"Dear Mother,
Can you hear me whining?"
Fuck me I'm in a funk again. Albert Einstein said, " Weakness of attitude becomes weakness of character." I fear that my character is in jeopardy due to my declining attitude. I'm tired, overwhelmed, terrified and angry. I'd like to say I'm not feeling like myself, but I don't actually know who I am. Apparently, some people seem to think that they do. To some I've got it good: Live-in babysitters, a free place to live, and a skinny ass. Well, everything comes with a price. The reality of all that is, I'm an emotional prisoner to a significantly unstable, controlling, and hateful mother. The only person in my life who has ever been capable of pushing me to the point of hurting myself, is her. It's extremely difficult to admit to that fact, but there it is. In this house I am treated as a 13 year old. It is made clear that my purpose is to serve her, follow her every order, and accept that I am a useless, ungrateful, and despicable person. Today's beating revolved around the fact that I am a terrible, neglectful, disappointment of a parent. I spend far too much home time doing my job and my child is suffering greatly because of it. Beating myself up for this just isn't enough.
My sweet-ass living conditions consist of a two "room" partially finished, cat piss soaked basement. Absolute fucking paradise. So comfortable and cozy with its damp mint green and pink cement walls, why would I ever want to give this shit up?
It's virtually free living. The deal is, we pay $100 a week to go toward food expenses and we do the majority of the cleaning. The money generally, is not spent on my food due to my unrealistic need to purchase "expensive, specialty" foods. Therefore, I simply purchase said foods (egg white, frozen veggies and yogurt) and stash them to prevent further ridicule.
That's how I get this hot ass of mine. I'm currently weighing in at 173.5lbs. Go me, I'm so freakin' skinny. My amazing body is made up of flaps and folds of loose skin that remind me of rising bread dough after it has been punched down. My inner arms ooze out of my short sleeves and my breasts pool at the bottoms of my bra cups. Who wouldn't want a body like mine?
I present well, but in reality, I am not who you think I am. I am doing the best I can, but sometimes my best just doesn't seem to be enough. Today I feel like a fraud and a failure.
Despite my whining, poor me attitude, I am fully aware of the fact that I have chosen this path and not all of it is bad. This bump, this glitch in the system, will pass and I will move forward. I need to take the control that I've allowed others to have over me. Don't assume you know me and stop fucking underestimating my potential, I will prove you wrong.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Two Shots of Happy, One Shot of Sad
I realized recently as I was skimming through other people's blogs, that I'm guilty of neglecting my own. It's not so much that I have nothing to say; just that, I haven't felt like saying much of anything. I guess, I've basically been absorbed in myself and life. This post. I'm sure, will be a convoluted attempt at making some semblance of sense of the past month.
The Other Half passed yet another exam required for his teaching certification. This accomplishment has secured his position for next year and makes moving above ground more than just a fantasy. My job is never secure, however, escape is critical. I've avoided this topic during the rare occasions that I actually have an opportunity for social interaction. I do this for fear of the unknown and the annoying way people grill me about what I'm looking for. A refrigerator box at this juncture would suffice.
The above leads nicely into my social life or lack thereof. I've almost completely lost contact with the outside world. Beyond my nuclear family, I have one person who I actually spend time with, not counting work related gatherings. The majority of my social contact is texting with X, spotty text conversation with a few friends and a four hour IM chat with "First" (see post "Classic Girl"). Despite the negative tone in this paragraph; when I consider this reality, my initial thought is "Oh fucking well." I've grown accustom to my pseudo-isolation and self-involved lifestyle. It's not exactly what I want, but to quote Dwight Hansen "You can want in one hand and shit in the other, and see which one fills up first."
Douchebag/Boss is transitioning out of his title. We seem to have settled our differences only to have him abandon his post to take on other duties within the agency. At first I was resistant to the appointed New Boss. That's what I do. I'm weary of change.
*Side note. As I was falling asleep last night I had this thought: I am a peanut M&M. I have a crispy outer shell. I can be harsh, cynical and guarded. Underneath, I'm actually pretty sweet, soft and forgiving. Once you get through all that, you're either going to love me or have a severe adverse reaction.
New B joined myself and six other coworkers for dinner at one of my favorite places. As it turns out, she has been made well aware of my strained relationship with Douchebag and God knows what else. This worried me. Three rounds of $2 margaritas later, I can only hope we came to a mutual positive opinion of one another. Let it be mentioned, the evening resulted in me attending the last day of school with a slight hangover. That's the stuff of a mature and responsible role model.
The Greatest, now 18 year old, graduated last Friday as only he could. Anxiety and the lack of true family are his relentless demons. Fifteen minutes before graduation I helped him into his cap and gown and reiterated what to expect and what to do. Reluctantly, he left me to march with his class. The ceremony went well and he proudly accepted his empty diploma folder. After its completion he found me and we went to collect his transcripts and diploma from guidance. We now enter a meltdown of epic proportions. What guidance counselor tells a kid whose yearbook, cap and gown were purchased by faculty, that he will not receive his diploma until he pays his $40 class dues? Are you kidding me? Literally and figuratively, it all went in the trash and he was gone. I scrambled to pay their fucking dues, went dumpster diving and delivered his well earned diploma. Surprisingly, his cracked out guardian repaid me, hugged me a little too tight and the evening ended somewhat well. Actually, it ended quite well, due to my getting drunk once again, this time with members of the National Guard. Someday, maybe, I will tell you about my boyfriend, but that's a story for another time.
We now come to the final note worthy event of June. I ran the 6th annual 4 mile Skip's Run. solo. I was terrified, excited, and exhausted. "First" had me up until 1am deep in a conversation that had been on a 13 year hiatus. Unfortunately, my anxiety and lack of sleep got the best of me for a portion of the race. From the start I compared myself to others and pushed myself to run harder than I'm capable of. I completed the first mile in just under seven minutes. Due to my need to "keep up" I damn near killed myself in the process. Just shy of mile two, I was briskly walking and fighting back tears of self-loathing. Packs of people ran past me, including a rather large woman whose gelatinous ass appeared to be fighting her every step of the way. I was convinced I was last and struggled to purge my self-deprecating thoughts. Finally, I sucked up my pride, found a woman with a pace I could match and in true NASCAR fashion, drafted my way to the finish line. I did not finish last. With eight people behind me, I finished the four miles in 47 minutes and 37 seconds. As it turns out, I cut a minute off each of my miles compared to my Shamrock Shuffle time. There's something to be said in that.
