So many thoughts in my head. Where to start? I am the queen of stream of consciousness though so let's just let it flow.
First of all, thank you to everyone for your comments. I just don't have the energy to respond to them individually like I usually do. Hell. Most of the day I thought that I did not have the energy to even write another post -- ever. But now I've remembered how writing it all down helps me to find my way back.
My stepmother's death was not unexpected. It's just that there is nothing that can ever prepare you for that moment. And I'm still hurting sooo much from the loss of my aunt. I mean it's only been a little over three months.
My other aunt told me this morning that the hospice folks have arranged for grief counseling for the family. She has signed my dad up. She insisted that I needed to go as well. I told her that I'd call the folks at Thrive on Monday. I mean I did already check into the whole thing back in May.
Mostly I'm trying to make sense of why I hurt so much. My stepmother and I had a rocky relationship most of the time. But it was getting better in recent years. And she's been a part of my life since I was 9.
But mostly I think that my pain comes from my father. I started grieving for her months ago. He's just starting. And he is in so much pain. He keeps saying that he's worried about me but I'm sure I'm more worried about him than he is about me. He's one of those guys who needs to have someone there. He doesn't have the nomadic soul that I do.
This evening was filled with phone calls to his best friend and his cousin. We're approaching the holiday season. Holidays in the past were at my dad's house. I think he needs to be somewhere else this year. We all do.
I called my mom earlier in the day to let her know. After she spoke with my dad, she called me. She said that my dad kept going on about how I was now his closest living relative. (For those of y'all new around here, I am an only child.) My mom told me that I need to get up to Sacramento immediately. It was pouring rain here all day though. I just couldn't pull it together enough to drive up there today. Perhaps tomorrow.
And my dad's in-laws are putting the pressure on. They want a Catholic service even though it's been years since my stepmother has set foot in a Catholic church.
Huh. Guess I was wrong. Most of the day I kept thinking that this is how this would all end -- the blog I mean. Because most of the day I kept thinking that I had nothing left in me. Nothing to write that is. I guess I still do.
Oh, and the weight loss has been going along swimmingly. Just not fast enough. I still can't fit into any of my black dresses. I think I'll be going out shopping for a body shaper in the next couple of days. That's easier than going shopping for a new dress.
And Fluffycat and Zombie Mom? We're still on for next Saturday. Even if I have to drive like a demon from Salinas. Because I think I'm going to need that night out by then.
But now I'm going to resume my fetal position on the couch.
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
No comment
So why throw something out into the blogosphere and then not allow comments? I've thought about it off and on throughout the day. I also thought about whether I "owed" anyone an explanation. Yeah, I do. I owe myself. No one else.
The first part is easy. I often write posts for myself. I just don't post them. The thing is that eventually there is a point that I end up deleting the stuff that I don't post. I didn't want these words to disappear. Iwanted needed a permanent record.
I guess the second part is easy as well. I wanted to say what I felt I had to say without interruption. That's what happens with my family. I go in thinking to myself, "Here are the things that I want to say." Sometimes I get to say them and then they are glossed over.
I understand this though. I am the caretaker, the one who tells everyone else that it's going to be OK. And some days I ask myself how I ended up here? How am I taking care of these people who are 20 to 30 years my senior? I mean, I knew it would happen one day. Thing is I've been doing it since my teens. What made me seem like the rational, take-charge person? Of course, this is what has usually allowed me to do well at work. Funny, huh?
I am also the keeper of secrets. But they're not really secrets. Each just thinks that it is. And since enough folks already know them, let me enumerate the ones I have heard over the last few weeks.
Before my stepmother got sick, she went around telling her friends that she was thinking of divorcing my dad. I know she thought that he was having an affair. He was -- with a bottle of vodka. Before my stepmother got sick, my dad went around telling his friends that maybe he wanted to divorce my stepmother. Her family was driving him nuts. Then my stepmother got sick and everything changed.
