Grace in Small Things
Showing posts with label former husband. Show all posts
Showing posts with label former husband. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Appreciation for 02/24/10
Grace in Small Things
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Christmas Shoes and A Glimpse of Tenderness
Press play for a special treat! Ha!
One of my most all time hated songs is, "The Christmas Shoes" by NewSong. When the story behind this song first was released through viral emails about ten years ago, I was moved and tearful. On the first three readings. After about the tenth time it showed up in my inbox, I wanted to barf. Then, much to my horror, some one hit wonder made it into a song. Lord help me! Now, each time it comes on my radio, I groan and quickly change the station. There are three stations here in Utah that have been playing Christmas music pretty much full time since November 1st. The other day I experienced the uncomfortable discovery that different versions of this horrific song were playing on all three stations at the same time!!! Ugh...
And with that background given, the plot thickens...
The one thing I have always loved about my former husband is his great, big tender heart. Most times, it is hidden beneath a jagged, thick, prickly exterior that is generally difficult to see through or around. Most often, he acts gruff and uncaring.
However, I know him to be kind, generous and incredibly loving.
Most people don't see him that way and, frankly, I forget it too. Until something like this happens.
I got a text at 7:00 am this morning that read...
I'm sitting in front of 7-11 bawling my eyes out listening to the song, "Sir, I want to buy these shoes". Today I am happy...... :-)
Boy! Has that song taken on a whole new meaning for me now!
WOW!
Slow Moving
It's Christmas Eve. Yesterday, Christmas Eve Eve, was spent mostly with my former husband, chaperoning him as he did Santa shopping for our daughter. While it was tiring and slow-going, it was also full of laughter. Surprising, actually.
Today I feel the need to nestle in and be slow. While I will be going to work sometime this morning, I am honoring that nesting feeling and taking my time. (And, apparently, spending a little time here on my blog and facebook! LOL)
I feel happy to have gone through this Christmas season with the true sense of what this holiday is about. I feel grateful I have surrendered to the "no money" state of being and have not gone crazy with present buying. I feel relaxed and peaceful and loving.
Merry Christmas!
Today I feel the need to nestle in and be slow. While I will be going to work sometime this morning, I am honoring that nesting feeling and taking my time. (And, apparently, spending a little time here on my blog and facebook! LOL)
I feel happy to have gone through this Christmas season with the true sense of what this holiday is about. I feel grateful I have surrendered to the "no money" state of being and have not gone crazy with present buying. I feel relaxed and peaceful and loving.
Merry Christmas!
Monday, June 23, 2008
AAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh...
"He's in jail," his wife told me. I wasn't sure how I wanted to respond. I felt anger, sadness and fear all at once.
My former husband was in jail this weekend. This time, my daughter and I were not involved with the domestic violence scene. This time the police got him. This time when he called me, asking me to be involved and arrange to bail him out, I said, "I can't." I turned off my phone for the rest of the weekend.
I feel sad and scared and angry.
I am appreciating myself for staying out of it this time, even though I am judging myself to have done it in a chicken-shit way. I am appreciating that I knew my limitations and that if I heard "the call" I would don that hero cape and swoop in. I am appreciating that I did something differently this time. I am appreciating my awareness that I want to focus on everyone else's stories and "problems" right now so I no longer hurt. I am aware that my feelings of alone-ness have heightened to painful levels. I am aware that I feel weak and wobbly and as though I cannot stand. I am aware that I want someone to hold me, comfort me, wipe away these tears and show me that there IS something different for me and... oh my god... there just isn't anyone there. I feel sad. Sad. Sad...
My former husband was in jail this weekend. This time, my daughter and I were not involved with the domestic violence scene. This time the police got him. This time when he called me, asking me to be involved and arrange to bail him out, I said, "I can't." I turned off my phone for the rest of the weekend.
I feel sad and scared and angry.
I am appreciating myself for staying out of it this time, even though I am judging myself to have done it in a chicken-shit way. I am appreciating that I knew my limitations and that if I heard "the call" I would don that hero cape and swoop in. I am appreciating that I did something differently this time. I am appreciating my awareness that I want to focus on everyone else's stories and "problems" right now so I no longer hurt. I am aware that my feelings of alone-ness have heightened to painful levels. I am aware that I feel weak and wobbly and as though I cannot stand. I am aware that I want someone to hold me, comfort me, wipe away these tears and show me that there IS something different for me and... oh my god... there just isn't anyone there. I feel sad. Sad. Sad...
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Ah-ha!
Soooo... after my heart-rending conversation last night, I went to Life Skills in a fairly vulnerable and emotionally raw state. At one point, I was crying so hard I was doing those little baby hiccups. The sadness was so huge and soooooo old.
I was stunned to feel the impact and that it was SO big. I was confused by that. I feel like I have had huge strides in the "loving me" department and that my body is finally understanding what that feels like... after FOUR decades! Being hit with this massive pain and sadness and... shame? (What the hell?! Shame? Wow! Where did that come from???) Being hit with that was startling because it was so intense and there was nothing I could do to stop the sadness. It just came and came and came. Waves of it crashing over me and through the gaping hole that had been left by the double-edged serrated sword that had slashed through me.
I couldn't not cry. Crying was all I could do. And when I could finally breathe easy again, between the sniffles and the hiccups, I checked in with myself, walked myself backward to the moment and actually listened to myself.
After he said those words, "I am married to her because she had the balls to make the moves," the very first instinct was to lash out in anger in violent and unhealthy ways. I instantaneously wanted to punch him in the face, kick him in the balls and scratch his eyes out. I realized that that instinct was covering the truth of the fact that OH MY GOD, THAT HURT! As I looked at myself in that moment, I saw me shrink and collapse inward. Mixed in with the need to violently wound him, I heard myself think, I am never gonna be enough for him.
What the?!!!
I am never gonna be enough for him?!!!
Good lord!
I am clear now that the "him" in this sentence is the operative word. It doesn't necessarily mean my former husband. It means anyone. And therein lies the intense sadness. I had thought I was enough for myself now. I had thought I loved myself fully. I had thought I finally understood what it feels like to be enough.
Now I have discovered that there is a part of me, still, that is not on board with all this. That part is directly in the center of my body and is now a gaping wound. It is oozing sadness and "not enough-ness" and I am feeling the pain of it all.
Several of my friends kindly pointed out last night that this was a Gift. I have now uncovered the part of me that was still holding on to the old belief of "I am not enough." I have discovered, thanks to his participation, that all of me was not into this loving myself stuff. So, he gave me a gift and for that I am thankful. It was just a very painful one.
I was stunned to feel the impact and that it was SO big. I was confused by that. I feel like I have had huge strides in the "loving me" department and that my body is finally understanding what that feels like... after FOUR decades! Being hit with this massive pain and sadness and... shame? (What the hell?! Shame? Wow! Where did that come from???) Being hit with that was startling because it was so intense and there was nothing I could do to stop the sadness. It just came and came and came. Waves of it crashing over me and through the gaping hole that had been left by the double-edged serrated sword that had slashed through me.
I couldn't not cry. Crying was all I could do. And when I could finally breathe easy again, between the sniffles and the hiccups, I checked in with myself, walked myself backward to the moment and actually listened to myself.
After he said those words, "I am married to her because she had the balls to make the moves," the very first instinct was to lash out in anger in violent and unhealthy ways. I instantaneously wanted to punch him in the face, kick him in the balls and scratch his eyes out. I realized that that instinct was covering the truth of the fact that OH MY GOD, THAT HURT! As I looked at myself in that moment, I saw me shrink and collapse inward. Mixed in with the need to violently wound him, I heard myself think, I am never gonna be enough for him.
What the?!!!
I am never gonna be enough for him?!!!
Good lord!
I am clear now that the "him" in this sentence is the operative word. It doesn't necessarily mean my former husband. It means anyone. And therein lies the intense sadness. I had thought I was enough for myself now. I had thought I loved myself fully. I had thought I finally understood what it feels like to be enough.
Now I have discovered that there is a part of me, still, that is not on board with all this. That part is directly in the center of my body and is now a gaping wound. It is oozing sadness and "not enough-ness" and I am feeling the pain of it all.
Several of my friends kindly pointed out last night that this was a Gift. I have now uncovered the part of me that was still holding on to the old belief of "I am not enough." I have discovered, thanks to his participation, that all of me was not into this loving myself stuff. So, he gave me a gift and for that I am thankful. It was just a very painful one.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Hard to Swallow...
"The whole reason I'm married to her," he said, completely oblivious to the knife he was slamming through my gut and heart, "is because she had the balls to make the moves on me."
He is referring to the last woman he had an affair with while we were married. He is referring to the woman he introduced to his family before we were even separated. He is referring to the third woman whom he got pregnant (and the only one successful in retaining the pregnancy) while we were married. He is referring to the woman who moved in to my place, used my wedding china and my wedding pots and pans and my entire house of furniture and decorations within two days of me leaving him.
He is married to her because she had the balls to make the moves. She had the balls to make the moves.
Why did that hurt so damn bad? Why am I sobbing and feeling as though I have died inside? Why did it feel like it cut right through the center of me and out the back, ripping all of my insides out with it? Why do I want to scream? Why am I crying? Why, after all this fucking time, WHY did that fucking piece of information hurt so goddamn much?
See... told you! Just had to give me a bit before the posts would become so not "light and lovey"...
He is referring to the last woman he had an affair with while we were married. He is referring to the woman he introduced to his family before we were even separated. He is referring to the third woman whom he got pregnant (and the only one successful in retaining the pregnancy) while we were married. He is referring to the woman who moved in to my place, used my wedding china and my wedding pots and pans and my entire house of furniture and decorations within two days of me leaving him.
He is married to her because she had the balls to make the moves. She had the balls to make the moves.
Why did that hurt so damn bad? Why am I sobbing and feeling as though I have died inside? Why did it feel like it cut right through the center of me and out the back, ripping all of my insides out with it? Why do I want to scream? Why am I crying? Why, after all this fucking time, WHY did that fucking piece of information hurt so goddamn much?
See... told you! Just had to give me a bit before the posts would become so not "light and lovey"...
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Opened and Closed
It occured to me this afternoon, as I drove down the road in a state of such writhing anger, that these days I am operating completely in persona when dealing with my current boss/former husband. It is painfully obvious to me that the occurences where I am in essence with him are becoming more and more rare. I feel angry about that.