With that all said, I'm feeling hopeful that there are good things to come. My daughter is in an amazing stage of life and every day is an adventure. The summer job is only a week away, although far from my favorite place on Earth, I know it's going to be OK. I'm not going to venture a guess on the living conditions, whatever happens, I'll let you all know when it does. In August I will be running a half marathon relay with two of my coworkers. Then, hopefully, it's back to high school. I'd say, my summer is pretty well booked. "Beyond that, I'm going to have to check my calendar."
The Other Half passed yet another exam required for his teaching certification. This accomplishment has secured his position for next year and makes moving above ground more than just a fantasy. My job is never secure, however, escape is critical. I've avoided this topic during the rare occasions that I actually have an opportunity for social interaction. I do this for fear of the unknown and the annoying way people grill me about what I'm looking for. A refrigerator box at this juncture would suffice.
The above leads nicely into my social life or lack thereof. I've almost completely lost contact with the outside world. Beyond my nuclear family, I have one person who I actually spend time with, not counting work related gatherings. The majority of my social contact is texting with X, spotty text conversation with a few friends and a four hour IM chat with "First" (see post "Classic Girl"). Despite the negative tone in this paragraph; when I consider this reality, my initial thought is "Oh fucking well." I've grown accustom to my pseudo-isolation and self-involved lifestyle. It's not exactly what I want, but to quote Dwight Hansen "You can want in one hand and shit in the other, and see which one fills up first."
Douchebag/Boss is transitioning out of his title. We seem to have settled our differences only to have him abandon his post to take on other duties within the agency. At first I was resistant to the appointed New Boss. That's what I do. I'm weary of change.
*Side note. As I was falling asleep last night I had this thought: I am a peanut M&M. I have a crispy outer shell. I can be harsh, cynical and guarded. Underneath, I'm actually pretty sweet, soft and forgiving. Once you get through all that, you're either going to love me or have a severe adverse reaction.
New B joined myself and six other coworkers for dinner at one of my favorite places. As it turns out, she has been made well aware of my strained relationship with Douchebag and God knows what else. This worried me. Three rounds of $2 margaritas later, I can only hope we came to a mutual positive opinion of one another. Let it be mentioned, the evening resulted in me attending the last day of school with a slight hangover. That's the stuff of a mature and responsible role model.
The Greatest, now 18 year old, graduated last Friday as only he could. Anxiety and the lack of true family are his relentless demons. Fifteen minutes before graduation I helped him into his cap and gown and reiterated what to expect and what to do. Reluctantly, he left me to march with his class. The ceremony went well and he proudly accepted his empty diploma folder. After its completion he found me and we went to collect his transcripts and diploma from guidance. We now enter a meltdown of epic proportions. What guidance counselor tells a kid whose yearbook, cap and gown were purchased by faculty, that he will not receive his diploma until he pays his $40 class dues? Are you kidding me? Literally and figuratively, it all went in the trash and he was gone. I scrambled to pay their fucking dues, went dumpster diving and delivered his well earned diploma. Surprisingly, his cracked out guardian repaid me, hugged me a little too tight and the evening ended somewhat well. Actually, it ended quite well, due to my getting drunk once again, this time with members of the National Guard. Someday, maybe, I will tell you about my boyfriend, but that's a story for another time.
We now come to the final note worthy event of June. I ran the 6th annual 4 mile Skip's Run. solo. I was terrified, excited, and exhausted. "First" had me up until 1am deep in a conversation that had been on a 13 year hiatus. Unfortunately, my anxiety and lack of sleep got the best of me for a portion of the race. From the start I compared myself to others and pushed myself to run harder than I'm capable of. I completed the first mile in just under seven minutes. Due to my need to "keep up" I damn near killed myself in the process. Just shy of mile two, I was briskly walking and fighting back tears of self-loathing. Packs of people ran past me, including a rather large woman whose gelatinous ass appeared to be fighting her every step of the way. I was convinced I was last and struggled to purge my self-deprecating thoughts. Finally, I sucked up my pride, found a woman with a pace I could match and in true NASCAR fashion, drafted my way to the finish line. I did not finish last. With eight people behind me, I finished the four miles in 47 minutes and 37 seconds. As it turns out, I cut a minute off each of my miles compared to my Shamrock Shuffle time. There's something to be said in that.
With that all said, I'm feeling hopeful that there are good things to come. My daughter is in an amazing stage of life and every day is an adventure. The summer job is only a week away, although far from my favorite place on Earth, I know it's going to be OK. I'm not going to venture a guess on the living conditions, whatever happens, I'll let you all know when it does. In August I will be running a half marathon relay with two of my coworkers. Then, hopefully, it's back to high school. I'd say, my summer is pretty well booked. "Beyond that, I'm going to have to check my calendar."
Monday, May 18, 2009
Smart Went Crazy
Parasite. What you appear to be capable of is sucking all you can from others without giving anything in return. What was asked of you was a simple acknowledgment, yet you are much too self involved for that. Petty? Petty is the immaturity you displayed by, as usual, redirecting the attention back to you and your perpetual dysfunction. That you cannot accept how you treat others and apologize, is further proof of the deeply selfish person you truly are. You have been stood by and supported despite the suggestions to not feed into your drama. The only time you make contact is when you need someone to justify your actions and placate your false sense of victimization. The ongoing crises you put yourself in are pathetic cries for attention. I've come to know you as melodramatic, self serving, and incapable of accepting responsibility for your poor judgement. Despite all your effort to gain a higher education, you may well be the most idiotic person I know. You are a draining suck on life; find a new host and best of luck on further maintaining your relationships.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Acrobat
The majority of my life I have strived to go unnoticed, to blend in, to quietly get by. As a painfully shy and excessively over-weight female I always felt as though everything I did was being monitored and judged by those around me. Each word I spoke, step I took, and bite I consumed was being critiqued and whispered about. I realize now, how very wrong I was.
