I have several issue-based blogs rumbling around in my head to give you a break from my whiny, self-indulgent ponderings, but please forgive me for just one more narcissistic rant.
I've been pondering my moodiness ever since I started feeling re-energized following the discovery that my thyroid and vitamin D levels were way out of whack. I've felt generally better and more upbeat since getting both of those imbalances corrected and yet I remain . . . well, me. Where is the bouncy, happy-go-lucky Ame that everyone seems to think I should be? Why can't I manage the same positivity that everyone else seems to not only display, but to actually enjoy? Why, instead of just accepting and not caring about the seemingly unwashed, thrift store shopping hipsters that wander from Williamsburg to the East Village and around Plaza Midwood (Charlotte, NC) with their super cool, Jack Kerouac attitudes do I get so annoyed by them and want to shove their heads under the tap to be washed? "Stop being so judgmental and why do you care," admonished a friend recently.
I have no earthly idea why I care. They irritate me the way the pink-shirted, braided belt Southern twenty-something men irritate me and the overly put together, up-talking girls irritate me. They just do. I get irritated about all sorts of things, people, issues, stupidity, ignorance, loud children, slow people, overly chill people, overly anal people. It's just who I am. I'm sorry I can't be more positive all the time, I'm sorry I notice all the shit in the world along with all the beauty. Perhaps I just have better peripheral vision, because when I look at the world I don't just see that the glass is half full or half empty. I see both.
So the question I began to ask myself is, why? Why can't I simply see the good with it's rainbows and unicorns and fairy dust like so many other people I know? Why do I choose to be the champion for what is wrong in the world? It's certainly not my goal to be negative, but then again, why do I have to change and be like everyone else? If I am to be chastised for pointing out and judging those who annoy me, then why can't you just accept that I'm like them, in that I am different and not a fit for your nicey-nice mold? Why am I wrong for simply being me and feeling what I feel? Stop telling me to smile. I don't happen to want to walk around with a grin, it gives you wrinkles anyway, so maybe I'm just trying to preserve my smooth complexion.
Or maybe there is more to it. I'm not a martyr walking around with a brave face when times are low. I'll never be my Mother and I've learned that I do not want to be. The truth, and I'm sorry to upset you with it, is that I'm sad. I am sad every single day. Sometimes just a little and sometimes a lot. I have been sad for a very long time and your desire to remake me into some Suzy Sunshine version of myself is just never going to play. I'm sorry to upset the balance of your world with my reality, but I refuse to change just to keep your Peter Pan view of life intact. I feel no need to take artificial mood enhancers or to attempt to tweak my brain chemistry. I'm not bi-polar or schizophrenic or even dangerous, aside from my lethal sarcasm. This is just who I am and you'll have to deal with that or remove yourself from my company.
No one feels the need to tone down their excessive case of "chipper" around me or to cease telling me about the wonderful joys of their fabulous life of Bunco parties and alcohol-free backyard BBQs. So step off. If I feel the need to rant about Don't Ask, Don't Tell, the increasing health crisis and terrorist swell in Haiti, or the disturbing need for right-wing fuckwits to tell me what I can do with my body that is my choice. Since I seem to be the one under constant pressure to conform and paint a pretty picture over my real emotions, let me just clue you in on one little thing: I don't need you. I'd rather have a few genuine friends around me who understand that not all my days are sunny, than a mob of good timers.
Why should I have to pretend for your comfort level or take medication to artificially alter my moods to one you approve of? I'm only the person I am and while I still love to laugh and joke and be silly, I'm okay with being a little sad. As I mentioned to a friend tonight, life isn't supposed to be easy, but it is most definitely an interesting journey. I'm not sure that I'll ever get over the bad times completely. It seems as soon as one wraps up another takes its place. Maybe all life really is, is just a string of good or bad experiences. I apologize if I'm not constantly looking for the silver lining, you'll just have to get used to it. If you don't mind, however, perhaps you could look a little harder to see that life isn't a game of CandyLand. I wouldn't mind if you'd be willing to notice some of the bad sometimes too, in fact, you might find it refreshing to realize your happy little planet is not, in fact, the center of the universe.
About Me
- Ame.
- Charlotte, NC, United States
- My brain never stops and whatever I think tends to come out of my mouth. This daily blog helps me to channel those things maybe better left unsaid to a forum that you can read by choice and I can call them how I see them. Join me each day as I debate the political, social, personal and the ridiculous . . . mostly with myself. Life is full of crazy shit, I just happen to be one of those people that both notice and comment.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Day Fifteen: Regrets or Destiny, Time to "Face" My Reality
Do you remember that scene in the original "Poltergeist" where the nerdy paranormal researcher with glasses is standing in front of the mirror and suddenly begins peeling his face off? Well, I feel like that sometimes. Don't you? You look in the mirror and for whatever reason you just don't like what you see and wish you could tear the image, and in a symbolic gesture yourself, to pieces.
I'm not one to regret, in fact I even have a tattoo to that effect, but I do realize that sometimes in life we all make decisions that in the moment seem perhaps wiser than than they should. Don't get me wrong, there are also plenty of days when I stare at my reflection with chagrin, amusement, shock, pride, disappointment, and any number of other emotions. It just so happens, that as a woman who makes decisions largely based on emotions and spontaneity, it should not be unusual for me to feel at least the smidge of regret. Funny thing is, I rarely do.
We all have many faces we show the world and I hope that rare are the times when one's own face gives us so much pause that we feel like ripping it apart, but I do recognize that it happens. So the question is, whose fault is it? Are we to blame because life offers so many wonderful options that from time to time we are guilty of choosing pleasure or selfishness over prudence? What about choosing a life less fulfilling because we know it is the expected "right" choice, but we grow to hate ourselves because we ignored our own needs? Sometimes making choices that one regrets has nothing to do with selfishness at all.
Truth be told there are several things I regret and while most of them are going in the category of "Oh, for fuck's sake why did I do that?" there are also a few that lead me to believe I passed on something that could have been truly fulfilling or rewarding simply because I felt that doing the "right" thing meant I had to go another way. In either case the result is the same and quite honestly after nearly 38 years with it, I'm really starting to get accustomed to my face, so shredding it from shame really isn't much of an option.
We have to look in the mirror, we have to live with who and what we see, and we have to find a way to make it okay. I'm struggling to find that balance, but I'll tell you what really gets me. Is it better to abstain and bypass what could be a truly wonderful opportunity or experience to pursue what is righteous or to never take a risk because you are so afraid of making a mistake and being faced with regret? I may not believe in regrets, but more than that, I do not believe in living a life that doesn't at least give one the opportunity to make some.
Life is a challenge and it's hard, no one said it would be easy. So if you come to the end and looking back you realize that you only made a few real mistakes worth regretting, I'd count that as a win. Maybe saving face, as the expression goes. really isn't as important as saving oneself. I know I'd rather die of shame and embarrassment from trying too hard at something than never trying at all. So look out, I'm fighting for what I want and it's up to you to fight me off. There's plenty of time for regrets tomorrow, it's still going to be my face looking back at me in the mirror.
I'm not one to regret, in fact I even have a tattoo to that effect, but I do realize that sometimes in life we all make decisions that in the moment seem perhaps wiser than than they should. Don't get me wrong, there are also plenty of days when I stare at my reflection with chagrin, amusement, shock, pride, disappointment, and any number of other emotions. It just so happens, that as a woman who makes decisions largely based on emotions and spontaneity, it should not be unusual for me to feel at least the smidge of regret. Funny thing is, I rarely do.
We all have many faces we show the world and I hope that rare are the times when one's own face gives us so much pause that we feel like ripping it apart, but I do recognize that it happens. So the question is, whose fault is it? Are we to blame because life offers so many wonderful options that from time to time we are guilty of choosing pleasure or selfishness over prudence? What about choosing a life less fulfilling because we know it is the expected "right" choice, but we grow to hate ourselves because we ignored our own needs? Sometimes making choices that one regrets has nothing to do with selfishness at all.
Truth be told there are several things I regret and while most of them are going in the category of "Oh, for fuck's sake why did I do that?" there are also a few that lead me to believe I passed on something that could have been truly fulfilling or rewarding simply because I felt that doing the "right" thing meant I had to go another way. In either case the result is the same and quite honestly after nearly 38 years with it, I'm really starting to get accustomed to my face, so shredding it from shame really isn't much of an option.
We have to look in the mirror, we have to live with who and what we see, and we have to find a way to make it okay. I'm struggling to find that balance, but I'll tell you what really gets me. Is it better to abstain and bypass what could be a truly wonderful opportunity or experience to pursue what is righteous or to never take a risk because you are so afraid of making a mistake and being faced with regret? I may not believe in regrets, but more than that, I do not believe in living a life that doesn't at least give one the opportunity to make some.
Life is a challenge and it's hard, no one said it would be easy. So if you come to the end and looking back you realize that you only made a few real mistakes worth regretting, I'd count that as a win. Maybe saving face, as the expression goes. really isn't as important as saving oneself. I know I'd rather die of shame and embarrassment from trying too hard at something than never trying at all. So look out, I'm fighting for what I want and it's up to you to fight me off. There's plenty of time for regrets tomorrow, it's still going to be my face looking back at me in the mirror.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Day Fourteen: Who the Hell Do You Think You Are . . . and Who Will You Be Tomorrow?
A beloved professor and I have become somewhat of pen pals this last year and recently he reminded me of some opinions I once espoused in class, which in turn reminded him of some opinions of his own from long ago and round and round it went. Thinking back to all the opinions I vehemently, and usually quite loudly supported, I wonder how many of them I would still believe today.
