Day Forty-Five: I'm Just Me

I took a day off from blogging to decide how to proceed. Day 44 kind of surprised me. Realizing that I am no longer in search of myself, that I have actually known myself all along through a monkey wrench into my plan. It's somewhat difficult to write a daily blog about a journey I am no longer taking, so the question became, what now?

Today I have the answer. This blog is not going to be about finding myself anymore, it's going to be about living with myself. Learning to accept and to be a better me. I've tried being nice and less cynical in the past and it usually lasts only until I get cut off in traffic or someone let's their children run wild in a bar while I'm trying to watch football (why, by the way, are children allowed in bars in NC?). This time, however, I'm going to make it my daily focus. It's not enough to know you're a good person, you have to live that life. I'm not making any grand promises to stop being pessimistic or sarcastic, but if I want to learn to forgive and accept myself for my many failings, then I'll have to also be willing to do the same for others.

None of us are perfect beings. While it may be impossible to change one's nature, I believe it is possible to lessen the negative aspects and to enhance the positives of that nature. So that will be the drive behind the next 321 days. How can I see the world more holistically? How can I be more comfortable with being me? How can I give into the kinder, gentler side of myself?

This is not to say, of course, that I will not continue to be sarcastic and snarky at times. Let's face it, some of these asshats absolutely need to be called for their shit. All in all, however, my journey isn't going to be about judging them, it's going to be more about living with me. It's time that I stop running from who that "me" is and learn to live with and as her. I used to be a very honest person, painfully honest at times, but lately I've failed in that regard. I want to be honest again and to live an authentic life. The only way I know how to do that is to be present in that life and stop viewing everything from some judgmental prism that never reflects back onto me.

I'm just me afterall, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing.

Day Forty-Four: Found Myself I Have, Now How to Live With Me

I watched Eat, Pray, Love tonight when I got home from an extremely long and tedious road trip back from Christmas in Indiana. It's not a bad movie and I'm sure it's a lovely story, but it did not quite resonant with me in perhaps the way it was intended. Then again, that is beauty of stories, there is room for many interpretations and we get to choose the one that speaks the most clearly to us.

There is a scene near the beginning in which the main character tries to pray. It's a touching actually, heartfelt and raw and yet I laughed. The laughter came from witnessing what I believe might be one of the most incredibly selfish acts that I think most of us have done at one time or another. This character, while attempting to pray for maybe the first time, praying about her marriage no less, says that it's an emergency, that it's very important. I understand, I have been that character. Praying to stay in a relationship, praying to get out of one. It is not unfamiliar territory and yet, how silly and selfish of us to pray for such a thing as if it were truly so important. That the abuses and horrors throughout the world, the loss, the brutalities, that all these things which are truly important enough to pray to a God about just in case one might exist, should be put on the same level as our trivial love lives.

So I laughed at the absurdity of any of us thinking that our love life might be emergency enough to get God's attention ahead of the true tragedies in the world. We are selfish aren't we? All of us so resolutely consumed with our own emotional struggles and daily living. I am guilty more than anyone. I have prayed to dozen different Gods, to the universe, to the winds. I prayed because it was easier than acceptance and change. Mostly, it was easier than learning to forgive myself for the failings I can no longer ignore or change.

In another scene, this one in Rome, our heroine says that ruin is the path to transformation. I feel that I have been in a constant state of transforming for many years. Maybe it is not the ruins in our life that helps us to transform, maybe it's the transformation that causes the ruin. My search, my constant struggle for change and to find myself is in itself a transformation, and not a good one. Why do I keep assuming I need to find myself, that I need to change? This is me. This sad, screwed up, contradictory, silly, flawed, slightly crazy, and sometimes hurtful person is just who I am.

Prayers answered. Ruination complete. Transformation aborted. I apologize that I am not perfect; that I can be hurtful and selfish. I apologize that I am only who I am and that the search I fear is over. This is who you are stuck with. I am no longer going to search for myself. I found me long ago, I just didn't know that I'd been found. So now, the quest becomes not who I am, but how to live and to love what I have become.

I wish I could be a better me. I know those in my life, that have loved and befriended me certainly deserve a better me. At some point, I suppose, we all must learn to accept that which we have become, flaws and all. I owe those friends and loved ones much more than I'll ever be able to give them, so since I cannot any longer pretend to not know myself, all I can do is apologize and promise to try harder to be deserving of your time and friendship. I eat all the time. I've done all the praying I will ever do. Love, however, is an eternally organic and fragile thing and one that I can continue to pursue and perfect, even if I can no longer do the same for myself.

Day Forty-Three: The Way We Get By

There's an airport up in Bangor, Maine that is the first and last U.S. stop for the majority of American service members deploying to Iraq, Afghanistan, and Kuwait. My husband mentioned it to me the last time he came home saying that a group of senior citizens were at the airport to greet the troops and how good it felt to be welcomed and to know that he was back in the states. I remember thinking how nice that was, but perhaps not fully comprehending exactly what they did.

Last night, I watched a documentary entitled, "The Way We Get By" which chronicled these greeters and three of them in particular. I gained an insight I was unprepared for and found myself crying both tears of sadness and gratitude while watching incredibly personal moments of troops taking their first steps on American soil. The seniors shake hands, offer hugs, supply words of encouragement and thanks as well as the more practical items such as free cell phones to call family, cookies, candy, and cigarettes. They also maintain a memorial wall with the names and photos of every service member killed in action.

It is an incredibly moving film and made me appreciate not war, but those willing to give up time and possibly life to serve. I found myself a little jealous even that these seniors were first to hug my husband, the first to welcome him home. I wanted to go back in time and to be there myself. I needed to believe that maybe that gesture alone might be enough to regain my marriage. At the very least I felt proud of my husband, proud to be his wife and so very ashamed that I never let him know that when I had the chance.

I never really wanted to be married, thinking we could go on as Jeff and Ame eternally without the complicated Mr. and Mrs. to get in the way. I fought the notion of being referred to as Mrs. Bramlett thinking it somehow lessened me. I failed to admit that I was so in love and committed to him that I did not know how to be without him ever again. I failed at so many aspects of our marriage really, but I think if I would have just been able to admit to myself and to him how proud I am, how happy to be his wife and to know him, then maybe things might now be different.

For a brief time I was very much loved by a wonderful man who has proudly and bravely served our nation even when he may not have believed in the policies or politics. My husband believes in the integrity and honor that I have disrespected in almost every way conceivable. Sometimes it is too late to say you're sorry, to admit you failed, to beg for forgiveness, but that does not mean you do not still owe those things.

There is so much I would like to do differently, but honoring both what he does and who we were together are at the top of that list. I do not know who those seniors are that greeted my husband as he returned to the states, but I am happy that however they manage to get by, they are able to bring even a little comfort to the men and women we are missing here at home. I do not know how I will manage to get by without him, but I know that he deserves the chance to be who he needs to be. I suppose that is how I honor him and it doesn't matter how hard it might be.
http://www.hulu.com/watch/199884/the-way-we-get-by

Day Forty-Two: My First Retraction, I Feel so Official Now

I am going to take my own advice from yesterday's post and use some restraint. Sometimes blogging about boundaries is overstepping in its own right. Christmas day held a few surprises for me, some were unwelcome, but none should have been published at 2am after several glasses of wine. I have therefore decided to remove Day 41's post.

The problem with being only an adequate writer is the inability to effectively communicate a point clearly and cleanly. What is left is often a jumble of context, meaning, and inference. I made a mistake and realize that given how many people can read something and misunderstand it, forming their own opinions, which very often might be incorrect or misleading ones is reason enough to reconsider the wisdom of always writing what I think at a given moment.

Back when the husband was still willingly married to me and I was in the middle of my first blog there were a few occasions that he asked me to remove posts. I refused, believing that my sentiments, put forth in writing was valid as a type of art form and to remove or edit any part of it to an extent that the meaning changed would be to compromise myself. Well I was an asshole. What I write is not art. It's simply musings on a life unfinished. Perhaps had I been less interested in my own self expression and more interested in the feelings of those I cared about, I'd still be happily married.

Given my past mistakes, natural arrogance, and inappropriate content Day 41 shall live on in memory only. Don't get used to it though, I'm still more narcissistic than smart so chances are I'll be publishing lots more that is probably best left unwritten.

Day Forty-One: Um, Who's a Ho, Ho, Ho?

This blog is left intentionally blank.

Day Forty: How Do We Define Tradition?

Tradition is something that many of us take very seriously. Holiday traditions especially are prone to a transition from habit to a type of family law. Yet, they also are prone to changes either by desire or circumstance. For most of my life I believed in abiding strict holiday traditions, but then factors began to enter into it that did not fully allow those beloved and time honored routines to continue.

The year that my Mother died, I spent my first Christmas ever away from my own family. Instead, I stayed with my friend Janelle's parents and celebrated Christmas with them. I will never forget their generosity and sincere kindness in including me into a time usually reserved for family. It's not that I did not love my own family, I just was not ready to be without them without my Mother present. That was the first year for me that things truly began to change.