At this point in my life, I feel more under the microscope than ever. It's become a struggle to cope with what I am becoming and how I am received. My confidence is at its highest despite the occasional lapse back into my old ways of thinking. I've developed a solid support system that has given me more strength and hope that I ever imagined. I thrive on the encouragement and compliments of others, despite how awkward and overwhelming it can be. Being frequently described as inspiring and looked to for motivation is surreal to me, yet I'm honored to be seen in this new light.
However,the most difficult facet to cope with in this venture, has been the negativity and hostility from some family and friends. Gore Vidal wrote "Whenever a friend succeeds, a little something in me dies." I can see the truth in that statement. I never expected to be alienated due to something as basic as improving myself. I feel as though what I am now seems to pose a threat, makes me less likable and opens me up to negative thoughts and comments from others. Some are more overt with their opinions, while others seem to exude a vibe of resentment.
I have always been an extremely sensitive person and I cannot and will not deny that I am hurt. I'm not always able to express my hurt, so it often is converted into my own hostility. I did not set out to make this change for or against anyone. It's not about them, it's about me. I'm taking that hurt/hostility and using it to push myself even harder. If they can't like me as much at 179 as they did at 245, well, then they never liked me at all. I thank them for the motivation.
At this point in my life, I feel more under the microscope than ever. It's become a struggle to cope with what I am becoming and how I am received. My confidence is at its highest despite the occasional lapse back into my old ways of thinking. I've developed a solid support system that has given me more strength and hope that I ever imagined. I thrive on the encouragement and compliments of others, despite how awkward and overwhelming it can be. Being frequently described as inspiring and looked to for motivation is surreal to me, yet I'm honored to be seen in this new light.
However,the most difficult facet to cope with in this venture, has been the negativity and hostility from some family and friends. Gore Vidal wrote "Whenever a friend succeeds, a little something in me dies." I can see the truth in that statement. I never expected to be alienated due to something as basic as improving myself. I feel as though what I am now seems to pose a threat, makes me less likable and opens me up to negative thoughts and comments from others. Some are more overt with their opinions, while others seem to exude a vibe of resentment.
I have always been an extremely sensitive person and I cannot and will not deny that I am hurt. I'm not always able to express my hurt, so it often is converted into my own hostility. I did not set out to make this change for or against anyone. It's not about them, it's about me. I'm taking that hurt/hostility and using it to push myself even harder. If they can't like me as much at 179 as they did at 245, well, then they never liked me at all. I thank them for the motivation.
"...don't let the bastards grind you down." U2
Friday, April 10, 2009
Tourette's
How much effort would it take to convince you all that I have acquired frontal lobe damage or a rare symptom of Tourette's? "Oh, so sorry, that's the coprolalia speaking." I can already feel the warm satisfaction that would come with allowing a stream of unrestrained word vomit to pass my lips. I experimented some last week; calling one of my captors a "fucking bitch." It was immensely fulfilling in the moment, unfortunately I possess a conscience that holds me to cleaning up after my verbal leakage. Not all that I have to say is malicious. I'm also fueled with words of inspiration, useful suggestions, and tempting propositions.
Sadly, everything comes with a price. Good triumphs over evil; I'm a decent and self respecting human being. I know right from wrong and I'm not out to hurt or embarrass anyone. I'm going to quarantine the potential for a communicative outbreak and swallow my words.
But, before I do, just let me say this:
Sadly, everything comes with a price. Good triumphs over evil; I'm a decent and self respecting human being. I know right from wrong and I'm not out to hurt or embarrass anyone. I'm going to quarantine the potential for a communicative outbreak and swallow my words.
But, before I do, just let me say this:
"Try me, I'm a damn good lay."
and
"Fuck you. You're a joke."
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Not a Pretty Girl
I've been thinking a lot about my ultimate goal in this weight loss, health movement I've taken on. My thought process has been stimulated and sometimes challenged by those around me.
A friend recently asked me if I ever fantasized of "waking up skinny." Without hesitation, I was on my soapbox and running. Ha, running. That's a loud and clear, "No." I have no desire to be skinny, thin or any other synonym of that nature. I'm currently working toward dropping those words from my personal lexicon. To me, they hold as much negative connotation as the word fat. In all honesty, "skinny" evokes images of weak, helpless "maidens" who lack the ability to fend for themselves, "kittens" who need protection and rescue. Skinny would be a completely unrealistic goal and the desire to be so would only set me up for crushing failure. I am aware of my desires and limitations; my mind and body are not designed for "skinny."
So what do I want to be when I grow down? My fantasy: To look like freakin' Jordan O'Neill (G.I. Jane) or Ellen Ripley (Alien). Keep in mind, I said fantasy. Realistically I simply want to be healthy, athletic, fit and confident. However, the capability of kicking someones ass when necessary would be pretty sweet.
Today the same friend mentioned that she belly danced un-inebriated in public. I love that. She too struggles with self confidence and she expressed feeling empowered and free for doing something so outside of her comfort zone. So what empowers me? Obviously running, but also, blurring that line separating what are thought to be feminine or masculine activities. In the past few weeks I've spent a bit of time with the boys in the Industrial Arts classroom. It's hugely satisfying to demonstrate that, in fact, some girls actually know how to handle a hand-held router and know the difference between a cheese grater file and a rasp.
Today, I spent at least a half an hour hacking away at an 8ft long, 2ft high block of ice with a forty pound ice chisel. Why? Because my father unfortunately is no longer capable of that type of physical labor. Because he suggested that the job wait until the Other Half came home from work. Because, "I'm not a maiden fair and I am not a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere."
A friend recently asked me if I ever fantasized of "waking up skinny." Without hesitation, I was on my soapbox and running. Ha, running. That's a loud and clear, "No." I have no desire to be skinny, thin or any other synonym of that nature. I'm currently working toward dropping those words from my personal lexicon. To me, they hold as much negative connotation as the word fat. In all honesty, "skinny" evokes images of weak, helpless "maidens" who lack the ability to fend for themselves, "kittens" who need protection and rescue. Skinny would be a completely unrealistic goal and the desire to be so would only set me up for crushing failure. I am aware of my desires and limitations; my mind and body are not designed for "skinny."
So what do I want to be when I grow down? My fantasy: To look like freakin' Jordan O'Neill (G.I. Jane) or Ellen Ripley (Alien). Keep in mind, I said fantasy. Realistically I simply want to be healthy, athletic, fit and confident. However, the capability of kicking someones ass when necessary would be pretty sweet.
