Nesting

Here I am - insomnia girl once again. I can only assume it's the unconscious dread of "home for the holidays." I won't be home too long, but still...

Here's the other issue. I seem to be wildly, crazily in love. It's too soon, I know, but it's just ... there. He's so smart and so knowledgeable and so passionate and so caring. I keep wondering what he sees in me. He made me al list - which was truly the sweetest thing ever, but I still can't believe that this amazing man loves me. I guess I'll have to get over my disbelief because he tells me time and again that he loves me, but - wowzers!

And then there's the nesting issue. I lovelovelove spending time at his place. He's sweet and thoughtful and makes room for my shower do-dads and cooks me eggs in the morning. But I've just moved into my new home. And I really do love it here, despite my concerns. And Eliza seems to have taken territory. Still, my nights away have affected both my increase of comfort in my new home and my sense of abandonment of my FuzzBucket (and consequently the burden upon my housemate to look after her care).

I have just brought this up to amazing suitor (I'd refer to him as wine-guy, except that seems to belittle all his other amazing qualities. Still, everyone needs a pseudonym...) And I'm sure he'll be helpful and comfortable with working things out. But I'm still awfully proud to have realized the issue, thought it through and proposed a solution. Amazing therapist would be so proud.

And now, it's 4 hours until I have to get up for a meeting at my theoretical new job. I have a crazy feeling it's going to be a li=ong day.

How Can I Be This Happy?

The last few weeks have been sooooo crazy. Moving, storage, dealing with painful personalities and situations. But I seem to have wound out OK.

In the meantime, I have apparently fallen in love.

I have a bad history of acting a bit too soon. Still, I am sooooo happy. Suitor is brilliant and funny and thoughtful and caring. And he seems to like me equally. We keep trying to impress each other, which is weird, but also indicative of how we seem to mutually appreciate each other.

To be honest, I'm falling massively in love with him. Too much so for my own best interest. And too fast for my own good interest. But he makes me so happy and challenges me mentally and philosophically and makes me laugh and, well makes me horny..... So ...

Things have been going so well for me lately that I can't believe my renewed meditation doesn't have a part. But, whether it does or or doesn't, I am so happy. And I'll figure the rest out later.

Newness

Well, my life energy sure doesn't take long to shift.

In the few days it's been since Samhain, the Celtic New Year, so much has happened.

I moved into a new home. It's not in my beloved city of Gloucester, but it's in a safe space, with amazing energy and a housemate I adore.

I was offered a new job. OK, they're wishy-washy and wibbly-wobbly (or the NGO equivalent of Mitt Romney (SNAP1)) but they still seem to want me at some point.

I started dating a WONDERFUL man. He's sweet and kind and smart and thoughtful. And he truly cares about me. He keeps asking: "Why me?" and I'm like - duh! you're smart, you're funny, you know lots about things I don't know and want to learn about the things I know that you don't. Um, what was the question? So, yes, I'm feeling very school-girl-in-love, Which, at 36 isn't such a bad way to feel

So, here I am. Good things afoot and ahead. And I am happier than I've been in a long time. I want to hold on to this feeling. I will try to remember and offer thanks for this peace as often as I can. Because how many New Years like this come along?

What's Smart Comedy?

OK - so we all get it: I like comedy. Stand-up mostly, but most any laughter will do.

Recently, I've been feeling very ... high brow ... about my comedy. Topical humor - state of the world, state of the state, religion, life the universe and everything (42).

But tonight I had dinner (well, I think it was more a dinner date) with a friend who is fiercely intelligent. And, while I fancy myself a fan of politically- or socially- informed comedy, I was HORRIFICALLY offended by his lack of familiarity with Mel Brookes' History of the World. Looking back (and I easily did so via YouTube,) the humor is classic slapstich. Who's on first, yadda yadda. But I still have to laugh. An avowed Jew making light the insanity of the Spanish Inquisition. Humorizing the Last Supper. Throwing homosexual innuendos into the uber-Victorian sentiment of the French Revolution.

It made me realize that humor doesn't have to be overt to be smart. Sometimes tap-dancing nuns say just as much as Bill Hick's rant on Kennedy or Ellen DeGeneris take on God. I guess what all of this shows is that it takes different things to reach different people.

What this boils down to is the following: liking comedy doesn't make me a stupid frat boy. It can carry more weight than (in the words of Bill Hicks and many others) dick and fart jokes. But it also means that sometimes comedy can carry really important messages without sounding so preachy. Preachy can be funny. And slapstick can have a message. But neither of them carries the weight of the 1980's morality show.

I'd much rather watch George Carlin than an after-school special about the dangers of dating the wrong boys.

So, Jews In Space? Thank you, yes I will.

Poltergeists

OK - so it's no secret that I don't really want to move. I mean, sure, I'm moving into a space that has awesome energy and fantastic friendship. But it's not Gloucester. And Glouester has become my spiritual home.

Still, there are things; Last night the fire alarm would NOT shut up. Landlord seemed pissed that I'd torn it from the wall. Shit, in my "cornial ulcer" state, she's lucky I didh't unload a round on the disruption.

Tonight, there was a flood. seems to have been caused by cat-food lids. Which i find slightly inconcievable, as some of them might and probibly, been caused by catfood containers blocking water flowage.

But I am trying really hard not to take on my landlords insecurities onto myself. I didn't make tthe fire alarm scream unbearably. When I was shown the apartment, I was not warned of the potential water drainage issues.

Landlor's inability or inconvenience isn't my problem. That's why I'm a tenant and she's a landlord. I have tried a lot to help her. But at the end of the dqy, I write my checks out to her. So, to say it crudely, 'Suck it up!'4

Memories, they keep coming through...

I KNOW that I should be looking ahead. After all, the future holds unknowing wonders for me. The Universe will point me toward what is right.

Still...

Today I walked along Niles Beach. I remember calling friends and saying: "Do you hear that? That's the ocean. I live here." I remember walking up to visit "my rock" in a raging snowstorm thinking: Things will be OK. The Universe brought me to this place I love.

I know that I should - must - concentrate on what is before me. Living in the space of a beloved friend. Being close to .. everything ... and closer to friends I love.

I should honor the loss but also embrace the future. So why does it seem so hard?

In some way, I feel that moving is an acknowledgement of surrender. If I'd be making ye olde Pearson salary, maybe I could float the entire rent. If I'd dealt with roomie earlier, maybe I could have found a suitable replacement. But realistically and objectivelly: yes, there were things within my control I could have managed differently. There were also many factors beyond my control that I might have responded to differently. The lesson here is for me to take away knowledge from each.

So, I deal with this knowledge. But I still find myself:

Standing on Niles Beach, remembering the first time I felt: "That's the ocean. I hear the waves. I live here."

Standing on the Back Shore in full-on snow gear, watching the water froth over "my rock" and believing "The Universe wants me here, so I'll find a way."

Running in the morning, smelling the muffins baking at The Last Stop and seeing the sun rise against the backdrop of the Twin Lights.

Going for a bikeride and pausing at Bearskin Neck for a Gatorade and a glance at the Lobster Boats heading out to sea.

A friend of mine asked me recently, where would I be heading. I told her my destination and how happy I was to be moving into a safe space, But then I added, "But I'll come back. Because my heart - my soul - is here." And, yes, I started to cry.

I can't believe that leaving a place can be as heart-breaking as losing a lover. And, I PROMISE, I will embrace my new living space and my new hometown. But I pledge I will return. Because the memories will just keep coming back.

Re-arranging a life

Tonight I put two and a half and a closet into boxes. Somehow it feels like a success. But also, a failure.

Moving makes us put our lives into boxes. This is Kitchen. This is Bedroom. These are Books. Those are CD's.

My inner self doesn't want to be compartmentalized like that. The person who reads Little Dombey listens to Louis CK? The person who watches Fight Club also watches Giselle?

For someone who's been in therapy for YEARS, moving puts so many things in perspective.

I am a complex human being. Fuck, we all are. And unlike my parents, I want to recognize all of those parts of me.

I also realize that there is a HUGE part of me that will miss Glostah. But there are things to look forward to. And with my new (albeit temporary) jobby job, I'll get both.

But what I need to - and am working on - learning, is that we all have LOTS of stuff going on. None of it is good. None of it is bad. All of it just is.

So, I'll continue to cry. And I'll continue to laugh. And I'll continue to navigate a life that will always be open to possibiluty

Exhaustion

Tomorrow, I work at the winery, making six out of seven days.

Tuesday, I drive my wonderful, lifesaving friend to the airport for, possibly, ever.

I have boxes scattered around my apartment, slowly accumulating my entire life within cardboard.

I'm waiting - impatiently - for a call-back on a job that would be a really exciting opportunity.

Now that my gym membership is reactivated - and given my expanding thigh circumference - I want desperately to work out. For physical but also major psychological benefits.

My mind is torn and pulled in so many directions. I want to trust the future and all of its possiblities. I know I'll mourn my excursion from Gloucester. I must believe the work situation will work itself out. But all of this trusting and questioning and wondering and fruitless future-predicting is wearing me out.

I have to take pleasure and solace in the wonderful moments I have, day to day. A laugh with new friends. A discovery of a new Pho restaurant in Woburn. An admission from my boss that she is very happy with my work and success at the winery. The adorableness of a kitty curled up in a cardboard box.

I have to get up in 6 hours. And make nice for 5 hours before I can come home and pass out.

I want to go to the gym. Desperately need to practice my yoga. But right now, my yoga is to breath in and out, remember and hold the positive closely and know that I can concentrate on lovely non-essentials when I get settled, comforted and at peace.

A Sum of Parts

I was REALLY depressed yesterday. It was partly physical (won't go into that) but also a sense of overwhelm. I'm moving from a place I dearly love. And that entails emotional closure, but also all the realistic aspects. I have to get the carpets cleaned. I have to find moving boxes. I have to rent a truck. Etc.