We all change as we age, but do our core beliefs or opinions? Should they even? If at twenty-something I thought it was inexcusable for a woman to abandon her child to save herself, then why at thirty-something do I have empathy for her? Some things evolve maybe with life wisdom, while others seem intrinsically bound to our innate identities. It is the same way with people I think. I was drawn to this professor right from the first. I liked his choice of books, and as it was an English Lit class that was the big draw initially, but there was more. Some people just stick with you, while others are . . . disposable? Forgettable?
I feel like I have not really changed all that much in my life. There's a Wallflowers line, "I haven't changed, but I know I'm not the same" and it sums me up perfectly. Of course there is a difference in all of us, we learn, we age, we experience and yet some things about who we are never change. I like what I like. True, there was a time I hated even the smell of broccoli, but those are the meaningless differences. Other things, like who we are drawn to or repelled by, ethical beliefs, preferences for literature, art, science, they might be more inherent and not so easily changed.
I suppose in some ways we are who we are and in others we blow with the wind. I frequently contradict myself numerous times in one day. So who knows, maybe at forty-something I'll be appalled at the abandonment of a child again. Even so, something tells me that I'll still be smitten with that college professor and I'm happy about that. Turns out, I have good taste in people while the rest of it . . . well, we'll see in time.
We all change as we age, but do our core beliefs or opinions? Should they even? If at twenty-something I thought it was inexcusable for a woman to abandon her child to save herself, then why at thirty-something do I have empathy for her? Some things evolve maybe with life wisdom, while others seem intrinsically bound to our innate identities. It is the same way with people I think. I was drawn to this professor right from the first. I liked his choice of books, and as it was an English Lit class that was the big draw initially, but there was more. Some people just stick with you, while others are . . . disposable? Forgettable?
I feel like I have not really changed all that much in my life. There's a Wallflowers line, "I haven't changed, but I know I'm not the same" and it sums me up perfectly. Of course there is a difference in all of us, we learn, we age, we experience and yet some things about who we are never change. I like what I like. True, there was a time I hated even the smell of broccoli, but those are the meaningless differences. Other things, like who we are drawn to or repelled by, ethical beliefs, preferences for literature, art, science, they might be more inherent and not so easily changed.
I suppose in some ways we are who we are and in others we blow with the wind. I frequently contradict myself numerous times in one day. So who knows, maybe at forty-something I'll be appalled at the abandonment of a child again. Even so, something tells me that I'll still be smitten with that college professor and I'm happy about that. Turns out, I have good taste in people while the rest of it . . . well, we'll see in time.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Day Thirteen: Moments of Solitude
Today I realize I just do not have much to say. Well, it is me we're talking about so that statement is relative to my normal ability to write five pages about a dozen different things. Today, however, I'm just not feeling it. I have a headache, a 36 hour headache at this point and there does not seem to be any news really worth commenting on. I think I'll leave you with silence and white space today. I am feeling quiet and a little distant, a luxury many of you do not get to have.
I cannot imagine having to deal with a family every single day. I like my alone time and living alone, without children, and far from family gives me that ability to just hibernate for a day or two without hurting anyone's feelings. When I have a headache there is nothing I want less than people, I seriously do not know how most of you do it. I long for solitude when I have been social or too busy to spend time alone. I do not miss being out on a Friday night, or having drinks with friends, I am completely content at home alone.
When I think about not having children and the worry that I will one day regret it, I always try to remember moments like these when the mere idea of noisy, energetic little creatures demanding my time and attention are enough to give me a headache all over again. No, I think I am content without being a Mommy, without being a social butterfly, without the fear that I am missing something by staying home on a weekend night. Life is good all by itself, and sometimes that is enough.
I cannot imagine having to deal with a family every single day. I like my alone time and living alone, without children, and far from family gives me that ability to just hibernate for a day or two without hurting anyone's feelings. When I have a headache there is nothing I want less than people, I seriously do not know how most of you do it. I long for solitude when I have been social or too busy to spend time alone. I do not miss being out on a Friday night, or having drinks with friends, I am completely content at home alone.
When I think about not having children and the worry that I will one day regret it, I always try to remember moments like these when the mere idea of noisy, energetic little creatures demanding my time and attention are enough to give me a headache all over again. No, I think I am content without being a Mommy, without being a social butterfly, without the fear that I am missing something by staying home on a weekend night. Life is good all by itself, and sometimes that is enough.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Day Twelve: Grateful
I tend to be issue-based or negative in my blogs, but tonight will be different. Tonight we're going to highlight what I am thankful for, only Ame-style. You know I'm not a positive, sunny person which is what gets me into trouble so much about being negative. I am not actually negative, I just notice things and feel that commenting on the positive is a bit redundant. We know the positives, one does not need to point out why something that is good, is good. I see the full picture and just normally think the unspoken is the most worth commenting on.
Today is different. It is Thanksgiving and I am thankful for so many things. Me being me, however, I just see a lot of what I'm thankful for in the failures. Most of all, I am grateful for the love in my life. I have had some amazing relationships. My husband, though trying to claw his way out, is my greatest gift. Love is never a mistake, even when it does not end well. I love my husband, I love the happiness we found together, I love his silly laugh, I love that he loved me. I am grateful for that love and the knowledge that someone out there found me worthy of it.
I am grateful for my Mother. I didn't have the most happy childhood, and I'm still pretty pissed off about being adopted. My Mother, however, was pretty amazing. She was the kindest, gentlest, soul I've ever known and I hope the that the 27 years I got to have with her will one day make me a better person. There were missteps, my awful Stepfather being a big one, but underneath everything was this belief that the good in people would triumph and made them all worth the effort.
I am thankful for my intelligence and self-awareness. Yes, it also means that lots of times I know my life sucks or that I'm unhappy, bitchy, poor, fat, whatever, but it also means that I'm never going to truly be without recourse. I will always be able to dig myself out of whatever hole I've gotten myself into and I will always find people that are true friends.
Life is unpredictable at best and sometimes it is heartbreaking. That heartbreak teaches us what is important and what it means to be part of a bigger picture. My happiness is not the most important thing in the world. So forgive me, if I do not point out all the wonderful aspects to my life and tend to focus more on what's wrong in the world. It is not because I do not see or feel it, it's because I am just a speck in this universal struggle for existence and happiness and I judge my own life to be less important than the big picture. I don't want to focus solely on the happy or immediate, because for me, that negates the greater issues of importance. My happiness is lovely, but it is extraneous when there is so much strife and suffering.
I am thankful to not ever find myself struggling to the point that it is all I can see and I am equally grateful to never be so all-consumed with my own happiness that I fail to see the misery around me. Fault me if you will, but know that I am the way I am with the best intentions. I do not always see the repercussions my actions will have on others. I see the big picture and sometimes choose to put a band-aide on the pain by using impulsive actions or words. It is not a reflection on my feelings, it's just a way to shade myself from the things I don't know how to change.
I am grateful every day to be alive and to have had a loving family, friends and relationships. I am grateful to know I will never truly be destitute or alone. I am grateful for the ability to hope and believe when everything you tell me goes against my desired outcome. I am grateful I got even a day with you, Jeff Bramlett. We cannot undo our past choices, but we can at least appreciate what is real, even if maybe it no longer exists.
Today is different. It is Thanksgiving and I am thankful for so many things. Me being me, however, I just see a lot of what I'm thankful for in the failures. Most of all, I am grateful for the love in my life. I have had some amazing relationships. My husband, though trying to claw his way out, is my greatest gift. Love is never a mistake, even when it does not end well. I love my husband, I love the happiness we found together, I love his silly laugh, I love that he loved me. I am grateful for that love and the knowledge that someone out there found me worthy of it.
I am grateful for my Mother. I didn't have the most happy childhood, and I'm still pretty pissed off about being adopted. My Mother, however, was pretty amazing. She was the kindest, gentlest, soul I've ever known and I hope the that the 27 years I got to have with her will one day make me a better person. There were missteps, my awful Stepfather being a big one, but underneath everything was this belief that the good in people would triumph and made them all worth the effort.
I am thankful for my intelligence and self-awareness. Yes, it also means that lots of times I know my life sucks or that I'm unhappy, bitchy, poor, fat, whatever, but it also means that I'm never going to truly be without recourse. I will always be able to dig myself out of whatever hole I've gotten myself into and I will always find people that are true friends.
Life is unpredictable at best and sometimes it is heartbreaking. That heartbreak teaches us what is important and what it means to be part of a bigger picture. My happiness is not the most important thing in the world. So forgive me, if I do not point out all the wonderful aspects to my life and tend to focus more on what's wrong in the world. It is not because I do not see or feel it, it's because I am just a speck in this universal struggle for existence and happiness and I judge my own life to be less important than the big picture. I don't want to focus solely on the happy or immediate, because for me, that negates the greater issues of importance. My happiness is lovely, but it is extraneous when there is so much strife and suffering.
I am thankful to not ever find myself struggling to the point that it is all I can see and I am equally grateful to never be so all-consumed with my own happiness that I fail to see the misery around me. Fault me if you will, but know that I am the way I am with the best intentions. I do not always see the repercussions my actions will have on others. I see the big picture and sometimes choose to put a band-aide on the pain by using impulsive actions or words. It is not a reflection on my feelings, it's just a way to shade myself from the things I don't know how to change.
I am grateful every day to be alive and to have had a loving family, friends and relationships. I am grateful to know I will never truly be destitute or alone. I am grateful for the ability to hope and believe when everything you tell me goes against my desired outcome. I am grateful I got even a day with you, Jeff Bramlett. We cannot undo our past choices, but we can at least appreciate what is real, even if maybe it no longer exists.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Day Eleven: You May Have a Problem
Times are tough financially. I could use a bargain. I like sales. I need to buy people Christmas gifts as well as buying myself gifts, so where could I find a good sale at Thanksgiving . . .? Oh yeah, I know, at THREE FUCKING A.M.!!!