Today the same friend mentioned that she belly danced un-inebriated in public. I love that. She too struggles with self confidence and she expressed feeling empowered and free for doing something so outside of her comfort zone. So what empowers me? Obviously running, but also, blurring that line separating what are thought to be feminine or masculine activities. In the past few weeks I've spent a bit of time with the boys in the Industrial Arts classroom. It's hugely satisfying to demonstrate that, in fact, some girls actually know how to handle a hand-held router and know the difference between a cheese grater file and a rasp.
Today, I spent at least a half an hour hacking away at an 8ft long, 2ft high block of ice with a forty pound ice chisel. Why? Because my father unfortunately is no longer capable of that type of physical labor. Because he suggested that the job wait until the Other Half came home from work. Because, "I'm not a maiden fair and I am not a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere."
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Shamrocks and Shenanigans
I kicked off my day with a 1.6lb loss, making the total to date 57.4lbs. This, on top of the fact that I can now stake a claim on having successfully completed an official 5k race. I can't even begin to describe how I feel. Relieved, proud, empowered, elated to say the least.
The 8th Annual Shamrock Shuffle runner, number 248 came in 326th place out of 340 participants. I accomplished the two main goals that I had set for myself. Goal 1: Quite simply, finish. Goal 2: Good God, don't finish dead last.
My total running (and walking) time was 38:57.50. That's pretty damn good. I do however, want to point out and I am in no way comparing myself to others, that the top runner finished the race in 15:36.20. Let's put this word problem into perspective: As I was approximately 2 minutes into mile 2, Winner was casually rolling through the finish line as though he'd just walked 3.1 feet. That's not bitterness, it's straight up awe.
Crossing that finish line was one of my greatest accomplishments and I honestly could not have done it without the support of some pretty amazing people. My biggest fans, my baby girl and other half, I cannot begin to sum up the inspiration they provide. The greatest 17 year old on earth, who's voice was all I could hear as I came into the final stretch. My close friend and her boyfriend, who only this morning gave me shit for not telling him I was running, signed up and stuck with me for the first mile before leaving me in the dust. In particular, my running partner. An avid runner who has participated in half marathons and runs 6 miles a day. She was by my side the entire time, way before the race even started. Had it not been for her I would never have done this in the first place. I even ran a solid 8/10 of a mile, the most I have run in one shot outside, all thanks to her pacing me! Not to mention the many others who have encouraged me along the way.
I feel good, I feel strong, and I'm ready for the next race in June. I think this could possibly mean that I can consider myself a runner. This coming from the girl who only two years ago insisted she, "Only ran in emergencies."
The 8th Annual Shamrock Shuffle runner, number 248 came in 326th place out of 340 participants. I accomplished the two main goals that I had set for myself. Goal 1: Quite simply, finish. Goal 2: Good God, don't finish dead last.
My total running (and walking) time was 38:57.50. That's pretty damn good. I do however, want to point out and I am in no way comparing myself to others, that the top runner finished the race in 15:36.20. Let's put this word problem into perspective: As I was approximately 2 minutes into mile 2, Winner was casually rolling through the finish line as though he'd just walked 3.1 feet. That's not bitterness, it's straight up awe.
Crossing that finish line was one of my greatest accomplishments and I honestly could not have done it without the support of some pretty amazing people. My biggest fans, my baby girl and other half, I cannot begin to sum up the inspiration they provide. The greatest 17 year old on earth, who's voice was all I could hear as I came into the final stretch. My close friend and her boyfriend, who only this morning gave me shit for not telling him I was running, signed up and stuck with me for the first mile before leaving me in the dust. In particular, my running partner. An avid runner who has participated in half marathons and runs 6 miles a day. She was by my side the entire time, way before the race even started. Had it not been for her I would never have done this in the first place. I even ran a solid 8/10 of a mile, the most I have run in one shot outside, all thanks to her pacing me! Not to mention the many others who have encouraged me along the way.
I feel good, I feel strong, and I'm ready for the next race in June. I think this could possibly mean that I can consider myself a runner. This coming from the girl who only two years ago insisted she, "Only ran in emergencies."
Friday, March 6, 2009
Brick
Seared into my heart and engraved on my wrist, the 16th is slowly approaching. It has been close to three years since my body failed at creating and sustaining a life.
The weeks leading up are difficult. I cannot bring myself to talk about how I feel, I'm not sure I even want to. At random, some days are harder than others. I pretend nothing is different, busying myself with work and small talk, anything to avoid being alone and remembering. Sometimes I drift in and out of character, getting lost in myself and then snapping back excessively.
I dread the night. I feel alone in the dark, balled up, perfectly still, and overwhelmed by the inability to shut out the thought process. This is when I feel it all over again, the constant dull ache, the rushing unstoppable wave of pain, followed by an infinite emptiness.
I've come to terms with my loss, that had it not occurred, I would not be where I am now. However, my emotional investment did not cease to exist along with my child.
I hurt, I miss you, I love you.
The weeks leading up are difficult. I cannot bring myself to talk about how I feel, I'm not sure I even want to. At random, some days are harder than others. I pretend nothing is different, busying myself with work and small talk, anything to avoid being alone and remembering. Sometimes I drift in and out of character, getting lost in myself and then snapping back excessively.
I dread the night. I feel alone in the dark, balled up, perfectly still, and overwhelmed by the inability to shut out the thought process. This is when I feel it all over again, the constant dull ache, the rushing unstoppable wave of pain, followed by an infinite emptiness.
I've come to terms with my loss, that had it not occurred, I would not be where I am now. However, my emotional investment did not cease to exist along with my child.
I hurt, I miss you, I love you.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Sleep to Dream
Today I stopped by my friend/coworker's office for a handful of Skittles on my way to the bathroom. I do this, on average, twice a day in an attempt to escape my clients and their peers. Lately, I seem to have gained a following of teenage boys who attempt to hit on me, while at the same time repulse me with their bodily functions and expertly extracted snot. Neither action has earned them the responses they hope for.
While picking out the red and purple Skittles from the adults only container, my coworker described a rather funny dream she had had the night before. Naturally, the conversation turned to me and I, in turn, described the marshmallow dream I wrote about in the post Dreaming. I tell her that I think I've determined the type of dream I'm having, yet when she questions my knowledge of its meaning, I stupidly respond through a mouthful of segregated fruit flavors, "Dunno."