And then there's the fact that I once again have my place to myself. And I should rejoice in this. No more worrying about coming home. No more forcing pleasant conversation when I have places to be and things to do. But there is a sense of isolation.

Last night, I said to Good Buddy, "You're all I have." And at times I feel that is true.

But the reality is, it is not. A dear friend called me last night, not for advice but just to bitch. To hear me tell her - and it's true - that she is a wonderful mother and an amazing person. One of the most wonderful person in this existence is worried about me being comfortable in her "former" space. Girlfriend is moving overseas and she's thinking about me! I have a myriad of people who know me and like me, however "superficial" our friendship might be. I have much to be thankful for.

So, in a way, I think this depression is about the uprooting of a life. All of the little things - the ppl at the convenience store who started to carry pineapple juice just for me. The ppl at my breakfast shop who have actually named a breakfast sandwich after me. The imprint I've made with local organizations. Hell, I even have "Farmers' Market" friends who share their stories and listen to mine. And I don't even know their names!

All of this is part of my emotional state. But I also need to realize that I've started over before. And I still carry memories of the good parts I've left behind. One ex referred to the waking of morning birds as "The Dawn Chorus." Another ex loved to cuddle just after waking. "So cozy," he'd say. A friend was amused that I put jelly on one side of a bagel and butter on the other. Another friend knows how much I detest olives and will stress this point at restaurants on my behalf.

I am losing a lot with this move. But I know I will carry fantastic memories with me. As things end - sadly or needfully - we still have our memories. And those are precious. Those are the things to hang onto. When I start to cry, when I'm feeling so alone, these are the things I should remember.

Eye Openers

Tonight I facilitated a fundraiser for a Republican candidate for US Congress. And, I must admit, many of the people were personable and approachable. They sported much bling - gold, diamonds, gems, etc. But they were mostly nice. However, when it came time for speech...

There was talk of morality, of taking back America, of reducing deficits and eliminating hand-outs. People clapped and cheered at the rousing speech.

He talked about deficit spending but didn't mention an unbudgeted war. He talked remaining ahead of China but didn't mention the numerous tax advantages to corporations who offshore jobs. He talked about protecting Vets but didn't mentioned unfunded (and-ill-founded) wars. And, of course, he talked about a budget deficit without mentioning that Clinton had a net-positive budget and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were waged "off the books."

All of this is rhetorical and idealogic and ya'all know what side of the fence I fall on. But here is my final reminder of why I am who I am.

I worked the fundraiser because I was outsourced from a job and haven't gotten another in this restrictive economy. I worked it because I like meeting people and I'm willing to be open minded. I worked it because my rent was due.

And then I heard a woman say (and I quote:) "If the poor don't like it, I don't care."

There you go folks, a return to moral values.

Jesus, I suggest you put on your Manola Blaniks and forget about The Meek. It's all about taxation structure after all...

Wow - Look at me!

I have an 8 a.m. Skype interview. (So, why, you ask, am I blogging at 10ish? Hello my insomniac friends.) It's a really interesting position and one I think I could be super successful in. And the decision process will be relatively short - they want to make an offer next week. I think I'm the lead horse in the running, but one never knows.

I spoke with Amazing Therapist about this today. The application process - and exponentially, the interviewing process - is really putting yourself in a vulnerable position. In reality, there are many factors at play. Are they a good fit for you? Are you a good fit for the role? Do you have the qualities they need or are you over-qualified and likely to become bored? None of these are "self judgement questions." If you get offered the job, it's because it's a good fit. For you. For them. If not, well, some puzzle pieces don't size up.

But it is SOOOO easy to take it as a judgement. If I don't get hired, there's something wrong with me. Something deficient. Maybe I didn't answer the questions right. Maybe they didn't think I could do the job. Maybe...

So, I'm in that precarious situation. I want to believe I want and can get this job. But I also don't want to find myself devastated if I don't get it. I sent my resume in less than a week ago. I haven't really had time to mull over the myriad possibilities. But I know that, if I'm told they've offered it to someone else, the likelihood is I'll go downward tilt, at least for awhile. So my homework for this week is to keep in mind exactly how demanding this whole vulnerable process it.

Because no matter what happens or what they decide; look at me. I sent in my resume. I went through the trouble of searching the job boards. I personalized the cover letter. I dressed up and went on an interview. I put my portfolio up for review. I exposed myself to a delicate situation.

And so, Amazing Therapist has asked me to hold this truth: No matter what happens, I've been brave. Really, fucking brave.

That said - I'm still asking friends and sundry to send me some serious light for this one.

9.5 hours and counting...

You'll End Up Crying

SHOCK - it's the name of an A-Ha song. But it's super appropriate today.

I've had some REALLY awesome things happen. I have a jobby-job interview tomorrow. I talked with an amazing human being I'd fallen out of touch with. Still...

I went to sleep crying. I'm moving into a good friends' house and opinion seemed...off. Likely cuz she's moving overseas. But I worried that it was also a fear of me living in her space. I'm afraid too, but I also know that her soul will be surrounding me and that is much to keep me safe.

I also felt memories of Glostah keeping me sad. It's a month away, but already I'm grieving. I know it's likely temporarily and that this plan makes sense in so many ways. But still....

Add that to a very tense conversation with Good Buddy (shock - it was me telling him his "rudder" was here...) and a possible crush on a coworker and....

Fuck. It's been a long week. No wonder I'm crying

Ugh and Not

I had dinner the other night with friends. We did a three-part toast: To sparkly birthdays, to happy trails and to new roomies.

It's definitely a time of transition. I'm moving away from a place I love. A place I've loved to call home. Glostah is a unique space unto itself and I'm very - very - sad to be leaving it. Still, I hate to walk into a cafe or store or restaurant without feeling anxious. I'll leave it at that.

The timing of everything worked out too well for me to deny The Universe was steering me in that direction. Amazing therapist says "this is probably right for now. And who knows what the next step will be." She's right, but I'm still wicked sad. I cry a lot these days.

I realize I've scared a lot of friends by making this blog non-public. So I'm going to make it public again. I'm sure there are some people monitoring it, but I can't live my life so anxious and tense. I've always believed in an open and free world and I've lived "out loud" for long enough to not let situations stop me (hello dooced).

To sum up, I'm conflicted but hopeful. Anxious but positive. Celebratory and mourning.

And now, I'm going to feed Fuzzy Bucket, make tea and drink it watching the ocean and then, yeah, probably go back to sleep. I'm wicked tired from yesterday, but more on that fun and games later. (Hint: Winery life is gooooooood.)

Who Do Ya Love?

This is kinda sorta a continuation of a previos post. But, I guess I need to work through this issue...

Through my previous posts, readers may have come to realize I have eclectic tastes ... I like pop-culture detective shows (Criminal Minds); insightful, yet blue, comedy; and raunchy, often mean and rude radio shows (Opie and Anthony, Smodcast, The Joe Rogan Experience). And yet, I love NPR, America Left, BBC News and The Daily Show.

Just like in high school where I was on the Lit Mag group AND the cheerleading team, I still don't fit neatly into any one corner.

I'm tired of justifying it. A dear, wonderful, big-hearted friend helped me get through the last few days of insecurity. Yet he found my radio family offensive and cruel. Another wonderful soullmate couldn't believe I listened to "NPR drivel." (Hello Rachel Maddow!) Someone else heard my giggling and sat down to watch a Daniel Tosh special. To her obvious chagrin.

I can't please everyone. And I can't please any someone all of the time. I don't pin down well. Maybe that's why I'm so hard to live with. Or be in a relationship with. Or figure out.

For what it's worth: I took a class in relative religions in college. We discussed a living candidate for sainthood and his writings. And while I valued a lot of what he said, I came away with this: "His writings are inspirational, but if I were his friend, I'd find him annoying."

I'm not entirely pure or entirely righteous or entirely holy. I'm also not entirely depraved or entirely decadent or entirely immoral.

I'm just me. No more no less. I'm not going to apologize for the obnoxious radio shows I listen to or make excuses for the completely obvious liberal talk shows I watch. I don't want to turn down the volume on some things or turn up the volume on other things. I guess I'm tired of being "a type."

Drifting,Floating

There has been so much going on. From choosing to live a hostile-free home to figuring out where I will live and who I want to be and how to get there from here...

And I think alot about how I can/may heal myself. And often, I focus on the time I've spent at Kripalu for yoga, meditation, companionship, understanding. And, yes, those are moments worth savoring and holding onto.

But, recently, I've found myself being less drawn to that and more drawn to the brainy, esoteric, (and, frankly) base humor of my favorite comics and spoken word artists.

I don't know why. I can guess at the reasons. Maybe, I feel too angry, resentful and revengeful of recent events to feel comfortable being "pure yoga girl." Or, maybe, frankly, I'm too caught up in my own destructive self-medication to let loose in a soul-freeing way.

I don't think where I am is where I want to be long-term. But I also know I haven't fully assimilated the extent of the abuse inflicted on me over the past few years.

So maybe I need to forgive myself some indulgence. And. quite probably, I need to start preparing myself to whip my ass back into shape.

But for every season, turn turn...

Forever and ever Amen

I just finished watching @KevinSmith movie Red State. It was really thought provoking. At times it was like, "yeah, this is a Kevin Smith film" and other times you were like, "is this the house if 1000 corpses?" So, yeah, a fuckin good film

But it also led me to thinking. I was one of those "Youth Group" kids. I went to the retreats and the missions. Hell, I even marched on Washington to protest RoeVWade. (To be fair, even then I protested b/c I knew the unfairness of womens' ability to protect themselves and make choices on their own, but still...I was there.) Despite confessing I had concerns and doubts, I led youth group prayers, I swayed eagerly with moving hymns, I led prayers, I kneeled reverently at Church.

To this day, I don't think all of it is bunk. But I do think the demand of unquestioning/unflagging submission is dangerous. Loving thy neighbor = good Smotingthy neighbor = bad.