I have committed to living my life congruently and in my authentic essence. When it comes to my interactions with him, though, I am generally on edge and ready to fight if he even so much as breathes in my direction. His stories have become so tiresome. I am surprised to feel myself bristle when his truck pulls up to the office. Before he has even stepped through the door, I have already donned my boxing gloves and tightened the ropes of the ring. When my cell phone rings and I see that it is him, I am aware that my jaw clenches automatically and I usually growl - sometimes even out loud.
I am having the story that he is always on the attack with me. This results with me always being on the defense. This morning is a good example of that. He called at 8:40 am. My assistant answered the phone, put it on hold and told me that Charles was holding for me. Silently I groaned. I successfully stopped my eyes from rolling before there was any indication that I was already bothered before I had even picked up the phone. I forcefully held my eyes opened so that I would not close them and groan into the darkness behind the lids.
Pasting on a smile, I placed the receiver to my ear. "Hello?"
"You wanting to start the day off on a bad note?" He snapped at me, yelling into the phone.
"What?"
"YOU wanting to start the day off on a bad note already?" He yelled louder. He was clearly pissed and I had no idea why. I hadn't talked to him since sometime yesterday afternoon, so I had no idea what the hell was wrong with him.
"What are you talking about?"
"Where the fuck you been? Why the fuck aren't you answering the phones?"
"We did answer the phone," I said aware that even though I wasn't feeling it, the remark sounded like I was talking back to him.
"I mean earlier. I have been calling you all fucking morning. Since, like, 7:30. I have called the office and your cell and you haven't been fucking answering. You fucking want to start the day off on a fucking bad note?"
Now I was pissed. I had woke up in a good mood. I had enjoyed my morning with my daughter. I had felt happy. I was feeling successful in the training of my assistant. The day was shaping up to be a great day. Up to that moment.
I closed my eyes and bit my cheek. I was angry. Raving, screaming, heated angry. And now my day was starting on a fucking bad note. I wanted to reach through the phone lines and slam his forehead into the steering wheel.
The conversation disintegrated from there. It didn't matter that my cell phone had no missed calls or any indication that he had ever called. It didn't matter that I had been working at my own desk in the back office which has no phone so I didn't hear any of the calls going into the front office. It didn't matter. He assumed I was intentionally ignoring him. He threw all sorts of pissiness my way until I declared, "I am done with this!" And hung up. Hanging up is not usually the best way to go with him because it generally pisses him off more. It's a control thing on my end. I know this. This time it worked.
But the day didn't get any better after he arrived at the office a couple hours later. I was still hopping mad and so was he. Never a good mix.
I slide into defiance when I am pushed like he has pushed me today. Rather than being smart and staying silent when I want to go into combat, I choose to go into combat. He is never an opponent that I have taken on easefully (then again, what opponent is easeful???) and, yet, I still do it. There is something about him, my relationship with him, that brings out the absolute worst possible aspects of myself, I am ashamed to admit. With very little trying, he is able to light my impossibly short fuse and I become an entire Independence Day fireworks display trapped in a five foot body.
No amount of talking myself through the episode, reminding myself to use my skills and such - none of that helped me today and rarely ever with him. I immediately forget to breathe - I haven't breathed, I am fairly certain, since 8:40 am... until just now and it is 1:00 pm. I become stupid, inauthentic and completely out of my essence.
I close my eyes in the face of this painful awareness, praying that I am going to be able to rise above this petty behavior that I succumb to time and again. I feel angry that I crash so quickly, so easily, seemingly at the drop of a pin. And then, on top of that, I feel angry at myself for still being here, all the while knowing that I am here because I choose to be. And then I feel hateful...
I have committed to living my life congruently and in my authentic essence. When it comes to my interactions with him, though, I am generally on edge and ready to fight if he even so much as breathes in my direction. His stories have become so tiresome. I am surprised to feel myself bristle when his truck pulls up to the office. Before he has even stepped through the door, I have already donned my boxing gloves and tightened the ropes of the ring. When my cell phone rings and I see that it is him, I am aware that my jaw clenches automatically and I usually growl - sometimes even out loud.
I am having the story that he is always on the attack with me. This results with me always being on the defense. This morning is a good example of that. He called at 8:40 am. My assistant answered the phone, put it on hold and told me that Charles was holding for me. Silently I groaned. I successfully stopped my eyes from rolling before there was any indication that I was already bothered before I had even picked up the phone. I forcefully held my eyes opened so that I would not close them and groan into the darkness behind the lids.
Pasting on a smile, I placed the receiver to my ear. "Hello?"
"You wanting to start the day off on a bad note?" He snapped at me, yelling into the phone.
"What?"
"YOU wanting to start the day off on a bad note already?" He yelled louder. He was clearly pissed and I had no idea why. I hadn't talked to him since sometime yesterday afternoon, so I had no idea what the hell was wrong with him.
"What are you talking about?"
"Where the fuck you been? Why the fuck aren't you answering the phones?"
"We did answer the phone," I said aware that even though I wasn't feeling it, the remark sounded like I was talking back to him.
"I mean earlier. I have been calling you all fucking morning. Since, like, 7:30. I have called the office and your cell and you haven't been fucking answering. You fucking want to start the day off on a fucking bad note?"
Now I was pissed. I had woke up in a good mood. I had enjoyed my morning with my daughter. I had felt happy. I was feeling successful in the training of my assistant. The day was shaping up to be a great day. Up to that moment.
I closed my eyes and bit my cheek. I was angry. Raving, screaming, heated angry. And now my day was starting on a fucking bad note. I wanted to reach through the phone lines and slam his forehead into the steering wheel.
The conversation disintegrated from there. It didn't matter that my cell phone had no missed calls or any indication that he had ever called. It didn't matter that I had been working at my own desk in the back office which has no phone so I didn't hear any of the calls going into the front office. It didn't matter. He assumed I was intentionally ignoring him. He threw all sorts of pissiness my way until I declared, "I am done with this!" And hung up. Hanging up is not usually the best way to go with him because it generally pisses him off more. It's a control thing on my end. I know this. This time it worked.
But the day didn't get any better after he arrived at the office a couple hours later. I was still hopping mad and so was he. Never a good mix.
I slide into defiance when I am pushed like he has pushed me today. Rather than being smart and staying silent when I want to go into combat, I choose to go into combat. He is never an opponent that I have taken on easefully (then again, what opponent is easeful???) and, yet, I still do it. There is something about him, my relationship with him, that brings out the absolute worst possible aspects of myself, I am ashamed to admit. With very little trying, he is able to light my impossibly short fuse and I become an entire Independence Day fireworks display trapped in a five foot body.
No amount of talking myself through the episode, reminding myself to use my skills and such - none of that helped me today and rarely ever with him. I immediately forget to breathe - I haven't breathed, I am fairly certain, since 8:40 am... until just now and it is 1:00 pm. I become stupid, inauthentic and completely out of my essence.
I close my eyes in the face of this painful awareness, praying that I am going to be able to rise above this petty behavior that I succumb to time and again. I feel angry that I crash so quickly, so easily, seemingly at the drop of a pin. And then, on top of that, I feel angry at myself for still being here, all the while knowing that I am here because I choose to be. And then I feel hateful...
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Sorry Sor-ry sor-RY!
When is enough, enough? How many times can a person hear the word "sorry" before it begins to mean nothing?
If you say it enough times it sounds weird. Try it.
Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. SORRY!
Whatever!
It means nothing, really. It doesn't. Especially when it is oft-repeated for the same offenses. Time and again, Sorry.
Here, let me yell at YOU... Oh. Yeah. Sorry for yelling at you yesterday. It was wrong of me. I was mad at HER, not you.
Here, let me throw things around and stomp and slam and call you names... Oh. Yeah. Sorry for being an ass this week. My life is just so out of control.
Here, you fucked this up AGAIN!... Oh. Sorry. You do a lot of stuff good. I am just mad about this, that and the other.
Here, you fucking don't appreciate me. EVER!... Oh. Sorry. That wasn't all about you last night on the phone. I am just so stressed out.
At one point in my life, those apologies worked for me. I had hope that the word meant that something was going to change. After 17 1/2 years, after all that time of hoping things would get better with age, I am seeing that much has changed, yet more is really still the same, if not worse. After all these years of hearing that word practically more than any other word in the English language, my ears have grown deaf to it. It piles up on top of me with all the shit that proceeds it and I am weighted down and lugging along clumps of... shit. Big, heavy, oozing clumps of shit.
I am exhausted from the sound of the word.
S O R R Y
I hate it.
And I am finding myself hating the person who uses that word into nonsense.
Please, God. PLEASE! Provide the way out of here...
If you say it enough times it sounds weird. Try it.
Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. SORRY!
Whatever!
It means nothing, really. It doesn't. Especially when it is oft-repeated for the same offenses. Time and again, Sorry.
Here, let me yell at YOU... Oh. Yeah. Sorry for yelling at you yesterday. It was wrong of me. I was mad at HER, not you.
Here, let me throw things around and stomp and slam and call you names... Oh. Yeah. Sorry for being an ass this week. My life is just so out of control.
Here, you fucked this up AGAIN!... Oh. Sorry. You do a lot of stuff good. I am just mad about this, that and the other.
Here, you fucking don't appreciate me. EVER!... Oh. Sorry. That wasn't all about you last night on the phone. I am just so stressed out.
At one point in my life, those apologies worked for me. I had hope that the word meant that something was going to change. After 17 1/2 years, after all that time of hoping things would get better with age, I am seeing that much has changed, yet more is really still the same, if not worse. After all these years of hearing that word practically more than any other word in the English language, my ears have grown deaf to it. It piles up on top of me with all the shit that proceeds it and I am weighted down and lugging along clumps of... shit. Big, heavy, oozing clumps of shit.
I am exhausted from the sound of the word.
S O R R Y
I hate it.
And I am finding myself hating the person who uses that word into nonsense.
Please, God. PLEASE! Provide the way out of here...
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Slipping Out
My sixteenth year was a big year. I got my driver's license. I started working at a "real" job and found a new boyfriend. I also frequently wrestled with one of my best friends who happened to be a linebacker, a full foot taller than me and four years older.