Who needs Dr. Drew when you have a friend with a Masters in Social Work. Within seconds she's scrolling through an alphabet of dream symbolism on her computer.
While picking out the red and purple Skittles from the adults only container, my coworker described a rather funny dream she had had the night before. Naturally, the conversation turned to me and I, in turn, described the marshmallow dream I wrote about in the post Dreaming. I tell her that I think I've determined the type of dream I'm having, yet when she questions my knowledge of its meaning, I stupidly respond through a mouthful of segregated fruit flavors, "Dunno."
Who needs Dr. Drew when you have a friend with a Masters in Social Work. Within seconds she's scrolling through an alphabet of dream symbolism on her computer.
Marshmallows: To see a marshmallow represents timidity and lack of self-confidence. You need to learn to be more assertive and stand up for yourself.
Needle: The use of a needle indicates that you need to mend some relationship or situation.
Emptiness: To dream of emptiness signifies fruitless labor or that something is missing in your life. There is nothing to show for all the effort that you have dedicated to a project or development.
Fucking Christ! I can't even rely on sleep to escape reality. Skittles in hand and mouth, I headed to take a pee and send an email to douche bag. We're meeting at 2:30 tomorrow to discuss why I think he sucks.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Classic Girl
Vacation has brought forth a series of reconnects via Facebook. Much like blogging, I've been resistant to online networking. My MySpace page has been lying dormant in cyberspace for some time. Despite this, I set up a Facebook page. The "friends" began rolling in almost instantly. At first I accepted requests from everyone , but I've decided I need to be more selective. I'm not the "collector" type; I'm not going to request someone because a friend of a friend has them on their list and we met a few times. I like quality, not quantity.
Quality:
Drifter. Drifter was a close friend throughout my school days, but we quickly lost touch after graduation. She was one of my 1st FB friends. After several emails and chat sessions, Drifter assertively committed me to dinner and drinks. Monday night was spent catching up over potent $2 margaritas. It was fantastic. We discovered who we truly were to one another 15 plus years ago.
First. First is exactly that: my first sexual partner. I was hesitant and fearful to contact him, but the noncommittal nature of an email won out in the end. Overnight, I was enthusiastically accepted back into his life. Again, emails and chats have quelled my curiosity. I have found him to be happy, healthy and exactly who I've held in my memory.
Out. A rabid social networker who pounced on me on MySpace and again on FB. Out was a high school acquaintance. Shy, quiet, there, but insignificant to most. My one solid memory of him is the day he boldly approached me in class and blurted, "You have beautiful eyes." My esteemless teenage girl never forgot that. Out came out to me two nights ago. Maybe this was an inappropriate response, but I quickly typed: "I know you are hon."
That night I found myself thinking about someone I have severely missed. The next morning I typed her name into the search box and with baited breath awaited the results. Three people into the list, I found her. Again, I was promptly met with a welcomed reunion.
CG and I chatted for well over 3 hours last night. She is as absolutely gorgeous and amazing as I remember. It's as though that 17 year old girl has been frozen in time only having gained the experience and maturity that time often brings. CG and I voraciously filled the wide gap between then and now. I even went so far as to confess that she had never left my thoughts and that I had a true and heartfelt love for her. The feelings were mutual as it turns out. At 1am I went to bed with the warm satisfaction of feeling full. I giddily pined to the Other Half until we drifted off.
I'm sure at this point opinions have been formed and questions are eating their way to the surface. This would be similar to the reactions I frequently get when I share that I am in regular contact with X. I realize some people have no desire to reconnect with the past, be it positive or negative. Others may feel reintroducing certain people into their present life could threaten what they have. I feel that's a lack of security in who they, or the people around them, are.
With each of these people, I have discovered a common theme: Despite what I have always believed, I too, was significant and memorable to them.
My experiences with each, some more significant than others, led me to where I am today. I value their places in my life and am grateful to have them back in this new form of friendship.
Quality:
Drifter. Drifter was a close friend throughout my school days, but we quickly lost touch after graduation. She was one of my 1st FB friends. After several emails and chat sessions, Drifter assertively committed me to dinner and drinks. Monday night was spent catching up over potent $2 margaritas. It was fantastic. We discovered who we truly were to one another 15 plus years ago.
First. First is exactly that: my first sexual partner. I was hesitant and fearful to contact him, but the noncommittal nature of an email won out in the end. Overnight, I was enthusiastically accepted back into his life. Again, emails and chats have quelled my curiosity. I have found him to be happy, healthy and exactly who I've held in my memory.
Out. A rabid social networker who pounced on me on MySpace and again on FB. Out was a high school acquaintance. Shy, quiet, there, but insignificant to most. My one solid memory of him is the day he boldly approached me in class and blurted, "You have beautiful eyes." My esteemless teenage girl never forgot that. Out came out to me two nights ago. Maybe this was an inappropriate response, but I quickly typed: "I know you are hon."
That night I found myself thinking about someone I have severely missed. The next morning I typed her name into the search box and with baited breath awaited the results. Three people into the list, I found her. Again, I was promptly met with a welcomed reunion.
CG and I chatted for well over 3 hours last night. She is as absolutely gorgeous and amazing as I remember. It's as though that 17 year old girl has been frozen in time only having gained the experience and maturity that time often brings. CG and I voraciously filled the wide gap between then and now. I even went so far as to confess that she had never left my thoughts and that I had a true and heartfelt love for her. The feelings were mutual as it turns out. At 1am I went to bed with the warm satisfaction of feeling full. I giddily pined to the Other Half until we drifted off.
I'm sure at this point opinions have been formed and questions are eating their way to the surface. This would be similar to the reactions I frequently get when I share that I am in regular contact with X. I realize some people have no desire to reconnect with the past, be it positive or negative. Others may feel reintroducing certain people into their present life could threaten what they have. I feel that's a lack of security in who they, or the people around them, are.
With each of these people, I have discovered a common theme: Despite what I have always believed, I too, was significant and memorable to them.
My experiences with each, some more significant than others, led me to where I am today. I value their places in my life and am grateful to have them back in this new form of friendship.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Stronger
I did not shower or dress until well after 3:30pm today, due largely in part to physical pain and emotional distress.