The Universe I've come to pray to might not have rules or a bible or a tome of behavior. But it sums a lot up in its tenet: "And if it harms none, do what thou wilt." But even more important to me is this, "Blessed be." So many things in this world enlighten us, surprise us, enjoy us, hurt us, concern us, bewilder us. Some resolve positively. Some negatively. But my Universe knows that we can learn from it too. There is no book that tells us What Is. There is only the guidance of ourselves and the energy that is creation.

So, yeah, it's OK I used to lead bible studies. And it's okay I used to fall into religious rank. Because it brought me to where I am. And to that I say, "Blessed Be."

Homework

Usually, my doctors and therapists give ME homework. Take this pill at this time. Meditate on this. Focus on that. Try cataloguing your feelings/meals/sleeping patterns. Blah blah blah.

But when I met with Amazing Therapist today, the tables were turned.

Months ago, she'd reference a document I hadn't read. Recently, I'd asked her for a copy of it, thinking it would offer helpful guidance.

Today, she gleefully announced, "I found it!" Apparently my request was impetus for her to search through her files to find said document.

We didn't have time to discuss it. Time was spent with other stuff.

But this afternoon, sitting on the seawall at Plum Island with a much-anticipated sun on my back, I was happy and pleased and relieved and grateful and appreciative that Amazing Therapist had gone through that trouble. The reading was worth waiting for.

It offered me words of healing I needed. And gave me ideas for future strength.

It was nice to give my therapist homework, for once. Instead of the other way around. And to have it pay off so fruitfully.

I am blessed to have so many amazing tools in my toolbox. Thank you UNIVERSE.

And, hopefully tomorrow, when I wake up, meditate, take my prescripted 3k milligrams of fish oil and eat my breakfast off a wholewheat bagel,well... Maybe I'll feel a bit better a bout some of the other stuff in my life.

It's been a hella summer/month/week/days. But I still have those tools in my toolbox...

At What Point Safety?

I asked - no,to be fair, demanded - my roommate leave by the fifteenth of the month. Now, I will be the first to admit, I have not always been the ideal roommate. I've been bothered by his laissez-faire approach to life. Friends, relatives, et al have "helped him out" while he job searched somewhat less than ... tenaciously. And I've let that bother me. Publicly at times. When I should not have, I admit. One, his work is not my work. I have enough personal work to not take on his failings. Two, relinquishing that, I should not have made my frustrations public.

I own my failints. I admit them and apologize for them.

Yet, I feel that my frustration was in some way justified. I got angry that he couldn't pay bills while he spent time on the beach or going out at night. Or publically admitted to being high quite frequently. I'm not going to claim I've always been "drug free" but I still managed to pay my bills on time.

When I asked him - okay, insisted - to leave by the 15th of the month, he got angry. More than angry. Other tenants were months behind on rent so why was I making a big deal. I flaunted in his face the fact that I had part time jobs when I should stop playing "Mother Theresa." I blogged about him "slandering him."). (Yes, I blogged about him and I shouldn't have. But slander is only slander if it isn't true.)

But here's what I am truly afraid of: the ferocity in his eyes, in his face. He admitted not a week ago that he was off his meds because (and I quote so it's not slander) his sister was helping him get his meds but could no longer do so. And while he had other things to worry about, the first was to get his meds in order.

Today, he threw my diagnosis of bi-polar in my face. Who was I to judge, he insisted, when I had been diagnosed as "crazy." Despite the fact that I have been mindful and proactive about treating my condition. Whereas he can't get a prescription renewed (and again I quote, no slander intended) because "they want to charge me $65 for an evaluation."

So here he is, much larger than me, physically, and clearly off his meds. No, I have not been perfect. But I have ALWAYS owned up to my bad behavior.

But there's a difference between being a bad roommate and being a scary, threatening roommate. And I am going on record, here and now, and saying that I am scared of him. I stress every time I pull into our development and see his car there. I shake thinking I have to get into a confrontation with him. Because his eyes are scary. His mannerisms are scary. Yes, in truth, I am worried.

Friends want me to call the police But I have nothing to say. He hasn't hurt me physically. He's abused me verbally, but that's really hard to prove...

I guess the point of this is to verbalize the scary situation I'm in. Maybe people who have similar experiences will find solace. Maybe they'll contact me I can find solace. I don't know.

But I know that it's almost midnight, tomorrow is a day off and, in theory, I could sleep 'till whenever, but I feel like I need to be up and about. Just in case...

I have friends offering me a safe house. And thank the Universe for them. I pray I will never have to take them up on the offer. But "my tribe" has offered me refuge. I love my tribe.

For the Record

I'm not going to outline the various and sundry ways my current roommate has taken advantage of me and my generosity; has mentally and emotionally abused me and, defrauded me.

The truth is, he's done all those things. And more. I'm trying REALLY hard to keep this in perspective and know that it's his issue, not mine. But I still feel attacked ad antagonized. To the point where I developed a stomach ache thinking about coming home and what nastiness he had in store for me.

I've paid his portion of utility bills. I've forgiven late rent payment even when he was snarky about it (not to mention while I was putting down my beloved 16-year-old cat). I've extended job offers that wouldn't affect DUA collection and I've suggested job openings.

All of this is met with bitterness, rudeness and cruelty.

He's going to fight me on leaving the apartment. But my heart and soul know that I have been forgiving and he has been vengefu. And my hope is that truth will prevail...

The more things change...

Three years ago, I spent days and days and days building my way into my current home. I had no idea what I was getting into or who I was becoming. I brought a lot of stuff in, piece by piece. To finish the labor, I had a wonderful friend - Tomkolson - to help me with the last big bits of moveage.

As a stubborn, Type-A Leo, once everything was inside I was determined to start putting stuff away tout de suite. But since the day started around 5 a.m., the evening was destined to end early. And so it did.

With my newly installed cable TV, I searched out a special airing from a beloved comedian, Jim Norton. Despite hysterical laughter, I passed out from exhaustion early on.

Three years later, here's 'Lil Jimmy on my TV once again in the same special. Yet again, I'm in the space of reevaluating my situation and my desires...

Unlike three years ago, I have a much better understanding of who I am and what I want. I strive to commit to lovingkindness. But I am coming to realize I need to offer that to myself before I can offer it to others. I also don't want to be a (to borrow a 1950's phrase) a Patsy. So, the K who had learned to defend herself and her interests above those who take advantage is starting to emerge. I have been standing up for myself and my rights unequivacably while stil feeling empathy for those who want to capitalize on my generosity.

But generosity must have it's limits. And I've found those. It is time I need to stop accomodating others and looking out for my own rights.

It's uncomfortable, but it is an productive advance from the me of now and the me of three years ago.

Here I am with a distinct and obvious reminder of who I am and who I was and who I might want to be. It might not be a huge spiritual revelation, but it's enough for now.

In a roundbout way, thank you, Jim Norton.

Semper Fi Guiltas

So, Pops hasn't exactly been the model of health. A year and change ago he had a stroke. A few weeks later, he was back in th hospital. Too much too soon. Then, last week, he was admitted yet again with the signs of a stroke. A hundred tests run and they couldn't quite pin the cause down.

Today I found out that once again, he's in the hospital. Near they can say is - it might have been caused by a spike in blood pressure because (are you ready for this?) they were in the process of tweaking his BP meds and he decided to enjoy a dinner of ... Bratworst and Bubba Burgers.

I've been a vegetarian for most of my life and can attest to the benefits I've experienced. But I would NEVER proselytise (sp?) to the meat eaters. But that being said: Dad eats Keilbasa and Bubba Burgers. Bologna. Kraft cheese. He might as well be slathering cholesteral on his arteries. I know that older generations don't necessarily realize the food concerns that younger gens do, but...

Above and beyond all of this is my duty as a daughter. I've been rushing home at the indication of a sickness or a hospitalization. I love my Pop and in no way would I ever ever ever want anything to harm him. But... I have an opportunity this weekend to make triple my usual "under the table" income. Holiday weekends are generous for unseen workers.

As one of my fellow workers pointed out: "Not for nothing, but if you could get sick when it wouldn't cost me a fortune, that would be great."

I don't want to be the kind of daughter that leaves her family high and dry. I also don't want to be the kind of daughter that has to keep asking for a loan because I had to skip work...

A-ha redux

I've been feeling really good lately. Happy drugs? Maybe. Sunshine? Maybe. But I've also been revisiting times in my life that stand out as times I am proud of or happy of.

And it might not be a big thing to think of a concert as a big thing. And lord knows, I've beat it to death on this blog. But I really think of it as a victory on my part.

Ages ago, when we were not on the greatest terms, I told Good Buddy about the advent of the concert. "There have been four people in this world I've wanted to meet. I've met three of them. I never thought I'd have the opportunity for the fourth. And, dammit, I'm going to make it happen."

It's a frivolous bucket list, but it's there nonetheless.

I've blogged about it before, but I still feel proud that I've met, spoken to, and touched, Morten Harkett of A-ha. Many Americans know them for Take on Me and little else. But they are the soundrack fot my life.

So how does this play out from my other A-ha posts

I've been super duper depressed. What reason is ther to get out of bed? Why should I bother?

Then - I got onto a new prescription. Say what you want about psychiattric meds. Within days...

I remembered the joy and energy I felt at the concert. AND the confidence I had talking to the people in line. Today, I felt joy in talking to the people I was selling wine too and happiness at being where I was.

I will never - EVER - be able to replace the ecstasy I felt watching my idols perform. But I can also hold that in preciousness while I live day to day in joy.

So, those of you who dismiss mental health, fuck you. Life is great. Life amidst your heroes even better. Life ignoring the healthy you need ... sad and I hope you figure it out...

Kitties always know

Many moons ago, my mom came down with a pretty severe case of pneumonia. During the entire time she was bedridden, our cat, Sandy, stayed with her. She snuggled up on her bed and remained close by throughout her entire illness.