Black Friday is one thing. There have been great deals available in stores the day after Thanksgiving for years, and every year it gets crazier. I thought we'd reached the pinnacle of "WTF?" when people starting getting trampled to death while trying to rush into the stores. Then we began camping out overnight or even a day or two in advance, but this year i think we've really hit the point that I need to visit the parking lots where these people are waiting just to let them know what morons they are.
The possibility of death by shopping doesn't sway them. The idea of camping out days in advance, sometimes missing Thanksgiving altogether, doesn't sway them. Now we have stores opening as early as 3am on Friday and people are planning to go. What kind of sale could make an ordinarily sane person want to go shopping at 3am the morning after Thanksgiving? There are very few things one should be doing at 3am and none of them are shopping.
For the benefit of any of you who might be considering a trip to whatever stupid ass stores are planning to open that early, here is a helpful list of generally accepted 3am activities:
1) Sleeping - the most common 3am activity.
2) Wishing that you were sleeping. A popular insomniac activity at 3am.
3) Drinking or getting home from drinking. Another very common post "Thanksgiving day with the family" activity.
4) Having sex. A common late night activity that often follows item three.
5) Wishing you hadn't have gotten drunk and had sex with that random from the bar.
6) Eating leftover Thanksgiving turkey and/or pie.
7) Pretty much anything other than waiting in a parking lot for the opportunity to be trampled to death in your quest for an X-box.
Seven a.m. is almost respectable, six a.m. is pushing the boundaries of rationality, five a.m. is ridiculous, but three in the damn morning these people are ready to shove and push their way through Wal-mart for a Cuisinart? I love my kitchen gadgets, but get a grip people! Go get drunk, have sex with a relative stranger and make yourself and her/him a damn turkey sandwich. Let's bring some sanity back to our shopping. It should happen during the day or online in your underwear, not at Kohl's at three a.m.
Black Friday is one thing. There have been great deals available in stores the day after Thanksgiving for years, and every year it gets crazier. I thought we'd reached the pinnacle of "WTF?" when people starting getting trampled to death while trying to rush into the stores. Then we began camping out overnight or even a day or two in advance, but this year i think we've really hit the point that I need to visit the parking lots where these people are waiting just to let them know what morons they are.
The possibility of death by shopping doesn't sway them. The idea of camping out days in advance, sometimes missing Thanksgiving altogether, doesn't sway them. Now we have stores opening as early as 3am on Friday and people are planning to go. What kind of sale could make an ordinarily sane person want to go shopping at 3am the morning after Thanksgiving? There are very few things one should be doing at 3am and none of them are shopping.
For the benefit of any of you who might be considering a trip to whatever stupid ass stores are planning to open that early, here is a helpful list of generally accepted 3am activities:
1) Sleeping - the most common 3am activity.
2) Wishing that you were sleeping. A popular insomniac activity at 3am.
3) Drinking or getting home from drinking. Another very common post "Thanksgiving day with the family" activity.
4) Having sex. A common late night activity that often follows item three.
5) Wishing you hadn't have gotten drunk and had sex with that random from the bar.
6) Eating leftover Thanksgiving turkey and/or pie.
7) Pretty much anything other than waiting in a parking lot for the opportunity to be trampled to death in your quest for an X-box.
Seven a.m. is almost respectable, six a.m. is pushing the boundaries of rationality, five a.m. is ridiculous, but three in the damn morning these people are ready to shove and push their way through Wal-mart for a Cuisinart? I love my kitchen gadgets, but get a grip people! Go get drunk, have sex with a relative stranger and make yourself and her/him a damn turkey sandwich. Let's bring some sanity back to our shopping. It should happen during the day or online in your underwear, not at Kohl's at three a.m.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Day Ten: Falling in Love with Myself
I am giving myself permission to be nice to myself. Years of low self-esteem, fear of rejection, hurt from rejection, and mismanagement of my personal and professional life have left me less than confident. Just when it seemed that everything was falling apart, however, I suddenly find myself putting it all together and it feels pretty terrific. It sucks that it's taken me so long, but it may not altogether be my fault. Numerous variables factor into my life equation.
For one thing, my childhood kind of sucked after the age of 8. I grew up poor and with tension and sometimes outright hostility in my house. I fell in love and bed way too early and it did not turn out well. I seem to recall being labeled a whore by my own brother. (Don't worry, we're good now.) I skipped the traditional college experience due to a lack of finances and no desire to spend even more time with other annoying teenagers. I couldn't find or settle on a fulfilling career, thanks in part to an English Lit degree (Yes, I know I could always teach. Thanks for pointing that out for the 837 thousandth time.) My Mother died way too early. My relationship ability stinks. I've had good friends betray me. I can't sleep for shit. I wrestled with a long-lasting bout of bulimia (it doesn't make you skinny, but it's kind of awesome to get to eat an entire pizza and cake without the repercussions). And there was my ever-present pessimism to contend with.
What's changed you ask? Well, thankfully, most of that shit, but the most notable for me is that I had a doctor do some blood-work and she discovered some medical reasons for at least some of my issues. She also discovered two lumps in my breasts, but a scary couple of weeks and my first mammogram later and that seems to have been a false alarm. The good news about being medically broken, however, is that I am extremely, dangerously vitamin D deficient and I am very hypothyroid. Why is this good news you ask? Well, because the doc put me on prescription meds for both and wouldn't you know it, I'm feeling almost chipper some days!
I know, shocking, but let's not call a cheerleader intervention just yet, it's just some days. Still, I have to admit that I'm feeling oddly positive about life. I'm even sleeping most nights, though not all the way through and only for 2-3 hours at a time, but still I am sleeping! The world is brighter -- literally -- and I am not giving into the urges to cry or panic when I feel overwhelmed. I haven't yelled at anyone lately, even while driving, and I kind of like people . . . well, mostly.
The vitamin D thing was the most surprising to me. I had no idea you could even be dangerously low on vitamin D levels or that a prescription strength vitamin D supplement existed. You can and it does. The hypothyroidism I knew about having been diagnosed over ten years ago, but I was never consistently on synthetic hormones to right my thyroid levels. It's not dangerous after all. Hyper-thyroidism can be life threatening, but hypos like me are just sluggish, fat, cold, and moody. Turns out the vitamin D thing can lead to moodiness too. So now that I've been on meds for a few weeks I've got to tell you that life is a bit happier, even when bad stuff is happening. Rather than get depressed, blame the world, or be bitchy to someone I have decided to fight for what I want and to suck up the parts that aren't great.
I'm making positive changes in my life, which is what I tried to do a year and a half ago when I started my first blog. Maybe at that time I just wasn't physically ready. Now, I'm in grad school and loving it. (I won a scholarship, am doing well, and see a real professional future for myself.) My personal life isn't faring well, but I am determined to fight for what I want and for the man I love, whether he wants me to or not. I feel stronger and more positive about life in general and I'm happier, which is new.
My finances are seeing an upside, my friendships are coming into focus (the deadweight has either been cut or cut itself), and I'm spending all my time either working or studying so there's just not a lot of time for pointless socializing or drinking. I do miss wine and whiskey though, I'm not going to lie, and I've gained five pounds from not having time to workout, but I've also gained some mental stability and happiness which is definitely worth the five pounds. I am grateful. Each year at this time when people ask what I'm thankful for I don't really have a good answer, but this year I do. I will save that though, for Thursday's blog.
For one thing, my childhood kind of sucked after the age of 8. I grew up poor and with tension and sometimes outright hostility in my house. I fell in love and bed way too early and it did not turn out well. I seem to recall being labeled a whore by my own brother. (Don't worry, we're good now.) I skipped the traditional college experience due to a lack of finances and no desire to spend even more time with other annoying teenagers. I couldn't find or settle on a fulfilling career, thanks in part to an English Lit degree (Yes, I know I could always teach. Thanks for pointing that out for the 837 thousandth time.) My Mother died way too early. My relationship ability stinks. I've had good friends betray me. I can't sleep for shit. I wrestled with a long-lasting bout of bulimia (it doesn't make you skinny, but it's kind of awesome to get to eat an entire pizza and cake without the repercussions). And there was my ever-present pessimism to contend with.
What's changed you ask? Well, thankfully, most of that shit, but the most notable for me is that I had a doctor do some blood-work and she discovered some medical reasons for at least some of my issues. She also discovered two lumps in my breasts, but a scary couple of weeks and my first mammogram later and that seems to have been a false alarm. The good news about being medically broken, however, is that I am extremely, dangerously vitamin D deficient and I am very hypothyroid. Why is this good news you ask? Well, because the doc put me on prescription meds for both and wouldn't you know it, I'm feeling almost chipper some days!
I know, shocking, but let's not call a cheerleader intervention just yet, it's just some days. Still, I have to admit that I'm feeling oddly positive about life. I'm even sleeping most nights, though not all the way through and only for 2-3 hours at a time, but still I am sleeping! The world is brighter -- literally -- and I am not giving into the urges to cry or panic when I feel overwhelmed. I haven't yelled at anyone lately, even while driving, and I kind of like people . . . well, mostly.
The vitamin D thing was the most surprising to me. I had no idea you could even be dangerously low on vitamin D levels or that a prescription strength vitamin D supplement existed. You can and it does. The hypothyroidism I knew about having been diagnosed over ten years ago, but I was never consistently on synthetic hormones to right my thyroid levels. It's not dangerous after all. Hyper-thyroidism can be life threatening, but hypos like me are just sluggish, fat, cold, and moody. Turns out the vitamin D thing can lead to moodiness too. So now that I've been on meds for a few weeks I've got to tell you that life is a bit happier, even when bad stuff is happening. Rather than get depressed, blame the world, or be bitchy to someone I have decided to fight for what I want and to suck up the parts that aren't great.