Saturday kicked off the beginning of a week long vacation and my original plans to be with friends fell through due to children inflicted with various illnesses. I did however, attend fat class: down another pound. I also decided to take advantage of the balmy 40+ weather and geared up to head out on my first attempt at running outside.
Why, why, why can't pavement be as springy as my beloved treadmill? I quickly discovered that I could only run in spurts. I was unable to pace myself or regulate my breathing in the cold February air. Not to mention the fact that, as I ran, my pants crept dangerously further and further down my ass. Two miles in I began to feel the overwhelming urge to sit in a snowbank and cry.
I've known all along that outside runs would be vastly different, however, the reality was still a harsh one. I made it the 3.5 miles to the village store and called the Other Half for a ride home. I was able to do all of this in under 45 minutes, but still felt the sting of defeat.
Today I awoke with sore ribs and hips, aching tibialis anterior muscles and a shitty attitude. I stayed in my PJs, chatting with a long lost "friend" on Facebook and probably ate way too much. The guilt I'm feeling says I ate too much anyway.
Weather permitting I will be back out there tomorrow. My day of wallowing in self pity is over in 10 minutes and then it's time to get over it. I know that was only my first attempt and it will only get better from there. Plus, I bought smaller running pants yesterday. Like Kanye says: 'N-n-now that that don't kill me can only make me stronger." He also says "Well I'd do anything for a blonde dyke," but that's a confessional post for a later date.
Saturday kicked off the beginning of a week long vacation and my original plans to be with friends fell through due to children inflicted with various illnesses. I did however, attend fat class: down another pound. I also decided to take advantage of the balmy 40+ weather and geared up to head out on my first attempt at running outside.
Why, why, why can't pavement be as springy as my beloved treadmill? I quickly discovered that I could only run in spurts. I was unable to pace myself or regulate my breathing in the cold February air. Not to mention the fact that, as I ran, my pants crept dangerously further and further down my ass. Two miles in I began to feel the overwhelming urge to sit in a snowbank and cry.
I've known all along that outside runs would be vastly different, however, the reality was still a harsh one. I made it the 3.5 miles to the village store and called the Other Half for a ride home. I was able to do all of this in under 45 minutes, but still felt the sting of defeat.
Today I awoke with sore ribs and hips, aching tibialis anterior muscles and a shitty attitude. I stayed in my PJs, chatting with a long lost "friend" on Facebook and probably ate way too much. The guilt I'm feeling says I ate too much anyway.
Weather permitting I will be back out there tomorrow. My day of wallowing in self pity is over in 10 minutes and then it's time to get over it. I know that was only my first attempt and it will only get better from there. Plus, I bought smaller running pants yesterday. Like Kanye says: 'N-n-now that that don't kill me can only make me stronger." He also says "Well I'd do anything for a blonde dyke," but that's a confessional post for a later date.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Time To Move On
If it hasn't become blatantly obvious to you by now that I'm a bit of a music junkie, I'll spell it out for you here. Each of my posts has been lovingly assigned a song title. Every hour, every day at any given moment, there is a song running through my head. Situations, passing comments you name it, there's a song out there to sum up whats going on around me. It's similar to Will Ferrell's narrator in Stranger Than Fiction, only I have a running soundtrack.
I've been hearing my long time friend Tom Petty for the past few weeks:
I've been hearing my long time friend Tom Petty for the past few weeks:
"It's time to move on, it's time to get going
What lies ahead, I have no way of knowing
But under my feet, baby, grass is growing
It's time to move on, time to get going"
I've felt like I've been mired down in the muck for too long. Everything is whirling on around me while I stay static. People come and go, some stay at rest a moment and move on while others hold steady. I'm feeling the itch to move forward in some way. Change requires support and encouragement. It doesn't always come from where you would expect, so you have to reach out to unexpected people and places.
Today confirmed that I'm successfully moving on. For starters, I've officially lost 50.4lbs, bringing my weight down to 194.4lbs. For well over a month now I have been running a solid 3.1 miles, sandwiched within a mile of warm up and cool down. I started this in preparation for the 5k run that I secretly signed up for. I've forgotten the exact statistic, but I was recently told that a person is significantly more likely to accomplish something if they tell people their intentions. Here's hoping that's true.
I've also submitted the paperwork to begin co-coaching a national after school program for girls ages 8 to 14. The program focuses on building self-respect and physical fitness through running. At the end of the 12 week session, groups from local areas gather for a 5k run/walk.
I've also submitted the paperwork to begin co-coaching a national after school program for girls ages 8 to 14. The program focuses on building self-respect and physical fitness through running. At the end of the 12 week session, groups from local areas gather for a 5k run/walk.
Financially, the other half and I have put ourselves on a strict budget in order to work our way above ground. It's time to get serious about moving forward.
Last. Despite my resentment and animosity toward douche bag, I'm going to push forward in my goal to have a better working relationship. As much as I love the idea of not having to deal with him throughout the summer, I don't feel like that would be the answer. I openly admit to my faults and the need to improve; he too needs to be a better person. The only way I see that happening is by working with him, not against. Ugh, fucking A, I hate being rational. *This doesn't mean I have to like him.
"Broken skyline, which way to love land
Which way to something better
Which way to forgiveness
Which way do I go"
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Bang on the Drum
Work wouldn't be so bad if you didn't have a boss or clients, meetings, paperwork or the requirement of showing up. Minus those pitfalls, it would be a pretty sweet setup.
OK, so that's a bit drastic. For the most part, I like my job. My clients and coworkers are great, I love the setting in which I work with them and I rarely wake up with the dread of having to do my job. I have multiple supervisors due to the way my job is set up, but unfortunately one of them is "The Boss."
One of my internal resolutions for the year was to change my attitude toward "The Boss." I'm working towards a better attitude in general, emotional "flair" if you will. My thought was that maybe this year would be a good time to work on how I present myself to "The Boss." That lasted through one "meaningful" conversation and about a week and a half of positive thinking. Notice the quotes? I use those terms loosely. I've come to the decision that this person is undeserving of a title that indicates power and nothing in our "relationship" can remotely be described as meaningful. This past week after events unfolded and an impromptu conversation was held, I have officially come to the unchangeable decision that I despise "The Boss." From here on out "The Boss" will be replaced with douche bag. No quotes needed.
