My grasp on it, the whole reality thing, is not what I thought it to be. And, just when you think that things cannot get worse, they do.
It is the usual complicated playground here. It is like a person I know who lives in Australia, who says that she is a very responsible person...when something goes wrong, she is responsible. So, O.K., I get that, I accept it and I just move on. Except for today.
I had my driver's license renewed. I was all prepared. Like, totally.
I had my ophthalmologist complete the eye exam part of the renewal when I was there earlier this month when I had that bleeder in my eye.
I had the cash to pay for the renewal.
I arrived in plenty of time, and it went quickly, which it usually does at our DMV location.
I like to go and do this on my actual birthday, which I did today. It is a small and silly ritual about the moving into a new year, even though these driver's licenses are renewed only every eight years.
Then they gave me my license.
You know, I know that I am not beautiful or pretty or even cute. I know that whatever attractiveness I have in all on the inside and I do my best to be the best person that I am capable of being, then I go the extra distance to be just that little bit more of a good and decent, loving and supportive person. But, you know, you go along and you forget what you look like. You see yourself in the mirror at least twice a day when you brush your teeth. You look there to watch yourself brush your hair. But, you do not really look at yourself. At best, you focus in on a part or section. Eyelashes, chin, eyes, brows during plucking.
And, I guess that you just become accustomed to that mug looking back at you. You get used to what you look like and never pay much attention to what you really look like. And, since I know that I am just barely O.K. in the physical looks department, I thought that I had accepted and was able to honor my appearance.
Then, I looked at my license as I was walking out of the building and I thought that I was going to go into a fugue state or some damn thing, because I was stunned at what I really look like. I have been aware of people sort of staring at me over the past several months. At first it drew my attention and then when I could not explain it, you know, like you have noodles dangling from your incisors or a trail of toilet paper stuck in your pants and flowing behind you, I just let it go. Or it is because I am so fat, but I just let that go as well. But, now I know that the staring is because I am so ugly, like seriously, truly and really bad looking.
I am glad that people get to know me and can see that I am a good person. I really am. But, I also really thought that I was sort of not so bad. I guess that I thought that being well-groomed was enough. Clearly, it is not.
And, the worst part is that I believed that I was not a vain person, but I am, I have to be, otherwise I would not feel so bad about all of this. And, any time that I get to feeling too full of myself or prideful, all I have to do is look at that picture and be immediately brought back to reality. Rats. Double, fucking rats.
And, you know what? If you are attractive and looking nice, people will tell you that, they will compliment you, but when there is nothing short of a miracle that you could do to improve your appearance no one will say a complimentary word to you and you never even notice that. I feel such a fool for ever believing that I looked O.K.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
A couple of hours, a piece of cake and a beer later
Having just eaten a poorly conceived dinner, I am off to bed. I think that another reason that I am feeling so badly about this is that I do not have anyone that I can trust to not hurt me here. There is not, never will be, a moment when I am able to feel safe. I suck.
Cold dishes
Who said this...revenge is a dish best served cold? I have to look this up somewhere. My table-sized Bartlett's is actually out on loan, so let me see...
Oh, who cares.
Anyway, even though I am trying to be as good a person as I can, I have revenge in my heart. That person who claimed never to have told me a single lie after I found out that he had cheated, is sort of telling the truth in one respect. He does not lie in ways that I will eventually be informed, but he does lie about me. Like, a lot. This week, after I heard him tell a lie about me I decided to keep count for a while. You know, just in the spirit of being accurate.
It is Thursday, and he has told people, in my presence, lies about me four times. Four fucking times.
Each time I just stood by and did nothing. You know, just like I always do. This must be a special week, because I usually only hear about the lies from his family or one of his friends. When that happens, I do what I did this week. I say nothing in my defense. It just does not seem worth the hassle of saying anything. When it happens, I feel as though I should be judged and treated on my own merits, the factors of how I am in relationship with that person and not in defense of myself. Besides, defending one's self from that sort of thing is an exercise in heartbreak.
But, after having it happen again, just a half-hour ago, I am sitting here and feeling so badly about the whole damn thing. When it happened, and I waited until the person was gone and asked why the lie had been told, I realized something. I think that he wants me to respond when the person is still around. I think that he wants me to be upset and maybe even cry or something. I believe that he wants confirmation about how much this hurts me and that it makes him glad, like that is the payoff for him. So, now I am even more sad.
But, just a few minutes ago I felt anger about this whole thing. And, I was thinking that, oh, just you wait until you need me to do some dumb thing for you again. Boy, I will show you by not doing that thing. Yeah, I will show you. Yeah, I am so mature.
And, the next time something is needed, and that happens several times a day it seems sometimes, I know that I will step up and not be all pissy, petty and revengeful and, well, like that.
So, what I have to do is find a way to not let any of this bother me anymore. Right now I just hate my life a little bit. Yeah, I know that this is my place to be upbeat and positive and hopeful. So, maybe I am positive that I hate my life. There is something seriously wrong with me that I do not leave him to handle his health problems and just go away somewhere where I do not have to deal with all of this. I just totally suck at this.
Oh, who cares.
Anyway, even though I am trying to be as good a person as I can, I have revenge in my heart. That person who claimed never to have told me a single lie after I found out that he had cheated, is sort of telling the truth in one respect. He does not lie in ways that I will eventually be informed, but he does lie about me. Like, a lot. This week, after I heard him tell a lie about me I decided to keep count for a while. You know, just in the spirit of being accurate.
It is Thursday, and he has told people, in my presence, lies about me four times. Four fucking times.
Each time I just stood by and did nothing. You know, just like I always do. This must be a special week, because I usually only hear about the lies from his family or one of his friends. When that happens, I do what I did this week. I say nothing in my defense. It just does not seem worth the hassle of saying anything. When it happens, I feel as though I should be judged and treated on my own merits, the factors of how I am in relationship with that person and not in defense of myself. Besides, defending one's self from that sort of thing is an exercise in heartbreak.
But, after having it happen again, just a half-hour ago, I am sitting here and feeling so badly about the whole damn thing. When it happened, and I waited until the person was gone and asked why the lie had been told, I realized something. I think that he wants me to respond when the person is still around. I think that he wants me to be upset and maybe even cry or something. I believe that he wants confirmation about how much this hurts me and that it makes him glad, like that is the payoff for him. So, now I am even more sad.