This past week my stepmother started hallucinating. She also did not want to try to walk anymore. The hospice folks told my dad's older sister -- she visits my stepmother every day -- that the hallucinations will get worse. They also think that the cancer is now everywhere including in her bones. That's why she doesn't want to walk; it's too painful. So the end is probably near. And I think of silly things like how I still haven't used that gift certificate for a pedicure that she gave me last Christmas. We were going to go together but then she got too sick to go. My aunt has a return ticket home for October 3. My dad's cousin thinks that my stepmother will be gone before then. We'll see.
Marin says that we're alike in that we're both stuffers. We take the emotions and stuff them away in some dark closet in our minds. One day the closet reaches capacity and it all comes spilling out. Monday through Friday I go to work and field calls from family members. On weekends my family allows me to fall off the face of the earth, so to speak. And that's when I usually let the closet door open.
The multiple layers of grief? I'm lucky if I can remember what day it is. I wake up Monday morning counting the hours to Friday evening. And as I told my boss last month, I just take each day as it comes and do the best that I can. But mostly I keep telling myself that this -- and the world around me -- will get better. And it's kind of hard when something comes along that shakes your belief. But I'll get through this as well. I have to. Who will my family have if I don't?
The first part is easy. I often write posts for myself. I just don't post them. The thing is that eventually there is a point that I end up deleting the stuff that I don't post. I didn't want these words to disappear. I
I guess the second part is easy as well. I wanted to say what I felt I had to say without interruption. That's what happens with my family. I go in thinking to myself, "Here are the things that I want to say." Sometimes I get to say them and then they are glossed over.
I understand this though. I am the caretaker, the one who tells everyone else that it's going to be OK. And some days I ask myself how I ended up here? How am I taking care of these people who are 20 to 30 years my senior? I mean, I knew it would happen one day. Thing is I've been doing it since my teens. What made me seem like the rational, take-charge person? Of course, this is what has usually allowed me to do well at work. Funny, huh?
I am also the keeper of secrets. But they're not really secrets. Each just thinks that it is. And since enough folks already know them, let me enumerate the ones I have heard over the last few weeks.
Before my stepmother got sick, she went around telling her friends that she was thinking of divorcing my dad. I know she thought that he was having an affair. He was -- with a bottle of vodka. Before my stepmother got sick, my dad went around telling his friends that maybe he wanted to divorce my stepmother. Her family was driving him nuts. Then my stepmother got sick and everything changed.
This past week my stepmother started hallucinating. She also did not want to try to walk anymore. The hospice folks told my dad's older sister -- she visits my stepmother every day -- that the hallucinations will get worse. They also think that the cancer is now everywhere including in her bones. That's why she doesn't want to walk; it's too painful. So the end is probably near. And I think of silly things like how I still haven't used that gift certificate for a pedicure that she gave me last Christmas. We were going to go together but then she got too sick to go. My aunt has a return ticket home for October 3. My dad's cousin thinks that my stepmother will be gone before then. We'll see.
Marin says that we're alike in that we're both stuffers. We take the emotions and stuff them away in some dark closet in our minds. One day the closet reaches capacity and it all comes spilling out. Monday through Friday I go to work and field calls from family members. On weekends my family allows me to fall off the face of the earth, so to speak. And that's when I usually let the closet door open.
The multiple layers of grief? I'm lucky if I can remember what day it is. I wake up Monday morning counting the hours to Friday evening. And as I told my boss last month, I just take each day as it comes and do the best that I can. But mostly I keep telling myself that this -- and the world around me -- will get better. And it's kind of hard when something comes along that shakes your belief. But I'll get through this as well. I have to. Who will my family have if I don't?
Monday, August 11, 2008
One is the magic number
Over this past weekend I thought of many blog posts. The problem was that there seemed to be some overlap in my thoughts so I decided to throw it all together into one of those rambling kind of posts that Nat enjoys so much.
Last week was a hellacious week for me. I'll admit it. I had hit pretty near bottom mentally. As a result I just could not get rid of that tired feeling.