Herein lies my dilemma. I have a very difficult time hiding my true feelings. I still want to work on being a better person, however how can I do this when interacting with a person I have zero respect for? Why should I, when douche bag has repeatedly shown me that he has little to give? Douche bag has no clue as to who I am as a person and quite honestly how I perform as an employee. He has rarely seen me doing my job and the one time I suggested he try, I was met with sarcasm and condescension. I rely on those I immediately work with to provide me with the feedback and support I need. My time with douche bag is wasted with hollow compliments and useless feedback, while at the same time he has a way of leading me to feel unsure of myself. If I had a desk, it would undoubtedly be in the basement with the supplies by now. I realize there is no future in my job; however, I think I'm good at what I do. I don't want a prize or recognition, I simply want to feel valued. Douche bag does not value me, he sees me as less then important, despite what he may say.
It drives me fucking nuts that I wasted my energy and effort apologizing for my past behaviors and admitting to my wrong doings. Don't get me wrong, I meant what I said, but I hate that I said it to someone who owes many other people a much bigger apology.
So, whats my plan of attack? I will continue to do my job to the best of my ability and seek support from those around me that see what I do. When it comes time for interacting with douche bag I will continue to attempt to be a better person. Not for his benefit, but mine and my coworkers. Beyond that? Grin and bare it, because I can't stand the fucking dick.
OK, so that's a bit drastic. For the most part, I like my job. My clients and coworkers are great, I love the setting in which I work with them and I rarely wake up with the dread of having to do my job. I have multiple supervisors due to the way my job is set up, but unfortunately one of them is "The Boss."
One of my internal resolutions for the year was to change my attitude toward "The Boss." I'm working towards a better attitude in general, emotional "flair" if you will. My thought was that maybe this year would be a good time to work on how I present myself to "The Boss." That lasted through one "meaningful" conversation and about a week and a half of positive thinking. Notice the quotes? I use those terms loosely. I've come to the decision that this person is undeserving of a title that indicates power and nothing in our "relationship" can remotely be described as meaningful. This past week after events unfolded and an impromptu conversation was held, I have officially come to the unchangeable decision that I despise "The Boss." From here on out "The Boss" will be replaced with douche bag. No quotes needed.
Herein lies my dilemma. I have a very difficult time hiding my true feelings. I still want to work on being a better person, however how can I do this when interacting with a person I have zero respect for? Why should I, when douche bag has repeatedly shown me that he has little to give? Douche bag has no clue as to who I am as a person and quite honestly how I perform as an employee. He has rarely seen me doing my job and the one time I suggested he try, I was met with sarcasm and condescension. I rely on those I immediately work with to provide me with the feedback and support I need. My time with douche bag is wasted with hollow compliments and useless feedback, while at the same time he has a way of leading me to feel unsure of myself. If I had a desk, it would undoubtedly be in the basement with the supplies by now. I realize there is no future in my job; however, I think I'm good at what I do. I don't want a prize or recognition, I simply want to feel valued. Douche bag does not value me, he sees me as less then important, despite what he may say.
It drives me fucking nuts that I wasted my energy and effort apologizing for my past behaviors and admitting to my wrong doings. Don't get me wrong, I meant what I said, but I hate that I said it to someone who owes many other people a much bigger apology.
So, whats my plan of attack? I will continue to do my job to the best of my ability and seek support from those around me that see what I do. When it comes time for interacting with douche bag I will continue to attempt to be a better person. Not for his benefit, but mine and my coworkers. Beyond that? Grin and bare it, because I can't stand the fucking dick.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Missundaztood
Oh my crap! Will this sickness ever go away? I lost a day and a half this week to the super plague. Bonus, I also lost nearly 3lbs, but for the price of a little dignity along the way. Nearly shitting yourself while vomiting is undignified.
I returned to work today feeling shaky and dizzy, but overall healthy. By the end of the day I was back on top, until...
I heard something that literally made my stomach flop. Then I cried. Yeah, I'm a puss.
Basically, things were said about someone and it hurts me how completely venomous and hateful these comments came across. In my heart I'd like to believe they were not meant to sound quite so bad.
Now I'm struggling to gather my feelings and identify why exactly they affected me in such an intense way. I think it's because it came out as such a judgemental and personal attack on ones' economic and social standing for the sheer benefit of amusing others. I also think it's because it made me wonder if I am guilty of doing the same. I fully admit to being caustic and opinionated. I know I've said plenty of negative things about others, but I'd like to think I've never taken such a low blow. My negativity is generally directed at the idea and not the person him/herself.
I believe my job has strengthened my ability to interact with others in a genuinely compassionate and non judgemental way regarding their social/class standing. My experience has given me a better understanding of who people are and the reasons behind their actions.
At the risk of sounding psychoanalytical, the person referred to, I believe is truly sweet yet possesses no self esteem and a strong desire to be loved and accepted. Unfortunately, this person's desire leads to making questionable and risky choices. It's sad to witness these actions. Honestly though, I have also made mistakes for many of the same reasons: to be loved, accepted, impress people who are now, years later, no longer in my life. At the core of it, this person is fun, energetic, and means well. Why can't that be enough for everyone else?
I returned to work today feeling shaky and dizzy, but overall healthy. By the end of the day I was back on top, until...
I heard something that literally made my stomach flop. Then I cried. Yeah, I'm a puss.
Basically, things were said about someone and it hurts me how completely venomous and hateful these comments came across. In my heart I'd like to believe they were not meant to sound quite so bad.
Now I'm struggling to gather my feelings and identify why exactly they affected me in such an intense way. I think it's because it came out as such a judgemental and personal attack on ones' economic and social standing for the sheer benefit of amusing others. I also think it's because it made me wonder if I am guilty of doing the same. I fully admit to being caustic and opinionated. I know I've said plenty of negative things about others, but I'd like to think I've never taken such a low blow. My negativity is generally directed at the idea and not the person him/herself.
I believe my job has strengthened my ability to interact with others in a genuinely compassionate and non judgemental way regarding their social/class standing. My experience has given me a better understanding of who people are and the reasons behind their actions.
At the risk of sounding psychoanalytical, the person referred to, I believe is truly sweet yet possesses no self esteem and a strong desire to be loved and accepted. Unfortunately, this person's desire leads to making questionable and risky choices. It's sad to witness these actions. Honestly though, I have also made mistakes for many of the same reasons: to be loved, accepted, impress people who are now, years later, no longer in my life. At the core of it, this person is fun, energetic, and means well. Why can't that be enough for everyone else?