Fast forward many years. This weekend, I wound up dealing with some random summertime flu. I spent much time in bed. Mostly sleeping with occasional bouts of reading and bad movie watching. The entire time, Eliza stayed close by my side. When I got up to go downstairs, she came downstairs. When I turned off my light to take another nap, she curled up beside me.

Today, I finally made it up and out. I had a doctor's appt and that was pretty good inspiration. Here's where it gets funny.

I went into the bathroom to blowdry my hair. Eager not to let Mommy out of her sight, Eliza followed me in. But then I started the dryer. Eliza, shocked, jumped into the bathtub. She looked at me with fear and confusion. She hated the big loudnoisething but loved Mommy. Bigloudnoisething. Mommy. What do I do? The confusion in her eyes would have been sooo adorable, if it hadn't been so painful to momma's little fuzzbucket.

I opened the bathroom door and now she was confronted with another moral conundrum. Escape loudnoisething? Stay with mommy? Escape? Mommy?

Finally - she made the decision and bolted out of the room.

But she definitely gave it the Girl Scout try.

She's so cute. So dumb. But so cute.

Remembering the "Dream"

When I was a Junior at Colby College, I was involved in an intense theatrical production, later termed "Dreamcatcher." The first part of the production consisted of the cast keeping dream journals and reading books - both analytic and theoretical - about dreams. And then we started to that together. The movement was organic and based on the results of our dream creations. The music was both original and foung to fit our creation.

It was an intense process. It was telling, personal, spiritual, insightful and inspiring. I don't have any idea how well I performed. Maybe my movements were ungraceful or out of rythm or nervous and stilted. I don't care.

I just found out that the performance was recorded and fashioned into an acutual production. A preview is here. An artistic pursuit that consumed - both physically and spiritually - nine months of my life, has been captured on film. I'm no Gelsey Kirkland or Dame Helen Mirren, but this is a BIG THING for me.

My parents don't get it (shock). Even some of my friends don't get it.

But I am proud and grateful and amazed and awed.

Anyone who has been a part of something amazing that is bigger than themselves and their reality will understand what I mean. And how blessed, how unbelievably grateful, I am to have been a part of it.

Just one thought

I met with Amazing Therapist today. And after all I've been through and the depression I've coped with, here is the lesson I took away:

'I am so glad to be crying because something wonderful has happened instead of the opposite."

I won't go into all of it. I had a change in meds. My parent's owned up to (some) of their shit. I had an overwhelming community response to my needs AND I applied for a couple of jobs that mostly wouldn't suck.

But the biggest thing for me was realizing that definitions of success are SO relative.

I was at the Middleton Famrers' Market yesterday and having the time of my life. It was hot but not too hot, I was chilling and chatting with my neighbors, buying fresh produce, life is good. A guy I knew from my past life wandered in, clearly just from work with his khakis and button-down-collar blue shirt. I'd run into him a bunch at the office and, don't get me wrong, he seemed a REALLY nice guy. But he did everything he could to avoid hitting the Alfalfa Winery Tent. As if it would embarrass him - or embarrass me.

I am not ashamed of what I am doing. I LOVE what I am doing. The Adelman's turned the farm into a vineyard because they didn't want the acreage to be a "storage" farm for animals. They wanted it to be productive. To be a FARM.

And it turned into a vineyard. And now MA has agreed to acknowledge that locally produced wines are part of agricultural enterprise in the state. And I help that, by representing the wines at local venues.

I don't want it to be my only job nor my career. But I am very happy and proud of being a part of this enterprise.

So to see someone from my "corporate life" afraid to acknowledge my "new life" is, well, telling.

I am happy now. I love what I'm doing and the people I'm doing it for. And while I know I will soon have to return to "corporate life." the life I'm living now is neither demeaning or depressing to me.

I spend three days a week talking about wines and local vineyards. Two of those I get to hang out with organic farmers, crafters, bakers and yummy-makers.

That's nothing to be ashamed of in my world. People feel free to walk barefoot or talk about compost piles or harvesting early tomatoes durng a downpour.

What I -- we -- love isn't clean. In fact, it's dirty. But it's good, clean dirt. And nothing - NOTHING - to be ashamed of.

Words words words...

Above, a quote from one of my all-time favorites, My Fair Lady aka Pygmalion.

Still, as dismissed as words are in Shaw's masterpiece, their importance is stressed in the Inkheart trilogy from Cornelia Funke.

It was a story of words within words. Of stories within stories. Of characters made of flesh and of ink. And to a girl who used to read in her closet with a flashlight; who's best friends growing up were Caddy Woodlawn and Abigail Adams - these stories and friendships were close to heart.

Over 1800 pages I grew to know and love Mo, Meggie, Resa, Dustfinger, Farid and, yes, even Fenoglio. I discovered why I loved Jasper and respected Rosenquartz. I imagined the Nests in the Trees and believed that the White Women are the closest humanity will ever come to understanding Death.

So, yeah, I've spent a lot of time in the Inkworld. And, while I cried publicly at the end of the tale (not a popular activity in Gloucester), it also left me thinking about the impact of words.

We say them every day: "I'd like a coffee." "Let me get that for you." "Bless you." "Fuck off!" "Fuck you!" "How are you?" "What's happening?" "Are you shitting me?"

So many words. So many ideas. Put together, they have so many meanings. Torn apart, they have even more.

I used to scoff at people who played semantics. But maybe, just maybe I'm starting to believe it's time we started paying attention to what we're saying, how we're saying it, and why.

I'm not encouraging an outrage or an uprising or a flashmob. I'm CERTAINLY not advocating for uber-"PC-ness" - I'm just saying ... words mean a lot. They can make things reality and unmake things. Not unlike the Inkworld. It's just a crazy theory from a woman who was once a girl who read books in her closet by a flashlight.

Yet, as the Inkworld showed me, even words meant for good can cause unknown pain. And sometime the words we pay the least attention to can save our souls. But above all, if we mean them for good, good will come. Eventually.

It cycles me back to a theme I've often revisited: We are all but drops on a sunlit sea." The words we utter - and the energy behind them muttered - can change the whole of the world. Not just OUR world. But THE world.

I have the privelege of knowing my friends mutter good words. And I hope that I do so as well.

It's like one of those pay it forward games. I give to you good words, given to me by wonderful people. How will you use those words?

Yes, it's theoretically and philosophyical and blah blah blah. But it makes me feel better. When I ask someone "how are you?" and they seem surprised that I mean it. I like it. And when I offer a sneezer a "bless you" and they look up surprised, it makes me happy. And, yeah, I don't mind I'm doing a good job and its appreciated.

Words help us. They are emotional ties to the things we've done right and the things we've done wrong. They are no match for the personal and/or physical reassurance we as humans need. But they help. Everyone needs, at the end of the day, a pair of arms to wrap around us. But if they know the words that we need to hear, that might prove just enough.

Be kind to your brothers and sisters. They may just be hearing those words for the first time.

The difference between law and reality

Today was another wonderful day of pimping Alfalfa Farm Winery at the Middletown Farmers Market. Sun, fresh food, good company - I've always said that's the best way to spend a day.

Today, I got a visit from a certain GM from a certain burrito joint which shall reman anonymous but rhymes with Chewpotle. Said GM was very friendly and maybe (?) was trying to keep the conversation going... Be that as it may:

I mentioned that I prefered Chewpotle over its competitor KewDoba because it was organic, but that said, competitor had more vegatarian options.

Wherein we began the discussion: to be labelled an "organic restaurant" means to use only certified organic ingredients. So, even if GMs know the local foods are, in fact, organic but not necessarily certified, they, by needs, must import certified organics. Ergo, to offer additional vegetarian options, they needed to have a local organic supplier who could meet demand.

And this is where my issue lies: Many moons and lives ago, I worked at a local CSA which was organic (I KILLED potato bugs for allsake) but not certified (way tooo expensive for a small community farm). The restaurant I was training at was "certified organic."

So in order to be legit, it had to have certified organic produce. Which meant, from a legal perspective, should buy from an orgainc farm in California - a continent away from Vermont - instead of buying from a local, hand-cared, non-certified organic farm.

So, said GM and I had an interesting discussion about pro's and con's of local vs organic. And the answers are still so unclear.

As for me, I prefer to keep buying from local farmers. Some use all organic methods. Some use only "mostly." But at least I know who runs the farms and I know they eat the fruits of their labor. So, they might not be certified, but they can be identified.

What does that mean for "corporate" organic? And does that not become a complete oxymoron?

These are REALLY import questions - which often spiral out of control. But with the world the way it is, I think it's time we at least start thinking about them... I don't have answers. But hopefully asking the questions will open the issue to insight.

Having Mono

I had Mono as a kid. Don't know how or who I got it from. But it was a series of briefly being awake and mostly being asleep. And the awake part was a grumbling of "I wish I were dead."

Those grumblings didn't really mean I wished I were dead. Just that the symptoms were so yucky that any relief was welcome.

Fast forward.

I finally got around to writing my goodbye letter to Peeps. People get a eulogy, why not pets who've played a huge part in our lives? but writing it broke my heart and reading it and knowing I will give it to the ocean, well.... Heartbreak.

Then, I finally wrote a letter to Good Buddy. I tried to set up the what's what. He's read it and assured me, yes, we're okay. But as for the rest.

Finally, I've found myself email bound once again. This was a habit initiated by CBL. And my initial relief from it was profound. So why now...? Maybe it's because I've felt it's time for me to dip my toes back into the "formal" job world. Even though it's a different direction I've decided to take, I might just be hoping for a response. Or maybe it's because, right now, I'm in that "sosickIwanttodie" mode that email or FB is my only link...

So, all of this lends me to being prone to hanging out in bed. My brain knows that, of course, I don't want to die. But the part of me that keeps crying and thinking and analyzing is tired. It has brain mono. I want to let it sleep. But I don't know which is more healthy - giving into the sleep or getting the fuck up and saying fuck you to all the shit in my life right now.

WWYD?

Conformity to be or not to be?