I had promised my dad that I would spend the weekend in Sacramento. But there were things I really needed to take care of at home first. Friday evening found me finally doing some straightening up around my apartment. While eating dinner, I toyed with the idea of going out. I kept thinking, "But I'm so tired." Going out won out though and I headed out around 8:00.
Once at my bar, I grabbed a cocktail and headed out to the outdoor area so that I could drink and smoke. And since I was alone, I pulled out the iPhone to play some games. (Normally I would have pulled out a book but none of my current reading choices fit into my purse.) And as I sat there half-asleep, I told myself that I would leave after a couple of drinks -- the minimum that I would have to order in order to use my debit card.
Yeah. Two drinks. That was before I met the young woman who shared my love of all things Kate Spade. We both agreed that prior to finding Kate Spade, we never were that into purses. But Kate's stuff is different; it's timeless art.
And then Random Boy showed up. And then I ran into Married Guy. Who decided that Friday night was a good time to share the fact that he's always wanted to get into my pants. Uh yeah. And then there was a third guy. At one point I was talking to all three. And letting them decide who should pay for my drinks.
Then the band started. I haven't laughed so hard in quite some time. The way I put it was that they were the kind of band that if you heard a CD, you'd say, "They're OK." And then you see them live and are totally freaked out. Because the lead singer/guitarist thought that he was some sort of god of rock. At least that's what I decided from his facial expressions and behavior. And he so was not godlike.
Sacramento was out of the question for Saturday. I needed caffeine, fat, and carbs. And a little more sleep. But Sunday? I felt like me for the first time in weeks. I wanted to stay at home and bask in my me-ness but I remembered promising my dad that I would show up at some point during the weekend.
Suddenly I had "Cats in the Cradle" going through my head. (I've loved that song since childhood.) Why? Because I thought to myself that if I blew off going to Sacramento, my dad would be greatly disappointed. And then I remembered all those times that I sat around waiting for a guy who would never show up when I was a kid. And then I thought, "Karma's a bitch," but then remembered that I'm a better person than that. So I drove the 160 miles round-trip to spend a few hours with my dad.
My dad kept asking, "What can I do for you?" Finally I knew the answer. "Respect the boundaries I set." It dawned on me that over the last month or so, I haven't really done much of anything that was purely for me -- unless you count sleeping. It was time to start setting -- and enforcing -- boundaries. Part of these new boundaries will be making sure that I have time to go out and laugh and dance and talk about things other than work or my family. As long as this happens, I can get through just about anything.
Today I still felt like me. So much so that I braved Berkeley Bowl this evening -- with a shopping cart. (The trick is to never take the cart down the aisles.) I usually try to keep the Berkeley Bowl shopping down to the what-can-fit-in-the-hand-basket level. But I needed paper products. Desperately. (No, I was not out yet but it was going to happen some time this evening.) And this time I shopped mainly the perimeter of the store for the first time in weeks. (This means that I bought fresh stuff instead of the prepared stuff upon which I have been surviving for most of the past month.)
Coq au Riesling
Thank you, Zoomie for sharing the recipe. I used six thighs. I also followed Zoomie's advice and upped the mushrooms to about a cup and a half or so as well as using about four to five cloves of garlic. Oh, and I used three ounces of pancetta instead of the one ounce the recipe calls for. And since there was so much more stuff in the pan, I doubled the wine and cream. I like things saucy. Now I have a few servings packed individually in the fridge as well as a couple of servings in the freezer.
There's more chicken marinating in yogurt in the fridge. Butter Chicken tomorrow night! And maybe I'll finally go through that issue of Bon Appetit that showed up recently.
So yeah, I'm back.
Last week was a hellacious week for me. I'll admit it. I had hit pretty near bottom mentally. As a result I just could not get rid of that tired feeling.
I had promised my dad that I would spend the weekend in Sacramento. But there were things I really needed to take care of at home first. Friday evening found me finally doing some straightening up around my apartment. While eating dinner, I toyed with the idea of going out. I kept thinking, "But I'm so tired." Going out won out though and I headed out around 8:00.