Since then I've spent a few random December 25th's with the families of a boyfriend as well as two with my husband's family, and this year I will see my family, but I am staying with and spending Christmas morning with my friends Colleen and Chad and their family. Though the best non-traditional Christmas I ever spent was a few years back with the husband in Negril, Jamaica. It was the best vacation of my life and the best Christmas, despite there not being a shred of personal tradition involved.

So why the dependence on tradition? Is it a type of superstition? A creature comfort? An attempt to keep things from changing? That is not an easy question to answer and one that I am woefully underprepared to take on. What I do know is that every year of my life, until the year my Mother died, I ate a hand-decorated, cut-out sugar cookie made from my Mother's recipe. Growing up it was a tradition she and I shared together. There would be a breakfast, but before that and after the gifts were unwrapped, she and I found a moment to have a cookie. We usually baked and decorated them together, in fact I do not remember a Christmas before those cookies and our Mother-daughter breakfast moment.

As an adult I kept up the tradition until the last few years, when travels interfered. This year there will be no cookies for me and no husband either, no traditions at all really. Yet Christmas, like life, will go on. So do we really need our traditions to tell us what to celebrate or what mood to celebrate in? Can we still enjoy the season without the familiar routine? Maybe tradition is a crutch, maybe it's just a relic of times past. As someone without the option of fulfilling past traditions I am learning how to enjoy life as it comes, even when you  may not want to. Ten years ago today I was falling asleep in a foreign house, prepared to wake up to a Christmas morning with a family not my own and tonight I find myself in the exact same situation.

I am tempted to believe it is simply a matter of my not growing and building a life of my own, but I think it's really a symptom of my desire to seek out real friends and family on a special day even if that means redefining the meaning of both. I won't have that cookie, the husband, that silly little silver tree Mom put in my room every night and that I took with me when I moved, but I will have love and laughter. I will also have a family of both heritage and friendship to share the day with and maybe that's what the true legacy of tradition should be.

Day Thirty-Nine: It's Not Perfect, but it's Mine

In less than seven hours I plan to be on the road for an eleven hour drive back to my hometown of Fort Wayne, IN. I need to tell you that I am not a huge fan of the Fort. I didn't like growing up there and I'm not very happy about coming back to visit. I consider New York City my home as it is the place that I feel most at ease. Still, I am inordinately excited for this trip. After what was the worst year I have ever endured I am so grateful that this one is coming to a close and that this trip to my hometown is going to help me close it out.

Most people I find have fond thoughts of home. That comforting feeling of being welcomed to something so familiar that they carried with them always and each time they return it is as if to welcoming embrace. I don't have that. My home has changed, there is no place for me to come back to. No home to stay at, no familiar smells or mementos of a life passed. Going home for me, simply means returning to a place where family lives, and some old friends, but it's not really familiar, at least not in that comforting way.

This year, however, I am driving home by myself for the first time in almost ten years. While the idea of spending my first Christmas as a soon-to-be-divorced woman is incredibly sad and somewhat paralyzing emotionally, I am looking forward to that drive. I love road trips. I love being in the car on the open road and living only by my rules -- at least until I see a state trooper. There is a freedom to a long road trip you will not find in air travel. My music, my climate control, my mood, it's all about me for 11-12 hours I get to feel any way I want. No one will tell me to smile or to not cry. No one will ask me what happened with my husband. No one will notice the every increasing pot belly I am acquiring. It will just be me and Ava and the road.

There are other reasons I am glad to be spending this holiday in the Fort. Reconnecting with some old and cherished friends is foremost among them. So too is the opportunity to simply change my environment and to put physical distance between my current residence, which holds a great deal of stress for me at the moment, and my holiday home. I need to rest in a safe place where I feel welcome and loved and these days there seem to be too few of those places.

They say home is where your heart is. Well my heart will always be in NYC, but it belongs to my husband. So this year I will be without home or heart, but maybe with the aid of a long drive, some good friends, and a day of family I will still find peace.  At the very least, I hope to achieve a bit of an emotional break and perspective that only the craziness of family and friends at the holidays can provide. It's not a perfect life and it certainly is not the Christmas of my dreams, but it is what I've got. Even someone as pessimistic and self-absorbed as I tend to be, can appreciate the good in life, what a surprise to discover that "good" is in the Fort.

Day Thirty-Eight: If You Cannot Afford a Child, the Solution Seems Pretty Obvious

I saw a commercial today for diapers in which the plot line had to do with making sure you always had a diaper on hand when you need one and the fact that not every parent does. I presume that they went on to detail some charity effort this particular diaper maker is sponsoring. Something along the lines of every time you buy our diapers we donate a half cent and hearty fuck off to the poor.

I'm not entirely sure what the charity or point of it was because my mind stuck on the part where they stated that some parents do not have the financial resources to provide diapers for their children. That sounds logical. Diapers are expensive, babies go through a ton, and economic times are tough. Hell, there are people out there without the money for food or shelter, so of course diapers are not the number one priority to these parents. So, I have an idea. STOP FUCKING BREEDING.

I know, every American believes it is his or her right to procreate. Well it's not. Having children is a privilege, not a right. Those of us that are financially or emotionally unable to care for a child -- or both-- should abstain. This should not be something a person needs to be told. If one cannot afford to feed an extra mouth or diaper an extra ass, then perhaps the extra should not happen.

I get that accidents happen and not every pregnancy is planned for, I also get that most people of child-bearing and fertilizing age know where babies come from. How it's done is of no importance to me. Birth control, keeping your legs closed, pulling out early or straight oral sex. Pick one or a combination of them and do us all a favor and do not have a child.

Then again, if irresponsible, fertility drug loving couples would stop popping out 6-8 babies at a time, expecting corporate sponsors and friendly donations to pick up the tab, maybe there would be more resources available for donations to the truly needy. I don't know, but I do know that those of us that are of breeding age seem fairly irresponsible about it. Hell, if I didn't have to worry about how to feed, clothe and nurture the sucker, I'd pop one out too. It would be nice to have someone in the world love me and cuddle me no matter what, but the reality is that a baby is not a tool for our own fulfillment. Not everyone gets one, or four, or eight.

If children have become the answer to what a person is going to do with his or her life I'd like to suggest said person take a step back. Yes, we need loved, stable, intelligent children to grow up and take the reins. Yes, we need loving parents willing to devote their time to child rearing. Yes, we even need families with more than one child to help kids learn to share and socialize. I am not debating or disputing any of these beliefs. What we do not need, however, are more parents who have children simply because they are too lazy, stupid, selfish, or arrogant to believe that maybe they just aren't right for parenthood.

So here's an idea. Should the expense of diapers themselves be too costly then either use cloth and a gentle detergent, or just say no. I'm not buying a particular brand of anything to pay for your irresponsibility. I believe in welfare. I give money and food to the homeless. I've donated to shelters. Any one of us can fall on hard times and I will never speak out against that type of charity, insisting the homeless are just lazy bums. I've been nearly homeless myself more than once. Living paycheck to paycheck can turn disastrous pretty quickly. I take issue not with the parents suddenly facing a hardship, but with those parents who never had the means in the first place but believed they had a right to children regardless. They don't. It's harsh, but true.

Day Thirty-seven: There Are No Homophobes in a Foxhole

I'm not going to lie, I'm a little drunk. Then again, the last two or three posts I wrote I was more than a little drunk. It is always interesting and slightly encouraging to me when I read a drunken post I do not remember and discover that not only is it coherent, but that it has relatively few typos. It's a small victory, but these days I take them where I can get them.

Speaking of victories, let's talk about Don't Ask Don't Tell and the fact that the vote to repeal it finally passed this week. It's no secret that many gay servicemen and women have been openly defying DADT in the military. It's also no secret that a certain percentage of Americans are against gays openly serving in our armed forces. As someone who is married to a career Army officer I can tell you that it's not a big deal to many military personnel, but that there are also a number of current soldiers and officers that are against the repeal. So the issue for those serving really isn't all that clear-cut and it's likely to cause some static for a while. I expect there to be a widely publicized claim of molestation against a gay service member or outright rape of a lesbian or gay soldier/marine/seaman/etc.

There are not likely to be quick and completely smooth transitions as people are complicated and when you add religious and emotional beliefs to the equation, it's likely to get crazy. What I can tell you, is that as a straight, civilian woman, I don't care who the fuck is joining up, as long as it's not me. Never a big fan of the military, I do at least understand the necessity for a large military and possible draft pool. Still, if anything ever goes down where I am encouraged to join up, my ass is going to be in Canada or Mexico.

It amazes me just how many people against the repeal of DADT are not of eligible age or circumstance to serve. It really makes me wonder what exactly their problem is. Are they willing to do a tour in Afghanistan or Iraq instead? I'm guessing not and yet every Christian Conservative wanker feels the need to jump in on this debate. If you are willing to risk your life for country, more power to you, because I'm certainly not going down that path. I'm not entirely sure why anyone would want to serve in inhospitable circumstances, but I am grateful they do. The gay men and women who are currently serving or will enlist in the future are asking for trust. Trust that they can and will do their job to the best of their ability when the rest of us will not step up.