During yet another night of insomnia (seriously?) I was waxing nostalgic. I was trying to remember the moves to a certain cheer (yes, I was a cheerleader) that we did in H.S.

While looking on FB for former cheerleading friends, I noticed that so many (read: all) were married with children. Just like the sitcom said. And for a moment, I was sad.

I am not married. I don't have children. What was wrong with me?

And then I realized: Fucking Nothing.

I don't want kids. 1) the world does not need more people. 2) I don't actually like kids. 3) I have a lot of stuff on my plate that I love that, if I had kids, would have to wait another 2o years give or take.

I was married. Didn't like it much. I wander a bit here and there and fluctuate in my ... desires. OK - I'm a hedonist. And until I find someone that I love enough to share a hedonistic lifestyle with (and it can be done, witness Ultimate Leo Party 2011) well, not so much with the interest.

I was often berated in school for not being "non-conformist enough" to be "non-conformist." But here I am, unmarried, childless and still searching for meaning of Life, the Universe and Everything. So who's non-conformist now bitches?

And in all of this - I do NOT in any way demean those who have partners, jobs, children, careers. I admire those who can and do. I'm just saying, for me, not so much. And I'm TOTALLY okay with that.

Exit Stage Left

4 a.m. Craziness

It's been a weird weekend/beginningofweek. My birthday was rough. I had a good time just hanging out, don't get me wrong. But I also had a massive issue with where I'm at and where I want to be... Not just personally, but professionally and spiritually.

Good Buddy showed up. And part of me was so glad. And part of me was pissed. He showed up because I'd said to him (and I quote) "you come up because you're worried about Friend A. You come up because you're worried about Friend B. You don't come up for me. And when you do come up, you rarely "get" to see me. And, short of your son. you claim I'm your best friend."

So, he made sure I knew this time was for me.

Which is great. But here's the kicker. He didn't tell me he was coming. And then he expects me to drop everything and hang out. Don't get me wrong, the hanging out was awesome. We laughed, like we always do. We waxed philosophical, like we always do. And we napped because, well, he's a really good sleeper. It felt good to fall asleep in his arms and to wake and hear "kisses?".

Good Buddy and I work on routine. I know he's going to forget where his keys are so I always double check. And he knows what makes me laugh and he indulges that.

But a few days ago I swore this relationship had become one of my favorite episodes of
Seinfeld: I had "hand" and I wasn't gonna lose it.

Yet here I sit, 4:13 a.m. (maybe b/c we took a 2-hour nap) and despite how tired I am, I can't sleep.

My head knows how very wrong we are together. My heart is even starting to believe that. But he has a 12 year-old hold over me.

Why am I crying? Why am I up at 4 a.m.? He'd have reasons and theories for that. And some of them might be true. But I think, at the end of the day (ha!) I am grieving because I know that that 12 year-old hold may be wearing away.

A break-up is one thing. You go throught the stages of grief and move on. But how do you put years of feelings behind you and and still keep someone close to your heart? Because no matter what he's done to me and I to him, and no matter what shit we've been through, the reality remains: he knows more about me than any other human on this earth. He gets me - the light and dark of me. For whatever reason, I share with him things I would not share with the best of my friends (I wish I coud but...)

So, here I sit. A change is imminent. But why? But how? And what do I do?

And, more practically importantly, how do I get to sleep? I have work today. A work I like. But a pretty exhausting work. So, Mistress Sleep, please claim me.

Irony oh, Dear Irony

I have so many wonderous things to say about this birthday weekend's events. But, n'est-ce pas, they'll have to wait.

As you might have guessed, Handsome Man and I have stopped dating. It wasn't so much a break-up as a ... peetering out. We're still awesome friends and still talk all the time. We just don't kiss or do what amounted to being intimate. (I won't go into extensive details, but I'm in my 30's and he's in his 50's and he doesn't believe in Viagra.......).

That said, I'm still Farmers' Market girl and he's Farmers' Market Guy. What's awesome is that I have found a way to be paid for being farmers' market girl by pimping Alfalfa Farm Winery products. In said activity, I have come into contact with "Chef Man." (he might be renamed later, but what the hell.)

There has been some serious flirtage. Actually overt flirtage. Not so much that either of us has asked the other out, but I sense that is immenent.

Here's the awkard part. He works with Handsome Man. Not only at the set-up/tear-down of the market, but also works FOR him. Handsome Man, in his wonderful and philanthropic nature, offered Chef Man an opportunity to paint with him...

So, this morning, in the interest of transparency, I mentioned the flirtage, emphasizing the points that 1) it may come to absolutely nothing and that 2) his friendship meant more than a potential relationship with a guy I barely knew.

HERE'S THE KICKER: Handsome Man seemed overtly jealous. To the point of pointing out flaws and shortcomings of Chef Man. Which leaves me to wonder - is he just looking out for me? Or feeling a little "to have loved and lost..."?

I told him I'm (now) 36 and can make my own decisions, but he didn't seem to buy that.

Oh what tangled webs we weave...

SFD

Which, for me, translates to "shit fuck damn." And that's how I feel.

Family sent me to the looney bin. Details don't really matter, but it was an over-the-top reaction to a family disagreement. I have never before been so humiliated. And while waiting for the ambulance to take me to said looney bin, Mom said things to me that were so hurtful, so deaming that I don't think they'll ever get out of my mind.

Mom's apologized,. But how can that ever be enough? She acts now as if it never happened. That her apologizing makes things okay. She belittled me and threw every decision, every act I've ever done not only into question, but into disregard. And now I'm supposed to care that they had farm-stand corn on the cob - which used to be my birthday dinner.

Add to that that Good Buddy is having what translates to a total break-down. Every attempt I make to argue him out of his state - which is, honestly, self-imposed - he shuts down and tells me he can't deal and will call me later. This from a man who told me, when I was legitimantly in the hospital, that I "was better than this. I needed to get over this."

Add to the fact the neither I nor my kitten can get over the loss of "Lamby Pie" - that I hope to see her in the windowsill or offering her meow when I get over the shower. Add that to where I am and it's amazing I can even function.

Today I didn't get up enough to shower or get outside. But being awake and somewhat c0herent seems a victory,.

My appointment with Amazing Therapist can't come soon enough.

My TV Family

My immediate TV Family is, of course, those of the Criminal Minds variety. But, now that I've seen mostly all of the episodes aired on Ion Television (positively entertaining), I've been watching a lot of Law and Order SVU.

Last night they had a "ripped from the headlines" marathon. And the one I catched was about psyhiatric drugs.

1) the dialogue was SOOOO stilted. In one conversation the characters touched on all the sound bites of the argument. Still....

2) the actual episode DID seem to outline the major conflict.

There are people who still believe that mental illness isn't valid or is over-diagnosed or over-treated. And in the last two cases, they're probably bordering on the truth. Not my call.

But in the first case my thought is: Fuck You.

I've made it no secret that I've been in therapy for years. And a lot of it is just figuring out the reasons behind the thoughts I think, the judgements I make, and the actions I do. BUT, the other reason is to let me recognize that a lot of what goes on in my brain is unhealthy.

Medical science has mappec the human genome but not the human brain. It is that complex. And chemical treatment is not appropriate for everyone.

But for someone who has wound up in the emergency room - and consequently a psych ward - I can tell you that appropriate treatment is a SAVIOR.

I forget to take my meds for ONE day and I can tell the difference. I go from thinking every problem is a reason for suicide to thinking problems are a wicked pain in the ass.

So, yeah, this episode of SVU had it right. Sometimes meds are too much and not right. And sometimes meds are literally the differnce between life and death.

And before you judge, walk in my shoes for two days. One with, one without. Then get back to me.

Now I Get It

When people say they would give their lives for child, I knew it "up here" (points to head). I didn't get it "here" (points to heart).

Now that have lost my "first child" and I see the heartache that Eliza is suffering, I get a bit of it.

I also know that I am the only tether Eliza has to her sister and to this world. And she's holding on oh so vocally.

That being said, I'm having "unemployment issues" which may impact my solvency. And if I can't feed me, I sure can't feed her.

What's the answer? I don't know. It was excruitatingly painful beyond measure to put Peeps down. Maybe if we "survivors" go down together, it won't be so bad... We won't know till we find out, eh?

I thought I was numb...

There is a shadow that lives in my house and in my mind.

She is a black and grey shadow. She likes to sit in the bathroom waiting for me to get out of the shower. Sometimes she paws at my legs as if to tell me, "Get out. I want in."

The shadow sits in my front window, mrrrowing at me when I get out of my car.

The shadow eats corn on the cob - off of the cob. It begs for tuna and always seems to know when it's Thanksgiving weekend, because that's the only time mom comes home with REAL turkey.

The shadow walks on my keyboard and, occasionally settles down for a long winters nap on my keyboard.

The shadow seldom sits on my lap but often sits just next to my lap.

The shadow likes the sides of her cheeks petted and purrs loudly when indulged.

The shadow activitely haunts me now and will probably haunt me for a long time. I hope the shadow stays with me always - but hopefully will be slightly less visible. Because that shadow needs - demands - tears to survive. And I'm pretty dehydrated at this point...

Peepers - I will always love you.

Adjustments

My guess is that my fewish readers will gues this post will be about Peepers. My girl, my Lambie Pie Petunia, 16 years old, was put to rest on Tuesday. I cry and cry and manage to pull myself together only to cry again. And, so, today, I should be posting about Peepers and her quirks and how much I loved her.

But I'm not.

Reason 1: If I start posting about the memories, I'll never stop.

Reason 2: I'm in that "numb" part of the grieving process and, as busy as I am, it's working for me...

So, I post this instead. Today marks the two week anniversary of my $10/day budget. I got tired of "robbing from Peter to give to Paul" (mom's term) and checking my balance every day to see when/what would bounce. So I set myself a severe (for me) budget. Ten bucks a day. If I needed to spend more in a day (gas, prescription meds..) I divided the balance and adjusted accordingly.