One day, he picked me up and body slammed me onto the couch, which was an ecstatic place to be, there beneath his beautiful body. I had about a nanosecond to enjoy the pleasure of feeling him atop me before stars filled the ever-deepening blackness in my head and my stomach churned. My skull had come into contact with the corner coffee table in the then-popular over-stuffed modular couches. My occiput (the ridge at the base of your skull) slammed into the solid, wooden edge with a hard enough of a crack that I was certain my head was shortly going to go rolling to the floor.
I didn't want to cry. Big girls don't cry, ya know and they definitely don't cry in front of the man they want to climb into bed with, even if they are only sixteen and have no idea what the hell that means. Instead, when he immediately sat up and helped me up, I laughed a nervous, jittery giggle while rubbing the knot on the back of my head and assuring him, "No, no. Really! I am really okay."
He apologized continually and I smiled lamely, "It's really okay," while consciously leaving my hands in my lap so I wouldn't keep rubbing my head and attracting his attention and apologies. I ignored the nauseau. I ignored the spots in my vision. I ignored the shooting pains.
It caused serious damage down my entire spine, however. It knocked all seven of my cervical vertebrae (neck) critically out of alignment and for a year afterward, I was silent about the excrutiating headaches. Reflexively, it also malaligned my five lumbar (bottom of the spine) vertebrae, especially the last two, which resulted in pain in my hips.
Finally, my parents could see the pain I was in, although they did not know the origin. For years, I went to a chiropractor who whacked and cracked me into place and I found some release.
Fast forward to today...
I have come to understand, now, that physical ailments, illnesses, diseases and, even, injuries are rooted in the emotional, energetic and mental bodies first. As I have grown in my profession, I have become accutely aware of my own body, my energy systems, my thought patterns, my emotional life and how they are all interrelated.
Now, on evermore rare occasions, my lumbar vertebrae will slide out of place. Because my lower spine is weak, it has now involved the sacrum (big triangular bone in your pelvis at the end of your spine) and my ilium (hips). This week is one of those weeks. It starts with stiffness all over my back - I imagine that a weakness has been detected along the spine and the muscles are struggling to hold me erect. And then, I will experience moments when I am unable to stand up with any speed and, once I do get up, I stand crooked. Then, at the most unforeseen and inopportune moment possible, I will reach for the toothpaste and that will be all she wrote. The SI joints (where the sacrum and ilium connect) will pop out, throwing my spine in an obviously, visible jag to the left or right in agonizing, blinding pain that takes away my breath and the inability to walk and breathe at the same time.
As I have gone through my week, I have been aware that my back is speaking to me. Given all that I have experienced over the last couple weeks, it is understandable. The lower back stores the energy of how one feels about "support" - financial and emotional. It goes without saying that my thoughts about "support" in this moment of my life are very weak and it is showing up in my back.
In the deep of the night last night, I yawned. I had no idea that I yawned while I was asleep and the only reason I know that I did was because my right SI joint flipped out of place for an instant and shot pain in every direction, waking me up in the middle of a gaping-jaw yawn. I was dreaming. I recently learned that when one is processing fear, yawning is common and it did not escape my noticing that it had been the yawn which had moved me. The images burned in my eyes. It had been a dream about my former husband.
Shaken, I rolled to the other side, seeking relief. Within an hour, I woke up in the middle of excrutiating pain in the middle of a yawn. This time it was on the left and the dream was about myself.
This morning, I am tired. My back is tight and weak. My neck is stiff and my range of motion is greatly hindered. And I feel scared that I am ignoring some really big things...
One day, he picked me up and body slammed me onto the couch, which was an ecstatic place to be, there beneath his beautiful body. I had about a nanosecond to enjoy the pleasure of feeling him atop me before stars filled the ever-deepening blackness in my head and my stomach churned. My skull had come into contact with the corner coffee table in the then-popular over-stuffed modular couches. My occiput (the ridge at the base of your skull) slammed into the solid, wooden edge with a hard enough of a crack that I was certain my head was shortly going to go rolling to the floor.
I didn't want to cry. Big girls don't cry, ya know and they definitely don't cry in front of the man they want to climb into bed with, even if they are only sixteen and have no idea what the hell that means. Instead, when he immediately sat up and helped me up, I laughed a nervous, jittery giggle while rubbing the knot on the back of my head and assuring him, "No, no. Really! I am really okay."
He apologized continually and I smiled lamely, "It's really okay," while consciously leaving my hands in my lap so I wouldn't keep rubbing my head and attracting his attention and apologies. I ignored the nauseau. I ignored the spots in my vision. I ignored the shooting pains.
It caused serious damage down my entire spine, however. It knocked all seven of my cervical vertebrae (neck) critically out of alignment and for a year afterward, I was silent about the excrutiating headaches. Reflexively, it also malaligned my five lumbar (bottom of the spine) vertebrae, especially the last two, which resulted in pain in my hips.
Finally, my parents could see the pain I was in, although they did not know the origin. For years, I went to a chiropractor who whacked and cracked me into place and I found some release.
Fast forward to today...
I have come to understand, now, that physical ailments, illnesses, diseases and, even, injuries are rooted in the emotional, energetic and mental bodies first. As I have grown in my profession, I have become accutely aware of my own body, my energy systems, my thought patterns, my emotional life and how they are all interrelated.
Now, on evermore rare occasions, my lumbar vertebrae will slide out of place. Because my lower spine is weak, it has now involved the sacrum (big triangular bone in your pelvis at the end of your spine) and my ilium (hips). This week is one of those weeks. It starts with stiffness all over my back - I imagine that a weakness has been detected along the spine and the muscles are struggling to hold me erect. And then, I will experience moments when I am unable to stand up with any speed and, once I do get up, I stand crooked. Then, at the most unforeseen and inopportune moment possible, I will reach for the toothpaste and that will be all she wrote. The SI joints (where the sacrum and ilium connect) will pop out, throwing my spine in an obviously, visible jag to the left or right in agonizing, blinding pain that takes away my breath and the inability to walk and breathe at the same time.
As I have gone through my week, I have been aware that my back is speaking to me. Given all that I have experienced over the last couple weeks, it is understandable. The lower back stores the energy of how one feels about "support" - financial and emotional. It goes without saying that my thoughts about "support" in this moment of my life are very weak and it is showing up in my back.
In the deep of the night last night, I yawned. I had no idea that I yawned while I was asleep and the only reason I know that I did was because my right SI joint flipped out of place for an instant and shot pain in every direction, waking me up in the middle of a gaping-jaw yawn. I was dreaming. I recently learned that when one is processing fear, yawning is common and it did not escape my noticing that it had been the yawn which had moved me. The images burned in my eyes. It had been a dream about my former husband.
Shaken, I rolled to the other side, seeking relief. Within an hour, I woke up in the middle of excrutiating pain in the middle of a yawn. This time it was on the left and the dream was about myself.
This morning, I am tired. My back is tight and weak. My neck is stiff and my range of motion is greatly hindered. And I feel scared that I am ignoring some really big things...
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Violently Domestic
I have posted a bit about the violence that has been erupting on the perimeters of my life and splattering in little, dripping globs about my feet. I have only touched the surface, somewhat out of self-preservation. Mostly because I chose that this time I was going to take care of myself for real and that didn't look like hashing it out over and over in gory detail in this blog or anywhere else for that matter.
I was surprised to realize that what I had thought had been healed from my violent marriage had not even been addressed. It all came exploding to the surface with a blinding flash when I heard my daughter's terrified voice on the other end of my phone begging for me to come help her fast!
Throughout this past week, I have done so many sessions with my Reiki Master Teacher, my mentors and a Rapid Eye Therapist. I have enrolled my daughter in several of these sessions, as well as providing the way for her to have her own sessions. It was imperative that the imprint of that night move out of both of us. The greatest gift I could give her was to allow her the space to process it, really process it so that she didn't walk around for the rest of her life a ticking timebomb waiting to explode at the drop of a pin. I offered that gift to myself as well.
Tonight I am tired. Moving energy, realigning memories and releasing imprints can leave one exhausted. When one takes it on as fully and as HUGELY as I have, tired is a guarantee.
And yet, I still felt the need to write...
Another friend, during this week, has been doing some of her own revealing on her blog regarding her own violent marriage of years past. She did it in three parts, three consecutive days of release. On the third day, someone chose to anonymously comment, "My don't you make a good victim."
I felt enraged when I read that. This person showed a total lack of plain human compassion. Yeah, I am sure there are people out there who roll their eyes when they hear tales of seemingly unbelievable horrors experienced in moments of domestic violence. And blessed are they that can never imagine it because they have never experienced it. But, I would venture to guess that most people are tactful enough that they keep their belittling comments to themselves.
I found myself wanting to ask that person questions like: What if it were your daughter who was crouched on the floor protecting her unborn child? Would your daughter make a good victim too?
Domestic violence is no respecter of race, religion or financial class. It is, unfortunately, everywhere and even, sometimes, in those perfect houses where you could never imagine anything bad happening. Maybe even worse in those very places. This insidious destructor undermines our society and strips our children of their sense of safety, security. It crawls like vermin through the streets and seeps in through the doors, showing up on calm faces and in quiet voices. Sometimes it is words that hurt the heart, purposely destroying dreams and sanity. Sometimes it is livid silence that speaks louder than any sound. Sometimes it is a withering look filled with acid. Sometimes it is a striking fist, a swinging belt, a head meeting the wall.
And as long as there are people out there willing to stand in the shadows and taunt the abused, as long as there are people who are willing to show their hateful nature without revealing their true identity, this world does not stand a chance in healing itself.
I have a story that this person who chose to victimize and taunt someone who was revealing their pain in the hopes of healing is very possibly more damaged than me or my friend. It is the only thing I can come to because I believe a healthy human being could never show such a lack in judgment and compassion? So I long to reach out to this person and show them that a cracked face and a wounded belly does not crack my heart, does not break my soul. Instead, it gives me the courage to forgive and to love. Even the one person who hurt me the most.
I was surprised to realize that what I had thought had been healed from my violent marriage had not even been addressed. It all came exploding to the surface with a blinding flash when I heard my daughter's terrified voice on the other end of my phone begging for me to come help her fast!