Friday, January 2, 2009
P.D.A. (We Just Don't Care)
11:40 a.m. and I'm back in bed. Yeah. I'm sick again. I felt it when I woke up on New Years Eve, that hint of a sore throat, stuffy, head in the gray, hazy clouds sort of feeling. I can feel my throat closing as I type. Ugh, what a way to end one year and ring in the new.
I've never been one for celebrating a new year. Every year I turn down at least two invites, this year was no different. It's a combination of things. One, and somewhat new to the list, I have a kid. I never see her as a burden, it's just hard to get out. Two, I just don't function well at large parties, I see myself as a bit of a social retard. Three, I have developed a heightened sense of dramatic paranoia when it comes to traveling on New Years. Visions of flaming vehicular wreckage, severed body parts strewn along a darkened highway and the unbearable sound of agonizing screams, keep me safe at home. I'm accepting and content with spending my holiday with the other half and a bowl of popcorn.
This year, was quite possibly the best New Year I've had in some time. My parents were gone, I made dinner for my family, ate my popcorn and watched a really great movie. Earlier in the day I was jokingly asked, 'What movies do you like?" I like all kinds of movies. I don't consider myself to be a movie snob or expert, I like what I like. Bubbleboy, is a fantastic film. Taxi Driver, Repo Man, The Breakfast Club, Pink Flamingos, Tiny Toons: How I Spent My Summer Vacation... Every movie has it's place.
Any movie with a satisfying sex scene. I'm fascinated with sex, yet porn doesn't quite work for me. The classics, yes. Deep Throat, The Devil in Miss Jones, Behind the Green Door, The Opening of Misty Beethoven. In general however, I like my movies to be plot driven. So this great movie I watched was Romance by French filmmaker Catherine Breillat. I saw her film A Real Young Girl severeal years ago and since, have read much about her work. God love Netflix, they have a few of her movies available. Breillat's films are followed by much controversy due to her fixation on female sexuality. A woman after my own heart.
A basic summary of Romance: A young teacher, Marie, is sexually shut off by her model boyfriend. Her need for sexual gratification forces her into harmful and unconventional situations which lead her to an unexpected new lover. Rape, glory-holes, bondage and an extremely intrusive gynecological examination are a portion of what led to Romance's controversy. However, it's the use of unsimulated sex that blurs the line separating art from porn. (Not to mention the well proportioned Italian pornstar cast as one of Marie's lovers.)
Personally, I admire directors and actors who are willing to put their reputations of the line for the sake of their art. Divine broke all the rules of sexuality for many John Waters films, Heath and Jake, well, you know. John Cameron Mitchell wasn't deterred when he presented the beautifully filmed "real sex" in Shortbus. Yeah, I'll mention The Brown Bunny, but ugh, Vincent Gallo getting a blowjob from Chloe Sevigny, kinda made me nauseous to be perfectly honest. As overindulgent as Americans are, why aren't we more comfortable with sexuality? Leave it to the Europeans to corner that film market.
It bothers me that sex is so taboo. Most everyone does it. I, in fact, did it a couple of times on New Years and into the 1st. It's a natural and extremely satisfying part of everyday life, so why not put it out there? Ah well, I guess I'll just keep biting my lower lip and enjoying it all in private.
I've never been one for celebrating a new year. Every year I turn down at least two invites, this year was no different. It's a combination of things. One, and somewhat new to the list, I have a kid. I never see her as a burden, it's just hard to get out. Two, I just don't function well at large parties, I see myself as a bit of a social retard. Three, I have developed a heightened sense of dramatic paranoia when it comes to traveling on New Years. Visions of flaming vehicular wreckage, severed body parts strewn along a darkened highway and the unbearable sound of agonizing screams, keep me safe at home. I'm accepting and content with spending my holiday with the other half and a bowl of popcorn.
This year, was quite possibly the best New Year I've had in some time. My parents were gone, I made dinner for my family, ate my popcorn and watched a really great movie. Earlier in the day I was jokingly asked, 'What movies do you like?" I like all kinds of movies. I don't consider myself to be a movie snob or expert, I like what I like. Bubbleboy, is a fantastic film. Taxi Driver, Repo Man, The Breakfast Club, Pink Flamingos, Tiny Toons: How I Spent My Summer Vacation... Every movie has it's place.
Any movie with a satisfying sex scene. I'm fascinated with sex, yet porn doesn't quite work for me. The classics, yes. Deep Throat, The Devil in Miss Jones, Behind the Green Door, The Opening of Misty Beethoven. In general however, I like my movies to be plot driven. So this great movie I watched was Romance by French filmmaker Catherine Breillat. I saw her film A Real Young Girl severeal years ago and since, have read much about her work. God love Netflix, they have a few of her movies available. Breillat's films are followed by much controversy due to her fixation on female sexuality. A woman after my own heart.
A basic summary of Romance: A young teacher, Marie, is sexually shut off by her model boyfriend. Her need for sexual gratification forces her into harmful and unconventional situations which lead her to an unexpected new lover. Rape, glory-holes, bondage and an extremely intrusive gynecological examination are a portion of what led to Romance's controversy. However, it's the use of unsimulated sex that blurs the line separating art from porn. (Not to mention the well proportioned Italian pornstar cast as one of Marie's lovers.)
Personally, I admire directors and actors who are willing to put their reputations of the line for the sake of their art. Divine broke all the rules of sexuality for many John Waters films, Heath and Jake, well, you know. John Cameron Mitchell wasn't deterred when he presented the beautifully filmed "real sex" in Shortbus. Yeah, I'll mention The Brown Bunny, but ugh, Vincent Gallo getting a blowjob from Chloe Sevigny, kinda made me nauseous to be perfectly honest. As overindulgent as Americans are, why aren't we more comfortable with sexuality? Leave it to the Europeans to corner that film market.
It bothers me that sex is so taboo. Most everyone does it. I, in fact, did it a couple of times on New Years and into the 1st. It's a natural and extremely satisfying part of everyday life, so why not put it out there? Ah well, I guess I'll just keep biting my lower lip and enjoying it all in private.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
