooo late night; totally fucked up my famously yummy split pea soup and had to throw it out - my bad; O and I put on makeup two days in a row for work - eveyyone said I look fab and did I change my hair - doh! I'm still looking forward to the day I cash in my winning lottery ticket.
So here I am. 2011. Anya turns 2 this year. What the Fuck! Yeah - did I tell you I vowed to have a trucker mouth this year? I pulled my combat boots out of the closet too. I look back at my blog with it's swiss cheese style and find it so painful still. I always feel one step out of the midst...sometimes It catches up to me and I can't breath for a bit, but I keep running and have freedom for a time. I almost want another child, but don't feel that it would be fair to do so in our financial rings of hell...not to mention my vodka therapy and I would love to start smoking again. I put Manson in the CD player and blackened my eye makeup. I feel tough as nails and miss my youth suddenly. I had so much fun being reckless and carefree and me. ...One thing I do resolve this year is to be me.
14 December 2010
Stripped of Value
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.
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.
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.
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