I'm making positive changes in my life, which is what I tried to do a year and a half ago when I started my first blog. Maybe at that time I just wasn't physically ready. Now, I'm in grad school and loving it. (I won a scholarship, am doing well, and see a real professional future for myself.) My personal life isn't faring well, but I am determined to fight for what I want and for the man I love, whether he wants me to or not. I feel stronger and more positive about life in general and I'm happier, which is new.
My finances are seeing an upside, my friendships are coming into focus (the deadweight has either been cut or cut itself), and I'm spending all my time either working or studying so there's just not a lot of time for pointless socializing or drinking. I do miss wine and whiskey though, I'm not going to lie, and I've gained five pounds from not having time to workout, but I've also gained some mental stability and happiness which is definitely worth the five pounds. I am grateful. Each year at this time when people ask what I'm thankful for I don't really have a good answer, but this year I do. I will save that though, for Thursday's blog.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Day Nine: I Just Don't Have the Flair
Some professional wrestling fans might remember a wrestler named Ric Flair. Ric was also known as "The Nature Boy" in the ring, but I don't remember why. It couldn't have been his appearance which was anything but natural. Bleach blond hair, a tan that would make George Hamilton jealous, and flamboyant outfits in the ring and out. Flair is one of the most recognized professional wrestlers in the world. He also happens to live in Charlotte, NC.
It's not a huge town and we live and play in the same general neighborhoods so I see him. I see him at the grocery (he flirted with me in the parking lot there once) and I see him at the nicer restaurants and most recently at the sports bar where I watched an NFL game. That particular day I also found out from a friend that Flair often buys dinner for whoever happens to be eating next to him and one night he bought not only her dinner, but an hour of conversation to the tune of $300. She talked to him and more importantly, let him talk and he was so grateful that he paid her $300.
I wouldn't have taken the money myself, though I need it desperately, but it just seems too . . . sad and icky, for lack of a better word. That same day when Flair showed up at football he sat at a table with this friend of mine and about four other people. The table grew in size to closer to ten and when the bill came, Flair paid. He then showed the receipt to neighboring tables and it was about 18 inches long. They all let him pay for the drinks and food they'd ordered for four hours and I didn't read a lot of gratitude on their faces in the process.
There's not much of a point to this, except that it saddened and angered me a bit. Ric Flair isn't Nature Boy anymore and he may not have the fortune he once had, but he still has legions of fans. He's a celebrity here in Charlotte and people never tire of letting him buy them things. I'm sure he's told all his stories a thousand times and probably feels like no one wants to hear them anymore, so instead he buys their time and they let him. In a town like Charlotte where money makes the man, you can buy a lot of friends and there is always someone willing to be bought.
I'd be interested in hearing his stories, but more importantly, I'd like to ask those greedy parasites if any of them ever thought about buying his dinner or drinks. Seeing him and knowing how others let him spend whatever money he has left on their good times makes me wonder if we all end up that way somehow? When all of our stories have been told and our money made, who will we be? If Flair stopped buying things would he still have so many friends? I hope so, but it does depress me when I see him out and wonder if we're all destined to be either the bought or the buyer.
It's not a huge town and we live and play in the same general neighborhoods so I see him. I see him at the grocery (he flirted with me in the parking lot there once) and I see him at the nicer restaurants and most recently at the sports bar where I watched an NFL game. That particular day I also found out from a friend that Flair often buys dinner for whoever happens to be eating next to him and one night he bought not only her dinner, but an hour of conversation to the tune of $300. She talked to him and more importantly, let him talk and he was so grateful that he paid her $300.
I wouldn't have taken the money myself, though I need it desperately, but it just seems too . . . sad and icky, for lack of a better word. That same day when Flair showed up at football he sat at a table with this friend of mine and about four other people. The table grew in size to closer to ten and when the bill came, Flair paid. He then showed the receipt to neighboring tables and it was about 18 inches long. They all let him pay for the drinks and food they'd ordered for four hours and I didn't read a lot of gratitude on their faces in the process.
There's not much of a point to this, except that it saddened and angered me a bit. Ric Flair isn't Nature Boy anymore and he may not have the fortune he once had, but he still has legions of fans. He's a celebrity here in Charlotte and people never tire of letting him buy them things. I'm sure he's told all his stories a thousand times and probably feels like no one wants to hear them anymore, so instead he buys their time and they let him. In a town like Charlotte where money makes the man, you can buy a lot of friends and there is always someone willing to be bought.
I'd be interested in hearing his stories, but more importantly, I'd like to ask those greedy parasites if any of them ever thought about buying his dinner or drinks. Seeing him and knowing how others let him spend whatever money he has left on their good times makes me wonder if we all end up that way somehow? When all of our stories have been told and our money made, who will we be? If Flair stopped buying things would he still have so many friends? I hope so, but it does depress me when I see him out and wonder if we're all destined to be either the bought or the buyer.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Day Eight: My Roommate is Getting in the Way of My Aloneness
I miss living alone. I have lived alone off and on for most of my adult life or at least with various roommates who were never home (loved the four years I lived with my Pops, we were never home at the same time). I don't count my relationships. Living with David and Jeff is the same as alone to a certain degree because you are a couple. Though I'd have to say that in the last three years even when Jeff and I were together I was mostly alone. He wasn't present very much in our home life the last few months of NYC and in Kansas he basically lived in the office. Then he was deployed again and I was truly alone. I got into a rhythm and habit of how I do things and really just how to tolerate that solitude. I am not a naturally outgoing person, so there will be days that I don't leave the house or talk to another person if i don't have to.
Jeff kept me balanced, righting me when I listed too far one way or the other. There are definitely times when I am social and if too much alcohol is involved I can be social to an extreme so it was good to have that support network there to keep me steady. Living alone though is also somewhat comforting in that familiar sense that we all learn to recognize as normal. My things, my space, my mess and my quiet. Jeff is gone now, but I have a roommate. He moved in a couple of months ago and he's very nice and fairly quiet. Problem is, HE'S IN MY HOUSE. There are days when I come home, so anxious for the feeling of my solitude away from the world and the sudden remembrance of a stranger in my place hits me like a punch in the face as I open the front door.
We all get so mired in the routines of our lives and take for granted the conditions in which we live. I did too. I loved living alone, I loved living with Jeff before he sort of evaporated into his own world, but now I find that I am hating home and that is an awful feeling. As much as I miss coming home to my husband and his support and love, I also miss the quiet and womb-like protectiveness of coming home to my private space now that he has left. I'd prefer to be with him of course, even the hellish Fayetteville, NC would be worth it for the chance to live with my husband once again, but as that is not an option, the best I can hope for is MY space with no intrusions.
What is it about us as people that makes some of us long for the noise and chaos of companionship and for others it is the quiet and quintessential aloneness that we find soothing? I think maybe that 18 months of living with my husband, but not really feeling his presence and then another 12 months of him being in Iraq somehow changed me. I learned to count on that aloneness as the only thing I could count on. It became the familiar in the way his partnership used to be. So now I wonder if I am ruined. Can I learn to live with someone else again? Am I destined to be some old, cat lady who spends more time discussing toys and claw marks in furniture and flesh with my pets than actual conversations with other people?
I know that the thought of continuing to live with another person who is not my husband makes me physically anxious and yet there is no alternative, not for a while anyway. I am stuck with a roommate. I am stuck with feeling like a guest in my own home and spending more time in my bedroom with the door closed than in the actual living areas of my house. I am back in school, back to bartending, and now back to a roommate. My life has become a series of regressions. Which is sort of ironic, because if I could truly regress back to another time in my life I would definitely do a few things differently. The first of which, would be to drag my husband back into our life so that I never had the chance to get used to being alone and feeling alone.
I don't know if it's too late to change any of those things that really matter, but I do know that if I'm going to be stuck feeling so alone, I'd much rather actually get to be alone while doing it.
Jeff kept me balanced, righting me when I listed too far one way or the other. There are definitely times when I am social and if too much alcohol is involved I can be social to an extreme so it was good to have that support network there to keep me steady. Living alone though is also somewhat comforting in that familiar sense that we all learn to recognize as normal. My things, my space, my mess and my quiet. Jeff is gone now, but I have a roommate. He moved in a couple of months ago and he's very nice and fairly quiet. Problem is, HE'S IN MY HOUSE. There are days when I come home, so anxious for the feeling of my solitude away from the world and the sudden remembrance of a stranger in my place hits me like a punch in the face as I open the front door.
We all get so mired in the routines of our lives and take for granted the conditions in which we live. I did too. I loved living alone, I loved living with Jeff before he sort of evaporated into his own world, but now I find that I am hating home and that is an awful feeling. As much as I miss coming home to my husband and his support and love, I also miss the quiet and womb-like protectiveness of coming home to my private space now that he has left. I'd prefer to be with him of course, even the hellish Fayetteville, NC would be worth it for the chance to live with my husband once again, but as that is not an option, the best I can hope for is MY space with no intrusions.
What is it about us as people that makes some of us long for the noise and chaos of companionship and for others it is the quiet and quintessential aloneness that we find soothing? I think maybe that 18 months of living with my husband, but not really feeling his presence and then another 12 months of him being in Iraq somehow changed me. I learned to count on that aloneness as the only thing I could count on. It became the familiar in the way his partnership used to be. So now I wonder if I am ruined. Can I learn to live with someone else again? Am I destined to be some old, cat lady who spends more time discussing toys and claw marks in furniture and flesh with my pets than actual conversations with other people?