It is unlikely, in my opinion, that a combat soldier will prove incapable of fulfilling a job he or she signed up for simply because of whom they choose to love. Should we not be thanking them for their service and willingness to serve rather than criticizing -- or in many cases -- crucifying them for those most personal and intimate decisions? How many Christian or Conservative leaders encourage their own straight children to serve? I don't know the answer to that, maybe it's a similar percentage as the general population, but on the other hand it seems that parents that do not have an economic need are not overwhelmingly thrilled about the prospect of their children serving. So then maybe we should focus on the gratitude we need to feel that someone else --someone other than us-- is willing to put their life on the line for country and freedom.

Being a (mostly) heterosexual woman does not make me any more capable of defending my nation and it is ridiculous to think that being gay will make someone else less capable or more of a distraction. Talk to a soldier who has been in a firefight and I'm pretty sure they will tell you that in that moment they aren't thinking about the sexual orientation or other personal beliefs of the guy/girl fighting next to them. Just as they say there are no atheists in a foxhole, there aren't racists or homophobes either, because in that one moment it's all about survival and doing your job. So if we train a gay soldier the same as we train a straight one, what we have in the end are not gay and straight soldiers, we have a well-trained military unit.  

Day Thirty-Six: With Friends Like These . . .

Today is my wedding anniversary, which would be a good thing except for the fact that I am no longer with the husband. Instead, it's a pretty crappy, thing. Ripe for my natural self-indulgent, whiny rant. I love my husband despite the fact that he wants me to not love him. So this is not exactly a happy occasion. To be fair, however, it would not exactly be happy even if we were together. I have lost a cat, and multiple friendships within the last week. I keep waiting for things to turn around and it seems instead that they get worse, at least emotionally.

In other respects, life is going well. I got A's in my first semester of grad school, I won a scholarship and a assistantship. I am making money in my other part-time job, and the weight I gained by eating my emotions during finals is starting to come off. All in all, life isn't too bad, except for the emotional bullshit. Why does that happen? Is there some sort of universal balance that says when you're up one year, you have to crash the next or if you're experiencing rewards in one are, you have to have loss in another? Whatever it is, it's damn obnoxious.

I have done nothing lately but write incredibly narcissistic ramblings on my own life. I know this, it has not escaped me that I am a whiny, complaining baby. Still, it just seems a bit hard to believe that I could have multiple close friends screw me over in such a short span of time and to have it happen during my wedding anniversary, just before Christmas and my birthday to boot. Wow. Fantastic timing douchebags I thought were my friends.

So what is that? Is it possible that everyone really did turn out to be a db at the same time, or am I making that happen and not realizing it? Do we all truly live a self-fulfilling prophecy? I cannot answer this sense I've always been a bit of the cynic, but those of you that are generally positive, how's life? Are you reaping the rewards and benefits, or still struggling in a no-name job?

I am going to get back to issue-based blogs very soon, but right now I'm just kind of shocked at how screwed up life is. Why do I keep trusting people who are only interested in their own friendship and support base? Do I not seem just as needly as everyone else? I mean, maybe my hard exterior makes people feel like I am inferior emotionally, like I just don't feel it,  but it's not true. I am an incredibly sensitive person so when  you turn out to be an asshole I will take it personally.

I'm not expecting miracles people, but if I can comfort you over the loser guy who you treat like crap for six months or the year-long girlfriend who screwed you over, but still continues to haunt you, then I will do it. The bottom line is I appreciate true friendship over everything else and right now I need friends. Real friends, loyal friends, trustyworthy friends . . . I just need a few people in town who fit the bill. When did friendship become so horrible? Since when do you practically have to audition your firiends?

Whatever is happening now, I hope it to be better soon. I need to go back to ranting about political crap. Please, "friends," stop being so obnoxious. Let's all put fucking Ame over on hold for a moment, and instead try being genuine. I know it's new and I'm obnoxious, but holy fuck, does your obsession with flirty with men or mooning over your ex-girl really make it impossible for you to see anyone else?

I guess so. I suppose it's too much to ask for some shared attention. Maybe my perspective is just bigger because I've been married, or maybe a great majority of people are the Tami and David's of the world and can only see what is right in front of their faces. Welcome to the big picture kids. When people are there to support you, they sometimes expect similar treatment in return. Clearly not something you are able to handle. So yeah, I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself. 2010 has really sucked. Thanks for not helping to make it easier. Why alleviate the pain when you can teach me a lesson about trusting the wrong people. Thanks. Lesson learned assholes.

Day Thirty-Five: Holidaze

It's less than a week before the Christmas holiday and I have not shopped, nor thought about shopping, nor even really figured out where I'm staying when I go home or when I'm going home . . . In other words, I'm not exactly prepared.

Do you remember the days when you anxiously waited for the holiday season and it seemed like it would never arrive? Your Mom or Grams would bake and decorate and there was talk of Turkey, presents, snow, family, travel, or whatever your holiday tradition. Everywhere there was the sense of the impending holidays and yet the tentative childhood grasp on time and its relation to the passing of days made it a fuzzy concept. Fast forward to adulthood and you suddenly find yourself breaking out in a cold sweat as you realize Christmas is only TEN DAYS AWAY!!! (sub your holiday of choice for Xmas)

Being an adult often takes the fun and spontaneity out of the holidays if they are spent obsessed with planning, making lists, and checking items off a list. It's been a while since I enjoyed the holiday season. I have not had a tree in close to ten years, I stopped putting out the decorations, and the last two years I have not baked at all. There doesn't seem to be much reason to really celebrate anymore. I live alone, and the past couple of years when I was still technically with my husband I was still pretty much alone, either physically or emotionally. There just didn't seem to be much point to doing all that work.

How many parents truly enjoy the holiday season. I hear them all the time talking about how exhausted they are, how much they still have to do, how there isn't enough money to buy all the toys, and that there's the annual headache of dealing with extended family. As a child it was just great and fun. Moms made it special. As an adult I wonder what the point is if the "magic" you are trying to create, is the very reason there is no magic for you at the holidays. People work so hard to make it perfect, but between work, home, kids and all the other dozens of weekly tasks that must get done there seems to be no time for that joy we all felt as children.

The holidays used to be my favorite time of the year. Like my Mom before me, I decorated every room of the house, I baked a dozen different kinds of cookies and candy. I even enjoyed the holiday shopping with the stores all decorated for the season and classic carols being piped in. I think I lost my holiday magic when I lost the husband, but age and constantly moving didn't help. These days it's just another day and I hate that. I do not feel the magic, I do not let myself miss the decorations and cookies. Maybe this is normal. Maybe without children and grandchildren to live through, that holiday magic has no room to grow. In my case I guess it was love. When I lost my love, I lost my holiday spirit. Oh, I'll still do the requisite amount of shopping, but it will be the day before and without much real thought.

I do not mean it to be this way, I'd love to decorate and bake again. I want to put up a tree and to make snow angels and sing all my favorite holiday songs. I want to do these things, I just don't feel it. So it makes me wonder why parents work so hard to create that magic when they make such little effort to help it survive into their own adulthood. Are we so tired that even magic and joy has become just another item on a "to do" list? I hope it's not that way forever for me, but for now, I'm looking forward to January 2nd.

Day Thirty-four: We Reap What we Sow

When life hands you lemons, make lemonade. Or, as per "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" say fuck it and bail. Well, I'm a bail kind of girl and I choose not to invest tremendous amounts of time in people or things that seem only to be heading in a negative direction.

People kind of suck and we pretend this is not true. We all have our own agenda and we will fight for it even if it means we go up against a friend. Yes, you don't want to hurt me, but you want the cute boy more than the friendship. You want to be my confidante, but not more than you want to devote your time to the casual hookup. Friendship, it seems, takes a perpetual backseat to reality. The reality being that we are all out to get what we want and need even if it hurts someone else.

I am a generally loyal person and will defend those I care about through all matter of shitstorms. Sadly, however, sometimes those storms are brought about by opportunistic actions or mindsets. My friendship and loyalty are being tested, and I've got to be honest, I'm just a bit tired.

At what point are we allowed to give up on a friendship? On family? On a relationship? How much do we have to have to hurt? But then again, just because we are hurting is that truly a commentary of the relationship, or our own perspective of it?

I have female friends, male friends, and family, yet there are days when I honestly do not know what is expected of me or what I can count on them for. Life can be incredibly lonely even surrounded by so-called "friends." I believe in friendship wholeheartedly, but then again I also believe in threesomes when conditions are right, so maybe my perspective is off.

Still, the point is, be loyal, stay true, do not say what you don't mean and most of all, man up to those things that might get you into trouble. Life isn't always pleasant and trying to be that way is only going to mean that you end up being disingenuous. Own up to the crap as well as the pleasant. Stop being Suzy fucking Sunshine and recognize that an opinion is a good thing.

Sometimes being the girl with an ever present opinion is a lonely place to be. Even more so when those you think are friends turn out to be plastic. So enjoy your reign and your romp, but remember you are alone because you have no value in the deeper sense. Yours will be a long road

Day Thirty-three: Friend or Parasite?