For two weeks running, I've actually been UNDER budget. Sure, it's been a bit of a pain packing my own lunch and prepping my own dinner everyday. Especially when you get a craving for something special.

Still, I'm really proud of myself. I should have put myself on this austerity plan a LONG time ago. But with age comes wisdom, right?

Here's hoping (fingers crossed).

PS - does this austerity plan give me license to be bitchy about someone who goes out several nights a week to bars, spends time playing volleyball but not working/job hunting, and STILL bounces rent checks? just checkin...

A Tale of Two Kitties

Please excuse the pun. But it is one of my favorite Dickens' novels...

I have two cats. Those who know me may, in fact, consider me a crazy cat lady. And, truthfully, I'm okay with that.

I'm childfree by choice. Past posts have explained it but, to recap, I don't feel the maternal instinct, don't feel the nurturing drive and, frankly, I thik the Earth has enough people as it is.

That all said, I love - adore - my kitties. They are by no means young'uns. Peeps is 14 going on 15 and Eliza is one year younger. And, as much as I bitch about 'Liza whining at my door in the mornings or Peeps walking all over my keyboard as I try to work, they are my family.

I spend hundreds on their food because I want to give them the best nutrition available. I clean up morning noon and night after their various "biological issues."I have stains on rugs, furniture and bedding,

But Peeps waits outside the shower until I'm done and then jumps in and licks the water from the faucet. She waits on the table, snarling at the seagulls trying to attack our garbage. Eliza nuzzles my head in the morning until I get up and feed her. And at night she cries until I pick her up and let her fall asleep in my arms.

How many emails has Peeps sent that read sssssssddddddddddrttkkkkkkkpppppppppppp. How many times has Eliza interupted a fantastical dream?

This long rant leads to this: Peeps has been sick. And they are both old ladies. I've already spent $600 - which I don't exactly have - to pay vet bills. And now Peeps won't even eat her prescription food.

I know I'm 1) being a negative nellie and 2) expecting the worst, but what do i do if either of them gets sick again? I have NO wiggle room, financially. I love them to bits and pieces and with all of my heart and would be devistated to lose them. But, truthfully, at what cost....???...

Luckily, I'm not facing that decision yet. Hopefully for not awhile. But it's on my mind constantly, and so I put it out there.

Keep us in your thoughts, won't you?

Parental Irony

So, I got in a big fight with dad a week or so ago. I was having "relationship difficulties" with Handsome Man. So, I called my mom to cry. She was a last resort, but I had to commiserate with somebody. Dad answered the call and gave me shit about calling so late. As if Mom has never called me inconvienently or my brother hasn't kept them up all night dealing with his issues. So, yeah, I was ticked.

Interesting times picking out a Father's Day card ...

Yesterday, I found out that one of my mother's favorite books, This Perfect Day, has been re-released. The joke in my family is that she gave me her copy and then borrowed it back so often and for so long it wound up again as her copy.

Another interesting note is that the author, Ira Levine, is also the author of Rosemary's Baby. Which mom once threw at my head when she found out I was taking classes about Wicca.

I don't honestlyknow what any of this really means. I guess what it means is that family relations are confusing, contradictory and incomprehensible. Also, somehow, we still wind up loving each other,

Why I Love Small Towns

Since being laid-off, I've been looking for some gigs here and there to make ends meet while freeing up some time to pursue my entrepreneurial ideas.

And this is how my journey has gone thus far.

The amazing Cape Ann Farmers' Market manager put me in touch with a local winery who was looking for a "salesperson" to staff their tent at the market.

I also got in touch with a woman who has a shop around the corner from my house. She makes bags and other items from recycled sails. One of the items she makes is... wine giftbags.

Another one of the ppl in my greater friendship circle is a blacksmith - and makes corkscrews.

All three are happy - nay, delighted - to sell one another's merch at their various locations. (Well, okay, I can't see the wine anywhere but the CAFM, but I can hand out info cards.)

So, with ll this good karma floating around, I shouldn't have been surprised at last Sunday's events.

A lovely couple came into a wine tasting and we started chatting. I can't remember how we got on the topic, but it turns out the wife and I have both done charity bike rides. I mentioned that I had completed mine on a hybrid. "Oh heavens!" she said, "I'm impressed." At the end of the conversation - knowing how much money she needed to raise for her upcoming involvement in the PanMass Challenge, I told her to please stop by again and I would pledge her.

After telling me how nice that was, she asked if I'd ever thought about getting a road bike. Sure, I joked, if you can buy it for me.

"Actually, I have a really good one sitting in my garage. I upgraded to a newer model - and this one needs a seat and its gears need re-stringing - but otherwise it's in great shape."

She was serious and even made it sound like I was doing her a favor by taking it out of her garage.

Yea karma. Yea good neighbors. Yea help one another out anyway we can. Yea Universe.

Forgive and Forget?

I spoke with a former colleague today. I like and respect this man. And I feel for him because he is still caught in a difficult situation; selling a product in a market that is, at best, resistant and, at least, doomed to fail in his market.

During our discussion, he tried to convey to me that (former boss) has mellowed. I don't - can't - buy it. This is the man who had made me so terrified - scared to express idea, opinion, insight, or unique observation - that I was literally afraid to go into work, afraid to open email, afraid to answer my phone. Fuck - afraid to wake up.

Life under CBL was horrendous - being oncall 24x7; expected to manage all of her expectation and emotions; responsible for being employee, friend and sounding board; was bad. And because I wasn't in a safe place - mentally and spirituall - I let it take its toll on me.

But to be outright harassed, bullied, insulted and threatened ... it has honestly left a permanent scar. It's like a mental/emotional rape - it takes away your power, your independance, your security. And you're left with a feeling of complet loss of control.

Was it because I am female? Was it because I challenged his viewpoint? Was it because I am an individual and dared to flaunt that in his face? Was it because I will respect a human but not a role?

I have no idea. But the reality is ... I was bullied and abused. And that will never go away. I want to hold him in lovingkindness. I want to feel sympathy for him.

But I can't. And right now, I won't. Through my work with Amazing Therapist, I've come to terms with the fact that it's OK to be angry. I want to be better, be above anger and blame, but I'm coming to terms with the fact that it needs to be OK if that takes some time.

So, yeah. Maybe that asshat boss has "mellowed out." But the scars he left on me aren't gone. Not yet. Not now.

Just a quick realization

I've been having some ups and downs recently. Trying to find a healthy balance between a number of competing factions. It's been a rough road, but I'm really trying hard.

I woke up today, exhausted. I woke up exhausted. How ridiculous is that? But I was determined not to let yet another beautiful day pass me by while I wallowed in bed.

So, up I got and put my bathig suit on. I've been stressing about how I would be looking in a bikini (fat, dimply, etc). But, why? Sure, there are thin, buff bodies all over the beach. But also lots of people in various other skins. And who cares? They're enjoying the sun, the sound of the surf and al of the fun action of a day at the beach. Why was I letting crazy societal expectations dictate how much fun I could have on a -- my -- beach?

I admit I was a bit self-conscious walking around. But I soon found I was concentrating more on the surf, the shells, the sun and the sounds than on any self-consciousness. I was enjoying myself - enjoying being "in" myself.

And when I went to lie down and soak up some sun, I found that I'd planted myself next to a woman who was chattering into her cellphone obsessively. Here she was, at the beach, on a holiday, talking - insistently talking - about business. She ended the call saying: "Look, I'm wrapping up here. I'll go home, pull the proposal up on my laptop and call you right back."

I used to be that woman. I used to identify myself by my job. I checked email over breakfast. I was expected to answer calls on nights, weekends, holidays. As miserable as I was, I also knew I had a job title to identify me by. It's what people do. It's what you write in to updates for you college bulletin. It's what your parents tell friends and neighbors when they ask after you.

But it also keeps you from enjoying a sunny holiday on a beautiful beach. It keeps you from pondering how you're going to use the hours ahead to more fully realize who you are and who you want to be.

We all have our demons. I'm still battling the body-image fight. And maybe a couple of others. But at least I can recognize the old me when I hear it. And I can take steps - small and large - to continue moving forward to make me more me and less that woman.

So, yeah, I don't quite exactly know who I am or what I want or what I need to get there. But I know that I'm moving in the right direction. And that feels pretty darned good.

I Just Don't Understand

So, for the past few weeks, with all the craziness and uncertainty going on in my life, I've been a bit ... needy. In therapy speak: "I have been having trouble self-soothing and, so, have been seeking affirmation from others," Complicated wording for "I've been a clinging, sobbing mess."

So it's not surprising that Handsome Man - who has plenty of issues of his own - has decided that maybe we're not well-suited. And I can certainly understand why.

So, he dodges questions about our still dating or being girlfriend/boyfriend or spending "romantic" time together,

But then, he calls me at 10:30 to say, "Hey, just seeing what's up. Give a shout whenever." He still gives me "wakey wakey" calls. He still spends time talking to me about what's going on with his day, his life.

So, if he's trying to break it off, he's being REALLY 'round about about it.

I've dropped a few "jokey" questions/hints and he manages to artfully dodge them instead of addressing them.

So what to do now? I have been trying to be "breezy" but it's been tough. Not because I'm still feeling so needy, but because I've been so GD confused.

Men. Can't live with em, pass the peanuts.

Too too much

Let's suffice to say that, should I, hypothetically, die, my journal and blog would even BEGIN to represent the thoughts and feelings I've had over the last few days.

I've been working on this project while, eventually it is hoped/insinuated, will bear much monetary fruit, for the moment it feels like volunteer work. And while I'm fine with volunteer work, it would have been known at the outset.

Fighting with parents who have made it more than clear to me that they are sick and tired, tired and sick, of dealing with my shit. Helpful. Especially in view of the next paragrapth.

Peepers is sick. No, actually, dying. She has kidney disease and there's little we can do but keep her on her treatment and pray. And pray. And I don't even pray, but I'm praying. If the medicine keeps it could be a long time that I have with her. Blessed Goddess let's hope. But even so, I know that I'll be holding the thought that this is the last time I have with her always...