But, just a few minutes ago I felt anger about this whole thing. And, I was thinking that, oh, just you wait until you need me to do some dumb thing for you again. Boy, I will show you by not doing that thing. Yeah, I will show you. Yeah, I am so mature.
And, the next time something is needed, and that happens several times a day it seems sometimes, I know that I will step up and not be all pissy, petty and revengeful and, well, like that.
So, what I have to do is find a way to not let any of this bother me anymore. Right now I just hate my life a little bit. Yeah, I know that this is my place to be upbeat and positive and hopeful. So, maybe I am positive that I hate my life. There is something seriously wrong with me that I do not leave him to handle his health problems and just go away somewhere where I do not have to deal with all of this. I just totally suck at this.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Frequencies
It is impossible to avoid finding pleasure in a day. Sometime I have to look for it, on occasion it is necessary to wrestle it out of the mess that a day can be. So, I should be writing here more often.
I do not because I am weak and the end of the day finds me too exhausted from all of the things that are not pleasurable. Still, I should make the effort.
Yesterday found me without any scheduled clients. In itself, it is a cause for unbounded joy, because it means that I have an entire day to catch up on all of the things that never seem to get finished in a normal day. So, yeah, that was really great. I did have two short, impromptu meetings with other staff, but I managed to bring everything up to speed, including the forum site that I created for clients.
The two previous weeks were full of clients, and they were all, with a single exception, my most favorite type. They come in, do the work and pull together all of the adjunct work they need to do.
Ah, my exception. He is the man who rarely shows up, often sleeps/dozes, and is very resistant to doing his own work. We have established that he does not have any reading or behavioral deficits, and my best guess is that he really does not embrace forward movement in his life right now. When he shows up, we work; when he stays home, I am able to take walk-ins and do more catch-up stuff. My supervisor believes that I should have fired him as a client long ago, but, truth be told, I kind of look forward to what he will do next. He is also a bit dramatic, and wails that if he forgets his appointments that I will be mad at him. Frankly, I find him amusing, but if that is what he needs to feel about it, then that is just fine. He missed his appointment this week. I am looking forward to the next installment.
What else. I am still infusing hydration liquids into a cat with kidney failure. She is doing well and is so sweet about allowing me to poke her with a huge needle and then fill the space above her shoulders with cooler than body temperature liquid. She tolerates the entire procedure and then takes a step or two away from me, plops down and sits and rests whilst I put all of the equipment away. Her owner is calming down a bit and the two of them are often the sweetest part of my week.
I received a call this morning from the social service agency for which I sometimes volunteer. One of my old clients has been diagnosed with cancer and I am taking her to an out of town appointment tomorrow. I think that I am also going to be designated as her person qualified to accompany her and take notes during her doctor visits. I am saddened by her illness, but thrilled to be involved with her again. If she is strong enough, I will offer to take her to lunch before returning her to her home.
The kitties are fine, although C seems to be having trouble with his colon again and is vomiting a fair amount. Sad for the process of his health, but also because it means that he cannot sleep in my room whenever he likes. I have no desire to clean up the effluence from either end of that wonderful guy, so he must stay on the wrong side of that door. It means that both cats cannot go there, and that makes for sadness for all of us.
I am trying to stay upbeat here, but I had an issue with my good, as in decent vision, eye last week. It has not resolved and there is not explanation of the cause or how to fix or prevent the bastardly issue. So, I am concentrating on enjoying the vision that I have now and not stressing about something which is unknown and might not fully manifest anyway.
I am weary of my weight, as in huge body, and am trying to move in the direction of doing something about it. I have good intentions, really and truly I do. Moving from intention, desire and need is difficult for me. It is as though I do not feel deserving of a healthy life. It is like I deserve to have a sad body to match my sad life. I cannot control or really even affect the life part, but I could and can do something about my physical aspect. Why is this so hard and why does it make me weep. I have to move beyond this barrier. If I do not, I will die long before I want or need.
I do not because I am weak and the end of the day finds me too exhausted from all of the things that are not pleasurable. Still, I should make the effort.
Yesterday found me without any scheduled clients. In itself, it is a cause for unbounded joy, because it means that I have an entire day to catch up on all of the things that never seem to get finished in a normal day. So, yeah, that was really great. I did have two short, impromptu meetings with other staff, but I managed to bring everything up to speed, including the forum site that I created for clients.
The two previous weeks were full of clients, and they were all, with a single exception, my most favorite type. They come in, do the work and pull together all of the adjunct work they need to do.
Ah, my exception. He is the man who rarely shows up, often sleeps/dozes, and is very resistant to doing his own work. We have established that he does not have any reading or behavioral deficits, and my best guess is that he really does not embrace forward movement in his life right now. When he shows up, we work; when he stays home, I am able to take walk-ins and do more catch-up stuff. My supervisor believes that I should have fired him as a client long ago, but, truth be told, I kind of look forward to what he will do next. He is also a bit dramatic, and wails that if he forgets his appointments that I will be mad at him. Frankly, I find him amusing, but if that is what he needs to feel about it, then that is just fine. He missed his appointment this week. I am looking forward to the next installment.
What else. I am still infusing hydration liquids into a cat with kidney failure. She is doing well and is so sweet about allowing me to poke her with a huge needle and then fill the space above her shoulders with cooler than body temperature liquid. She tolerates the entire procedure and then takes a step or two away from me, plops down and sits and rests whilst I put all of the equipment away. Her owner is calming down a bit and the two of them are often the sweetest part of my week.
I received a call this morning from the social service agency for which I sometimes volunteer. One of my old clients has been diagnosed with cancer and I am taking her to an out of town appointment tomorrow. I think that I am also going to be designated as her person qualified to accompany her and take notes during her doctor visits. I am saddened by her illness, but thrilled to be involved with her again. If she is strong enough, I will offer to take her to lunch before returning her to her home.
The kitties are fine, although C seems to be having trouble with his colon again and is vomiting a fair amount. Sad for the process of his health, but also because it means that he cannot sleep in my room whenever he likes. I have no desire to clean up the effluence from either end of that wonderful guy, so he must stay on the wrong side of that door. It means that both cats cannot go there, and that makes for sadness for all of us.