Have you ever embarked on a path you know to be wrong simply for the right reason? I am in the midst of pursuing something I do not want, for all the wrong reasons, but the underlying truth and benefit of my actions could save a friend. Sometimes, we do not see what we are walking into until it is too late, but maybe if we had a friend to show us the dangers of a particular path we might be able to avoid the pitfalls.

Well I am that friend and I am trying to illuminate the dangers of that path. Unfortunately, there is no easy way to do this. There is no neon sign or road crew to warn you off, all you have, is me. So listen when I tell you that nothing good will come of the path you are taking. Only pain and disappointment.

It is difficult in life to recognize when others have our best interests at heart. Even more so when our best interests are contradictory with what we want. Still, friends often see things with a perspective we are not prone to. Trust your friends. Trust the instinct of those not directly involved and who know you best. They are not swayed by emotion or lust. It is a hard lesson to learn, but one that is worth it.

I tend to be a good judge of character and am able to see not just what you say and do in the moment, but who you are in general. In other words, I can do for you what I cannot do for myself in that I'll tell you who is worth your time and love. I make tons of mistakes and trust all the wrong people, but for those I care about, I'm usually pretty dead on with my assessment. So here's my recommendation, for what it's worth: Find your own damn man and stop being a parasite on the heartbreak of others.

Day Thirty-Two: Are We Segregating Our Discount Stores?

I am a loyal Target shopper. It's close, convenient, relatively economical and they have everything I need. I have even bought clothing there and like it enough to admit that yes, I got this fabulous sweater at Target! In fact, I'm not sure I have ever walked out of Target without spending over a $100, no matter how many times I only went in for paper towels. It just happens. Needless to say, I feel comfortable there and never really take the time to look around me. Until tonight.

Horrible housekeeper that I am, I do not own a vacuum cleaner. Well, I had a Dyson, but the husband has custody of it so I've been borrowing the neighbors or more frequently, just ignoring the need. Tonight was the night all that was going to change and after conducting thorough online research of about four minutes I settled on the model and found that Walmart has it $20 cheaper than my beloved Target. But wait, there's a Walmart in Charlotte? I've never seen one here. Weird. Even so, as much as I hate the "Wal," twenty bucks is twenty bucks, so off I went.

I loathe Walmart. While Target seems warm and welcoming, giving off a comfortable "you belong here vibe," Walmart feels and looks cheap. Those high raftered ceilings make it look and feel like a warehouse and while yes, their prices are cheap, so too seems their merchandise. When Jeff and I lived in Ft. Leavenworth briefly, all they had was a Walmart, so I spent some time there when I couldn't do without and begrudgingly went. It's never been a place I like or feel comfortable in, because when it comes right down to it, I'd rather pay more and feel good about myself, than to get a deal and feel cheap.

Tonight I learned a valuable lesson and one I'm maybe not so thrilled about it. Target is for white people and Walmart is for black people. Now don't get angry yet, I am certainly not suggesting we segregate the discount department stores. If we were going to do that I couldn't care less about race, my vote would be for all the stupid people to be banned to Walmart. It's not my rule, just an observation and now that I've noticed it, I find myself wondering what it says about our society in the larger context.

I certainly do not shop at Target because I'm looking for some sort of Aryan Nation shopping experience. As I mentioned initially, I rarely pay any attention to who else is in Target, in fact it never even occurred to me that it might not be a normal cross-section of discount shoppers. Then I went in search of a vacuum in Walmart and I started to look around. Walmart is unfamiliar and feels low-rent, so I find myself being forced to look around to try to find things, but also to notice the shoppers there because like it or not, I'm a snob.

Anyone who has ever been on the www.peopleofwalmart.com site knows that it's usually the lowest common denominator types that shop there. What I never even thought about, was the race of the shoppers. What the hell do I care what race they are. So is my noticing actually a statement on my comfort level at the more upscale Target? In other words, is the reason I do not notice the customer base at Target because they are whiter and the resultant comfort level it evokes screens my conscious knowledge of it? Am I noticing how many minorities (and overweight women in skirts that are way too short, men with interesting facial hair, and the random homemade superhero costume of sorts) are in Walmart simply because some part of me grasps the usually majority of other whites (or shoppers of any race with good fashion judgement)? I don't think so, but how do I know?

Am I a racist shopper without a conscious awareness of it? How awful. Or is it actually possible that I like it for the quality, ease of layout, convenience to home and loyalty? I hope that's what it is, it would definitely suck at my age to suddenly find out I have some weird racist shopping agenda. Aside from that glaring issue, is the question of why. Why do more minority shoppers go to Walmart. Why are so many white people not currently living in trailers or their parent's basements Target shoppers? It's all so confusing, and a little disappointing actually. I am certainly not going to stop shopping at Target because of this, but I also wish I could start forcing myself into Walmart to at least prove that I am not a shallow, classist, or even racist shopper.

I just want my paper towels (and the other $96.17 worth of crap I will undoubtedly buy) from a place I like and one in which I know where everything is. I want to do this without feeling like I am making a larger and not okay political statement. I'm not racist, I just like Target. Our society still has a long way to go and while I hope the majority of people are like me and they do not see race, after tonight I'm really starting to wonder.

Day Thirty-One: Ten Years, It's a Killer

I think I'm starting to figure it out. It's going to happen every ten years. When I was 27, back in the year 2000, my Mother died. Flash forward ten years to age 37 and my favorite cat died. My marriage died. A long-time and very close friendship died. I'm not sure who died when I was 17, but when I was seven, I'm pretty sure my Grandfather Howdy died. So every ten years either I'm going to kill someone off, or they're going to go on their own, but if I were you, I'd stay the fuck away from me in 2020.

I knew I had to put Sylvia to sleep. On Monday, I called and made an appointment for Wednesday morning when I knew I'd be done with my last final of the semester. Sadly, when I got home from my final Tuesday night I found her in pain and so I did the only unselfish thing I could at that point, I took her to the emergency animal hospital to have her euthanized. It sucked. It sucked a lot and I'm going to be red and puffy for days, because I am a very ugly crier.

Here's the additional part of the sucking. It cost $200. Two. Hundred. Dollars. To hold my cat while a vet kills her. Really? How much to kill you? Because that might be worth it. It wasn't just the money. I called ahead to make sure they could do it and let them know the circumstances. When I arrived I signed a "Consent to Euthanize" form. It should seem very likely then that the two staff members on duty aside from the vet himself understood that this was Sylvie's last stand. Yet, the questions they asked as I stood crying, alone, at the counter beside my whimpering and gasping kitty, were the dumbest fucking questions one could imagine at such a time.

Among them was "Is Sylvia spayed?" "Is she up to date on her shots?" "How has she been feeling?"

Um, excuse me? I think the last is pretty obvious, and the first two? What the hell does it matter if she's spayed? I didn't bring her to the Emergency Animal Hospital of Charlotte at eleven o'clock at night on a Tuesday to get her laid. In five fucking minutes she's going to be dead, so what don't you suck my dick before I spay your gap-toothed ass?

I apologize for being so vulgar, I'm a little worked up and sad, angry, lonely and way, WAY too sober.

The point is, every ten years people, pets, and relationships start dropping like flies around me. I killed a great friendship with selfishness and insecurity. I killed my husband's love, trust, and possibly faith in women in general. I killed my cat by being erratic with her medicine over the last year. And since the rare disease that killed my Mother starts with the first three letters of my three letter given name, I kind of killed her too. I think I'm going to embark on a series of nine year relationships. That way no one has to die and the relationship will just naturally end of its own accord. Now, if only I could figure out what breed of pet only lives nine years or less, maybe I could break the curse.

I know I sound cavalier now, but I'm in between sobbing episodes so I thought I'd take this little break to fulfill my blogging obligation. Consider yourselves warned, hang around me and 2020 just ain't going to be your year sweetheart.

Day Thirty: What is the Depth of My Selfishness?

Sometimes we are selfish. We put our immediate needs ahead of the needs, desires or requests of others. Today I am selfish and because of it, I may be prolonging suffering.

I have a cat. Sylvia has been with me for over 14 years and she is most decidedly mine. She loves me, follows me, cuddles with me when I'm sick and flatters me by getting noticeably depressed when I'm traveling. Sylvia has been sick for a while. Two months ago she cost me $900 and almost died. Since then she's rebounded, but suddenly today she's taken a turn for the worse and I don't have time to deal with her. I had two papers to finish today and a final to study for tomorrow. I have been crazy stressed from work and school with no time to relax and so I'm putting Sylvie, my beloved companion on hold.

I honestly do not think that I can put her to sleep tomorrow then go on to study and take grad school final. It just is not in me to be that focused and so I'm hoping she can hang on until Wednesday when I will hold her while she slowly slips away. I suppose a small part of me hopes that she is just sick with some sort of cat flu and that by tomorrow she'll be fine again. Putting her down too early might be a mistake I cannot take back. That's true a little bit, but the reality is just that as long as she's not exhibiting signs that she is in pain I can't deal with her. I can't deal with anything but school.