Once at my bar, I grabbed a cocktail and headed out to the outdoor area so that I could drink and smoke. And since I was alone, I pulled out the iPhone to play some games. (Normally I would have pulled out a book but none of my current reading choices fit into my purse.) And as I sat there half-asleep, I told myself that I would leave after a couple of drinks -- the minimum that I would have to order in order to use my debit card.
Yeah. Two drinks. That was before I met the young woman who shared my love of all things Kate Spade. We both agreed that prior to finding Kate Spade, we never were that into purses. But Kate's stuff is different; it's timeless art.
And then Random Boy showed up. And then I ran into Married Guy. Who decided that Friday night was a good time to share the fact that he's always wanted to get into my pants. Uh yeah. And then there was a third guy. At one point I was talking to all three. And letting them decide who should pay for my drinks.
Then the band started. I haven't laughed so hard in quite some time. The way I put it was that they were the kind of band that if you heard a CD, you'd say, "They're OK." And then you see them live and are totally freaked out. Because the lead singer/guitarist thought that he was some sort of god of rock. At least that's what I decided from his facial expressions and behavior. And he so was not godlike.
Sacramento was out of the question for Saturday. I needed caffeine, fat, and carbs. And a little more sleep. But Sunday? I felt like me for the first time in weeks. I wanted to stay at home and bask in my me-ness but I remembered promising my dad that I would show up at some point during the weekend.
Suddenly I had "Cats in the Cradle" going through my head. (I've loved that song since childhood.) Why? Because I thought to myself that if I blew off going to Sacramento, my dad would be greatly disappointed. And then I remembered all those times that I sat around waiting for a guy who would never show up when I was a kid. And then I thought, "Karma's a bitch," but then remembered that I'm a better person than that. So I drove the 160 miles round-trip to spend a few hours with my dad.
My dad kept asking, "What can I do for you?" Finally I knew the answer. "Respect the boundaries I set." It dawned on me that over the last month or so, I haven't really done much of anything that was purely for me -- unless you count sleeping. It was time to start setting -- and enforcing -- boundaries. Part of these new boundaries will be making sure that I have time to go out and laugh and dance and talk about things other than work or my family. As long as this happens, I can get through just about anything.
Today I still felt like me. So much so that I braved Berkeley Bowl this evening -- with a shopping cart. (The trick is to never take the cart down the aisles.) I usually try to keep the Berkeley Bowl shopping down to the what-can-fit-in-the-hand-basket level. But I needed paper products. Desperately. (No, I was not out yet but it was going to happen some time this evening.) And this time I shopped mainly the perimeter of the store for the first time in weeks. (This means that I bought fresh stuff instead of the prepared stuff upon which I have been surviving for most of the past month.)
Thank you, Zoomie for sharing the recipe. I used six thighs. I also followed Zoomie's advice and upped the mushrooms to about a cup and a half or so as well as using about four to five cloves of garlic. Oh, and I used three ounces of pancetta instead of the one ounce the recipe calls for. And since there was so much more stuff in the pan, I doubled the wine and cream. I like things saucy. Now I have a few servings packed individually in the fridge as well as a couple of servings in the freezer.
There's more chicken marinating in yogurt in the fridge. Butter Chicken tomorrow night! And maybe I'll finally go through that issue of Bon Appetit that showed up recently.
So yeah, I'm back.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Another one of those posts
Still riding that roller coaster.
Last Monday my stepmother went back into the hospital because she had a seizure at home. This Monday the doctors told my father that my stepmother needed to enter another facility instead of returning home. Yesterday they told him they estimate she has another three weeks to live. It's been less than three weeks since my aunt's funeral.