I am trying to stay upbeat here, but I had an issue with my good, as in decent vision, eye last week. It has not resolved and there is not explanation of the cause or how to fix or prevent the bastardly issue. So, I am concentrating on enjoying the vision that I have now and not stressing about something which is unknown and might not fully manifest anyway.
I am weary of my weight, as in huge body, and am trying to move in the direction of doing something about it. I have good intentions, really and truly I do. Moving from intention, desire and need is difficult for me. It is as though I do not feel deserving of a healthy life. It is like I deserve to have a sad body to match my sad life. I cannot control or really even affect the life part, but I could and can do something about my physical aspect. Why is this so hard and why does it make me weep. I have to move beyond this barrier. If I do not, I will die long before I want or need.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Feeding yourself
I should be in bed, but I just have to write about my friend.
He and his mother used to have a really cool, down home, spirit satisfying, soul food restaurant. Here in the US that means lots of honest Southern cuisine. But, you know how those things go. Even though they had plenty of business, the work became overwhelming for the two of them, especially his mother who was no longer a f\girl with youthful energies.
So, they finally closed the restaurant, but they never gave up on having the energy to try it again sometime.
So, anyway, my friend was at a local veteran's center. They have a bar, meeting rooms where vets come to play cards, have bar snacks and shoot the shit, which is a good thing, by the way.
One day he happened to wander down a hallway and see a fully equipped kitchen, with an adjoining dining room, albeit a little on the small size, both the kitchen and dining room.
Since you cannot smoke indoors anymore, he continued on his way outside to have his way with a cigarette and got to talking with another smoker. He mentioned the kitchen and asked if the other guy knew how or when it was last used. Turns out the other vet was on some kind of board at the center. My friend told me, but I have forgotten the details. Anyway, they used to have Friday night fish fry dinners there, but it did not work out, mostly because the previous guy was kind of a flake and the food was not so great either.
My friend and I have been noodling around with ideas for a community center that he wants to open, and since that sort of thing is both in my background and an adjunct to the self-employment support and services I provide to my clients, between the two of us, well, we had made forward movement on his ideal plans.
But, when this opportunity presented itself to get back into a kitchen post-haste, he arranged for a meeting with whomever is in charge there (again, he told me, but I have forgotten...huge surprise) and developed a plan for resuming those Friday night dinners. He shared all of his ideas, but, frankly, he was so informed about what is needed for having a restaurant, even a part time one, that I was of little extra help to him. He says otherwise, but he is wrong.
That was a month ago. Tonight was their first dinner. Actually, it started late this morning with a lunch menu, but the full dinner menu started this evening.
To say that it was great is an understatement. You could tell that it was the first time for all of those people to be working together, but there was barely a misstep. There was the kitchen door that kept self-locking and the really old guy at the table next to me who managed to unscrew the top from the tartar sauce container and dump most of the contents on his lap and cap and then proceeded to pick up the container's top from the floor and screw it back on. No worries, because I told the wait person and she took care of it.
There were two tiny issues with the serving temperature of my dinner, but we will discuss that later when we meet to recap my experience. On the whole, it was outstanding food, efficient and friendly service, a pleasant environment and he really scored a huge win on his first day there.
Despite the fact that I, a very healthy eater, brought home half of my dinner, he assured me that he really is making sufficient money on the huge portions they are serving. Just another proof of his dedication to fabulous food at a fair price. I can hardly wait to surprise the kitties with pollack and catfish for din-din tomorrow when I get home from the quilt show.
I am looking forward to next week for the chance to try another item from the menu. I may never cook another Friday night dinner for myself. Yum.
He and his mother used to have a really cool, down home, spirit satisfying, soul food restaurant. Here in the US that means lots of honest Southern cuisine. But, you know how those things go. Even though they had plenty of business, the work became overwhelming for the two of them, especially his mother who was no longer a f\girl with youthful energies.
So, they finally closed the restaurant, but they never gave up on having the energy to try it again sometime.
So, anyway, my friend was at a local veteran's center. They have a bar, meeting rooms where vets come to play cards, have bar snacks and shoot the shit, which is a good thing, by the way.
One day he happened to wander down a hallway and see a fully equipped kitchen, with an adjoining dining room, albeit a little on the small size, both the kitchen and dining room.
Since you cannot smoke indoors anymore, he continued on his way outside to have his way with a cigarette and got to talking with another smoker. He mentioned the kitchen and asked if the other guy knew how or when it was last used. Turns out the other vet was on some kind of board at the center. My friend told me, but I have forgotten the details. Anyway, they used to have Friday night fish fry dinners there, but it did not work out, mostly because the previous guy was kind of a flake and the food was not so great either.
My friend and I have been noodling around with ideas for a community center that he wants to open, and since that sort of thing is both in my background and an adjunct to the self-employment support and services I provide to my clients, between the two of us, well, we had made forward movement on his ideal plans.
But, when this opportunity presented itself to get back into a kitchen post-haste, he arranged for a meeting with whomever is in charge there (again, he told me, but I have forgotten...huge surprise) and developed a plan for resuming those Friday night dinners. He shared all of his ideas, but, frankly, he was so informed about what is needed for having a restaurant, even a part time one, that I was of little extra help to him. He says otherwise, but he is wrong.
That was a month ago. Tonight was their first dinner. Actually, it started late this morning with a lunch menu, but the full dinner menu started this evening.
To say that it was great is an understatement. You could tell that it was the first time for all of those people to be working together, but there was barely a misstep. There was the kitchen door that kept self-locking and the really old guy at the table next to me who managed to unscrew the top from the tartar sauce container and dump most of the contents on his lap and cap and then proceeded to pick up the container's top from the floor and screw it back on. No worries, because I told the wait person and she took care of it.
There were two tiny issues with the serving temperature of my dinner, but we will discuss that later when we meet to recap my experience. On the whole, it was outstanding food, efficient and friendly service, a pleasant environment and he really scored a huge win on his first day there.
Despite the fact that I, a very healthy eater, brought home half of my dinner, he assured me that he really is making sufficient money on the huge portions they are serving. Just another proof of his dedication to fabulous food at a fair price. I can hardly wait to surprise the kitties with pollack and catfish for din-din tomorrow when I get home from the quilt show.
I am looking forward to next week for the chance to try another item from the menu. I may never cook another Friday night dinner for myself. Yum.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
I am practically atingle with happiness
Whilst I still have a load or two of laundry to do, no one has hassled me or given me grief or yelled at me about using the machines today.