I haven't cleaned anything in ages. Rather than change my sheets I just started sleeping on the other side and I'm no longer certain which piles of clothes I've tossed on the floor like a teenager are the clean ones and which are the dirty ones. So no, I don't have the hour to put my cat to sleep and I sure as hell do not have the fortitude to do it and then to go on to focus on my studies for ten hours.

So am I heartless? I watch her lay there, uneasily. Breathing seems labored and she's very quiet, very still. She doesn't want to be picked up, but she'll let me stroke her gently and talk to her. She's not eating, I'm expecting her to not be able to make it to the litter box even, but still I need her to hold on. Just thirty-six more hours and I can do the humane thing, the act I should have probably done today.

Yes, we are all selfish in our own ways. Children learn to be selfish as toddlers, taking toys out of the hands of others and screaming when the same is done back to them. I am too old to claim ignorance of her condition, this is plain self-serving, self-absorption and I know it. I only hope that my dear, sweet, beautiful girl will still love me to the end. I wouldn't give up my car to save my marriage, but I'd give up almost anything for her. Almost. I need school. I need this one thing in my life that is for me and for a future free of bartending, temping, and bills paid by an unwilling husband.

Just hold on baby girl. Mama's only going to be selfish for more day and then I swear it's going to be all for you.

Day Twenty-Nine: Today I Was a Poet and Then I Forgot It

I have a blog, it's stuck in my head. I wrote it this evening while driving in my car, but now, after thirteen hours of studying and writing papers for school, I don't feel capable or sane enough to regurgitate what was a really great bit of thinking. I do that a lot actually, write things by talking or thinking. This usually happens while in the shower, brushing my teeth or driving. I become inspired, awed at my own clever turn of phrase or insightful observations. I talk it all out and then . . . it's gone, or else the attempt to put it down on paper (or keyboard) only hits the highlights, like a bulleted version, rather than the prose itself.

So tonight is one of those nights and I am not quite up to the challenge of either recreating it, or writing about something else. So we'll call this one a draw with neither my words, nor the blank page winning the battle with a unanimous decision. Stayed however, because any moment now, I'm going to be inspired once more and this time I'll have my iPhone memo recorder at the ready. Oh yes, prepare to be regaled, because new brilliant thoughts are on the cusp of full bloom. Until then, blah. Just a big, page of blah.

Day Twenty-Eight: Here's Looking at You.

Today (well I'm an hour or so late) would have been my Mother's 68th Birthday. She died ten years ago after a relatively short battle with a pretty rare disease. Earlier in the day I posted a Facebook status acknowledging her birthday and a friend commented that maybe she's watching over me. It was meant to be comforting, but it's not. The last think I ever wanted Mom to know when she was alive, was everything I was doing that she didn't know about. The idea of her being dead and seeing all, including the things that no one else gets to see is frightening indeed.

We all have certain shameful little secrets, feelings, or habits that we'd like to keep private. The thought that someone might know all, even a dead someone, is perplexing. There are embarrassments, white lies, moral transgressions, and even just stupid mistakes that no one really needs to know about, least of all one's Mom. I think there were a lot of things my Mom knew she'd be better of not knowing about me. I am certainly the black sheep of the family and the one with the biggest mouth, loudest voice, and strongest opinions. She knew that and I think she even marveled at it a bit, wondering where that came from in someone raised by her. I can say "no" like nobody's business, but Mom never could.

There's plenty about us that was alike too, we're both empathetic to an almost self-destructive degree and  if you came to our doors selling anything for charity we'd buy it just because you asked. There were many similarities amongst the differences, but even so, I know that for the most part my choices are better left unknown to the woman that raised and loved me from the time I was six weeks old. She deserved to believe I was happy and doing well and though I don't think I ever fooled her that much, I certainly wouldn't now want to make it any worse.

I know my life is a constant two steps forward, one step back march and I've screwed up the only relationship that ever really meant anything to me. She would have loved my husband. She'd have loved him in every way and the fact that I screwed that up, the only truly good thing to ever come to me without a struggle would have killed her. So I'm glad in some ways that she's not here or hopefully there to see it. There is some good yes, but some screw-ups in life you just can't make up for, sometimes they are really rock bottom. I am going to climb back out, but I'll never erase the bad or the damage I've caused others. I just hope she knew when she could watch that I loved her and that one day I'd get it right, or is right as a screw-up like me can get it.

Happy Birthday, Mom. Here's looking at you.

Day Twenty-Seven: Apparently All Roads Lead Back to Me

For whatever reason, people randomly pop back into my life after a period of absence. It's always been this way for me and I'm not entirely sure why, though I choose to believe it's because after living without, they finally start to miss my sheer awesomeness. The first time it happened I think I was seventeen and I guy I'd dated a year and a half earlier called me out of the blue wanting to see me again. After that first time it's happened over and over again with both friends and partners.

Maybe I'm better in hindsight or maybe after realizing what else is out there I start looking pretty good again, or maybe I'm just tough to get to know and people give up trying to break through only to wonder if maybe I was worth the work after all. Whatever the reason, it's been happening again and I don't know if I should be offended or flattered.

If I am so great, why bug out in the first place? Why not stick around, be a true friend actually invest some time in a relationship with me. Perhaps it has nothing to do with my potential greatness as a friend, maybe they view me as easy to forget so when they are lonely or bored I seem like someone who would be equally lonely and jump at the chance to socialize. Am I so pathetic? Is it really that easy to believe that after six months, a year, five years I'd be willing to just jump back into a friendship with someone who clearly did not value me enough to stay in touch the first time around.

When it happens with men who I've dated it's even more extreme. On one hand I am very flattered that of all their potential options, they've come back around to me, realizing that I have something to offer them. On the other hand, it kind of makes me wonder just what exactly they think I'm offering. I know I'm not the greatest friend. I tend to be self-absorbed and I am horrible at finding balance in my life. I also am prone to extended periods where I just want to be alone and to not socialize at all which is difficult to explain to friends who then assume either you don't like them or that you're just a Debbie Downer.

Even so, as bad of a friend as I might be I do try to stay in contact with those I want to be friends with, even if it's only through Facebook. And for those people I wished I'd stayed in touch with, but didn't I'll probably be too embarrassed to just pop back up like nothing's changed. In the end, maybe that is the real problem, rather than choosing to believe the best possibility and to embrace these old friends I become suspicious and doubtful. At the same time they're telling me they want to be in my life, I'm assuming the worst and shutting them out. Can we afford to take people at face value? I'm a tell it like it is person, but I know from experience that most people are not so where do I draw the line between suspicion and flattery? More to the point, is it even worth revisiting a relationship that someone found so easy to give up in the first place?

Day Twenty-Six: Universal Smack-down

I'm freaking out. It's less than one week until the end of my first semester of grad school and I still have two papers to write and a final to study for. I'm feeling not very confident about the 20 page paper and presentation I gave this week and I feel like if I don't have a night to just get drunk and let loose soon I'm going to have some sort of stress induced panic attack. Oddly, this has actually been a great semester for me. So far I have A's in my classes, I won a scholarship, and I just got a coveted assistantship. I have a job that is paying most of my bills from only a couple nights work and I'm more happy than sad. All in all, things are going well . . . and yet I am waiting for the bad news.

I'm not one of those lucky people. Never have been. I don't win things and I certainly never get things done easily or early. The level of stress that I have been operating under for two weeks straight is probably the most I've ever felt. I'm hoping and assuming that I'm just extra sensitive to the pressure because it is my first semester, but also, there's this nagging worry in the back of my mind telling me that something is going to go wrong.

Other positive things are happening too. After both headlights and a brake light burned out within days of one another and being too busy to replace them I got a notice that my license is suspended for an unpaid parking ticket in Indiana. Before I had a chance to pay it or replace the lights I got pulled over by a state trooper for the headlights. (I'm using my fog lights, not totally dark.) As I sat in my car waiting to discover if he'd have to arrest me or tow my car or what, he came back and just gave me a warning. Didn't even mention the suspended license. After putting on about five pounds from not working out, I began stress eating the last couple of weeks and actually lost weight. I ran into a cherished friend who betrayed me and he came up to me to call a truce. My nail polish hasn't chipped for a week. I actually like my job and all the other people that work there.

Clearly something weird is going on and I'm pretty sure I'm about to get a major smack down courtesy of the universe. Things just do not go my way. So I fully intend to fail at least one of my finals. These papers, which should be the easy part for me are eluding me and the questions for my other final may as well be written in a foreign language as much sense as they seem to be making.

Then again, what if I pull it off? What if I not only pass, but maintain my A's? What if everything keeps going well for me? What does that mean? Will the husband come back? Will the stubborn blackheads that are almost as old as me suddenly dry up and disappear? Will my stomach stay flat even after I eat? I don't think I can handle it. I don't have any idea how to live a life where things go well or right. I am a sad song, hard-luck case, kind of woman. I'm a Willie Nelson or Johnny Cash, not a Celine Dion.

Is there some sort of reference book for good luck and smooth sailing? Should I pull aside some happy-go-lucky, wealthy blond couple  to ask how to live in the golden glint of success? I am utterly unprepared for good luck, but if suddenly happiness finds its way to my doorstep I'm going to seriously lose it. Let's not get carried away universe. Smack me down and be quick about it, I know how to pick myself back up, I've been doing that for a while but the lucky, happy stuff? Not my field, so just send your sunshine somewhere else. I'll take the familiar discontent over the alien success. At least I know how to prepare for and deal with the former.