I know that the thought of continuing to live with another person who is not my husband makes me physically anxious and yet there is no alternative, not for a while anyway. I am stuck with a roommate. I am stuck with feeling like a guest in my own home and spending more time in my bedroom with the door closed than in the actual living areas of my house. I am back in school, back to bartending, and now back to a roommate. My life has become a series of regressions. Which is sort of ironic, because if I could truly regress back to another time in my life I would definitely do a few things differently. The first of which, would be to drag my husband back into our life so that I never had the chance to get used to being alone and feeling alone.
I don't know if it's too late to change any of those things that really matter, but I do know that if I'm going to be stuck feeling so alone, I'd much rather actually get to be alone while doing it.
Day Seven: Why Does Middle-Aged Sound So Awful and am I Almost There?
Someone called me middle-aged the other day. Someone who I may or may not be praying gets hit by a bus said that not only am I middle-aged, but that that 27 is actually the start of that particular age milestone. So we had a bit of a debate and while it was decided that at 37 I am not technically that far off from true middle age when one considers the average life expectancy of a woman, it was also decided (by me) that this guy was a huge jerk store.
Besides the fact that I refuse to believe I look my age (not that 37 is old), there's the fact that the term "middle-aged" is just offensive. What should be a mathematical notion has taken on this horrifically negative connotation. "Middle-aged" sounds like some sort of horror story. Why have we corrupted it like that. I have friends much older than me and family members that are past the traditional middle-age range and they are vibrant, energetic people. My Father is almost 70 and therefore past that particular age milestone and yet he does not seem at all middle-aged. Pops is funny and interesting, while middle-aged sounds awful. Being young or old sounds a whole lot better.
Here I am, however, nearly middle-aged. I mean, I actually think of that being around 45, but still, I guess technically I could be close to it, right? Hell, I could get hit by a bus myself next week and then middle-aged for me would have been 19. I have somehow wrapped myself up in feeling younger, I think I look younger, my career is practically non-existent, my personal life is similar to the melodrama of a college student and my bank account is in the toilet. For all intents and purposes, I'm currently living my life more similar to a young person than a middle-aged one.
Is it getting older that makes us feel old or our actual physical struggles? I don't feel old and so I like going out, being social, having a good time until 3am, but my body wants to be in my pj pants with a glass of wine and the sofa. My body is betraying my mind. So if I keep ignoring it am I legitimately going to become that old chick at the bar? Am I one day going to wake up with a hangover at 53 to discover that I'm still wearing my too tight jeans and leopard print top? If I'm middle-aged now, shouldn't I be home knitting or writing my memoirs . . . oh wait, I guess I'm kind of blogging my memoirs now. Shit.
They say you're only as old as you feel. They also say it's hell getting old. I say, it's hell only feeling young when you're getting old. I don't think I'd mind being middle-aged so much if the term didn't make it sound as if I'd signed over some right to be fun and attractive and interesting. Well screw you middle, I think I'm going to linger for a while in the beginning, then slip directly into old. Being in the middle sounds way too much like being average anyway and that's one thing I've never wanted to be.
Besides the fact that I refuse to believe I look my age (not that 37 is old), there's the fact that the term "middle-aged" is just offensive. What should be a mathematical notion has taken on this horrifically negative connotation. "Middle-aged" sounds like some sort of horror story. Why have we corrupted it like that. I have friends much older than me and family members that are past the traditional middle-age range and they are vibrant, energetic people. My Father is almost 70 and therefore past that particular age milestone and yet he does not seem at all middle-aged. Pops is funny and interesting, while middle-aged sounds awful. Being young or old sounds a whole lot better.
Here I am, however, nearly middle-aged. I mean, I actually think of that being around 45, but still, I guess technically I could be close to it, right? Hell, I could get hit by a bus myself next week and then middle-aged for me would have been 19. I have somehow wrapped myself up in feeling younger, I think I look younger, my career is practically non-existent, my personal life is similar to the melodrama of a college student and my bank account is in the toilet. For all intents and purposes, I'm currently living my life more similar to a young person than a middle-aged one.
Is it getting older that makes us feel old or our actual physical struggles? I don't feel old and so I like going out, being social, having a good time until 3am, but my body wants to be in my pj pants with a glass of wine and the sofa. My body is betraying my mind. So if I keep ignoring it am I legitimately going to become that old chick at the bar? Am I one day going to wake up with a hangover at 53 to discover that I'm still wearing my too tight jeans and leopard print top? If I'm middle-aged now, shouldn't I be home knitting or writing my memoirs . . . oh wait, I guess I'm kind of blogging my memoirs now. Shit.
They say you're only as old as you feel. They also say it's hell getting old. I say, it's hell only feeling young when you're getting old. I don't think I'd mind being middle-aged so much if the term didn't make it sound as if I'd signed over some right to be fun and attractive and interesting. Well screw you middle, I think I'm going to linger for a while in the beginning, then slip directly into old. Being in the middle sounds way too much like being average anyway and that's one thing I've never wanted to be.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Day Six: Learning to Regret
We all do things we regret. I try not to believe in regrets because they lead to cop-outs and a certain denial that makes people feel exonerated. It is not okay to simply regret something and expect that to make it all better. Regret can be a wasted emotion, afterall, we cannot change what is already done. These days, however, I am learning the meaning of regret and I have come to understand that regret isn't always about us, but that it is often about those who we hurt with our actions.
So yes, I can say that I do not regret a decision because it is now part of who I am and that matters on some level, but is that at all comforting to someone I care about and have hurt? Regrets mean we did something wrong along the path we are on and that we are coming to terms with it and accepting our role in those mistakes.
I used to see regret as sort of pointless in a hindsight kind of way, but now I realize that regrets are not for us, they are for those we've hurt. Just as we attend a funeral not for the deceased, but for the surviving loved ones, a regret expresses our remorse for the benefit of another. regretting does not change anything in and of itself, and so the act of regret is actually a bit more philanthropic than I realized. I regret hurting you. I made a mistake. I am so incredibly sorry. Those words tell you that more than an apology, you regret it having happened in the first place.
The difference is not easy to discern, but I've been there, so I know. I can be sorry without necessarily regretting. I'm sorry I beat you to that parking spot, I'm sorry, I ordered the last scallop entree, I'm sorry I hurt you. Regret is more powerful. Regrets mean not only that we're sorry, but that we'd change it if we could, that no matter what we've learned or who it might make us, the actual reality is that we'd erase it all if we could. I still hate regrets, but I'm learning that I've made some mistakes that sorry just isn't enough to cover. I would erase it if I could. I would turn back time, there is nothing I would not do to make it not happen, but it did, so all I can do now is to apologize and to tell you how deeply I regret it. I will never get past the mistakes I've made. Will I continue to live, sure. I may even find a way to be tentatively happy, but I will never cease to regret the pain I've caused and the destruction my selfishness created. I guess in a way, I've grown through regret, I just wish that lesson could have spared us both some pain.
So yes, I can say that I do not regret a decision because it is now part of who I am and that matters on some level, but is that at all comforting to someone I care about and have hurt? Regrets mean we did something wrong along the path we are on and that we are coming to terms with it and accepting our role in those mistakes.
I used to see regret as sort of pointless in a hindsight kind of way, but now I realize that regrets are not for us, they are for those we've hurt. Just as we attend a funeral not for the deceased, but for the surviving loved ones, a regret expresses our remorse for the benefit of another. regretting does not change anything in and of itself, and so the act of regret is actually a bit more philanthropic than I realized. I regret hurting you. I made a mistake. I am so incredibly sorry. Those words tell you that more than an apology, you regret it having happened in the first place.
The difference is not easy to discern, but I've been there, so I know. I can be sorry without necessarily regretting. I'm sorry I beat you to that parking spot, I'm sorry, I ordered the last scallop entree, I'm sorry I hurt you. Regret is more powerful. Regrets mean not only that we're sorry, but that we'd change it if we could, that no matter what we've learned or who it might make us, the actual reality is that we'd erase it all if we could. I still hate regrets, but I'm learning that I've made some mistakes that sorry just isn't enough to cover. I would erase it if I could. I would turn back time, there is nothing I would not do to make it not happen, but it did, so all I can do now is to apologize and to tell you how deeply I regret it. I will never get past the mistakes I've made. Will I continue to live, sure. I may even find a way to be tentatively happy, but I will never cease to regret the pain I've caused and the destruction my selfishness created. I guess in a way, I've grown through regret, I just wish that lesson could have spared us both some pain.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Day Five: Everyone's a Faith Healer When it's Someone Else That's Sick
A good friend I have known my entire life has cancer, worse, she's had cancer for quite a while and it keeps fading with treatment, then coming back. She's spent a great deal of time in hospitals or feeling worse than most of us realize is possible. Thing is, this isn't even the worst thing that's ever happened to her. She was born with three holes in her heart (if I am remembering correctly), two of which were surgically repaired when she was very young and the third they could not operate on so she lived with it. This is a woman who has had more struggles in less than forty years than most people who die of old age. The most remarkable thing is that she somehow remains positive and sees the good in her life as blessings. I don't, and if I have read one more person post some nonsense about trusting God and letting "Him" take care of her, I'm going to drive halfway across the country to beat their asses in person.
It's not that I cannot respect a person's faith. I think it's lovely despite my own atheism. What I have a problem with, is that these people never tire of saying such things and yet it would seem that not one of them questions the fact that their God who is supposed to take care of her, is then also responsible for the fact that she's suffered most of her life. What kind of Stockholm Syndrome is this wherein those suffering at the hands of one entity are then expected to trust blindly in the same entity for help? I want to support your rights to believe just as I want to believe that my friend can be magically cured supernaturally. Problem is, I think you're all fucking lunatics.