If this is not pure, unadulterated bliss, well, I do not know what is. Were I able to move with comfort, I would be happy-dancing all over the place, but really quiet, like a mouse. Wee, tiny, little happy-dancing mice. I would dance with them. My peeps.
Ah, whatever happens for the other half of this day, I can survive it relatively unscathed because this early part is worth appreciating, seeking out and bringing on the dancing and very blissful little guys with the naked tails.
To leap, to soar, without a care
Is a blessing of the rarest kind.
Through the air and in my soul,
One to be held in heart and mind
For times less peaceful,
Times less calm and quiet and gay,
When struggles are met
With the strength gathered today
It is life's dance, at least mine
To experience as best I am able.
And gather the soft remembrances
For future times unstable.
Dance, baby, whilst you can.
If this is not pure, unadulterated bliss, well, I do not know what is. Were I able to move with comfort, I would be happy-dancing all over the place, but really quiet, like a mouse. Wee, tiny, little happy-dancing mice. I would dance with them. My peeps.
Ah, whatever happens for the other half of this day, I can survive it relatively unscathed because this early part is worth appreciating, seeking out and bringing on the dancing and very blissful little guys with the naked tails.
To leap, to soar, without a care
Is a blessing of the rarest kind.
Through the air and in my soul,
One to be held in heart and mind
For times less peaceful,
Times less calm and quiet and gay,
When struggles are met
With the strength gathered today
It is life's dance, at least mine
To experience as best I am able.
And gather the soft remembrances
For future times unstable.
Dance, baby, whilst you can.
Maps
I was using Google Maps this morning to find the location and direction to a family thing being held in another state, on the weekend next.
Alongside of the directions, there was the full, continental US map image. Except for the tolls and the likelihood of encountering road construction, it looks like a nice and easy trip.
I grabbed the little zoom bar and pulled it all the way down so that I could see the whole world. I swear, that image never fails to thrill me right down to my core. That teeny place marker, that infinitesimal point where I will be spending a couple of hours on the road, well, it just floors me.
A space on my screen that a gently expanded hand-width covers and I have touched the entire planet. Rotate my hand approximately 20 degrees and I could hold it in my palm. It makes me think of how delicate, how fragile and wondrous it is, this place we call home.
Sure, it enthuses me to take care of it. More than that, it helps me revisit my commitment to making my part of it, that tiny bit at the point of the marker, a better place. Small things salve my emotions, fuel my desires and make make my behaviors worth performing them. My tininess reminds me of my connection to every other person, every other living thing. I am humbled by the shared responsibilities and shames me for my pitiful efforts.
On that map, I am an invisible speck beneath uncounted specks.
Oh, and I might have lost a friend today. If it happens, it will make me sad beyond my ability to express how truly sad I will be. Sometimes friends have to take that risk with each other. But, I will still be sad.
Alongside of the directions, there was the full, continental US map image. Except for the tolls and the likelihood of encountering road construction, it looks like a nice and easy trip.
I grabbed the little zoom bar and pulled it all the way down so that I could see the whole world. I swear, that image never fails to thrill me right down to my core. That teeny place marker, that infinitesimal point where I will be spending a couple of hours on the road, well, it just floors me.
A space on my screen that a gently expanded hand-width covers and I have touched the entire planet. Rotate my hand approximately 20 degrees and I could hold it in my palm. It makes me think of how delicate, how fragile and wondrous it is, this place we call home.
Sure, it enthuses me to take care of it. More than that, it helps me revisit my commitment to making my part of it, that tiny bit at the point of the marker, a better place. Small things salve my emotions, fuel my desires and make make my behaviors worth performing them. My tininess reminds me of my connection to every other person, every other living thing. I am humbled by the shared responsibilities and shames me for my pitiful efforts.
On that map, I am an invisible speck beneath uncounted specks.
Oh, and I might have lost a friend today. If it happens, it will make me sad beyond my ability to express how truly sad I will be. Sometimes friends have to take that risk with each other. But, I will still be sad.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Better here than there
Mostly because I am trying so hard to be the lighter version of myself.
So, anyway, this is how I feel.
I am a simpleton of the highest...or is it lowest, I cannot ever remember...order, and I have to wonder why anyone really and truly and deep in their own frugal, thrifty, earth-honoring, dedicated to making the planet a better place, higher selves, cares much about this issue. I get the angst and the sense of feeling proprietary about something that holds great energy for you. I understand the feelings of sorrow and loss when someone wants to take something that you hold dear away from you.
Sure, there will always be someone who will come along and manifest their puffed-up selves, having lost all perspective about what is important and how good people manifest in the world, and try to take more than their share, heck even try to take the shares of other people.
I am a child of the 60s. I cut my social, political and public teeth on the conflicts of those times. I lost my innocence there. Until that war, I believed in so many things, patriotic and practical. It fucking broke my heart. It taught me that I have a voice, certainly, but, more importantly, that I have the will and means within me to release the past and move forward in my life smarter, wiser (yes, they are different), more informed and more determined.
Protest if you are moved to do so. Standing up for what you believe makes you and your world a better place, but always remember that no one, no entity, no government or legal battle or maneuverings can take your beliefs, your practices, philosophy or standards away from you. They cannot even, no matter how how they try, take your words.
They are just words and every single one of us is more than that. Fight this? Some will, but no matter what happens, no one can take us from this life. We get to go on and have lives that sustain ourselves, our families, the whole damn world, and all they get is a couple of words.
No big deal.
So, anyway, this is how I feel.
I am a simpleton of the highest...or is it lowest, I cannot ever remember...order, and I have to wonder why anyone really and truly and deep in their own frugal, thrifty, earth-honoring, dedicated to making the planet a better place, higher selves, cares much about this issue. I get the angst and the sense of feeling proprietary about something that holds great energy for you. I understand the feelings of sorrow and loss when someone wants to take something that you hold dear away from you.
Sure, there will always be someone who will come along and manifest their puffed-up selves, having lost all perspective about what is important and how good people manifest in the world, and try to take more than their share, heck even try to take the shares of other people.