Throughout this past week, I have done so many sessions with my Reiki Master Teacher, my mentors and a Rapid Eye Therapist. I have enrolled my daughter in several of these sessions, as well as providing the way for her to have her own sessions. It was imperative that the imprint of that night move out of both of us. The greatest gift I could give her was to allow her the space to process it, really process it so that she didn't walk around for the rest of her life a ticking timebomb waiting to explode at the drop of a pin. I offered that gift to myself as well.
Tonight I am tired. Moving energy, realigning memories and releasing imprints can leave one exhausted. When one takes it on as fully and as HUGELY as I have, tired is a guarantee.
And yet, I still felt the need to write...
Another friend, during this week, has been doing some of her own revealing on her blog regarding her own violent marriage of years past. She did it in three parts, three consecutive days of release. On the third day, someone chose to anonymously comment, "My don't you make a good victim."
I felt enraged when I read that. This person showed a total lack of plain human compassion. Yeah, I am sure there are people out there who roll their eyes when they hear tales of seemingly unbelievable horrors experienced in moments of domestic violence. And blessed are they that can never imagine it because they have never experienced it. But, I would venture to guess that most people are tactful enough that they keep their belittling comments to themselves.
I found myself wanting to ask that person questions like: What if it were your daughter who was crouched on the floor protecting her unborn child? Would your daughter make a good victim too?
Domestic violence is no respecter of race, religion or financial class. It is, unfortunately, everywhere and even, sometimes, in those perfect houses where you could never imagine anything bad happening. Maybe even worse in those very places. This insidious destructor undermines our society and strips our children of their sense of safety, security. It crawls like vermin through the streets and seeps in through the doors, showing up on calm faces and in quiet voices. Sometimes it is words that hurt the heart, purposely destroying dreams and sanity. Sometimes it is livid silence that speaks louder than any sound. Sometimes it is a withering look filled with acid. Sometimes it is a striking fist, a swinging belt, a head meeting the wall.
And as long as there are people out there willing to stand in the shadows and taunt the abused, as long as there are people who are willing to show their hateful nature without revealing their true identity, this world does not stand a chance in healing itself.
I have a story that this person who chose to victimize and taunt someone who was revealing their pain in the hopes of healing is very possibly more damaged than me or my friend. It is the only thing I can come to because I believe a healthy human being could never show such a lack in judgment and compassion? So I long to reach out to this person and show them that a cracked face and a wounded belly does not crack my heart, does not break my soul. Instead, it gives me the courage to forgive and to love. Even the one person who hurt me the most.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Out, In and Out Again
Up front and honest... I feel REALLY SCARED to write this out. I feel vulnerable and raw and exposed.
It has been about 60 hours since I got that phone call which stopped my heart and sent me spiraling through fear and nausea. I am angry. So very, very angry. and confused. and angry. I feel infinitely and seemingly unendingly tired. I feel like I could lay down right now and never wake up. I am pushing myself to go forward, pushing and pulling because if I don't, I fear I will get stuck here. My head feels like it is full of cottonballs soaked in acid and interspersed with anvils. Breathing is difficult and exhausting. My shoulders and back of my neck are caught in a vice grip of death and I have hot pain shooting from my lower back and down my legs.
Today, as I sit here at my desk wondering what I am supposed to do, I am scared. I used to be so proficient at everything and now I feel like I know nothing. I want to curl up and sleep, yet fear that will be a disservice to myself. I am angry that my daughter is startled at every loud sound now. I am angry that he broke his word to me. I am angry that I believed and believed and believed and... still... it happened. I am angry that his mother wounded him so violently and so deeply that I fear he will never surface as a healthy human being. I am angry that my daughter was scared. I am proud that she was brave.
In the instant that I was dashing out to the car, frantic and literally running to get her although I was a good half hour away, I was surprised that I was dialing 911 before I even realized it. To my detriment, I have usually wanted to handle things myself. This time I couldn't. I was too far away. My daughter needed me right then and I was too far away. She was alone, fighting off a beast and her mommy wasn't there to help. I feel angry about that.
I feel angry that this situation superceded my life. I feel angry that my commitment to ease and flow showed up LIKE THIS. i feel angry that while I am choosing differently for my life there are still others who are choosing to remain the same and it is directly effecting my life. I feel angry that HIS decisions, HIS behaviors are pouring over into my life. I feel angry that I was in a shelter. I feel angry I had to sit for ONE FUCKING HOUR at midnight and fill out forms before they would let us go to bed. I feel angry that I had to worry about if we were going to get lice. I feel angry we had to find sheets and blankets before we could make the bed before we could go to sleep. I feel angry about so many things about my experience at the shelter and the reasons we were there.
On Friday, I felt drained in sadness and fear. I hated that I was going to a shelter. I hated that I was hearing Marcus say, "I want to die I want to die I want to die" as he called me in desperation, feeling like a trapped wild bear, gnawing off his foot to save his own life. I am so fucking angry that this man was SO FUCKING WRONGED by his mother that he cannot see through to the light. I am so angry that she will never acknowledge the damage she has caused and release him from his bondage. And I am SO AWARE that there does come a time when an adult has to stand up and be an adult. I fear that he will die before that time comes for him.
I rose with the dawn this morning, feeling beaten and groggy, as though it had been me he had battled with. I have held space of calm for so many people this weekend. I have been an anchor for Marcus so he did not pull that trigger and end his life. I have held onto trembling little girls while they cried. I have comforted them when they were afraid to feel. I have helped them dance and scream and wail and cry and move their little bodies in the hopes that all the energy of that night will not get lodged in there deep to haunt them in the darkness. I have talked him off the ledge and into the light of reason. I have held her up when she couldn't hold herself up. I have been strong for everyone.
And now I feel so very weak. and alone. and tired.
And I am sad that... here I am again... alone.
It has been about 60 hours since I got that phone call which stopped my heart and sent me spiraling through fear and nausea. I am angry. So very, very angry. and confused. and angry. I feel infinitely and seemingly unendingly tired. I feel like I could lay down right now and never wake up. I am pushing myself to go forward, pushing and pulling because if I don't, I fear I will get stuck here. My head feels like it is full of cottonballs soaked in acid and interspersed with anvils. Breathing is difficult and exhausting. My shoulders and back of my neck are caught in a vice grip of death and I have hot pain shooting from my lower back and down my legs.
Today, as I sit here at my desk wondering what I am supposed to do, I am scared. I used to be so proficient at everything and now I feel like I know nothing. I want to curl up and sleep, yet fear that will be a disservice to myself. I am angry that my daughter is startled at every loud sound now. I am angry that he broke his word to me. I am angry that I believed and believed and believed and... still... it happened. I am angry that his mother wounded him so violently and so deeply that I fear he will never surface as a healthy human being. I am angry that my daughter was scared. I am proud that she was brave.
In the instant that I was dashing out to the car, frantic and literally running to get her although I was a good half hour away, I was surprised that I was dialing 911 before I even realized it. To my detriment, I have usually wanted to handle things myself. This time I couldn't. I was too far away. My daughter needed me right then and I was too far away. She was alone, fighting off a beast and her mommy wasn't there to help. I feel angry about that.
I feel angry that this situation superceded my life. I feel angry that my commitment to ease and flow showed up LIKE THIS. i feel angry that while I am choosing differently for my life there are still others who are choosing to remain the same and it is directly effecting my life. I feel angry that HIS decisions, HIS behaviors are pouring over into my life. I feel angry that I was in a shelter. I feel angry I had to sit for ONE FUCKING HOUR at midnight and fill out forms before they would let us go to bed. I feel angry that I had to worry about if we were going to get lice. I feel angry we had to find sheets and blankets before we could make the bed before we could go to sleep. I feel angry about so many things about my experience at the shelter and the reasons we were there.
On Friday, I felt drained in sadness and fear. I hated that I was going to a shelter. I hated that I was hearing Marcus say, "I want to die I want to die I want to die" as he called me in desperation, feeling like a trapped wild bear, gnawing off his foot to save his own life. I am so fucking angry that this man was SO FUCKING WRONGED by his mother that he cannot see through to the light. I am so angry that she will never acknowledge the damage she has caused and release him from his bondage. And I am SO AWARE that there does come a time when an adult has to stand up and be an adult. I fear that he will die before that time comes for him.
I rose with the dawn this morning, feeling beaten and groggy, as though it had been me he had battled with. I have held space of calm for so many people this weekend. I have been an anchor for Marcus so he did not pull that trigger and end his life. I have held onto trembling little girls while they cried. I have comforted them when they were afraid to feel. I have helped them dance and scream and wail and cry and move their little bodies in the hopes that all the energy of that night will not get lodged in there deep to haunt them in the darkness. I have talked him off the ledge and into the light of reason. I have held her up when she couldn't hold herself up. I have been strong for everyone.
And now I feel so very weak. and alone. and tired.
And I am sad that... here I am again... alone.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Pansies
When it comes to conflicts, especially conflicts with an armed, uniformed officer of the law, I would judge myself to be quite the PansyAss. For the most part, I have lived my life as a very Good Girl to avoid such conflicts with anyone, especially armed, uniformed officers. Having a former husband who does not share the same PansyAssedness has created some very interesting (understatement) situations for me.
And, even after seventeen years of knowing him, knowing how he is and knowing how he operates, I am still surprised and intimidated when his lack of PansyAssedness brings me into a full-on, face-to-face "interogation" with the long arm of the law.
For no other reason than it has given me great fodder for a scene in an upcoming novel, I cherish the time I have spent behind bars simply because my then-husband had balls bigger than God and any uniformed officer could ever dream of having. I appreciate (ye-eah. whatever) being a once-innocent-and-naive Good Girl that found herself, so many years ago at four months pregnant, fingerprinted, profiled, mug-shotted for her permanent record and booked in jail for eight hours with crack whores and meth-meltdowns on warrants that I had no idea existed and simply because I happened to be with the wrong person at the right time.
I appreciate (again. ye-eah. whatever) the quivering (in no way sexual or juicy) I just experienced as I sat at my desk, feeling all scared and little while they search the premises, prowling for said Big-Balled-UnPansyAss former husband/current boss, who was not here, as I told them he wasn't. They, apparently, disbelieved my words.