Seriously? I know you're seriously ill and have been for a long time, but trust in God and he'll make it all better? Really? Where the hell is this make it all better dude at now, when she's actually sick? And what do you mean by making it better? Death? Drug-induced haze? Scientific cure (whispered by an angel into the ear of some researcher)?
To believe that some God is going to be make it all better means she has to believe that the same God thought it was perfectly fine to let most of us have perfectly good health and then to screw her over, not once, but multiple times throughout the course of her life. Why would you even want to believe in that kind of a God? He sounds like an asshole.
I get that religion teaches you that God works in mysterious ways and not to question him, but give me a break! Can you imagine any other scenario where someone would tell you to believe in something and to never question it, regardless if there are no benefits and no proof? I am getting off track here and I want to remain perfectly focused on the one core issue: that all those healthy people telling my friend to put her faith and trust in God don't know jack shit about suffering.
The funny thing is, my friend is a believer and she manages somehow to continue to smile and to believe in the goodness of life. I'm the one that's angry about it. Stop telling her that a magical creature is going to make it better, if this magical being existed then she either wouldn't be in this situation, or he'd be a real douchebag for needlessly making someone suffer when he plans "to make it all better" anyway. Can't we just recognize that sometimes bad things happen to people and it has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with a God? She got sick. I didn't. That's not God, that's coincidence and dumb luck. It could have been any one of us, but it's her and God didn't cause it, nor will he/she/it fix it.
Words of comfort do not need to invoke your unicorn magic. Tell her she's in your thoughts, that you're sending positive energy her way, that she's an amazing woman and doesn't deserve . . . tell her anything, but don't ask her to pretend what's happening isn't a raw deal. It sucks. What she's had to endure is unfair and it sucks. Hopefully, she will get better and that beautiful spirit will flourish for a long, long time, but that's not God either, that's medicine and the body doing its job.
I'm not telling anyone not to believe or pray or go to church. I'm just asking that before you mindlessly try to give comfort with words of supernatural beings who apparently have the power to make it better, but just haven't gotten around to it yet or decided you're not worth of healing, that you try a different approach. She's the one who's enduring, who's fighting, who still manages to smile and ask how other people are. She works, she has friends, a family, a whole life that she spends time working on, while so many of us would throw up our hands and say "why me?" Give her a little credit for what she's lived through and is living with, and with such grace and poise it makes me admire her beyond what I can express here.
This is her fight and as much as I wish someone or something could take the burden from her, the reality is that it's not going to happen. There is no magic, there is treatment and hard days, and a lifetime of always wondering what's lurking around the corner. So by all means pray, but do not ask this fighter to give it up and to place herself in the hands of God or faith. She's alive because she fights and if turns out that you're right and her ability to fight is a gift from God, he/she/it still doesn't want her to give up and live by faith alone. Wherever she came by her strength, that is her safety net and that's where we should all put our faith. Trust in that strength and believe that you can get through anything, not because of God, but because you are just that strong and just that worth it.
It's not that I cannot respect a person's faith. I think it's lovely despite my own atheism. What I have a problem with, is that these people never tire of saying such things and yet it would seem that not one of them questions the fact that their God who is supposed to take care of her, is then also responsible for the fact that she's suffered most of her life. What kind of Stockholm Syndrome is this wherein those suffering at the hands of one entity are then expected to trust blindly in the same entity for help? I want to support your rights to believe just as I want to believe that my friend can be magically cured supernaturally. Problem is, I think you're all fucking lunatics.
Seriously? I know you're seriously ill and have been for a long time, but trust in God and he'll make it all better? Really? Where the hell is this make it all better dude at now, when she's actually sick? And what do you mean by making it better? Death? Drug-induced haze? Scientific cure (whispered by an angel into the ear of some researcher)?
To believe that some God is going to be make it all better means she has to believe that the same God thought it was perfectly fine to let most of us have perfectly good health and then to screw her over, not once, but multiple times throughout the course of her life. Why would you even want to believe in that kind of a God? He sounds like an asshole.
I get that religion teaches you that God works in mysterious ways and not to question him, but give me a break! Can you imagine any other scenario where someone would tell you to believe in something and to never question it, regardless if there are no benefits and no proof? I am getting off track here and I want to remain perfectly focused on the one core issue: that all those healthy people telling my friend to put her faith and trust in God don't know jack shit about suffering.
The funny thing is, my friend is a believer and she manages somehow to continue to smile and to believe in the goodness of life. I'm the one that's angry about it. Stop telling her that a magical creature is going to make it better, if this magical being existed then she either wouldn't be in this situation, or he'd be a real douchebag for needlessly making someone suffer when he plans "to make it all better" anyway. Can't we just recognize that sometimes bad things happen to people and it has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with a God? She got sick. I didn't. That's not God, that's coincidence and dumb luck. It could have been any one of us, but it's her and God didn't cause it, nor will he/she/it fix it.
Words of comfort do not need to invoke your unicorn magic. Tell her she's in your thoughts, that you're sending positive energy her way, that she's an amazing woman and doesn't deserve . . . tell her anything, but don't ask her to pretend what's happening isn't a raw deal. It sucks. What she's had to endure is unfair and it sucks. Hopefully, she will get better and that beautiful spirit will flourish for a long, long time, but that's not God either, that's medicine and the body doing its job.
I'm not telling anyone not to believe or pray or go to church. I'm just asking that before you mindlessly try to give comfort with words of supernatural beings who apparently have the power to make it better, but just haven't gotten around to it yet or decided you're not worth of healing, that you try a different approach. She's the one who's enduring, who's fighting, who still manages to smile and ask how other people are. She works, she has friends, a family, a whole life that she spends time working on, while so many of us would throw up our hands and say "why me?" Give her a little credit for what she's lived through and is living with, and with such grace and poise it makes me admire her beyond what I can express here.
This is her fight and as much as I wish someone or something could take the burden from her, the reality is that it's not going to happen. There is no magic, there is treatment and hard days, and a lifetime of always wondering what's lurking around the corner. So by all means pray, but do not ask this fighter to give it up and to place herself in the hands of God or faith. She's alive because she fights and if turns out that you're right and her ability to fight is a gift from God, he/she/it still doesn't want her to give up and live by faith alone. Wherever she came by her strength, that is her safety net and that's where we should all put our faith. Trust in that strength and believe that you can get through anything, not because of God, but because you are just that strong and just that worth it.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Day Four: I Don't Really Have One of Those Faces
I don't exactly know what it is, but I've come to realize that there is a segment of the population that wants to know me. They want to talk to me, tell me their problems, ask me out, be my friend and just basically be around me. This probably sounds like a good thing to most of you. We are naturally a community driven society. People like people and being around other people. This would all be well and good, except there is also an entire segment of the population that has met me and decided they never want to speak to, hear from, or see me again. So how is it that I am both irresistible and detestable at the same time?
I get the detestable part. I am a woman of very vocal opinions. I am not shy about saying what I think or telling you to go jump off a bridge if you're annoying me. I've had lifelong friends suddenly cut me out and while it hurts, it is also a learning experience and a cautionary tale for those of us with opinions and mouths to express them. So I get that. Also, I'm not really a huge fan of a lot of people. They're loud and rude and ignorant and want to talk when I just want them to shut up. Basically, I'm not a people person. I'm an issue person. If I meet you at a party I am completely unprepared for small talk about the weather or the food at the party. What I can talk about is atheism vs. religion, healthcare, abortion, war, terrorism, welfare, etc. I'm an issue girl and that tends to turn people off, so why is it that there also seems to be a large segment of people I meet that cannot get enough of talking to me.
Do I really seem like the kind of person that gives a shit about your mundane existence. If you're a friend sure, but if I don't even know your name, why do you assume I want to know your life story? I do not have one of those faces. My Mother had one of those faces and people would tell her everything and she would listen and care and advise or commiserate and it was lovely. I'm not my Mother. My first word was "down" and I'm guessing my second was "no." In other words, I'm just not super user friendly.
Still, I meet people who want to chat me up, to tell me things, to be my friend despite knowing me for all of sixty seconds. What the hell is that about? I admit to finding it very flattering. I cannot deny the part of myself that wishes to be more charming and engaging. However, as much as I wish for it, the reality never fails to remind me that to be charming, you have to give a shit and I just don't. At least not always. There are complete strangers who will tell me something about their life or family and for whatever reason I am suddenly drawn in and tearing up at the thought of anything bad ever happening to these wonderful people, but still, that is the exception and not the rule.
I think it odd that there are people in the world who exist without ever making a strong impact either way. I love that I make an impression. Bad or good, I'm not one of those people that are easy to ignore or to forget. I like that about myself, but what continues to amaze me is that I can be both simultaneously. Some people want to forget me and others cannot stop chasing me. I appreciate the loyalty and faith, but I'm not that great of a friend. I can give you a list of references to prove it. I want to be better, turns out, I'm just not that great at being anything other than me.
I get the detestable part. I am a woman of very vocal opinions. I am not shy about saying what I think or telling you to go jump off a bridge if you're annoying me. I've had lifelong friends suddenly cut me out and while it hurts, it is also a learning experience and a cautionary tale for those of us with opinions and mouths to express them. So I get that. Also, I'm not really a huge fan of a lot of people. They're loud and rude and ignorant and want to talk when I just want them to shut up. Basically, I'm not a people person. I'm an issue person. If I meet you at a party I am completely unprepared for small talk about the weather or the food at the party. What I can talk about is atheism vs. religion, healthcare, abortion, war, terrorism, welfare, etc. I'm an issue girl and that tends to turn people off, so why is it that there also seems to be a large segment of people I meet that cannot get enough of talking to me.