I am a child of the 60s. I cut my social, political and public teeth on the conflicts of those times. I lost my innocence there. Until that war, I believed in so many things, patriotic and practical. It fucking broke my heart. It taught me that I have a voice, certainly, but, more importantly, that I have the will and means within me to release the past and move forward in my life smarter, wiser (yes, they are different), more informed and more determined.
Protest if you are moved to do so. Standing up for what you believe makes you and your world a better place, but always remember that no one, no entity, no government or legal battle or maneuverings can take your beliefs, your practices, philosophy or standards away from you. They cannot even, no matter how how they try, take your words.
They are just words and every single one of us is more than that. Fight this? Some will, but no matter what happens, no one can take us from this life. We get to go on and have lives that sustain ourselves, our families, the whole damn world, and all they get is a couple of words.
No big deal.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Babbling
So, anyway, it has been an interesting day here at work. I am leaving in a few minutes and am not sure what I think about this job or myself, for that matter.
The day began with an unexpected and tricky legal issue. It involves state government, so no problem with accepting that it was over my head and experience. However, with a half-dozen telephone calls and meeting some truly kick-ass civil servants along the way, we ended up with personal legal attention for my client. I love happy endings.
Two no-shows and two walk-ins, back in business, both with very challenging issues. Cool.
Then, my final client of the day came in. I was out and waiting for her and I knew, as soon as I saw her looking at me, seeing me, that she was hugely disappointed. Here I am, the person that her human resources consulting firm mother said that she has to see and all she gets is me. Old, fat, dumpy, felt valentine (the ones in Joybelle's link, yeah, they are still uber cool and groovy) in my hair (which refused to stay up and out of the way today), walking, barely, with my cane and then we go into one of the study rooms, not even an actual, official office. Ummm, I know that was what she was expecting because she mentioned it.
Man.
We did some work, and we made changes that pleased her, but her heart was not in it. This sort of thing should not bother me. I know that I do excellent work here. I know that other community programs are being modeled on what I do and how I do it. I receive lots of feedback from my clients and the director here.
I think that what bothers me, and yes, I can intellectualize the crap out of this, is that she could not get past my appearance. You know, I do not make children run, weeping in fear and my friends think that I am great. I have lived long enough to get over myself and accept how I look, my body type, my features, my disabilities, everything.
But, the way I am feeling right now, gosh. I know that I am being superficial. Stupid. Vain. I have known all of my life that I am not a beauty, not attractive. So, I am always clean and shiny. Well-groomed. I try to have nice posture and walk with as much confidence as it is possible to do with a cane or two.
Well, I will get over this. Scarlet and I will have a better day tomorrow. I cannot please everyone, particularly for those aspects of myself over which I have absolutely no control. I guess there are some days when you just feel like your existence is a waste of planetary resources. I think the worst part is actually caring what someone else thinks about how I look. I think, hell, I do not know what I think.
The day began with an unexpected and tricky legal issue. It involves state government, so no problem with accepting that it was over my head and experience. However, with a half-dozen telephone calls and meeting some truly kick-ass civil servants along the way, we ended up with personal legal attention for my client. I love happy endings.
Two no-shows and two walk-ins, back in business, both with very challenging issues. Cool.
Then, my final client of the day came in. I was out and waiting for her and I knew, as soon as I saw her looking at me, seeing me, that she was hugely disappointed. Here I am, the person that her human resources consulting firm mother said that she has to see and all she gets is me. Old, fat, dumpy, felt valentine (the ones in Joybelle's link, yeah, they are still uber cool and groovy) in my hair (which refused to stay up and out of the way today), walking, barely, with my cane and then we go into one of the study rooms, not even an actual, official office. Ummm, I know that was what she was expecting because she mentioned it.
Man.
We did some work, and we made changes that pleased her, but her heart was not in it. This sort of thing should not bother me. I know that I do excellent work here. I know that other community programs are being modeled on what I do and how I do it. I receive lots of feedback from my clients and the director here.
I think that what bothers me, and yes, I can intellectualize the crap out of this, is that she could not get past my appearance. You know, I do not make children run, weeping in fear and my friends think that I am great. I have lived long enough to get over myself and accept how I look, my body type, my features, my disabilities, everything.
But, the way I am feeling right now, gosh. I know that I am being superficial. Stupid. Vain. I have known all of my life that I am not a beauty, not attractive. So, I am always clean and shiny. Well-groomed. I try to have nice posture and walk with as much confidence as it is possible to do with a cane or two.
Well, I will get over this. Scarlet and I will have a better day tomorrow. I cannot please everyone, particularly for those aspects of myself over which I have absolutely no control. I guess there are some days when you just feel like your existence is a waste of planetary resources. I think the worst part is actually caring what someone else thinks about how I look. I think, hell, I do not know what I think.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Slacking
Or, maybe writing would be slacker behavior. You know, doing this instead of any of the thousands of useful things I should be doing around here.
I had to get a refill on Charlie's medicine and stayed to chat at the vet clinic. Of course. They agreed to take more books, those sweet babies. Plus, they can take the leftovers to the charity shop down the road who does not want take any more of my crap, even though my personal stuff is really high quality and lots of it is virtually unused. Seems they like my crap, they just feel that they do not have any more room for any of it for a while.
Now, they will not know that what the clinic babes bring over was originally mine and I am trying to not be conflicted about this, you know, like in it might be slightly dishonorable if the books were mine to begin with and only passed through the filter of what the clinic babes do not want. It is not like I am stopping strangers on the street and asking them to pretend that my stuff is really their own, personal donation or anything like that. Still, it seems a fine point and I suppose that I could collect what the clinic babes do not want and then take it into town to the other charity shop that will take anything. No hesitation, just pull up in your car, open the doors and they will remove the boxes and send you on your way.
At this point it does not make any difference, because I am still sick, only slightly, marginally better, but sick, still, and I just do not have the strength to haul anything anywhere. I should feel good about continuing to rid myself of this stuff, but I thought that I would be finished divesting by this time. Hell, it has been a year since the first trickles began seeping out of here. It should be all gone by now. There should be so much stuff gone that I would be experiencing fairly regular moments of regret that something useful is gone.
Then there is the whole issue of all of the projects that need completing, some of which could bring in some cash. Yet, I slack.
Just the slacker in me.
I probably should have named this blog properly.
Slacker...and too unmotivated to really give a darn.