And so, I tried to share this with Handsome Man. He had little to offer. "Don't let this keep you up all night" he said. Really? My baby of 17 years is dying - not today, but maybe next week or (Goddess be) next month or year... - and you want me NOT to lose some sleep? Much less offer to come over and hold me. It's not in his nature to suggest it and certainly not in his nature to comply once suggested. He's got boatloads going on and I get that. But I'm thinking it's time I had a boyfriend who knew - or at least responded to - what I need.

So I will spend tonight chasing Peeps around the apartment making sure she's not getting sick or ... (courtesy demands my silence). And making sure Eliza doesn't feel alienated. Making sure that the whole family remains status quo and healthy.

And for not losing sleep? Yeah, right.

-K

q'est-ce q'ue se

This blog probably won't be too coherent -- sorry. But here's where it's at. I' am a big confues about wher my job is and whaat the payment is. And in the meantime I amy or may not be getting an advance from Good Buddy. Because often been a shit to me. But more often thn not (and this doesn't make the news) he's been right and standup and a pretty decent go-to-guy.

So I'm stressed about money and stressed about how little Handsome Man cares about my emotional side of things and scared about my lack of healthcare and lack of understanding from my family and, ... well, I'm scared.

I'm supposed to go into work tomorrow but for what cause and what result? Do I have friends? So I have people who give a shit? Brooke is too busy to even give me a hug. And he's supposed to love me. My being must be worth so much...

FML,
-K

Who'da thunk?

Been having a really rough couple of days. Here's why:

1) Unemployment got screwed up b/c of piece-o-shit restaurant job
2) Health insurance got screwed up b/c of beauracratic paperwork BS
3) Part-time job offered me one thing and then changed it mid-stream. Resulting in supreme less money but still lots of time.

All of this is leading me down the primrose path that one job ago had me hospitalized in a psych ward for a suicide attempt.

Why do people keep taking advantage of me? Why do I keep trying to do my best and yet fall flat on my face? Why do I try to identify myself through activities and not personhood? Why do I let negative situations affect my impression of the footprint of my true soul?

I wound up tonight in uncontrollable tears, in the bathtub (do the math). I called Good Buddy. And you know what? He talked me down. Yes, he helped me to cry - to get it all (mostly) out. But then he made me laugh. He got what I was crying about and why.And then he turned the discussion on its head and inadvertantly (?) gave me reasons to think about why staying around might not suck.

I'm feeling lonely and alone. I've been sick and Handsome Man hasn't had the time to call, much less visit and stroke my hair or offer me soup. I have a job that isn't really a job and I'm frustrated and feeling passive aggressive. These are not pleasant feelings. They do not contribute to the fullness of my soul.

But I can't afford to buy a new cat-water filter much less a trip to Kripalu. So I guess I'll have to find a peaceful place on my own.

Or, the courage to combine a very warm bath and an Exacto (R) Knife.

Mixed, er um, feelings

So I've been under a lot of stress lately. One of the new "jobs" hasn't exactly turned out the way I thought. And, that's a post in and of itself (which will have to wait).

But I've also been juping through LOTS of beauracratic hoops and that plus money worries has me stressed out in so many ways. In fact, I'm so stressed I don't even feel stressed. It's just become my normal state.

Enter the effects.... I've developed and "acute case of IBS." In case you're not familiar with IBS, it's a condition whereby the digestive tract acts in ways that cause significant and frequent "flare-ups" that make normal digestion "uncomfortable or painful." Hello understatement.

So my life has devolved into working (see clusterfuck), coming home to down some Immodium and then read in between ... episodes. I've not eaten anything of substance in five days.

So, yeah, that's been my life. Gruesome and annoying, but ... A sad result is that I haven't been able to hang out or see friends for days now...

Enter Handsome Man. He means well, I'm sure he does. But it's been daaaaaaaaaaaaays since we've seen each other. And to rectify that situation? Tonite he invited me out to dinner. DINNER. I've had the farts and shits for a week and he invites me out to DINNER.

On the one hand, I'm thankful that he's been paying attention to my desire to spend time together. On the other hand ----- what part of I'M SICK AS A DOG are you not hearing?

But the upside to all of this is it's given me time to think ... to really think. I'm not in the throes of excitement of being free from corporate tyranny. I'm edging out of the throes of red-tape nightmares. Now I have a chance to REALLY hunker down and use this time for self-reflection, self improvement and direction in ways that will help me reach MY goals.

So, yeah, mixed emotions. As for feelings? Emotionally - getting there. Physically -- Immodium take me awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.

Not the Bill of Rights or Human Rights but the Rights of being a Person

It's probably no surprise to those who know me that I have a *tad* bit of a problem standing up for myself. Maybe it's because, as a kid, displaying my independance wound up with serious retribution. (OED: spanking). Of course, there are thousands of other reasons that years of therapy (enter angels singing) have opened my eyes to.

All of the causes and reasons aside, the reality remainst that I am still unable and/or uncomfortable voicing my rights.

For three weeks, I've been "working" at a start-up publishing company trying to get their first mass-market title in circulation. I was hired to help with marketing tasks, but the author (read: boss) decided it was more important to "get the book out there." So my job description went from marketing to sales. Just like *snap* that.

So, here it is, three weeks later. I've put in 60+ hours and have yet to see a dime. The woman I deal with on a day-to-day knows that things are uncomfortable, but I haven't quite yet been at a comfortable level to broach the subject.

A wise and knowing friends offered this: "You're not asking for special treatment. You're asking for compensation for services rendered."

She's right. So why am I so worried about going in there tomorrow and asking for a frank discussion? Why do I feel the need to practice it over and over?

I know and believe in my worth as a person and a profession. Why can't I stand up for that worth?

Adjusting to a New Reality

So, the new job is great. Awesome, actually. I like the tasks, I like the peeps, I like the mission. Problem is, I'm being paied intern money. As this is under the table, I don't really mind. It gives me a reason to get up in the morning and a sense of mission. But what *is* difficult is that my tendency is to not turn off when "work" ends.

I'm getting emails at nights and on weekends. It's the trait of a stream-of-consciousness personality. Not the obsessiveness of CBL, as she was misassociating. This is an author, caring and passionate about his work. And, likewise, I feel strongly about it. BUT - I don't get paid for nights/weekends/overtime. So, the question becomes, how do I manage this push/pull?

My history cautions me to enact restraint. And I am legitimatily trying. That said, it also feels pretty dern good to have a reason to be on call, on email, etc.

Guess I need to come to a happy equilibrium...

Ugh.

Holy Matrimony

I admit, I watched the whole royal wedding. I didn't want to, but the reminiscince of the wedding of Diana - on my birthday - was too compelling.

Yet, the beauty and the paegentry reminded me of that what is lacking in my own life. I can celebrate victories of my own accord. And I can enjoy the results of disruptive circumstances.

The fact remains, when I need support or comfort, I simply cannot turn to Handsome Man. How I wish that I could. For that is what I need of a lover; not a "fixer" but a "comforter." Alas, it doesn't seem that we will ever see eye to eye. And so maybe we need to say goodbye.

.Protocal

Many years ago, Lady Diana Spencer married Prince Charles on my birthday, the 29 of July. I woke early, with my best friend alongside, and watched the entire proceedings. Lady/Princess Diana wore a beautiful dress ... for the 80's. Regardless, she was a princess for an age needing a princess.

Now, it's time for Dianna's son to lead the realm. And in 6+ hours, the festivities will begin. I WANT to watch. I'm eager to see the pageantry and decorum. I also feel slightly guilty about transcending my actual concerns with the distraction of something that means, to be frank, little regarding my daily life and concerns.

The girl in me that threw quarters into the pond at Bloomingdales and wished to wear a Cinderella dress, and the woman in me that adored three days spent in DisneyWorld with unlimited chances to meet princesses, and the person in me who wears trailgear and functional-wear - we're in a bit of a quandry.

Do I waant to wake up uber early to see the pageantry? Or do I just really want to sleep long and deep?

I can't believe this is even a matter of importance....

Warning - dork-itude ahead

I've truly and honestly been trying to get into the Game of Thrones. I mean, it seems like something right up my alley. But watching it - and so many of it's kin - it just doesn't hold water. I have a map of Arthurian England on my bedroom wall. I have a gilded copy of Mallory's Morte d'Arthur on my bookshelf. Hell, I have a mapped out family tree and a graded copy of an Honors Treatise. Can any story come up against that comprehensive tale of love and angst and fealty and betrayal? Sure - I have some knowledgeable friends who would protest intelligently and effectively that there are collections of work that do just that. But a single, narrative myth that encompasses so many emotions, so much raw humanity... I just don't see it. And these new stories, adapted by HBO and Showtime and Starz and... while they might serve the purpose of viewership, they just don't hold up. The reality is, the stories of old, twisted and meddled with in every which way, are still the originals. They had it right back then. And we shouldn't keep trying to improve upon the old ways. Because they can't be improved upon... Sorry to be all dork-i-tude. But I did graduate with honors...

Pet Peeves

OK - so we all have a lot going on in our lives. And it's tough to keep all the details of all our friends' activities straight. But I try, for the most part, to keep the basics in mind. So-and-so is going on vacation the week of ... such-and-such is going to be home the week of ... ETC. So, yea, it's tough. But, when it comes to the people you love ... Handsome Fella knew on Tuesday that a dear dearest friend and her living-abroad husband would be visiting. He got pissed that I couldn't have lunch with him. Tonight, he's called twice despite me telling him that I would be hanging with another good friend. Yesterday, when I told him I was out in Ipswich he asked me why. UM? Because I have a job interview and I'm freaking about money? I know he's got a lot of stuff on his mind. But so do I. And is it really that hard to keep the details of your girlfriends life in mind? It's coming time for me to re-evaluate the situation. He learns - but only in retrospect. And he is sweet and caring, but only when he's available to. Now that I've got more time to think and less time stressing about (frankly) meaningless shite, I think some serious meditation is in order... So there you have it.