Yesterday I overslept for work. Again. I had problems falling asleep Monday night. So yesterday I got the talk from my boss. He was saying crap about how maybe the job is too stressful for me and maybe it just wasn't a right fit. Today the president of the company said how they needed me to be focused at work. I heeded the advice that Marin gave me yesterday. I bit my tongue. And instead I spent a day at work having panic attacks all day long. At least that's what I think it was. All I know was that periodically it felt like someone had reached their hand into my chest and was squeezing. I couldn't breathe during these moments and thought that I would pass out. And then I got home tonight and it all stopped.
I don't know what the hell people expect. I'm coping as best as I can. Sometimes I'm really sad. At other times, I'm pissed off beyond belief.
Anywho. I'm getting kind of tired of writing these kind of posts. I have all these other happier posts either already written and saved or bouncing around inside my head. I'd rather post that stuff.
After writing this, I headed over to Jester's and decided to take the quiz. I remember doing it in the past. Can't remember the results then.
I think they need to get out of my head. And maybe I should have just headed over to the quiz to start off with.
Last Monday my stepmother went back into the hospital because she had a seizure at home. This Monday the doctors told my father that my stepmother needed to enter another facility instead of returning home. Yesterday they told him they estimate she has another three weeks to live. It's been less than three weeks since my aunt's funeral.
Yesterday I overslept for work. Again. I had problems falling asleep Monday night. So yesterday I got the talk from my boss. He was saying crap about how maybe the job is too stressful for me and maybe it just wasn't a right fit. Today the president of the company said how they needed me to be focused at work. I heeded the advice that Marin gave me yesterday. I bit my tongue. And instead I spent a day at work having panic attacks all day long. At least that's what I think it was. All I know was that periodically it felt like someone had reached their hand into my chest and was squeezing. I couldn't breathe during these moments and thought that I would pass out. And then I got home tonight and it all stopped.
I don't know what the hell people expect. I'm coping as best as I can. Sometimes I'm really sad. At other times, I'm pissed off beyond belief.
Anywho. I'm getting kind of tired of writing these kind of posts. I have all these other happier posts either already written and saved or bouncing around inside my head. I'd rather post that stuff.
After writing this, I headed over to Jester's and decided to take the quiz. I remember doing it in the past. Can't remember the results then.
 | Dagny took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! "Desires a tranquil, peaceful state of harmony offe..."
|
I think they need to get out of my head. And maybe I should have just headed over to the quiz to start off with.
Friday, February 15, 2008
How I roll
Yesterday at work was uneventful. Well, it was if almost slipping into a coma from boredom can be considered uneventful. It was a slow day and the guys were out most of the day. I played a lot of Taipei. After I got home, I remembered what made it different. For the last five years, I have worked in education. And kids love VD. VD would roll around and I would get a bunch of candy and cards. It didn't matter if I didn't have a boy at the time because there would always be a couple of kids around to tell me how great they thought I was. I guess that's why I decided to do the whole dinner for self thing this year. Not that I didn't get any holiday wishes and what not. The women in my family have always made it a point of acknowledging the day with each other -- phone calls, cards, something to let you know that someone else is thinking about you.
Oh, and before I continue, let me share this tidbit. When I spoke to my mother yesterday (Now it's phone calls but when she still lived in the states she'd always send me a card. And perhaps a gift), my mother talked about VD in Mexico. In Mexico, February 14th is Dia de la Amistad. That's Friendship Day for those of you who couldn't do the translation. Wouldn't it be great if we could do that here in the United States? Instead of celebrating romance, use the day to celebrate other forms of love? And then I thought that perhaps Hilly would fit right in if she were to go to Mexico.
And now what you really wanted to see -- last night's dinner.
I took more photos of the oysters in case y'all had forgotten what they looked like.
This was followed by Steamed Mussels with Lemon-Saffron Sauce.
The main event -- Salmon in Mussel Saffron Sauce with couscous and a simple salad.
And for Nat, the carrot cupcake.
The best part? Leftovers tonight!
I was going to give this post another title but then I saw that I had used it already. When I did the search, I came across this jewel from exactly one year ago. And here I was thinking that getting outraged around here was a new thing.