I had to get a refill on Charlie's medicine and stayed to chat at the vet clinic. Of course. They agreed to take more books, those sweet babies. Plus, they can take the leftovers to the charity shop down the road who does not want take any more of my crap, even though my personal stuff is really high quality and lots of it is virtually unused. Seems they like my crap, they just feel that they do not have any more room for any of it for a while.
Now, they will not know that what the clinic babes bring over was originally mine and I am trying to not be conflicted about this, you know, like in it might be slightly dishonorable if the books were mine to begin with and only passed through the filter of what the clinic babes do not want. It is not like I am stopping strangers on the street and asking them to pretend that my stuff is really their own, personal donation or anything like that. Still, it seems a fine point and I suppose that I could collect what the clinic babes do not want and then take it into town to the other charity shop that will take anything. No hesitation, just pull up in your car, open the doors and they will remove the boxes and send you on your way.
At this point it does not make any difference, because I am still sick, only slightly, marginally better, but sick, still, and I just do not have the strength to haul anything anywhere. I should feel good about continuing to rid myself of this stuff, but I thought that I would be finished divesting by this time. Hell, it has been a year since the first trickles began seeping out of here. It should be all gone by now. There should be so much stuff gone that I would be experiencing fairly regular moments of regret that something useful is gone.
Then there is the whole issue of all of the projects that need completing, some of which could bring in some cash. Yet, I slack.
Just the slacker in me.
I probably should have named this blog properly.
Slacker...and too unmotivated to really give a darn.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
So, anyway
Everything is so not simple that I cannot make order of anything. My ability to say no when necessary eroded somehow, not sure exactly what happened, but I had committed to too many things and was running ragged just trying to keep up. I got rid of the worst and most stressful one, the one where I had gradually taken on the responsibilities of the other person. Did not realize it until that person received some accolades for work that he had not done because he had shifted it over to me. I do not think that has ever happened to me in such a dramatic way before.
So, I quit the job. Following that, the two of us had this long, torturous meeting where he tried to talk me into doing the job again. He had to do it once, as in a single time, and did not like it, so I was sitting there, wondering why he seemed unable to understand exactly why I no longer wanted to do it, especially without the support he should have been supplying for the past how ever many months.
It should be easy to see that taking advantage of people will eventually lead them to break down and just have to stop. He went on and on about how much alike we are, and I guess that in many ways we are, as those are the aspects that draw people to such high-pressure work. Unfortunately, he was doing that to make us seem more connected, bonded in the experience, but he missed one, essential thing, and it is that I keep my promises and meet my commitments, I never take advantage of other people, and I never leave anyone else to pick up the pieces. And, I never take credit for the work of another person. I guess that if four things. And, I am feeling a bit chagrined about leaving him to do the work that I was doing, and if I may be allowed to express my inner cattiness, the work that I did for which he took credit. I mean, I understand that his continued employment means that he provide visible proof of his success in that job, but what he did, well, that is stealing, plain and simple.
Anyway, I caved, and said that I would think about resuming the darn thing, but even sitting there I knew that the future of this project is an exercise in frustration and heartbreak, and I will be unlikely to do it again. It all just sucks so much. I loved the assignments, but missed deadlines and insincere and eternally broken promises are no longer what I can accept in that job. I get enough of that crap right here at home. I do not need to go out looking for more. Oh, and I quit another volunteer job, but have not yet found the guts to share that with the guy for whom I am working. Well, I am not actually quitting the working part, I am just no longer going to be doing the managerial portion of it.
I am feeling like a totally loser quitter, like I have no staying power, no commitment to taking on a job and sticking with it. It is just that both of these positions have evolved beyond the parameters of the original agreement, and completely without any input or agreement from me. I mean, is that so much to ask for, too much to expect? And, I think that both of them being male and talking credit for my work is irrelevant. The same thing can happen with women in a position of authority and power.
Anyway...it is always the eternal anyway...the result is that I am ill again. In less than forty-eight hours I went from feeling great to finding myself in hospital emergency/urgent care for another bout with that whole upper-respiratory stuff I had for nearly three months last fall. My immune system is totally fucked up and it seems that even exposure to a simple cold can result in this.
I went to the hospital Saturday morning feeling sort of icky and I already had infections in my lungs, sinuses and both ears I went home with lots of meds and to sleep, and awoke to gasping, wheezing and coughing that made me vomit. This morning found me with a reduced temperature of only 102F and unable to speak. When this clears up, they want me to have tests to search for some kind of fungal or bacterial stuff that might be lurking inside somewhere. Like where? In my fat ass? I can only begin to imagine what that is going to cost. I am totally creeped out by the entire process. The doc assured me that the beginning four days of the course of antibiotics will render me safe/non-infectious enough to go to work on Wednesday, but that I will still feel as though I want to stay home and sleep and sleep and wake up for some tea and sleep some more.
My best guess is that guilt about being such a loser quitter contributed to being ill again. If I felt better, I am certain that I could see my way through all of this. What I really would like to do, what I want and desire to do is to go away and start someplace fresh. It would not have to be all that far away, just another part of the state or even a few counties away. A new beginning, fresh opportunities or even the chance to do nothing for a while. But, that is the coward in me speaking. Or writing. And, I am too cowardly to begin again someplace new. I am stuck here, in this town and in this house and there is no strength in me, no will, no gumption to do anything else except stay here and continue to be a disappointment to everyone around me.
So, I quit the job. Following that, the two of us had this long, torturous meeting where he tried to talk me into doing the job again. He had to do it once, as in a single time, and did not like it, so I was sitting there, wondering why he seemed unable to understand exactly why I no longer wanted to do it, especially without the support he should have been supplying for the past how ever many months.
It should be easy to see that taking advantage of people will eventually lead them to break down and just have to stop. He went on and on about how much alike we are, and I guess that in many ways we are, as those are the aspects that draw people to such high-pressure work. Unfortunately, he was doing that to make us seem more connected, bonded in the experience, but he missed one, essential thing, and it is that I keep my promises and meet my commitments, I never take advantage of other people, and I never leave anyone else to pick up the pieces. And, I never take credit for the work of another person. I guess that if four things. And, I am feeling a bit chagrined about leaving him to do the work that I was doing, and if I may be allowed to express my inner cattiness, the work that I did for which he took credit. I mean, I understand that his continued employment means that he provide visible proof of his success in that job, but what he did, well, that is stealing, plain and simple.