And me, PansyAss Little Girl who is so unversed in all things uniformed-officer-related, gets all choked up and nervous, blushy and sweaty in front of them. Perfect reason for them not to believe me, not realizing that I am simply a PansyAss. And not knowing the ways and the laws which are there, supposedly, to protect my rights, I do not ask for a search warrant until after giving permission to search the premises. I am a Good Girl. The officer politely asked me if he could "look around for a bit" and when I nodded lamely, he took that as my expressed permission and had a hayday.
Feeling all violated and abused, I quietly ask the other uniformed officer dude, "Aren't you supposed to have a warrant to look around here?"
"That is why we asked your permission. You gave your permission. Thus no need for a warrant."
WTF?! Did you know that?
Yeah. Well. I did not.
Lesson learned.
PansyAss is now one step smarter in the, apparent, lifelong pursuit of peace where UnPansyAss Ex and the long arm of the law are concerned.
Nice.
And, even after seventeen years of knowing him, knowing how he is and knowing how he operates, I am still surprised and intimidated when his lack of PansyAssedness brings me into a full-on, face-to-face "interogation" with the long arm of the law.
For no other reason than it has given me great fodder for a scene in an upcoming novel, I cherish the time I have spent behind bars simply because my then-husband had balls bigger than God and any uniformed officer could ever dream of having. I appreciate (ye-eah. whatever) being a once-innocent-and-naive Good Girl that found herself, so many years ago at four months pregnant, fingerprinted, profiled, mug-shotted for her permanent record and booked in jail for eight hours with crack whores and meth-meltdowns on warrants that I had no idea existed and simply because I happened to be with the wrong person at the right time.
I appreciate (again. ye-eah. whatever) the quivering (in no way sexual or juicy) I just experienced as I sat at my desk, feeling all scared and little while they search the premises, prowling for said Big-Balled-UnPansyAss former husband/current boss, who was not here, as I told them he wasn't. They, apparently, disbelieved my words.
And me, PansyAss Little Girl who is so unversed in all things uniformed-officer-related, gets all choked up and nervous, blushy and sweaty in front of them. Perfect reason for them not to believe me, not realizing that I am simply a PansyAss. And not knowing the ways and the laws which are there, supposedly, to protect my rights, I do not ask for a search warrant until after giving permission to search the premises. I am a Good Girl. The officer politely asked me if he could "look around for a bit" and when I nodded lamely, he took that as my expressed permission and had a hayday.
Feeling all violated and abused, I quietly ask the other uniformed officer dude, "Aren't you supposed to have a warrant to look around here?"
"That is why we asked your permission. You gave your permission. Thus no need for a warrant."
WTF?! Did you know that?
Yeah. Well. I did not.
Lesson learned.
PansyAss is now one step smarter in the, apparent, lifelong pursuit of peace where UnPansyAss Ex and the long arm of the law are concerned.
Nice.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Gag & Sputter
Apparently, here in the Land of Zion, the air quality is soooooooo bad that they are advising everyone, who can, to stay indoors and to avoid driving. Since I live in BFA (my daughter's version of BFE, her's being more G rated: Beyond Far Away) and I have no choice but to drive to work, I felt a tad guilty.
The drive from The Pillow to work starts out on the Southwest end of town and ends up almost center downtown. From the vantage point on the hill, when I pull out of the neighborhood, I could see the heaviness of the atmosphere clinging to the city. Split-pea soup gone terribly wrong laid on the air and even as I looked at it I felt an urge to swallow hard around the psychological gagging cough.
The city-big-wigs are brilliant, though. They have put out bulletins on the radio stations admonishing the citizens to be environmentally conscious and keep their cars in the garages. They have even gone as far as using the electronic traffic billboards along various points of the interstate to announce: Air quality poor (really? is that what this is?) Tomorrow limit driving.
I thought it was funny that the powers-that-be gave us a heads up that tomorrow we need to limit driving. Today it's fine to drive. But tomorrow? Nah. Don't drive tomorrow.
I was once told by a Hurricane Katrina reluctant transplant (who had been "unceremoniously plunked on a stinking bus and shipped to some godforsaken place called Utah - where the hell is that and don't they have lots of wives there - and then dropped here without so much as a thankyouverymuch") - who was also a flaming drag queen and oh so very proud of that fact (another story all together.) - that he lo-lo-lo-loved living in Utah because "you can get anywhere on the train." Having lived here all my life, I begged to differ but did not want to burst his shimmering pink bubble.
Trax, as our "train" is called, is cool, yes. But is it a "mass transit, user-friendly, go-anywhere" sort of system? No.
A bit of background for those of you unfamiliar with the layout of the city... Wise ole Brigham Young and his buddies devised a numbered grid for the street layout of SLC. When you understand that every street has a numerical order, it's very simple to get anywhere. The grid starts at, oh surprise, the Salt Lake LDS Temple - which is called "City Center" although it isn't really in the center of the really bizare ellipse - and works north, south, east and west from there. The Temple is zero on every direction of the grid and works outward. The city sprawls from the Temple up to 2300 North and down to 17000 South; down to 9200 West and up to 4000 East before bumping into mountains at any of these points.
Trax runs the length of our fair city from the south (I have never taken a Trax ride all the way south. I don't know where it terminates. Hmmm... maybe that is an adventure for this weekend???) and ends in the North at the Delta Center, which is near the Temple, just west of "dead center" of the lopsided city grid. The city planners wisely also completed the length of tracks up to Rice Eccles Stadium at the U of U just in time for the 2002 Winter Olympics. Since that year, that has been all we have had as far as "the train" tracks go. After that lengthy background bit, I am hoping you can see why I disagree with the Drag Queen's effervescent gushing about being able to "go anywhere" on the lameass Trax system that only runs from north to south.
Anyway...
Public transportation here is expensive AND it sucks. When my former husband first moved here from Seattle - which has a kickass metro/bus/cab system - about 17 years ago, he was dumbfounded how all these people could be living in such a huge space with no way to move them around other than in individual cars. And me, having lived here all my life, understood that my city planners planned for the Now, not the future. Thus, our freeway systems are obsolete before they are started. Our Trax system is overloaded the first day it is opened. Our roads are always needing repair. On and on and on.
So, as I gagged on the poor air quality on the way in to work today, I looked around me at all of the other people who were driving and adding to the poor air quality and I thought... perhaps it's time for Utah to plan ahead. Perhaps if they start now then, in 25 years when they get to an agreement on something, it will be way ahead of the population because we will all be dead!
The drive from The Pillow to work starts out on the Southwest end of town and ends up almost center downtown. From the vantage point on the hill, when I pull out of the neighborhood, I could see the heaviness of the atmosphere clinging to the city. Split-pea soup gone terribly wrong laid on the air and even as I looked at it I felt an urge to swallow hard around the psychological gagging cough.
The city-big-wigs are brilliant, though. They have put out bulletins on the radio stations admonishing the citizens to be environmentally conscious and keep their cars in the garages. They have even gone as far as using the electronic traffic billboards along various points of the interstate to announce: Air quality poor (really? is that what this is?) Tomorrow limit driving.
I thought it was funny that the powers-that-be gave us a heads up that tomorrow we need to limit driving. Today it's fine to drive. But tomorrow? Nah. Don't drive tomorrow.
I was once told by a Hurricane Katrina reluctant transplant (who had been "unceremoniously plunked on a stinking bus and shipped to some godforsaken place called Utah - where the hell is that and don't they have lots of wives there - and then dropped here without so much as a thankyouverymuch") - who was also a flaming drag queen and oh so very proud of that fact (another story all together.) - that he lo-lo-lo-loved living in Utah because "you can get anywhere on the train." Having lived here all my life, I begged to differ but did not want to burst his shimmering pink bubble.
Trax, as our "train" is called, is cool, yes. But is it a "mass transit, user-friendly, go-anywhere" sort of system? No.
A bit of background for those of you unfamiliar with the layout of the city... Wise ole Brigham Young and his buddies devised a numbered grid for the street layout of SLC. When you understand that every street has a numerical order, it's very simple to get anywhere. The grid starts at, oh surprise, the Salt Lake LDS Temple - which is called "City Center" although it isn't really in the center of the really bizare ellipse - and works north, south, east and west from there. The Temple is zero on every direction of the grid and works outward. The city sprawls from the Temple up to 2300 North and down to 17000 South; down to 9200 West and up to 4000 East before bumping into mountains at any of these points.
Trax runs the length of our fair city from the south (I have never taken a Trax ride all the way south. I don't know where it terminates. Hmmm... maybe that is an adventure for this weekend???) and ends in the North at the Delta Center, which is near the Temple, just west of "dead center" of the lopsided city grid. The city planners wisely also completed the length of tracks up to Rice Eccles Stadium at the U of U just in time for the 2002 Winter Olympics. Since that year, that has been all we have had as far as "the train" tracks go. After that lengthy background bit, I am hoping you can see why I disagree with the Drag Queen's effervescent gushing about being able to "go anywhere" on the lameass Trax system that only runs from north to south.
Anyway...
Public transportation here is expensive AND it sucks. When my former husband first moved here from Seattle - which has a kickass metro/bus/cab system - about 17 years ago, he was dumbfounded how all these people could be living in such a huge space with no way to move them around other than in individual cars. And me, having lived here all my life, understood that my city planners planned for the Now, not the future. Thus, our freeway systems are obsolete before they are started. Our Trax system is overloaded the first day it is opened. Our roads are always needing repair. On and on and on.
So, as I gagged on the poor air quality on the way in to work today, I looked around me at all of the other people who were driving and adding to the poor air quality and I thought... perhaps it's time for Utah to plan ahead. Perhaps if they start now then, in 25 years when they get to an agreement on something, it will be way ahead of the population because we will all be dead!
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
A Plan
There is a concrete plan for acquiring my own place now. I am no longer as afraid as I was yesterday because it seems do-able, less huge and closer to possible/probable than anything I have pondered.
My former husband and his wife closed on their house yesterday and are moving this weekend. She is ecstatic because she will have a bathtub, finally, and a bathroom to call all her own. We women seem to be so easily pleased ("seem" being the operative word there). He approached me last night with some ideas that took my breath away. I was surprised to witness the intensity in which all my old patterns flew to the surface and fought for the right to overrule. Here are some of the things I noticed in myself:
He is trying to get something over me. This is a trap of some sort.