Homeopathy is a crock - Matt Kirshen

I DON'T believe homeopathy is a crock. But I do belive we need to be aware of ALL our options.

Be Open to New Doors and New Doors will Appear

Now that I once again have stabilized on meds (generously donated to me until I can get this COBRA shit straightened out) I can return to my normal, optimistic self. I still haven't heard from the restaurant owner/manager who explicity told me that he wanted to hire me and then proceeded to cease communication. Yes, I would love to work there. It will give me insight into an industry in which I want to enter. But, I also have to make sure girlfriend can make ends meet... To that effect, I sent out a few email responses to Craigslist ads and, surprisingly, received a few sincere responses. On of which was not even on my radar screen until I saw the ad, but now presents itself as a really positive opportunity. So, I guess what I'm learning from this experience is that I need to ward off that (unmedicated) feeling that I am behind a locked metal door with no options, to realize there are options aplenty, above and beyond and exceeding my expectations. It's easy to fall into the pit of despair that I am sentened to poverty and pain. But once I allow the option of success and bounty to enter into my life, it can come to be. More will be known once I have the "official" interview on Tuesday. But with all options on the table, I'm feeling pretty hopeful that at least one will return on investment.

I Dare You

I HATE people who dismiss mental illness as "craziness" or medical treatments as "quackery." I, of all people. am sceptical of the western-paradigm of medicine. For example, the name brand of the medicine prescribed to me costs $565. The generic is $120. Not all that accesible for many suffering from mental illness... Here's the thing - mental illness is a THING. It's not something you can get over or think yourself out of or be better or stronger than. I have been raised to "push yourself 110% and then ten steps further." I got all A's in school and if I didn't I was sad. I graduated Phi Betta Kappa, Magna Cum Laude. I am NOT a slacker and I am NOT a loser. I am NOT a beggar eating out of trash cans. But I could be. This last week, my COBRA reimbursement hadn't come through. And a job offer was put on hold. Balanced, I could have dealt with this as unfortunately but a reason to just pull together my resources and Git Er Done. Unfortunately, I couldn't affort my meds until today. And yesterday, I found myself crying, scared and in bed. I didn't shower. I didn't put in my contacts. It wasn't a day I was proud of. But there wasn't much else I could do. Today, I managed to get up, get showered, and get to my doctors' appointments. I was "off" but I knew I needed help. And help I got. My doctor offered me some samples until I could afford my prescription. And then, in the parking lot, I took my meds. Not five hours later, I've sent in four applications for part time jobs, envision a cover letter for a position that could be truly awesome and come to the realization that the original offer might not be off the table but just not a priority right now. In short, I am functioning on a rational and clear level. I would love to say it's because I read a chapter of Thich Nat Han during lunch and took a yoga class after. But I know it's because the stuff that makes up my brain is being helped out by some chemical help. Mental issues - mental illness - isn't a made up thing. It's not an excuse. I am strong and intelligent and driven and ambitious. But I also have a brain that needs crutches when I get a mental shin splint. Tonight, I will go to sleep and know that I will wake up tomorrow - maybe a bit tired - but defintitely ready to get up and get out of bed.

Grow a Pair

So, I've believed for several weeks that I had landed a gig at a local, fantastic, restaurant. I believed so when the owner/manager sent me an email saying: "I definitely want to hire you. Let's meet - Wednesday OK for you?" The restaurant opens on Thursday. I called Friday. I called Saturday. I called today. Twice. If he's changed his mind, OK. I mean, I'm pissed b/c all signs pointed to jobby job and I turned down not one but two other positions. And the courteous thing to do would be to give a call and say, No Thanks. Or if it's still in the works, call and say, I'm swamped, I'll call soon and we can figure out logistics. It's the business version of He's Just Not Into You. Except this could mean living off $50 a week or having enough money to occasionaly fill up my gas tank. So, yeah, I'm effing pissed. And applying for other summer positions. DUDE - grow a pair and call me back.

Warning: Sappiness Ahead

Tonight was the Cape Ann Farmers' Market fundraiser. It's the second fundraiser I've been "responsible" for this month. And now I'm suffering the let-down effect. What is really making me teary-eyed is this: a year ago,all these people were strangers. I felt out of place and a stranger at the same event. This year, I had plenty of people to talk to and had no problem introducing myself to more. I shared jokes with neighbors and shared many hugs and many laughs. Yes, I'm worried about money. I haven't had confirmation about the part-time gig. If I don't get it, the reality is, I can't make ends meet on unemployment alone. So, i"m concerned. At the same time, I know that so many wonderful people and wonderful things have wandered into my life since I broke free from the chains of Corporate America that things will work out. If you asked me today if I would go back, the answer would be clearly NO, I feel fulfilled and happy and supported and know that when I get teary, it's for all the right reasons. I believe strongly and wholly in the power of being open to the Universe and its power. So, I will believe that I will get the gig I'm hoping for and, if not, will find another suitable gig. In the meantime, I will revel in the community and the environment I have found. I will cry when I need to and laugh at every possible emotion. I am blessed and proud to be a part of organizations that make our town and our life a better place to live. I am priveleged to be part of the community that makes those organizations possible. And, above all, I am in awe of the people that these organizations have introdued me to. When you give it, you get it. It's true, I believe it, and 'nuff said. PS - I got four free bottles of wine...

Waaaaaay TMI - NSFW

For those who follow my blog (and, honestly, there's probably not many of you), if you woudl prefer not to know, ahem, personal matters then leave right now. But I feel this blog is a chance for me to share the ups and downs of an ex-Corporate slave, bi-polar dork who is on the cusp of finding her own happiness. And that comes in all sorts of flavors. I have been dating Handsome Man for almost a year. And while I love him and think he's one of the most caring indivuals I've ever met, he's not, as one could say, a mighty lover. He's older. He's not in the greatest shape of his life. And I have the distinct impression that hes 1) been alone so long and 2) watched so much pRon that real life doesn't really "do it." So, okay. But you have to realize this comes on the heels of Good Buddy. 'Nuff said. Here's where it gets interesting. I haven't been able to fill my prescription for my anti-depressant (see COBRA sux). This isn't the major "crazy pill" that keeps me from wantiing to kill myself. But it is the pill that was, as they say, stifling my libido. So, until Wed, I'm feeling ... frisky. And H.M. isn't up for the task. So the time has come for me to wonder: 1) is it better to feel slightly "off" but want to F*** Handsome Man (and/or fantasize about GoodBuddy and various and sundry others) or 2) is it better to be totally "normal" and face the reality that in the rare occoasions H.M. feels amorous it isn't going to be ... truly satisfying. I guess the question boils down to: physical or mental happiness? Can I find enough reasons to get up in the morning to merit the physical reaction? Or will I regress into the state where even putting laundry away felt too overwhelming a task? The choice, on paper, seems clear. But in reality, not so much. After all, you can wear clothes straight out of the laundry basket. They may be wrinkel but they're clean...

Passive Aggressive Conundrum

My roommate has outed himself as completely passive aggressive. Here's the issue: One of my kitties is prone to "marking" anything of large proportion that doesn't smell like Mommy (that's me). What can I say - she's a total Momma's Girl. I recall an incident years ago when she did so to one of my best friends who also has cats. There's nothing I can do about it. She's a cat and doesn't speak English. Unfortunately, she's decided that my roommate doesn't smell like Mom. So she's started marking his property. We worked out practicalities of keeping her out of his room and that's worked so far. But he also keeps his comforter in an "open" room. Guess what? The problem is, I can't talk to him directly about the issue. Oh, I've tried. But his reaction is to confront me passive aggressively. I get nasty text messages, complete with pictures. He posts shit on my Facebook wall. I know it's an issue. It must suck to feel that all of your belongings have to be quarantined from the "common areas." But until we figure out how to train kitty, that's just the reality. Not to mention, keeping a comforter on top of an end table probably isn't the best location in itself... I want to talk about these things openly and in an adult fashion. It's not comfortable but it's necessary. But when I try, he acts like I'm attacking him. If it's such a problem for him, well, then, move out. If you can deal with it and accept a solution that may not be ideal but works for now, well, let's talk. I just can't stand this passive aggressive B.S. I've given him pass after pass. I paid utilities on my own for a couple of months. I gave him a month pass on rent (which he's never made up.) I think I've earned some honesty and frank discussion. I don't know what to do. I want to post something looking for a new roommate, but I also know he's cruising CraigsList. It's a fucking Conundrum and what can I do to get out of it? I shouldn't have to work this hard at a relationship that isn't even a relationship... UGH.

Pondering

A week or so ago, I visited a Tarot reader. I honestly don't pay much credence to what he had to offer, since a lot of it seemed off base. But he did say this. "You are a married woman, yes?" When I replied no, he offered this explanation: "Well, you may not be married in this life, but you are eternally connected. In past lives, you are linked. Not necessarily man and wife, but linked. This person rides along with your incarnations and you have a bond beyond this world." At the time, I was thinking of Handsome Man. Yes, I love him. But a tie beyond time and space? It just didn't feel right. Enter all the debaucle with Good Buddy. Such a fight. His inability to see me without a decent explanation why. My jumping to conclusions out of sheer anguish and distrust. The passionate arguments that ensued. And here am I realizing what the cards might have read. Good Buddy and I might truly be tied to one another life after life. Who knows why and who know when. But why, after fight after fight and friendship v lover, and near v far, and tears v jokes, do we keep coming back to one another? He has been the source of the worst pain in my life. And the source of the best joy in my life. And every which way in between. Right now, I have no idea where we're at. We shared a lot of intense thoughts the last few days. He summed it up pretty well: "You, Me, Us. We're all still a work in progress. We don't have to figure it out now. But it's good to know we'll stand together while we do." I know now who the tarot cards were reading. It is painful and it is joyous. And, like it or not, friends or lovers, it is Good Buddy,