Anyway, I caved, and said that I would think about resuming the darn thing, but even sitting there I knew that the future of this project is an exercise in frustration and heartbreak, and I will be unlikely to do it again. It all just sucks so much. I loved the assignments, but missed deadlines and insincere and eternally broken promises are no longer what I can accept in that job. I get enough of that crap right here at home. I do not need to go out looking for more. Oh, and I quit another volunteer job, but have not yet found the guts to share that with the guy for whom I am working. Well, I am not actually quitting the working part, I am just no longer going to be doing the managerial portion of it.
I am feeling like a totally loser quitter, like I have no staying power, no commitment to taking on a job and sticking with it. It is just that both of these positions have evolved beyond the parameters of the original agreement, and completely without any input or agreement from me. I mean, is that so much to ask for, too much to expect? And, I think that both of them being male and talking credit for my work is irrelevant. The same thing can happen with women in a position of authority and power.
Anyway...it is always the eternal anyway...the result is that I am ill again. In less than forty-eight hours I went from feeling great to finding myself in hospital emergency/urgent care for another bout with that whole upper-respiratory stuff I had for nearly three months last fall. My immune system is totally fucked up and it seems that even exposure to a simple cold can result in this.
I went to the hospital Saturday morning feeling sort of icky and I already had infections in my lungs, sinuses and both ears I went home with lots of meds and to sleep, and awoke to gasping, wheezing and coughing that made me vomit. This morning found me with a reduced temperature of only 102F and unable to speak. When this clears up, they want me to have tests to search for some kind of fungal or bacterial stuff that might be lurking inside somewhere. Like where? In my fat ass? I can only begin to imagine what that is going to cost. I am totally creeped out by the entire process. The doc assured me that the beginning four days of the course of antibiotics will render me safe/non-infectious enough to go to work on Wednesday, but that I will still feel as though I want to stay home and sleep and sleep and wake up for some tea and sleep some more.
My best guess is that guilt about being such a loser quitter contributed to being ill again. If I felt better, I am certain that I could see my way through all of this. What I really would like to do, what I want and desire to do is to go away and start someplace fresh. It would not have to be all that far away, just another part of the state or even a few counties away. A new beginning, fresh opportunities or even the chance to do nothing for a while. But, that is the coward in me speaking. Or writing. And, I am too cowardly to begin again someplace new. I am stuck here, in this town and in this house and there is no strength in me, no will, no gumption to do anything else except stay here and continue to be a disappointment to everyone around me.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Simple living really is not always all that simple
At least in the big picture aspect. Doing something more simply, making, baking, taking care of a creature that will be used for food, gardening and preserving. All noble and, given the state of the world, most likely to be useful and necessary skills at some point.
Consider the garden. If you are able-bodied, preparing and nurturing a food garden, harvesting and preserving of stuff, well, all of that is much easier than when you are less able-bodied. When walking is difficult, bending a caution and kneeling or squatting impossible, gardening can be the most miserable and unproductive thing you do all day. Putting in raised beds, finding and purchasing tools and equipment is blazingly expensive. Locating such assists second-hand is impossible. Well, maybe not impossible, but I am more likely to have the money faerie drop a whole blankety-blank-load of cash on me than I am to find an ergonomic hoe that I can afford. However, I did find a portable bench that is weatherproof, but I am not getting it until I solve the issues here regarding permissions to put in a garden space, an entirely separate issue.
Preserving your harvest, or foods that you have located in a locavore kind of way, is wonderful, but only if you are successful at it. One failed batch can completely wipe out any potential savings offered by the successful batches. Raising food animals is even more fraught with issues.
So, you go along, making economies where possible, giving up some favorite things, making do and getting by. Small things matter, like making soap, cooking from scratch and baking. Even the failures here can often be reclaimed in some way or composted.
Hand and home crafts are probably the best. Making things for self and others, especially when I am re-purposing materials, is satisfying at a nearly cellular level.
Developing these skills, learning them, experimenting with what aligns with my abilities, practicing and producing, has come to be more important to me now than when I dabbled in all of this as a young, energetic and hopeful wife.
The list of things that can be done to rely less on what other people produce for me to buy is endless. It is complicated by the responsibilities that have taken on and over in my modern life. Every single day brings choices that I never would have imagined facing.
Holding dear, or ideal, the days when all of these tasks and activities were commonplace is a pointless exercise. More intellectually interesting than useful. I was reading a bit from a book sent to me by a dear friend (one of those intimate on-line relationships). It described how women created fabric, from raising and tending the sheep, to shearing and preparing the wool for spinning and weaving. The final step was called, maybe still is, waulking. It was a difficult and long process and the women had ritualized it, creating a ceremonial enrobing for what they needed to do. There were songs and chants during the waulking, and the end found them standing the roll of woven tweed on end, turning it in relation to the movement of the sun and asking blessings for whomever wore the garments made from it.
There is no place in my modern life where that is possible. The old days or olden times seem idyllic to me sometimes. No traffic, no bills to pay, no deadlines defined by someone else, all of it. But, to live in those times meant being subject to the seasons, the weather, pests and predators, not all of them non-human. It meant long days of back-breaking work and hoping that what you did, made, provided, would be enough to make it through to the next harvest, the next hunting trip, the next acquiring and creating of what was needed.
The best for which I can hope are small gatherings of my family and friends where we shower love and support on one another. Well, we do that to the best of our abilities and inclinations, we are, after all, only humans. Or the rituals of baby showers and wedding showers and funerals.
Beginnings and, not death, but the passage from the now to a new beginning. That endless cycle of what it means to be human. And, all of the in-between that makes a life. Just doing the best I can, when I can and how I can, and releasing my attachment and responsibility for the things that I cannot.
None of it, not one moment, is all that simple. Not scheduling and timing the baking and cooking and preserving. Not the soap making or sewing or mending. Not all of the trying to protect the few garden foods that I have. Not even when I am sitting in the yard, knitting, watching the sky, luxuriating in the breezes from the little pond and enjoying the birds, bunnies and other small creatures that wander by, although those crystalline moments are probably the closest.
Maybe it is all about the process, the sacrificing time for the pleasure of doing and providing for myself. Just trying to get it right, or close, or comfortable, or something.