Day Twenty-five:

Okay, enough whining and self-absorbed diatribes, let's talk politics. Specifically, the DREAM Act. In case you've been too busy keeping up with celebrity gossip and www.damnyouautocorrect.com (best site ever) I'll review DREAM for you.

The proposed legislation simply states that undocumented students (read: illegal immigrants) who attend college or serve in the U.S. Military will be given a ten-year visa and after, if they are in good standing and not dirtbag criminals, they will be granted residency.

When I first heard about DREAM I didn't fully understand it and thought it was simply to draw prospective college students from other countries to the U.S. Now I understand that DREAM is actually for those young adults who are already living here and by most accounts have been living here since they were young children and came here through no fault of their own. These are adults crossing the border and trying to steal jobs and college degrees from us as I know many anti-immigration proponents will assume it to be.

So just consider this for a moment. Your family moves to another country when you are seven. You live in that country for 16 years and never really know any other place as home except this country. Problem is, you're undocumented and could be sent back to a country you don't know and of which you may not even speak the language. This is not your fault, you didn't sneak into this country, you were a child. So now here you are, a young adult, in college, doing well, possible even better than your classmates and when you graduate you . . . what? Get a job washing dishing for under the table pay?

These are not people that should be collecting your garbage. They are college educated and driven to succeed. These are exactly the types of people we should want in our professional communities and serving in our military forces. Sometimes it seems like opponents get so revved up arguing against illegals coming here to take their jobs and effectively make their lives worse, that they forget about the possibility that they might actually make things better. Having smart, driven, and grateful people around is never a bad thing.

I'd much rather have the illegal Ecuadorian girl with the double major working in some professional capacity than bussing tables. Because make no mistake, they aren't going anywhere. Round up as many as you like, guard the border with your Bud swilling buddies, pick-up trucks and hunting rifles. We're always going to have illegal immigrants in this country and attempting to get into this country. So maybe a better solution is to make sure those that are here can help make our nation great again. It also wouldn't kill us to just stop being such obnoxious assholes about immigrants when every damn one of us is a descendent of just that. And if you check your history, I'm pretty sure you'll find that the "natives" that were here when Europeans first starting crossing the border weren't so happy about it either . . . and look what happened to them.

So yeah, I'm okay if they have a DREAM and you should be too.

Day Twenty-four: Full Disclosure

After a night out with acquaintances or a first meeting with friends of friends, I often find myself worrying over things that I said and the impression I might have made. I'm not exactly soft spoken so it might come as a bit of surprise to some to know that I agonize over the things I say, or more accurately, the reasons I've said them.

I'm not shy and I like attention. I'm also not exactly a delicate flower so I can hold my own in almost any conversation, though I'm particularly fond of sports, politics, and sex. I manage to work a preponderence  of swear words into any conversation and yes, I know that people view swearing as the lowest common denominator. Or is that sarcasm? Either way I am exceptionally skilled at both and often manage entire dialogues using only sarcasm and vulgar language. Criticize if you want, but it's a skill.

Anyway, my point is that I frequently talk about sex and disclose things most people don't. To me, it's not that big of a deal, we're all doing it -- well, not us married people, but the rest of you. Even so, I'm not afraid to step over the line and discuss blow jobs, swallowing, positions, techniques and man and lady-scaping. Sex trivia at a bar doesn't help me control those natural impulses, but the trip home does make me wonder if they are, in fact, natural impulses.

Is it possible that my behavior -- my need for attention-- is the driving force in my topics and disclosures?  Do I let myself talk about such personal matters or make vulgar jokes because I want to be noticed? Is my feeling of discontent and embarrassment afterward because I am ashamed what I've said. Possibly. Though I also have to wonder if maybe this is really just who I am. It's not like I've changed in twenty years. This is always how I've spoken. Maybe the shame is because others make me feel that way. I'm the one on the outskirts. I never quite fit in and never really want to, but it's still lonely out here.

I'm the girl who will admit to a threesome, or to being with another woman. I'm the girl that's not so much a girl anymore, but still enjoys joking about sex and making a spectacle of myself for the sake of shock value. I don't mind that you know these things and I think it's the fact that I don't mind, that I don't view it as baring my soul (so to speak) that is making me feel weird after the fact. It's not that I am acting out of character, it's that my character is out of whack with all of you.

The secret that I have always known and that for some reason seems to escape the masses, is that simply telling you about my exploits or joking about things not normally discussed in polite society is not the same thing as letting you see who I truly am. I am not sex or politics. I can talk about breakfast, but it won't make me a pancake. What I say and how I act are absolutely signs of who I am, that I will not deny, but those things are not ALL that I am.

I think I feel badly because I know you judge me. You raise your eyebrows and decide that either I am one wild chick or else you shake your head and think I am one wild chick. You either approve or disprove, but you've come no closer to knowing me as a person than that I am somewhat fearless in conversation, I've lived a little more than some, and I'm not shy. Somewhere beneath and around and through all that, is me. You've missed a lot. I cannot pretend that I will never have that uneasy feeling again, wondering if I said too much or made an ass of myself, but I'm going to try hard to remember that I'm not putting on a show, that this is just me.

I think to some extent we all modify our behavior over the years as people come to expect certain things from us. At some point we may begin to wonder if we are the way we are because that's what we've been labeled or if it really is just us. Well, I think I'm getting to the answer of that question, but it's not easy and there are definitely nights when I wonder if I should have just held my tongue about the size of the husband's goods. Just because someone makes a joke about it and asks the question does not mean I have to oblige. I could talk about politics or sports and not feel nearly as shy or anxious about it later. Then again, so what if he's got a big package. Does telling you that somehow make me scandalous?

I guess we'll find out soon. Sometime around the hour when close friends, family and the husband get around to reading this blog, because while most people are shy talking about their personal business, they somehow are never too shy to chastise you for yours.

Day Twenty-Three: Nothing at All, Isn't That Something?

Ever wonder what would happen if you suddenly let all the balls you've been juggling save one, drop? Well, I have the answer, nothing and everything, and nothing again. Currently, I am focused nearly 100% on finishing major papers, projects and finals preparations for grad school. In addition to that I have a job that I have to show up at to survive financially. Aside from those two occupations, however, I am not devoting time to anything else. So what am I letting drop by failing to juggle the other commitments that accompany an average life?

Cleanliness. My house, my car, my personal appearance are all kind of a disaster at the moment. I barely have time to sleep, let alone work out and eat right. Cleaning has never been my thing, but lately it's gotten a bit disturbing even for me. Today, for instance, I spilled my latte while driving at breakneck speeds to class between writing one paper and researching another. Rather than take the time to clean it up, I simply put an old newspaper still in my car from several days ago over the top of it. It's anyone's guess what that's going to do to the leather seat, but at the time, and to be honest at this time, I don't care.

Personal relationships. I've stopped communicating with most of my friends and family save for tidbits on Facebook. I may not have friends left when I come out of this school daze, but I really do not have time to worry about it. My marriage or lack there of is an ever-increasing disaster and my ability to sustain normal conversations with people has seemingly evaporated. While working on my paper the other day a random male came up and started asking me in-depth questions about the topic. After the third question I simply said, "Let me save us both some time, I'm married." He made some comment about my thinking too highly of myself and shuffled off, but it did the trick. For all I know he could have been a professor, but at that moment I just needed and wanted him to shut up and go away so I could work. It's not that I'm vain, it's that I'm busy and on the off chance that rambling dialogue was working its way around to "So, do you wanna go out?" I thought it easier to just get to it.

Sleep. I'm not sure what's happening with that. I am awake until 3 or 4 in the morning and then I'm unconscious until 7 or 8. I assume sleep is happening during those hours, but I feel so exhausted you wouldn't know it.

Anxiety and ADD. I am no longer able to focus on any one thing. I am moving at a constant high rate of speed, taking ever-increasing chances while driving, multi-tasking things that should ordinarily require singular focus (showering and researching journal articles on my laptop) and talking over every one just to get to the point I need to make or question I want to ask. I am consuming vast quantities of caffeine and attending to numerous items at once while giving none of them any real focus.

All this considered, life is still proceeding normally. There have been no major snafus, altercations, or accidents. As far as I know all the utilities are still on, the car has gas, I showered and washed my hair today, and I have a few friends still talking to me. So really, nothing has happened.

On the other hand everything is happening. Despite the minimum basic requirements being met, I am not advancing any relationships or obligations. I am meeting bare minimum in all areas and realize somewhere beneath my immediate consciousness that in a week I will come out of this haze ten pounds fatter and in complete disarray. Both of my headlights are out as well as one brakelight. Currently even the most mundane post dark trips to the store are black ops missions and yet I have no time to do anything about it. I could fall flat on my face at any moment, but I'm not sure I'd even notice. In fact, maybe I already have.