I can't do this. I'm not ever going to be able to do this.
How come everyone else gets to have their dream houses and I get to settle for a petite guest room in my father's house?
I don't understand what he is saying. I don't understand money. I never understand money. I'm never going to understand money.
OMG!
ENOUGH ALREADY, ANGIE!!!!
It was when I thought that that I broke through. I started doing reflective listening... "Okay, so let me see if I understand what you are saying. You are going to upgrade the upstairs of the house and put it on the market then. At that point, you will offer it to me to purchase at cost to get your investment partner bought out. I will qualify for the original loan on the house as it is, which will get my feet, at least, into the housing market. You are willing to forfeit your equity to keep the loan affordable for me. Then, I will be in a house in about 60-90 days that is completed upstairs and unfinished downstairs."
Once I started actually participating in the conversation, talking with him instead of staring straight ahead like a deer caught in headlights and absorbing absolutely nothing, I actually understood what the hell he was talking about. Once I became willing to think that, perhaps, I could just - maybe - understand all this money talk, I actually did start to understand all this money talk. Once I started breathing and moving and being open to the possibility that what he was presenting me was actually a step in the right direction for me, rather than an opportunity for him to kick my ass, I actually began to see that it is a step in the right direction.
For the seventeen years that I have known this man, he has always, WITHOUT FAIL, done everything in his power to make things right financially for me. He has always gone above and beyond to make sure I am taken care of. Even now that we are divorced (and have been for ten years) he is still willing to do that. He has always done right by me financially. He may have left me wanting in other realms, but I have never second-guessed him when it comes to money.
When I reminded myself of that, it changed the way I was listening.
I am continually surprised by how my fear, and old programs around fear, get in the way of my progress. It is difficult to get forward movement when your feet are hobbled with chains of what once was - or never was - or was perceived to be.
I have had an amazing life! And, truly, this fear thing stumps me because I have never really had any reason to fear. It just seems that I just DO fear. Even in the worst times of my marriage, when I was bruised and broken - physically and emotionally - I knew down to the very depths of who I am that I was safe. In the weirdest way, I have always known I am safe....
Hmmmmm... I have always known I am safe... WOW! I had no idea!
I love this blogging thing. Thanks for listening.
And now, I am excited! I am on my way to a place of my own!!!
My former husband and his wife closed on their house yesterday and are moving this weekend. She is ecstatic because she will have a bathtub, finally, and a bathroom to call all her own. We women seem to be so easily pleased ("seem" being the operative word there). He approached me last night with some ideas that took my breath away. I was surprised to witness the intensity in which all my old patterns flew to the surface and fought for the right to overrule. Here are some of the things I noticed in myself:
He is trying to get something over me. This is a trap of some sort.
I can't do this. I'm not ever going to be able to do this.
How come everyone else gets to have their dream houses and I get to settle for a petite guest room in my father's house?
I don't understand what he is saying. I don't understand money. I never understand money. I'm never going to understand money.
OMG!
ENOUGH ALREADY, ANGIE!!!!
It was when I thought that that I broke through. I started doing reflective listening... "Okay, so let me see if I understand what you are saying. You are going to upgrade the upstairs of the house and put it on the market then. At that point, you will offer it to me to purchase at cost to get your investment partner bought out. I will qualify for the original loan on the house as it is, which will get my feet, at least, into the housing market. You are willing to forfeit your equity to keep the loan affordable for me. Then, I will be in a house in about 60-90 days that is completed upstairs and unfinished downstairs."
Once I started actually participating in the conversation, talking with him instead of staring straight ahead like a deer caught in headlights and absorbing absolutely nothing, I actually understood what the hell he was talking about. Once I became willing to think that, perhaps, I could just - maybe - understand all this money talk, I actually did start to understand all this money talk. Once I started breathing and moving and being open to the possibility that what he was presenting me was actually a step in the right direction for me, rather than an opportunity for him to kick my ass, I actually began to see that it is a step in the right direction.
For the seventeen years that I have known this man, he has always, WITHOUT FAIL, done everything in his power to make things right financially for me. He has always gone above and beyond to make sure I am taken care of. Even now that we are divorced (and have been for ten years) he is still willing to do that. He has always done right by me financially. He may have left me wanting in other realms, but I have never second-guessed him when it comes to money.
When I reminded myself of that, it changed the way I was listening.
I am continually surprised by how my fear, and old programs around fear, get in the way of my progress. It is difficult to get forward movement when your feet are hobbled with chains of what once was - or never was - or was perceived to be.
I have had an amazing life! And, truly, this fear thing stumps me because I have never really had any reason to fear. It just seems that I just DO fear. Even in the worst times of my marriage, when I was bruised and broken - physically and emotionally - I knew down to the very depths of who I am that I was safe. In the weirdest way, I have always known I am safe....
Hmmmmm... I have always known I am safe... WOW! I had no idea!
I love this blogging thing. Thanks for listening.
And now, I am excited! I am on my way to a place of my own!!!
Thursday, December 27, 2007
This calls for...
Today is a quiet, lazy day... snuggled into the house with my daughter and Ferris, my brother's dog...
I get an email each day for my horoscope. I tend to not read them until after the day is gone and passed because I believe that I can make it come true. Power of suggestion. At any rate, I checked my email before I logged into here. I found today's horoscope and know it would have been a damn sight better had I read it before the volatile phone conversation with my former husband which left me drained and feeling like an idiot for so totally losing my cool. There is just something about him that, every now and then (more often than I care to admit) reminds me the exact reasons why we are divorced. Arggghhhhh!
December 27, 2007
Creative Venting
Gemini Daily Horoscope
You may feel highly emotional today, which could have an effect on everything from your mind-set to your interactions with others. You may feel sensitive about the comments of others or experience mood swings for seemingly no reason. If you can look at emotion as a form of energy that needs to be vented, you can find healthy ways to express your feelings. Creative activities are great outlets for frustration, so you might consider spending time writing, dancing, or cooking today. Also, you may want to consider physical activities that encourage harmony between your body, mind, and spirit. Yoga is one such activity, or you might try taking a meditative walk in nature. Empty your mind of all thoughts, focus on the gentle pattern of your breathing, and place one foot in front of the other.
I get an email each day for my horoscope. I tend to not read them until after the day is gone and passed because I believe that I can make it come true. Power of suggestion. At any rate, I checked my email before I logged into here. I found today's horoscope and know it would have been a damn sight better had I read it before the volatile phone conversation with my former husband which left me drained and feeling like an idiot for so totally losing my cool. There is just something about him that, every now and then (more often than I care to admit) reminds me the exact reasons why we are divorced. Arggghhhhh!
December 27, 2007
Creative Venting
Gemini Daily Horoscope
You may feel highly emotional today, which could have an effect on everything from your mind-set to your interactions with others. You may feel sensitive about the comments of others or experience mood swings for seemingly no reason. If you can look at emotion as a form of energy that needs to be vented, you can find healthy ways to express your feelings. Creative activities are great outlets for frustration, so you might consider spending time writing, dancing, or cooking today. Also, you may want to consider physical activities that encourage harmony between your body, mind, and spirit. Yoga is one such activity, or you might try taking a meditative walk in nature. Empty your mind of all thoughts, focus on the gentle pattern of your breathing, and place one foot in front of the other.
By seeking positive, healthy outlets for our emotional energy, we release stress and develop a calm, balanced state of mind. Rather than allowing ourselves to feel overwhelmed and confused by our emotions, we can learn to see them as a form of energy. As with all energy, our emotions need to be processed and released, so they don’t continue to build up and cause pressure. Channeling this excess energy into positive pursuits acts as a release valve, so we no longer have to feel pressured. We then gain a sense of empowerment and strengthen the connection with our inner self. By striving to understand your emotions and process them in positive ways today, you can develop a greater harmony and balance in your life.
Yeah!!! I really should have read that one earlier today!
So I am laughing at myself now and have decided that the best way to vent is to share with you a video which makes me bounce and smile...
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Rhinestone Cowboy
I am giggling at this moment...
I am at work being completely unproductive. Hence the blog. I am having difficulty staying on task and would actually prefer being out in the sopping-wet, freezing-cold, drifting snowstorm than I would be in here trying to make up something that looks like work to do. While I was doing that, I found my only task to be boring me to tears. To lighten my load, I took a break and played Startris on www.king.com. I have always been a Tetris fiend. This little game is an interesting twist on an old game and I am, nonetheless, still addicted to a good thing.
While playing this, sans sound, I had my streaming internet stereo cranked loud since my daughter and I are the only ones in the office today. I am here at my boss's (a.k.a. former husband, for those of you who were blissfully unaware) behest, yet there is nothing for me to do. Hence the Startris.
Sheesh... as you can see by my bumpy train of thought here, I am so not in the frame of mind to be sitting at a computer...
Anyway... the streaming music seeped into my head and I started singing along before I realized I was doing so or what I was singing...
Then the giggling began. I remembered back to junior high when my friend, Martin, sang this absurd song in an assembly. He was the only black boy in our school and it didn't seem odd that he was singing about being a cowboy. We just thought he was damn hot. (I have this story that black cowboys do not exist. If you are one, my apologies.) He was my buddy so I was able to sit in the auditorium amongst all the squealing girls and know that I knew him. I could lay claim to him and knew that one day I would be able to say "I knew him when..."
Today, some twenty-odd years later, I wonder... where in the world is Martin???
I am at work being completely unproductive. Hence the blog. I am having difficulty staying on task and would actually prefer being out in the sopping-wet, freezing-cold, drifting snowstorm than I would be in here trying to make up something that looks like work to do. While I was doing that, I found my only task to be boring me to tears. To lighten my load, I took a break and played Startris on www.king.com. I have always been a Tetris fiend. This little game is an interesting twist on an old game and I am, nonetheless, still addicted to a good thing.
While playing this, sans sound, I had my streaming internet stereo cranked loud since my daughter and I are the only ones in the office today. I am here at my boss's (a.k.a. former husband, for those of you who were blissfully unaware) behest, yet there is nothing for me to do. Hence the Startris.
Sheesh... as you can see by my bumpy train of thought here, I am so not in the frame of mind to be sitting at a computer...