Consider the garden. If you are able-bodied, preparing and nurturing a food garden, harvesting and preserving of stuff, well, all of that is much easier than when you are less able-bodied. When walking is difficult, bending a caution and kneeling or squatting impossible, gardening can be the most miserable and unproductive thing you do all day. Putting in raised beds, finding and purchasing tools and equipment is blazingly expensive. Locating such assists second-hand is impossible. Well, maybe not impossible, but I am more likely to have the money faerie drop a whole blankety-blank-load of cash on me than I am to find an ergonomic hoe that I can afford. However, I did find a portable bench that is weatherproof, but I am not getting it until I solve the issues here regarding permissions to put in a garden space, an entirely separate issue.
Preserving your harvest, or foods that you have located in a locavore kind of way, is wonderful, but only if you are successful at it. One failed batch can completely wipe out any potential savings offered by the successful batches. Raising food animals is even more fraught with issues.
So, you go along, making economies where possible, giving up some favorite things, making do and getting by. Small things matter, like making soap, cooking from scratch and baking. Even the failures here can often be reclaimed in some way or composted.
Hand and home crafts are probably the best. Making things for self and others, especially when I am re-purposing materials, is satisfying at a nearly cellular level.
Developing these skills, learning them, experimenting with what aligns with my abilities, practicing and producing, has come to be more important to me now than when I dabbled in all of this as a young, energetic and hopeful wife.
The list of things that can be done to rely less on what other people produce for me to buy is endless. It is complicated by the responsibilities that have taken on and over in my modern life. Every single day brings choices that I never would have imagined facing.
Holding dear, or ideal, the days when all of these tasks and activities were commonplace is a pointless exercise. More intellectually interesting than useful. I was reading a bit from a book sent to me by a dear friend (one of those intimate on-line relationships). It described how women created fabric, from raising and tending the sheep, to shearing and preparing the wool for spinning and weaving. The final step was called, maybe still is, waulking. It was a difficult and long process and the women had ritualized it, creating a ceremonial enrobing for what they needed to do. There were songs and chants during the waulking, and the end found them standing the roll of woven tweed on end, turning it in relation to the movement of the sun and asking blessings for whomever wore the garments made from it.
There is no place in my modern life where that is possible. The old days or olden times seem idyllic to me sometimes. No traffic, no bills to pay, no deadlines defined by someone else, all of it. But, to live in those times meant being subject to the seasons, the weather, pests and predators, not all of them non-human. It meant long days of back-breaking work and hoping that what you did, made, provided, would be enough to make it through to the next harvest, the next hunting trip, the next acquiring and creating of what was needed.
The best for which I can hope are small gatherings of my family and friends where we shower love and support on one another. Well, we do that to the best of our abilities and inclinations, we are, after all, only humans. Or the rituals of baby showers and wedding showers and funerals.
Beginnings and, not death, but the passage from the now to a new beginning. That endless cycle of what it means to be human. And, all of the in-between that makes a life. Just doing the best I can, when I can and how I can, and releasing my attachment and responsibility for the things that I cannot.
None of it, not one moment, is all that simple. Not scheduling and timing the baking and cooking and preserving. Not the soap making or sewing or mending. Not all of the trying to protect the few garden foods that I have. Not even when I am sitting in the yard, knitting, watching the sky, luxuriating in the breezes from the little pond and enjoying the birds, bunnies and other small creatures that wander by, although those crystalline moments are probably the closest.
Maybe it is all about the process, the sacrificing time for the pleasure of doing and providing for myself. Just trying to get it right, or close, or comfortable, or something.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
The sweetest things
I just walked past my bedroom and through the open door I saw Charlie sleeping on my bed. I am guessing that Lili is in there somewhere, too. I rarely allow the cats in my bedroom because their dander and saliva and hair (which is a carrier for both) gets all over the place in short order.
But, they are such sweet babies, that I let them in, pretty much whenever they like. I think that my door has been continuously open to them for the past several weeks. It is nice for them, although I must confess that having them there, all snugly and warm and fuzzy is a way for me to improve my own moods lately. We must have reached critical mass in the dander/saliva/hair realm some time ago. They should be out. They should stay out. Then, I see them there, curled up in the little cozy spaces they have made in the bedclothes and I just cannot deny them, and myself, the pleasure of their company and the quiet rest they find there during the day.
The love of these, two, sweet creatures gives me hope in a kind and loving Universe, the place where I believe that I live. It is difficult to hold onto that belief some days, which is one of the reasons that I avoid newspapers and the news on radio. Just too much damn sadness about which I can do nothing.
Those guys, the furry babies have a small life. Their universe is this house and the occasional visit to the vet. Their food is nutritious, but not very varied because of their health issues. They have toys and people to amuse them. They have plenty of bird feeders situated near comfy window seats.
Their world in tiny, like really small. And, they are O.K. with that. I mean, what choice do they have? It is all they have known, except for part of their kitten-hood on the streets. I wonder, sometimes, what they think about what they have. If they have needs I am not meeting. Wants, with no way to express them.
No way to know for sure, so I do my best. So, the bed.
But, they are such sweet babies, that I let them in, pretty much whenever they like. I think that my door has been continuously open to them for the past several weeks. It is nice for them, although I must confess that having them there, all snugly and warm and fuzzy is a way for me to improve my own moods lately. We must have reached critical mass in the dander/saliva/hair realm some time ago. They should be out. They should stay out. Then, I see them there, curled up in the little cozy spaces they have made in the bedclothes and I just cannot deny them, and myself, the pleasure of their company and the quiet rest they find there during the day.
The love of these, two, sweet creatures gives me hope in a kind and loving Universe, the place where I believe that I live. It is difficult to hold onto that belief some days, which is one of the reasons that I avoid newspapers and the news on radio. Just too much damn sadness about which I can do nothing.
Those guys, the furry babies have a small life. Their universe is this house and the occasional visit to the vet. Their food is nutritious, but not very varied because of their health issues. They have toys and people to amuse them. They have plenty of bird feeders situated near comfy window seats.
Their world in tiny, like really small. And, they are O.K. with that. I mean, what choice do they have? It is all they have known, except for part of their kitten-hood on the streets. I wonder, sometimes, what they think about what they have. If they have needs I am not meeting. Wants, with no way to express them.
No way to know for sure, so I do my best. So, the bed.
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| AKA Puddin' Boy |
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| Lilith |
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