Do I really seem like the kind of person that gives a shit about your mundane existence. If you're a friend sure, but if I don't even know your name, why do you assume I want to know your life story? I do not have one of those faces. My Mother had one of those faces and people would tell her everything and she would listen and care and advise or commiserate and it was lovely. I'm not my Mother. My first word was "down" and I'm guessing my second was "no." In other words, I'm just not super user friendly.
Still, I meet people who want to chat me up, to tell me things, to be my friend despite knowing me for all of sixty seconds. What the hell is that about? I admit to finding it very flattering. I cannot deny the part of myself that wishes to be more charming and engaging. However, as much as I wish for it, the reality never fails to remind me that to be charming, you have to give a shit and I just don't. At least not always. There are complete strangers who will tell me something about their life or family and for whatever reason I am suddenly drawn in and tearing up at the thought of anything bad ever happening to these wonderful people, but still, that is the exception and not the rule.
I think it odd that there are people in the world who exist without ever making a strong impact either way. I love that I make an impression. Bad or good, I'm not one of those people that are easy to ignore or to forget. I like that about myself, but what continues to amaze me is that I can be both simultaneously. Some people want to forget me and others cannot stop chasing me. I appreciate the loyalty and faith, but I'm not that great of a friend. I can give you a list of references to prove it. I want to be better, turns out, I'm just not that great at being anything other than me.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Day Three: Does this X-Ray Make My Ass Look Fat?
The other questionable item, and for many it is the more important item, is the AIT machine's ability to create an almost naked-like image. Do you want airport security to see what is between you and your Calvins? I did a little research including TSA's own site and found that images of female genitalia are much less revealing below the belt than for men. In some images, the man's junk can be rather clearly seen and in a few videos posted by news outlets one can actually see it bouncing around. In the immortal words of Elaine Benes, "I don't know how you guys walk around with those things." I was embarrassed for the guys just watching the videos and I was at home.
I have been through the backscatter machine recently and though I found the process a bit humiliating, not nearly as much as the new "enhanced" pat downs are proving to be. There are reports from men of having said junk probed repeatedly to determine if they were hiding anything down there (men with big balls be advised) and women have said that their breasts were actually lifted to see if anything was being smuggled beneath them. I'm not sure what's more embarrassing, having someone actually lift my breast in full view of other passengers, or the idea that they could be so saggy as to be hiding a bomb underneath!
The best part about all this is that should you declare your TSA advised right to decline or "opt out" of the body scans, TSA agents are frequently described as yelling "opt out, we have an opt out here" as if trying to make the passenger look guilty of something. Then the pat-down, or groping, is conducted in front of the passengers still waiting in the security line. Some officials have anonymously admitted to using such tactics to try to encourage those still in line to go through the machines rather than opting out. Let's face it, we are a society of conformists so the idea of being singled out, pointed to publicly, and then basically getting to second base with a TSA employee is enough to make most opt for potential cancer.
The next time I fly I'm hoping to be selected for one of these machines again, because I am going to exercise my right to opt out, and I'm going to do so while wearing a mini skirt and no panties. If you're going to grope me, then I'm either going to enjoy it or take you down with me. This is a humiliating and largely unnecessary practice. A recent report by CBS News states that over 90 percent of Americans are on board with these machines, but you have to wonder how many of us have taken the times to really study the facts and understand that our "options" really just trade one sort of violating debasement for another? I am not a shy girl and the idea of someone in a secluded booth seeing semi-naked, faceless images of me doesn't really bother me, but the infringement on my rights does. You want to pat me down, fine, but you do not have the right to move my breasts or feel between my legs without at least buying me a drink first.
November 24 is national Opt-Out Day. If you plan to fly that day or any day, plan to "opt out" so the TSA and American government knows it is NOT okay to turn a security check into a sexual assault. And if you think I'm one of those uber-liberal I want my freedoms types you're actually wrong. While I do support the ACLU and a number of personal freedoms, I also believe that to be safe we have to make compromises. There is a limit however, especially when the technology and pat-downs are admittedly not fail-proof. So far, the TSA has been unable to unequivocally state that had the "underwear bomber" gone through one of these AIT scanners his bomb would have been detected. So if you can't distinguish between a man's junk and a bomb, then screw you, I'll take my chances. We all know there will be another terrorist attack on U.S. soil. It is ridiculous to think that another threat will never make it past our intelligence community and be successfully carried out. This doesn't mean we should just let everyone board planes without some strict security measures, but I'm not getting felt up or cancer when there is no clear evidence that either would have actually prevented terrorists that have already successfully made it onto planes.
And quite honestly, I'd rather walk past a cute female TSA agent naked in a private room than be groped through my clothes, publicly. You can look, but you don't get to touch and I'm really not down with getting cancer in exchange for your naked scan of me. That's not what I'd call a fair trade-off.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Day Two: I'd Say Something Sarcastic, but You'd Only Cry
Sarcasm is a language. It is my chosen language and the one I am more fluent in than ordinary American English. Unfortunately, it is also a language not completely familiar here in the south. These people take things to heart and their sensitivity continues to catch me off-guard. I am a New Yorker. I talk fast and loud and say what I think. I'm also prone to joking more than heartfelt sentiment, mostly as a cover for my own excessive emotionality. For whatever reason, I cannot quite get into the rhythm of the way people communicate down here.
Two days ago, I was informed that a friend of a friend -- a guy mind you -- didn't want to be around me because I'd given him a hard time the previous week. The specific circumstances are these: I was at my pub watching the Steelers on Monday night football. This friend started mouthing off about the Steelers and rooting for the Bengals despite not being a Cincinnati fan, and I said something to the effect that he didn't have to be such a jackass. I said it jokingly and in reference to his non-stop criticism of my team. True, I take football very seriously and I don't altogether trust a man who doesn't, but even so, I was joking. Apparently, however, I hurt his feelings because he thought I was calling him a dick or a jackass or both. Waaaahhhhhh! Get a grip and grow a pair.
Earlier this summer I upset a girl I've only seen sober when she wasn't working to the point that she sent in her friend to stick up for her. What did I say you ask? I told her that I really enjoyed the part of her karaoke performance that included her screaming at her friend over the microphone. This had nothing to do with the actual singing mind you, she was literally screaming INTO A MICROPHONE to get her friend's attention. She was near tears, though honestly, she's one of those "I don't get buzzed I get fall down drunk every time I drink" types so I'm not really sure how anyone could decipher upset from her normal incoherent ramblings. And in between these two times I offended a twenty-something guy by joking about how it was going to be a long day rather than saying "good morning" when I first greeted him. I mean, seriously?
Can we all just relax a bit and stop projected our rules of southern hospitality onto others? Yes, technically Charlotte is the south. Believe me, I am reminded anew each time I have to listen to someone who sounds either stupid or gay (which is offensive to actual gay people) simply because of their accent. I am not against the south completely, it is lovely here and the people ARE friendly, but no, it's not my favorite place on earth and no, I don't have to conform to your way of speaking. It's not like we're in the deep south or that the majority of the locals are actually local. It's a town populated mostly by transplants and hill people who moved here to the "big city" from their mountain hamlet.
How is it possible that a way of speaking so popular as to have basically been the genesis of numerous television shows is completely unfamiliar in Charlotte, NC? I don't start crying because you want to know all my business and won't stop telling me to have a "blessed day" or get out of the damn left lane when you're driving on the interstate at 50. I put up with your ridiculous accents, boat shoes, weird Donald Trump "swoop" hair and overly applied makeup, hairspray and perfume without breaking into tears, telling your boss, or sending a friend to defend me. So get the fuck over it Charlotte, NC. Sarcasm isn't a new invention. Seinfeld? House? The Daily Show? Oh wait, those are all "Yankee" shows. Ya'll probably don't even realize Steven Colbert is a liberal Democrat.
I'm done trying to figure out how to communicate in a language you understand. If you are going to get upset because I'm trash talking you over football AND YOU'RE A GUY then you'll have to excuse me if I just decide to apologize to your Mother for you turning out to be such a whiny little shit rather than apologizing to you for offending your delicate sensibilities. Oh and if you're so drunk most of the time that your accent merges with your slack-jaw drunken stupor to create a drooling, warble of a girl then no, I'm not going to worry so much about offending you either. There are many lovely things to appreciate here in the south and I am truly glad to have discovered a few of them, but I am not going to refrain from sarcasm simply because you are too obtuse to understand the concept. Oh and loosely translated, "obtuse" means you are a stupid fucking redneck.
Please, by all means stay in North Carolina. Do not penetrate deeper south and ruin the charm of such places like Charleston, Savannah or even Fayetteville, AR. And for the love of all that's sane, stay out of the north. You will be eaten alive by the fast-talking, insensitive natives and we have enough tourists up north who think the Olive Garden is real Italian food.
I hope I haven't made anyone cry with this blog. I know the sarcasm can be a bit overwhelming, but keep practicing and maybe you'll learn how to cope. On the other hand, if you feel that my joking around with you has somehow grievously wounded you, feel free to come tell me what a horrible person I am and that you never want to speak to me again. Seriously, because that is clearly the appropriate response to my neglecting to say "good morning" in a language you understand. We Yankees have no feelings, we are clearly just empty shells because we don't let you see us cry. Thanks for the Southern hospitality, it's been real special ya'll.
Two days ago, I was informed that a friend of a friend -- a guy mind you -- didn't want to be around me because I'd given him a hard time the previous week. The specific circumstances are these: I was at my pub watching the Steelers on Monday night football. This friend started mouthing off about the Steelers and rooting for the Bengals despite not being a Cincinnati fan, and I said something to the effect that he didn't have to be such a jackass. I said it jokingly and in reference to his non-stop criticism of my team. True, I take football very seriously and I don't altogether trust a man who doesn't, but even so, I was joking. Apparently, however, I hurt his feelings because he thought I was calling him a dick or a jackass or both. Waaaahhhhhh! Get a grip and grow a pair.