Oh, and before I continue, let me share this tidbit. When I spoke to my mother yesterday (Now it's phone calls but when she still lived in the states she'd always send me a card. And perhaps a gift), my mother talked about VD in Mexico. In Mexico, February 14th is Dia de la Amistad. That's Friendship Day for those of you who couldn't do the translation. Wouldn't it be great if we could do that here in the United States? Instead of celebrating romance, use the day to celebrate other forms of love? And then I thought that perhaps Hilly would fit right in if she were to go to Mexico.
And now what you really wanted to see -- last night's dinner.
The best part? Leftovers tonight!
I was going to give this post another title but then I saw that I had used it already. When I did the search, I came across this jewel from exactly one year ago. And here I was thinking that getting outraged around here was a new thing.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Interim
I've explained this to some of y'all individually so you can skip this if you want.
I first got into blogging because I was going through some changes in my life. A part of these changes was my trying to find my own voice. That was three years ago. Over the last three years, I like to think that I have (finally) learned to be the person who I want to be -- not the person who others tell me I should be. And I also know that while others may not agree with me, it does not diminish the fact that I am a good person.
At least once a year my family members and close friends tell me what a good person I am. A couple of weeks ago, Marin (owner of Dumb and Dumber) told me how good I was at staying in touch with people. I like to think that's my Cancerian nature. I recognize that people can be busy but it's important to me to keep in touch so I make the phone call or send the email. I also realize that I have trashed members of my family at times on this blog, especially my mother. Here's the thing. When I hit rock bottom in my 20s, my mother was one of the few people who stood by me. So no matter how much she drives me crazy now, I will always remember that in my darkest moments, she will be there for me. No matter how much I piss her off. And I know that I have done this. I'm pretty perceptive and can recognize a person's weak point. When I'm pissed off, I can go straight for that weak point. The guys at work has realized that I am not a person to be crossed. Fortunately, I believe in karma and all, so I try not to act upon my impulses. Because it all comes back threefold.
I have no doubt who I am at this point in my life. I'm the girl who questioned authority at every step. Who made the rule? Why do we have the rule? And sometimes I asked the question even if I did thought the rule was OK. Because I like knowing what makes people tick. (Growing up, I was saddened that the only famous person who shared my birthday was Edward VIII. In recent years, I have learned that I also share my birthday with Alfred Kinsey. That made a lot more sense.) I like saying or asking things for the shock value. I want people to question the status quo.
Now I've hit the point at which I am questioning whether blogging really fits into my life anymore. Probably not and if so, only minimally. Because I haven't really been missing it. I love reading what y'all have written but I just don't feel a burning need to write myself.
I think part of the problem was that, until recently, I had jobs that sucked up a lot of my time and energy. Blogging certainly didn't require that much energy on my part. And so I kind of fell into a rut. Now I have a job that doesn't seem to be such a drain. I get home and I have loads of energy. And I've been remembering the things I used to do besides reading, watching TV, and sitting in front of the computer. Like seeing movies in a theater. (The last movie I saw in a theater was The Bourne Ultimatum.) Going to comedy shows, plays, museums. Going out to dinner, to tea. Taking dance classes and other things to stop my butt from getting too flabby and unable to fit into my clothes. Spending quality time with the cats because for the first time in a long time, Natasha has started to sit on my lap in the evenings while I read or watch TV. It almost felt like she was saying, "Now that you actually have time for me..."
Omigosh! I almost forgot dating. Not that I'm going to go out with the 50-something at this point because that was all about novelty. And I have too many other things to do these days than to go on a date with some guy I wouldn't seriously consider dating. And now there's some other contenders out there.
So there's still a chance that I'll keep blogging. Just know that if I do, it will be a lot more sporadic than I used to.
I first got into blogging because I was going through some changes in my life. A part of these changes was my trying to find my own voice. That was three years ago. Over the last three years, I like to think that I have (finally) learned to be the person who I want to be -- not the person who others tell me I should be. And I also know that while others may not agree with me, it does not diminish the fact that I am a good person.