Then again, in some ways nothing is indeed happening. The lack of advancement in any area and almost religious commitment to doing no more than what is absolutely necessary to survive means that I am, in fact, doing nothing. I'm doing nothing about relationships, housekeeping, physical fitness, work commitments or anything else. Nothing is happening. I just hope that all this nothing adds up to decent grades or the next something that happens will be my academic career hitting the skids.

Day Twenty-Two: The Truth of Love (Revisited)

Today I am recycling a post from Perpetually Ame which was a blog I attempted over the Summer and just couldn't stick with. I'm reposting because I'm tired, I've been writing for school all day, and it applies. I reread it just tonight actually after someone mentioned they did a Google search an all my stuff came up. So I googled me and rediscovered this one. Since the holiday season is upon us, the wish list of sorts seems even more apropos. So here it is . . . again.  


Love is a funny thing and not one that any of us can easily understand. An organic emotion, it lives and dies by its own rules and those sometimes defy even our own desires. We fall in love for a complex and diverse set of reasons. Oddly enough, what often keeps us in love has nothing at all to do with what we thought we wanted. Every girl at some point in her life makes a list of the qualities she wants in her ideal partner. Some material, some physical, some character based, she writes them all down and this becomes her wish list in a partner and often the measuring criteria against which strangers are judged. Predictably enough, what we think we want is not always what we need or what will eventually make us happy. 

"My perfect man will be tall. He will have a full head of dark, slightly wavy hair and dark eyes. He will be naturally tan with strong hands and broad shoulders. My man will wear suits to work and rolled up khakis on the beach. We'll vacation to exotic locations and speak many languages. He'll ride a Harley and be a natural with a tool box. We will dance together and share the Sunday Times before heading off to a peace rally or concert in the park. Love and emotions will come easy for him, but he'll be a man's man too, not so sensitive that he spouts poetry or tears at every tender moment. Maybe he'll play an instrument or sing to me and his friends will be many and intellectually interesting. 

The list goes on, detailing both the conceptual and the minutiae, but what it does not address is the unpredictability of love itself. The heart beats to its own drummer and not by the rules we set forth. True love is to be cherished and protected and never taken for granted, but of course it will be. We take it for granted time and time again and there will be moments we reflect back on that list and wish maybe . . . just maybe. Lists are not reality and what we believe will make us happy might only be the dream of an immature mind. 

What we fail to keep in focus are the qualities that last. When the Harley is put away, the hair recedes, suits turn to jeans and words and emotional outpourings get tongue-tied, we are left with the essence of the man and more importantly, the essence of how he makes us feel.

If only no one ever took love for granted. If only patience truly did last a lifetime. If only I knew what I should have known then. Love is an organic, ever-changing, ever-evolving living thing. Turning your back, even for a second, can forever alter the evolutionary growth of a once nurtured promise. If only we made lists of those qualities which matter, perhaps we'd be better equipped to recognize and value their embodiment when it came along. The path seems so long and the struggle often not worth it, but anyone who has truly been in love and more importantly, been truly loved, knows there is no struggle too great, no battle too insurmountable.  

You are the one who makes me laugh, the one who makes me think. You are the man whose hand I long to hold, whose lips I yearn to kiss, your eyes those that burn through me and your day is what fascinates me. There is no song but that which you inspire in my heart and the dance of my footsteps fall into rhythm only with you. It is your heart that holds my own in its every beat. I did not write my list for you, but you fulfilled the wish I didn't even know I should make. Love is hope is forgiveness is truth. My truth is you, always.

Day Twenty-one: Laughing at Hate

A friend posted an article today on his Facebook page about some racist jack-hole in an Idaho town that built a Klu Klux Klan snowperson in his front yard. It's a horrible act of hate and a sign that despicable people still do not understand that we're all just people, not black, not brown, not yellow, and not white. It also made me laugh.

I'm not sure exactly why I laughed instinctively. It just struck me as so funny, this ridiculously man-size KKK snow person. It's awful, but yet it's kind of clever too. I mean, the white sheets, the white snow. It's so stupid and obvious that it's clever, in a ten year-old mentality kind of way. So I see the picture and read the article and I'm laughing. Of course, I'm also appalled because there is a horrible human being out there who not only is a racist, but is now forcing his hate on others. It is hate speech and it should not be protected or tolerated.

At the same time, a friend of my friend lives in this town and says there is only a handful of black people in this entire Idaho town. Whether that is a gross exaggeration or not, I do not know, but it is Idaho so it's a pretty safe bet that it's going to be largely white. Which begs the question, what's the point? I mean, if you're white and all your neighbors are white, and the town as a whole is pretty much white, then who's going to be there to be offended? Why make a statement like that if your target audience, which presumably in this case would be minorities, isn't around to get it?

The whole thing just strikes me as so moronic and silly. I mean, hate speech, signs, symbols, etc. I get, but now we have a SNOWMAN which is being utilized as a vehicle of hate. Can you think of anything more benign than a snowman? It's like a horror film where, instead of a zombie or alien as the villian, a puppy and kitten are terrorizing a town. It is so stupid, it's funny. So yes, I laughed. It is a reprehensible act of hate and yet it's silly enough to be amused by, even if it's against one's will. I don't want to laugh. Remember the stay-puffed marshmallow man from Ghostbusters. Well that KKK statue might as well be made of marshmallow.

Sure, it's become national news now, but the guy who created it couldn't have known that would happen and so it just makes this one more inane, last-ditch effort by a dying breed. With any luck, within another generation they and their philosophy will be dead. I am incredibly sorry to anyone that has been discriminated against based on an inherent part of themselves. I mean no disrespect to anyone that such a hateful act is intended to hurt, but I understand that it likely seems offensive. I urge you, however, look at that picture. Think about the kind of ignorant, red-neck asshole that must have created it and know that these people are too stupid to hold power in the world for much longer. Soon those racist bastards will be just a blight on our society that future generations learn about in history books.

So laugh at the KKK snowman because honestly, people this stupid are destined for extinction.

Day Twenty: Cat, Health or Car? We Can Find Our Depth in the Shallowest of Places

My cat almost died this year. She almost died the same die my doctor found two lumps in my breasts. I spent about $900 that weekend on vets, doctors, and hospitals -- both human and animal. A day later, I spent another $600 on my car. It was not my favorite weekend, but it did force me to reconsider my priorities a bit and think about life and the bigger picture, whatever that is.

The cat thing was actually the easiest. Sylvia has been with me for 14 years and she is most decidedly my cat. She stays with, sleeps beside me, and gets noticeably depressed when I travel according to the husband who has been with her when I am not. The weekend was traumatic in that we honestly did not know if she'd live, but the hefty $600+ price tag also hurt quite a bit. Still, as Jeff pointed out when I called to discuss it with him, if I didn't do what was necessary I'd always wonder if I could have saved her and I'd likely regret not trying based solely on the money.

The car was a bit more difficult, but no less traumatic. I love my car. It is my little bubble of happiness and in it, I allow myself to both forget and indulge the emotional battles of my life. Don't get me started about how many times I have cried in traffic or sang at the top of my voice with the top down, even with other cars nearby. Even so, I didn't have the $600 needed to fix it and it took some desperate measures to find it. At one point it looked like it would become a  cat or car scenario, but luckily I escaped that awful choice. Still, already $1200 in the hole in less than 48 hours and then I get the knews about the breast lumps.

This is not one of those diagnoses any woman wants to hear, but two?!? What makes it worse is that you cannot just run right out and get yourself a mammogram. You have to schedule it and wait and it's pretty much torture because the entire time you're wondering if you have this lethal invader in your body and you cannot do anything about it. Eventually I had the mammogram and all appears okay medically, but financially it kind of sucked. First, there was much scuttling with the insurance company to make sure they paid for it and even after there were some hefty co-pays.

So in a span of about four days I almost lost my beloved pet, my car, and my health. All three survived, but my bank balance, I'm sad to say, was pretty much DOA. It was, however, an interestingly cathartic weekend. I had to ponder some incredibly emotional and worrisome issues in a very short span of time and there were a few moments along the way that I really cursed my life. I hated that I had to deal with all of these things alone despite recognizing that in many ways I was alone through my own fault. Still, it affected me quite deeply to be facing the mortality of the beloved three: my cat, my car, my life (or at least the girls). Do I want to die alone? Can I bear to lose another pet without my husband there to console me? Does my car mean more to me than everything else?

You think the last is a joke, but you don't know the half of it. I should have sold that car. I couldn't afford it and the husband, newly back from Iraq and struggling to get back into normal life was financially handicapped by my non-existent job and expensive car. I should have sold it or at least given it to him, but I didn't. Actually, I couldn't. I thought about it. I told myself, "if you could guarantee that Jeff would stay, would you sell this car." Honestly, I wasn't sure. That car, as ridiculous as it might be considering I had no money to pay for it, was the closest thing I had to a companion. When I was lonely, or sad, or happy, or anything really, that car was my escort. Jeff wasn't there, even when he was, but Ava loved me and she never turned me down.