Earlier this summer I upset a girl I've only seen sober when she wasn't working to the point that she sent in her friend to stick up for her. What did I say you ask? I told her that I really enjoyed the part of her karaoke performance that included her screaming at her friend over the microphone. This had nothing to do with the actual singing mind you, she was literally screaming INTO A MICROPHONE to get her friend's attention. She was near tears, though honestly, she's one of those "I don't get buzzed I get fall down drunk every time I drink" types so I'm not really sure how anyone could decipher upset from her normal incoherent ramblings. And in between these two times I offended a twenty-something guy by joking about how it was going to be a long day rather than saying "good morning" when I first greeted him. I mean, seriously?
Can we all just relax a bit and stop projected our rules of southern hospitality onto others? Yes, technically Charlotte is the south. Believe me, I am reminded anew each time I have to listen to someone who sounds either stupid or gay (which is offensive to actual gay people) simply because of their accent. I am not against the south completely, it is lovely here and the people ARE friendly, but no, it's not my favorite place on earth and no, I don't have to conform to your way of speaking. It's not like we're in the deep south or that the majority of the locals are actually local. It's a town populated mostly by transplants and hill people who moved here to the "big city" from their mountain hamlet.
How is it possible that a way of speaking so popular as to have basically been the genesis of numerous television shows is completely unfamiliar in Charlotte, NC? I don't start crying because you want to know all my business and won't stop telling me to have a "blessed day" or get out of the damn left lane when you're driving on the interstate at 50. I put up with your ridiculous accents, boat shoes, weird Donald Trump "swoop" hair and overly applied makeup, hairspray and perfume without breaking into tears, telling your boss, or sending a friend to defend me. So get the fuck over it Charlotte, NC. Sarcasm isn't a new invention. Seinfeld? House? The Daily Show? Oh wait, those are all "Yankee" shows. Ya'll probably don't even realize Steven Colbert is a liberal Democrat.
I'm done trying to figure out how to communicate in a language you understand. If you are going to get upset because I'm trash talking you over football AND YOU'RE A GUY then you'll have to excuse me if I just decide to apologize to your Mother for you turning out to be such a whiny little shit rather than apologizing to you for offending your delicate sensibilities. Oh and if you're so drunk most of the time that your accent merges with your slack-jaw drunken stupor to create a drooling, warble of a girl then no, I'm not going to worry so much about offending you either. There are many lovely things to appreciate here in the south and I am truly glad to have discovered a few of them, but I am not going to refrain from sarcasm simply because you are too obtuse to understand the concept. Oh and loosely translated, "obtuse" means you are a stupid fucking redneck.
Please, by all means stay in North Carolina. Do not penetrate deeper south and ruin the charm of such places like Charleston, Savannah or even Fayetteville, AR. And for the love of all that's sane, stay out of the north. You will be eaten alive by the fast-talking, insensitive natives and we have enough tourists up north who think the Olive Garden is real Italian food.
I hope I haven't made anyone cry with this blog. I know the sarcasm can be a bit overwhelming, but keep practicing and maybe you'll learn how to cope. On the other hand, if you feel that my joking around with you has somehow grievously wounded you, feel free to come tell me what a horrible person I am and that you never want to speak to me again. Seriously, because that is clearly the appropriate response to my neglecting to say "good morning" in a language you understand. We Yankees have no feelings, we are clearly just empty shells because we don't let you see us cry. Thanks for the Southern hospitality, it's been real special ya'll.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Pacifist No More
Tonight I punched someone. Oddly enough, what is most interesting to me is not the fact of the punching, but the fact that I wish I'd punched harder. I want to punch and punch and punch until something breaks. My fist, a wall, a face, whatever . . . it is really of no consequence to me.
I suppose I should back up a bit. I'm Ame. Last year I wrote a blog every day for 365 days and it was tough, but I learned some things. Since the conclusion of that blog I have tried a few others, but nothing has really stuck. I find I miss the daily outlet for whatever is in my head. So today I launch Another 365. I realize that what fascinates me does not always appeal to everyone, but I find that without the ability to get it out there, I sort of implode or possibly explode, as I did tonight. Bottom line, I am a woman with a lot of opinions and a lot to say and this allows me to get it out there.
Life has not been my oyster of late, but I'm doing my best. Sometimes my best is a poor example and sometimes even I am pretty damn impressed. Tonight, however, a person I felt was friend accused me of something that was not true and in the process I got called some pretty shitty names. Now let's remember who we're dealing with here. I am not particularly thin-skinned, nor do I take offense easily. You accuse me of lying, being a bad friend, and a bandwagon Pittsburgh Steelers fan, however, and shit is about to go down.
I take friendship pretty seriously. I'm not great at the day to day, but if you ever need anything from me, you can call and I will be there in a heartbeat. Taking this into consideration. let me just say that coupled with my fragile emotional state of late and my need to believe that my friends have my back, means that I'm going to be sensitive to criticism. There is a lot happening in my life, just like most of us, I am finding life to be a bit of an emotional roller-coaster. More than that even, it's been somewhat out of control and these days I am newly in charge and aware once again.
The world seems to be a different place for several reasons, but tonight the only thing that mattered was that a friendship I cherished turned out not to be so great after all. Enter my fist. I am not proud of what I did. I am actually a little amazed. It's not the first time someone has inspired me to want to be violent, but it is the first time I have ever acted upon it. Oddly enough, what is consuming me now isn't my shock or regret at having committed such a heinous act, but the fact that the person I punched won't be around to understand exactly why I did it. To this person I am still a piece of shit, and despite my knowing the contrary, I mostly want to prove this. Turns out, punching someone isn't really a good way to prove you're not an asshole. Surprise.
I know I'm a good person, but I also know that I make bad decisions and sometimes hurt people. I hate that I was not able to convey my feelings with words. I hate that I broke my own cardinal rule of pacifism. I hate that I might have been the cause of emotional and physical pain. What I hate most though, is that I didn't hit someone or something sooner. It felt pretty damn terrific. So good in fact, that I am going to find a boxing gym and sign myself up. I know I am an all or nothing person. Right now, my greatest fear is that I am going to operate at a punch or be punched mentality until the boxing takes root.
My life is a bit of a mess and I am an emotional basketcase. I love, I hate, I like, I avoid . . . I contradict even myself on a daily basis. Some things are true from the outside in however, and one of those truths is that I never lie about my feelings. They show all over me whether I want them to or not. I am the girl crying alone in the bar or laughing hysterically at videos of babies and kittens. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I expect a lot from my friends. Turns out, a little too much.
Lesson learned, never trust someone younger and keep your hands in your pockets when you're pissed off.
Tune in tomorrow to see what is brewing at the start of Another 365. Cheers.
I suppose I should back up a bit. I'm Ame. Last year I wrote a blog every day for 365 days and it was tough, but I learned some things. Since the conclusion of that blog I have tried a few others, but nothing has really stuck. I find I miss the daily outlet for whatever is in my head. So today I launch Another 365. I realize that what fascinates me does not always appeal to everyone, but I find that without the ability to get it out there, I sort of implode or possibly explode, as I did tonight. Bottom line, I am a woman with a lot of opinions and a lot to say and this allows me to get it out there.
Life has not been my oyster of late, but I'm doing my best. Sometimes my best is a poor example and sometimes even I am pretty damn impressed. Tonight, however, a person I felt was friend accused me of something that was not true and in the process I got called some pretty shitty names. Now let's remember who we're dealing with here. I am not particularly thin-skinned, nor do I take offense easily. You accuse me of lying, being a bad friend, and a bandwagon Pittsburgh Steelers fan, however, and shit is about to go down.
I take friendship pretty seriously. I'm not great at the day to day, but if you ever need anything from me, you can call and I will be there in a heartbeat. Taking this into consideration. let me just say that coupled with my fragile emotional state of late and my need to believe that my friends have my back, means that I'm going to be sensitive to criticism. There is a lot happening in my life, just like most of us, I am finding life to be a bit of an emotional roller-coaster. More than that even, it's been somewhat out of control and these days I am newly in charge and aware once again.
The world seems to be a different place for several reasons, but tonight the only thing that mattered was that a friendship I cherished turned out not to be so great after all. Enter my fist. I am not proud of what I did. I am actually a little amazed. It's not the first time someone has inspired me to want to be violent, but it is the first time I have ever acted upon it. Oddly enough, what is consuming me now isn't my shock or regret at having committed such a heinous act, but the fact that the person I punched won't be around to understand exactly why I did it. To this person I am still a piece of shit, and despite my knowing the contrary, I mostly want to prove this. Turns out, punching someone isn't really a good way to prove you're not an asshole. Surprise.
I know I'm a good person, but I also know that I make bad decisions and sometimes hurt people. I hate that I was not able to convey my feelings with words. I hate that I broke my own cardinal rule of pacifism. I hate that I might have been the cause of emotional and physical pain. What I hate most though, is that I didn't hit someone or something sooner. It felt pretty damn terrific. So good in fact, that I am going to find a boxing gym and sign myself up. I know I am an all or nothing person. Right now, my greatest fear is that I am going to operate at a punch or be punched mentality until the boxing takes root.
My life is a bit of a mess and I am an emotional basketcase. I love, I hate, I like, I avoid . . . I contradict even myself on a daily basis. Some things are true from the outside in however, and one of those truths is that I never lie about my feelings. They show all over me whether I want them to or not. I am the girl crying alone in the bar or laughing hysterically at videos of babies and kittens. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I expect a lot from my friends. Turns out, a little too much.
Lesson learned, never trust someone younger and keep your hands in your pockets when you're pissed off.
Tune in tomorrow to see what is brewing at the start of Another 365. Cheers.
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