Anyway... the streaming music seeped into my head and I started singing along before I realized I was doing so or what I was singing...
Like a rhinestone cowboy
Riding out on a horse in a star-spangled rodeo
Then the giggling began. I remembered back to junior high when my friend, Martin, sang this absurd song in an assembly. He was the only black boy in our school and it didn't seem odd that he was singing about being a cowboy. We just thought he was damn hot. (I have this story that black cowboys do not exist. If you are one, my apologies.) He was my buddy so I was able to sit in the auditorium amongst all the squealing girls and know that I knew him. I could lay claim to him and knew that one day I would be able to say "I knew him when..."
Today, some twenty-odd years later, I wonder... where in the world is Martin???
Sunday, December 16, 2007
A Life Without Fear?
My friend, JulieAnn did a post inspired by her friend, Sister Mary Lisa. I felt inspired to do the same...
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Take him up on his propositions without making up silly excuses that are only lies to cover the fact that I am fat and afraid that it will ultimately turn him off. I would meet him at that hotel room or fly with him to Vegas or take a ride up the mountain with him for the sole and carnal purpose of getting our rocks off. I would, of course, not worry about heartbreak because, in a world without fear, there is no such thing as heartbreak. And I would know that I was able to be there with him in that moment and that, when that moment was over, I would go on as I have before. Nothing changed.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Stop editing my books and declare them finished. I would self-publish the autobiography. I would query on the 'tween fiction series. I would own them for the magnificent piece of works that they are and release them into the world. I would step into world-class-renowned-author and I would celebrate that victory every day.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Recognize my beauty. The beauty that is right here, right now in all of this curvaceous, soft, rounded-ness. I would look in the mirror and see only beauty. I would walk down the street and know that I am beautiful and that the whistle I just heard was actually for me, not her, even though I tried to convince her - and me - that it was only for her.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Step out from behind the walls that have protected me for so long. I would open my arms and welcome in love. I would kiss and touch and be kissed and touched. I would hold and be held. I would snuggle under the blankets and feel the warmth of passion beside me... male or female.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Kiss that woman I have been longing to kiss for over a year now. I would actually discover what it feels like to touch another woman's breast in a heated moment of passion. I would feel her hands on my body. I would come alive under her touch. I would shiver with the intensity.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Paint more often. Maybe even in the nude.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Do something about my money situation. I would stop sabotaging myself so that money would actually flow into me and I would get out of survival mode.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Continue to speak my feelings, only I would do it without flinching or apologizing.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Fly to Italy and have a sordid affair with an over-handsome Italian man who speaks broken English with the lilting rhythm of his native tongue and in the throes of passion, in the middle of mind-blowing, earth-shattering, life-altering sex, as I am rising to my climax, he will speak to me of things I do not understand in the lyrical Italian language - music to my ears.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Check out of society and drive cross country on a Harley. I would visit all the back-woods towns. I would eat in diners that have the best apple pie around and I would sleep out under the stars. Alone.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Launch into my speaking career - the career I have been avoiding not because I fear speaking in front of crowds but because I fear I am not enough, not good enough, not important enough, not accomplished enough. Yeah... those fears would be gone.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Tell my father's wife to be nicer to my father. I would tell her to let him pick out his own clothes and stop biting his head off every time he turns around.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Tell my Mom to stop talking to me about being in love with her love and actually do something about it. Then I would take my own advice.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Tell my father that he raised me well in the LDS religion and that it is not a reflection on him that I am no longer a member of the Church and that I appreciate his seemingly genuine kindness when I blew his dreams out of the water that day when I told him I was no longer a member. I would be able to do this because there would be no fears that, by doing so, I would be giving him hope that I would one day return to the Fold because I know that I will not.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Actually do something about purchasing that four bedroom, two bath bungalow cottage with hardwood floors, white flowing curtains, herborium and healing space.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Eat healthier and develop healthier living habits. This would result in me losing weight. Which would be awesome because there would be no fear that someone would actually desire me because I was magically desirable now. Or worse... that there would still be no one that desired me... even at my smaller weight. Yeah... I could really do without those fears.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Really divorce my former husband. Yeah, yeah. We are legally divorced and he is remarried. We are still, however, very intertwined. In a life without fear, I would not need that intertwine-ment.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Own the fact that I am a fanfuckingtastic healer and get my ass in gear, build my business and touch the lives of people that are waiting to be touched.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Dance every spare moment I've got. I would do it naked, even, and relish the feeling of my body parts swaying with the movements.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Forgive and forget. He married someone else. It was his choice. It is time to move on, already. Yep. I would forgive and forget. And, no, this is not my former husband of which I speak. This is someone even more devastatingly important to me. And... in a life without fear, I would be over this by now.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Be financially abundant, optimistic, co-creative, fulfilled, successful, joyful, artistic and complete. And, of course, I would laugh often.
And, apparently, my life is more full of fear than I previously cared to admit. I feel sad that I am holding myself back from my Self through this veil of fears. When I finished writing all this, I read through it and felt more and more oppressed. My shoulders hunched over and I couldn't breathe. I have such a tight grip on myself, because of fear, that I am strangling my self. And, in the face of these fears, I go forward day in and day out. The fears sit there and 24 hours tick by and well... they are still there.
Okay... I am thinking I was supposed to feel uplifted and inspired by this.
At this moment, that is so not my experience.
Oh... hello anger... imagine meeting you here...
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Take him up on his propositions without making up silly excuses that are only lies to cover the fact that I am fat and afraid that it will ultimately turn him off. I would meet him at that hotel room or fly with him to Vegas or take a ride up the mountain with him for the sole and carnal purpose of getting our rocks off. I would, of course, not worry about heartbreak because, in a world without fear, there is no such thing as heartbreak. And I would know that I was able to be there with him in that moment and that, when that moment was over, I would go on as I have before. Nothing changed.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Stop editing my books and declare them finished. I would self-publish the autobiography. I would query on the 'tween fiction series. I would own them for the magnificent piece of works that they are and release them into the world. I would step into world-class-renowned-author and I would celebrate that victory every day.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Recognize my beauty. The beauty that is right here, right now in all of this curvaceous, soft, rounded-ness. I would look in the mirror and see only beauty. I would walk down the street and know that I am beautiful and that the whistle I just heard was actually for me, not her, even though I tried to convince her - and me - that it was only for her.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Step out from behind the walls that have protected me for so long. I would open my arms and welcome in love. I would kiss and touch and be kissed and touched. I would hold and be held. I would snuggle under the blankets and feel the warmth of passion beside me... male or female.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Kiss that woman I have been longing to kiss for over a year now. I would actually discover what it feels like to touch another woman's breast in a heated moment of passion. I would feel her hands on my body. I would come alive under her touch. I would shiver with the intensity.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Paint more often. Maybe even in the nude.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Do something about my money situation. I would stop sabotaging myself so that money would actually flow into me and I would get out of survival mode.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Continue to speak my feelings, only I would do it without flinching or apologizing.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Fly to Italy and have a sordid affair with an over-handsome Italian man who speaks broken English with the lilting rhythm of his native tongue and in the throes of passion, in the middle of mind-blowing, earth-shattering, life-altering sex, as I am rising to my climax, he will speak to me of things I do not understand in the lyrical Italian language - music to my ears.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Check out of society and drive cross country on a Harley. I would visit all the back-woods towns. I would eat in diners that have the best apple pie around and I would sleep out under the stars. Alone.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Launch into my speaking career - the career I have been avoiding not because I fear speaking in front of crowds but because I fear I am not enough, not good enough, not important enough, not accomplished enough. Yeah... those fears would be gone.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Tell my father's wife to be nicer to my father. I would tell her to let him pick out his own clothes and stop biting his head off every time he turns around.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Tell my Mom to stop talking to me about being in love with her love and actually do something about it. Then I would take my own advice.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Tell my father that he raised me well in the LDS religion and that it is not a reflection on him that I am no longer a member of the Church and that I appreciate his seemingly genuine kindness when I blew his dreams out of the water that day when I told him I was no longer a member. I would be able to do this because there would be no fears that, by doing so, I would be giving him hope that I would one day return to the Fold because I know that I will not.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Actually do something about purchasing that four bedroom, two bath bungalow cottage with hardwood floors, white flowing curtains, herborium and healing space.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Eat healthier and develop healthier living habits. This would result in me losing weight. Which would be awesome because there would be no fear that someone would actually desire me because I was magically desirable now. Or worse... that there would still be no one that desired me... even at my smaller weight. Yeah... I could really do without those fears.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Really divorce my former husband. Yeah, yeah. We are legally divorced and he is remarried. We are still, however, very intertwined. In a life without fear, I would not need that intertwine-ment.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Own the fact that I am a fanfuckingtastic healer and get my ass in gear, build my business and touch the lives of people that are waiting to be touched.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Dance every spare moment I've got. I would do it naked, even, and relish the feeling of my body parts swaying with the movements.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Forgive and forget. He married someone else. It was his choice. It is time to move on, already. Yep. I would forgive and forget. And, no, this is not my former husband of which I speak. This is someone even more devastatingly important to me. And... in a life without fear, I would be over this by now.
If I lived a life without fear... I would...
Be financially abundant, optimistic, co-creative, fulfilled, successful, joyful, artistic and complete. And, of course, I would laugh often.
And, apparently, my life is more full of fear than I previously cared to admit. I feel sad that I am holding myself back from my Self through this veil of fears. When I finished writing all this, I read through it and felt more and more oppressed. My shoulders hunched over and I couldn't breathe. I have such a tight grip on myself, because of fear, that I am strangling my self. And, in the face of these fears, I go forward day in and day out. The fears sit there and 24 hours tick by and well... they are still there.
Okay... I am thinking I was supposed to feel uplifted and inspired by this.
At this moment, that is so not my experience.
Oh... hello anger... imagine meeting you here...
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Dancing
As a little girl, I longed to be a dancer. I loved the lithe beauty of the prima ballerinas and, although it was genetically impossible for it to happen, I longed to develop into the emaciated, willowy forms required to land a spot in the corps of Ballet West. As I grew, I realized that my short and curvaceous form would never make it into the realms of what was required. Therefore, I found other forms of dance with which I fell in love.