I'm glad I get to keep my breasts. I'm beyond grateful that Sylvia did not, in fact, bite it at the animal hospital. Most of all, I'm happy that my car is still running smoothly. It may not really be a friend and yes, I can live without it, but it was there when no one else was and I gave that car more of my emotions than I was able to give my marriage for a while. Not, because I didn't want to give, but because there was no one willing to receive. Except for Ava. That car saved me in a way. It's my safe place and my happy place. the next time Sylvia costs me over $600 for a slim chance that she'll live I may have to seriously rethink things, but I'll do whatever I have to for that car, because it's as much me as the girls I might had to part with had things gone differently.

Health, happiness, and companionship. I almost lost all three in one weekend and honestly, I'm not sure which I would have missed more.

Day Nineteen: Key to Supermarket Happiness, Go Bra-less

I am not exactly what one might call an exhibitionist in the traditional sense. I'm not opposed to a little public play, but I am not often found participating in public displays of affection. I absolutely never flash anyone, not now that gravity is setting in, nor when I was younger and . . . well, springier. So you can safely assume that I covet the use of foundation garments up top. Don't get me wrong, I flash all kinds of cleavage. I have more low cut tops than Dolly Parton, but in the end the girls stay safely tucked away in the top and a fairly supportive underwire.

Every so often, however, I will forego said underwire foundation when I am at home working around the house or studying. It's not exactly comfortable to cage those things 24/7 so the occasional day off is refreshing. Today was just such a day and all was going well until I needed to make a run to the grocery. At this point I was in a soft, comfy turtleneck and open cardigan and the idea of taking it all off to don a boulder holder just to run to the store didn't appeal, so I went without. I didn't think it would be that major of an ordeal. I just went for bananas and juice to make a smoothie. I might have underestimated the trauma and/or judgment such an undertaking would cause.

I arrived at the store within ten minutes, parked in the first spot I found, which happened to be toward the back and made the trek to the store. It was cold outside. It was a bit windy outside. The cardigan was open and the girls were at attention. These are not conscious thoughts running through my mind at the time, but they became apparent enough within minutes of entering the store. In the produce section, a woman actually grabbed her child and pulled her into her own bosom, shielding her face away from mine. She also audibly gasped. GASPED! As if I'd walked in with an AK47 instead of attentive boobs.

I admit, it took me a few moments to gather what exactly was happening, but after gathering my bananas (I realize melons would be more apropos here, but I'm trying to stick to realism) I turned the corner and literally ran into a gentleman in a suit. He apologized directly to unsheathed offenders. Unsheathed of course only in terms of foundation support, still wearing a turtleneck, not a tank top, not a v-neck, but a freaking turtleneck.

Am I now such a pariah of society that merely going sans bra for a fruit run is enough to make children cry and men leave their wives? Oh I forgot that part, the dude in the suit, was with a women in workout gear. Clearly the lovebirds met post work for one and yoga for the other and the breasts popped up and threatened everything they'd built together . . . or, not so much. They're just boobs people. Yes, they are pretty freakin' fantastic these days, but the mere outline of them shouldn't be enough to cause a stir at the grocery. Add to that the fact that I was trying to cover them up with the cardigan as I walked, but clearly a few shadowy glimpses sneaked past. Still, it's not like I was topless or jogging.

Maybe it's because I'm in the conservative south or maybe it's because the girls were extra cold and animated, I have no idea, but if something so benign can cause such a stir, there is a problem in the world.

Finally, there was the checkout experience. I'm not going to lie, it wasn't pretty. People were not friendly, no one asked how I was. Annoyingly pointless conversation with the cashier did not occur as per the usual southern experience. I got a few looks of scorn, a whisper that I swear said something about "unacceptable and inappropriate" blah, blah, but no friendly banter or prolonged check out experience. It was, quite honestly, the best experience I've had trying to check out since I moved here two years ago. Finally, I could simply buy my groceries without the polite banter and "God bless you's" that usually accompany the experience. I may never wear a bra to the store again if only for the luxury of getting in and out without having to talk to everyone and smile pretty like. I fear for the children, but the girls and I will be happy.

Day Eighteen: I called a timeout on life

Have you ever been in the midst of an all-consuming serious emotional crisis and just needed a break? Of course you have, we all have. A loved one dies and after days of grief and funeral arrangements you laugh over something silly or not even funny, just because you needed the emotional relief. My husband left me and I cried and drank and sat listening to sad music for two weeks, then I scraped myself together and tried to function. A few months later I lived by the three D's: drink, denial, and distraction. It was enough to get me through the worst of it.

The human mind, or spirit if you prefer, forces our hand somewhat to keep us relatively sane and stable. Only those that are truly clinically depressed manage to avoid those periods of levity that the rest of us need to survive. In a way, it's like dreams. You can live without laughter and ordinary distractions just as you can survive without dreams, but your body rebels and starts to shut down in some ways. We need emotional breaks in life to survive the gravity we will most definitely face once again.

These days I'm less depressed and I'm not drinking much (though I'd like to if it weren't for school), but I am dabbling in the denial and distraction game. I finally came to realize, so what? What's the harm in not feeling lousy all the time, aside from the fact that I've gained a few pounds thanks to my "eat to forget" plan? It is possible to feel one thing over-ridingly and yet to still act in ways that might seem contradictory to it. 

So I go out and socialize and have a good time and meet new people and have fun and  . . . ugh, it's tiring to deny reality. Still, it's better than being a depressed lump who refuses to venture out into the world or to enjoy the laughs when they can be had. So what interests me is that at the same moment when a part of you wants to scream or cry, you can do something completely contradictory to those emotions and to actually pull it off. 

I find that if I spend time with friends laughing and talking, I am able to put the emotional crisis on the back burner for a couple of hours. It resurfaces the minute I am home and quiet again, but how odd that we can be all-consumed with something and still find a way to call the emotional equivalent of a time-out. This is how we deal. It's not that I don't feel it. I do. The heartbreak, the guilt, the anger, the overwhelming sadness, they are all my constant companions, I've just found that I also need to ignore it for a while. So yes, sometimes I am able to do things and to act in ways that seem contrary to my real feelings, but then again reality isn't just one thing or the other, it's all things. 

Day Seventeen: Ohhhh nuts!

Why do we revisit past mistakes hoping for a new outcome? If we break up with someone, for instance, do you really think that three months down the road that person is suddenly going to be exactly what we need? Maybe we really do realize after some time and distance that the job, boyfriend, wife, best friend, chiropractor . . . whatever, was superior to anyone or anything else we'll find and so we re-enlist for the pleasure of reconnecting. Then again, maybe we've just not found anything better and in a life that can be lonely and cruel at times we simply need something to make us feel connected or to fill that void.

Funnily enough, we do it with all sorts of things, not just the biggies. I know those leopard print and black mesh heels do not stay on my feet and are almost legendarily uncomfortable in the shoe world, and yet they are still in my closet. I will wear them again, in fact. I will pull them out when they are the exact right choice while standing in front of the mirror  . . . and then I will walk. The minute I leave my apartment I will begin to curse those damn shoes and to reconsider my decision. when I get home, however, I will put them away once again, storing them in my closet for yet another night. Those shoes continue to tempt me the way I watch my friends pine for their old girlfriends. The girlfriends who treated them like crap or chastised them for their lifestyles, poor choices, lack of careers, etc. and yet these men moon over said woman like she was the one. The one to what? Make you feel badly?

Are we so afraid of being alone or trying new things that we'll accept even the worst of the old ones simply because they are comfortable? Well, maybe not those shoes, comfortable should not be translated in a literal sense for the shoes. So maybe it's not comfort at all, maybe it's more the fact that we idealize something and put it on a shelf in the same way those awful shoes are protected in their plastic, see-through shoe box high over my head. We put things we once loved on pedestals and protect them not for what and who they now are, but for what we imagined them to be.

This man will be the perfect spouse; she will be an amazing boss and mentor; these shoes are going to make people stop and stare. The ideas that allow us to invest in people and things are also the very reasons why it is then difficult to disengage. Doing so requires an acknowledgement that we failed somehow. We failed in our judgment or in our ultimate goal or in making something work. So we continue to idolize what we already know is a failure because that is easier than admitting that it's over and that we might just be wasting our time.

Unless of course, we really have changed. My feet are not planning any major reconstructions so unfortunately those shoes are never going to be much good outside their protective box, but I can change. So what if he or she hasn't, maybe all that needs to happen to fix that relationship is within my power. If I was a bad employee, I can fix that. If I was a lousy wife, I can fix that. If you are a lousy boyfriend, knock it the fuck off and get it together. We do have power over ourselves, but changing who we are is often not as easy as blaming the other person. Pointing fingers is also just so satisfying in its self-delusional way.

So saddle up, the trick is to know --to really know-- who is to blame and who needs to change. Because the sad and confusing fact of the matter, is that it's also supremely easy sometimes to just blame ourselves and think, "well I can change and then she'll love me again." No baby, no she won't, because she'll still treat you like dirt and you'll just deserve it less. I guess there are no real answers to this one. Is it perception, personal failure, idealization/idolization, or a combination of all three? Who knows, but I suspect we will all keep making the same mistakes again and again. Which is fitting since I believe we are all just a bit crazy anyway. Remember the old definition? Crazy is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting a different result. You got it, we're all fucking nuts.