There were classes several times a week, required classroom uniforms for each, special dance shoes depending on the class, extra rehearsals for recitals, dress rehearsals, all day staging rehearsals. On and on and on it went. I remember that we used to drive forty-five minutes, each direction, several times weekly to go to my dance studio for classes, which usually lasted just over an hour. Having driven there so many times, I remember actually being able to lie in the back seat with my eyes closed and know exactly where we were by how many turns in each direction we had made. And when I hit high school, dance practice was a daily occurrence – early morning, afternoon, night and some weekends spent dancing in the school auditorium, gym and dance room.
As my sister grew up, she was enlisted in the dance regime. Then there were two of us to support, two dance class schedules to keep straight, two complete sets of unique uniforms. Then my brother grew up and I am sure he thought he was going to be roped into dance too. He had lived in the dance studio his whole life, so he could have probably pulled it off quite gracefully. However, dad had other inclinations for his son and baby brother joined a community soccer team practically as soon as he could walk. He became as proficient in soccer as his sisters were in dance.As you can imagine, the scheduling was insane. Dad coached the soccer team. Mom participated in the parenting teams at the dance studios. The two of them, I imagine, felt stretched really thin between all the appointments, as well as working enough to meet all the expenses. Through it all, they never showed any frustration or distress regarding scheduling or expenses. I remember my parents sitting on the edge of their seats watching my sister and me or running along the sidelines of my brother’s games. They were interactive, alert and... well... seemingly happy to be there. Either that or they faked it real good!
I am grown now, with a daughter of my own who is trying on different dance techniques, as well. Now it is my turn to sit in the dance studio, which is only a moments drive from where I work and my daughter goes to school. The dance studio which my daughter attends is, apparently, one of the oldest and most renowned in the city. It is not as if it is just some random upstart without a reputation. It is the best – and lest you think I am bragging, it was her stepmother that picked the studio and was all excited about this adventure, not me.
In the beginning of this adventure, which started four years ago, I actually found myself groaning and moaning about the whole deal. First off, my daughter wasn’t really into it and had only started because her little sister wanted to try it out. My former husband thought it would be great for the two of them. I wasn't excited and felt a guilty rush whenever I selfishly thought about all I was giving up to support this endeavor. Then I would remember all that my parents had done for me and I would chastise myself, wondering when I had become a lousy parent.I began watching the other parents while I sat in the studio, waiting for my daughter to finish her one dance class that lasts only an hour. I see parents that actually shove their daughters through the barely opened door without saying “goodbye” or “have fun” as they bark into their cell phones and rush back to the SUV. Or I see bedraggled young girls shuffling in and dragging their dance bags and coats behind them without their hair fixed, wearing dingy and torn dance clothes. Some parents are yanking their girls by the hand and arguing with them the whole way. Some of the girls frown the entire way through the class and are disrespectful to the teachers. The parents that actually wait in the chilly lobby are complaining and grumbling. What in the world has happened???
There is one mother who is there long before I get there and leaves long after we leave. Her daughter takes eight classes every week. Eight! She is the only mother who is not grumbling and her daughter is one girl who looks like she wants to be there, as does my daughter. Thank heavens, this year my daughter loves her dance class – tap. I think she loves it because it is noisy and fast and far from the strict nature of the ballet classes from her first two years. She enjoys it so much she actually stays after class for a half hour while the teacher shows some of them more advanced steps. She loves it and, therefore, I am finding joy in it too. Maybe I’m not a lousy parent after all.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
4:00 am
My daughter and I have moved into my father's house, or rather, the very petite guest room of my father's house. Four months prior to the move, I had made the firm decision that I would not be signing another lease with my apartment complex. I had decided I was going to downsize to pay off bills, clear up my credit and qualify for a house. I planned on six months until I was in my own place. As September neared, and the impending move loomed near without having anywhere to go, my anxiety level rose exponentially. Then I got sick.
My illness made it impossible to look for a new residence. Eventually, as I succumbed to the Nile, I realized that I had to resort to my last resort, plan X, or we were going to end up on the streets. That was when I called my father and his wife. It was a move of desperation while I wallowed through West Nile.
I am grateful they had space and were willing to take us in. Having been married for almost eighteen years without any kids from that marriage, they have spent the bulk of their marriage together alone. When we lived with them in Idaho Falls for a couple years, after I went into hiding from my former husband, we were all so much younger and they lived in a place with three separate floors so we were able to find space alone. Here, in their much smaller, one-floor house - which is more practical for them as they age - we are walking on top of one another. I imagine it is a huge stretch for them.
I know it is for me.
It wasn't until this morning at 4:00 am - normal waking time around here, God knows why - as I lay in this bed listening to them bumble around their room and my father's deep voice resonating with muffled, insensible timbre, that I realized how big of a stretch it is for me. I had no idea how much of a homebody I had become and how much I cherish my alone time, my quiet time, my space, until I moved here. There is nowhere for me to go here for peace. In a two bedroom house where the television blasts at 800,000 decibels for most of the evening, there is no respite.
I am spending a lot of time holed away here in the guest room - in the mornings with my head buried under a pile of pillows praying for silence and stillness. I feel like a hermit. I am imagining that my father and his wife wonder if I don't like them. And, bless their hearts, they are doing everything in their power to make it comfortable here for us and to accomodate us. I just had no idea what moving here would mean for me.
Nor did I know what 4:00 in the morning looks like. I have never been a morning person and I am really not a morning person when I don't get a good, healthy chunk of uninterrupted, deep sleep. One of the lingering effects of West Nile is that I am still not sleeping as soundly as I did prior to getting sick. So I awake - at 4:00 am every single damn morning - feeling grumpy and tight and pissy because I am awake two hours prior to when I need to be.
It's not that they wake me up purposely. They are just doing their thing, their little routine that they have worked themselves into after eighteen years. Thing is, their little routine happens on just the other side of that four inch, poorly-insulated wall. I can hear it if one of them sighs. God help me if they find their libidos!
One good thing, though, about this ungodly waking hour... I never miss a sunrise now.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Swimming in the Waves
A wave of sadness accosted me this morning on the way to work, which was odd since I started my day out in absolute joy. Funny thing was, I was wide awake long before dawn… around 5:30 am which is a stark contrast for all my other starts. I am so not a morning person so, as I laid there snuggled in the warmth of my blankets, I stared at the clock wondering what on earth woke me up.
There was no answer reverberating in the silence within my room or in the gently falling early winter rains that tickled my windows. So I closed my eyes to meditate. An hour later, I arose, still refreshed, and showered in stinging hot water, my forehead leaning against the slippery cold tiles.
I am grateful for this hot water. I am grateful for this warm house. I am grateful for my healthy body. I am grateful to be able to hear the water splattering against the tile, pooling and then draining. I am grateful I can see. I am grateful I can smell the tangy citrus of this shampoo. I am grateful I have a job which affords me the ability to buy this shampoo, pay my rent, clothe my body, heat my water.
Such gratitude filled me.
My place was quiet, startling still for the morning as the tranquility of the atmosphere outside crept in through the walls, the ceiling, the windows. There was no boisterous outbursts or bouncing energy springing about my place because my daughter had stayed at her daddy’s house the night before. For a moment, I yearned to hold her, smell her hair, touch her soft skin, look into those innocent blue eyes that are wise beyond comprehension.
Donning my clothes and flicking back wet clumpy strands of my hair, I ventured into the kitchen, hankering for a nice nutritious bowl of Froot Loops. What morning is complete without Froot Loops? I had so much time on my hands that I chose to finish watching the movie I had started late last night, “The Lake House.”
I am captivated by the premise of this show, time folding upon time. And then Sandra Bullock’s character said, “What if there is no One Real Love?”
My heart stopped and I felt a gasp rush through every cell in my body. What if there isn’t?
See, I have to believe there is. I have been alone for almost nine years, by choice, since I took charge of myself, began living for the first time and left my husband. I have to believe that because it is that thought that has kept me going all these years. I have been holding on to the hope, the belief, that my One Real Love is out there.
And now, this morning, on the way to work, my brain teased me saying, “Perhaps it is all a lie, Angie. Perhaps there is no One Real Love. Perhaps you have wasted all these years waiting, hoping, praying and it is all for naught.”
And the sadness crashed over me in a wave, filling my car with the saline scent of my tears.
Please, let it be real. Please… I have to believe it is Real…
There was no answer reverberating in the silence within my room or in the gently falling early winter rains that tickled my windows. So I closed my eyes to meditate. An hour later, I arose, still refreshed, and showered in stinging hot water, my forehead leaning against the slippery cold tiles.
I am grateful for this hot water. I am grateful for this warm house. I am grateful for my healthy body. I am grateful to be able to hear the water splattering against the tile, pooling and then draining. I am grateful I can see. I am grateful I can smell the tangy citrus of this shampoo. I am grateful I have a job which affords me the ability to buy this shampoo, pay my rent, clothe my body, heat my water.
Such gratitude filled me.
My place was quiet, startling still for the morning as the tranquility of the atmosphere outside crept in through the walls, the ceiling, the windows. There was no boisterous outbursts or bouncing energy springing about my place because my daughter had stayed at her daddy’s house the night before. For a moment, I yearned to hold her, smell her hair, touch her soft skin, look into those innocent blue eyes that are wise beyond comprehension.
Donning my clothes and flicking back wet clumpy strands of my hair, I ventured into the kitchen, hankering for a nice nutritious bowl of Froot Loops. What morning is complete without Froot Loops? I had so much time on my hands that I chose to finish watching the movie I had started late last night, “The Lake House.”
I am captivated by the premise of this show, time folding upon time. And then Sandra Bullock’s character said, “What if there is no One Real Love?”
My heart stopped and I felt a gasp rush through every cell in my body. What if there isn’t?
See, I have to believe there is. I have been alone for almost nine years, by choice, since I took charge of myself, began living for the first time and left my husband. I have to believe that because it is that thought that has kept me going all these years. I have been holding on to the hope, the belief, that my One Real Love is out there.
And now, this morning, on the way to work, my brain teased me saying, “Perhaps it is all a lie, Angie. Perhaps there is no One Real Love. Perhaps you have wasted all these years waiting, hoping, praying and it is all for naught.”
And the sadness crashed over me in a wave, filling my car with the saline scent of my tears.
Please, let it be real. Please… I have to believe it is Real…
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