At least once a year my family members and close friends tell me what a good person I am. A couple of weeks ago, Marin (owner of Dumb and Dumber) told me how good I was at staying in touch with people. I like to think that's my Cancerian nature. I recognize that people can be busy but it's important to me to keep in touch so I make the phone call or send the email. I also realize that I have trashed members of my family at times on this blog, especially my mother. Here's the thing. When I hit rock bottom in my 20s, my mother was one of the few people who stood by me. So no matter how much she drives me crazy now, I will always remember that in my darkest moments, she will be there for me. No matter how much I piss her off. And I know that I have done this. I'm pretty perceptive and can recognize a person's weak point. When I'm pissed off, I can go straight for that weak point. The guys at work has realized that I am not a person to be crossed. Fortunately, I believe in karma and all, so I try not to act upon my impulses. Because it all comes back threefold.
I have no doubt who I am at this point in my life. I'm the girl who questioned authority at every step. Who made the rule? Why do we have the rule? And sometimes I asked the question even if I did thought the rule was OK. Because I like knowing what makes people tick. (Growing up, I was saddened that the only famous person who shared my birthday was Edward VIII. In recent years, I have learned that I also share my birthday with Alfred Kinsey. That made a lot more sense.) I like saying or asking things for the shock value. I want people to question the status quo.
Now I've hit the point at which I am questioning whether blogging really fits into my life anymore. Probably not and if so, only minimally. Because I haven't really been missing it. I love reading what y'all have written but I just don't feel a burning need to write myself.
I think part of the problem was that, until recently, I had jobs that sucked up a lot of my time and energy. Blogging certainly didn't require that much energy on my part. And so I kind of fell into a rut. Now I have a job that doesn't seem to be such a drain. I get home and I have loads of energy. And I've been remembering the things I used to do besides reading, watching TV, and sitting in front of the computer. Like seeing movies in a theater. (The last movie I saw in a theater was The Bourne Ultimatum.) Going to comedy shows, plays, museums. Going out to dinner, to tea. Taking dance classes and other things to stop my butt from getting too flabby and unable to fit into my clothes. Spending quality time with the cats because for the first time in a long time, Natasha has started to sit on my lap in the evenings while I read or watch TV. It almost felt like she was saying, "Now that you actually have time for me..."
Omigosh! I almost forgot dating. Not that I'm going to go out with the 50-something at this point because that was all about novelty. And I have too many other things to do these days than to go on a date with some guy I wouldn't seriously consider dating. And now there's some other contenders out there.
So there's still a chance that I'll keep blogging. Just know that if I do, it will be a lot more sporadic than I used to.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
On leave
That time has come. The time in which I evaluate my life and how this all fits into it. There are a lot of other things in my life that are much more worthy of my time and energy at this time. Perhaps one day I'll return.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Split post
Kind of like that pea soup. I never said that I'm a comedian so stop groaning.
So I haven't worked up the nerve to post the stuff that I am sure will infuriate some of y'all. It's my internal censor at work. The one that says, "Are you sure it was not a hormonal surge that made you say that stuff?" And I say, "No, it was not hormones -- really. These are thoughts that are bouncing around in my head but it only seems that under the influence of certain hormones -- or alcohol -- that I feel brave enough to step out on a limb and say the stuff that really matters to me." And then I start wishing that I was a stand-up comic. Because those folks? They have the ability to say whatever they think without really caring about the fallout. Maybe that's why I love them so much. To the point that most of my list of "future husbands" are comics. But then I woke up from that dream.
And that post still haunts me so I know that it will probably turn up here one day. In the meantime, I'm going to snip a bit of it away. One of my favorite stand-up bits.
Enjoy. And maybe this will give you a clue to the rest of that post. Oh, and yes, I was always the kid who pulled back the band-aid slowly. Don't know why.
So I haven't worked up the nerve to post the stuff that I am sure will infuriate some of y'all. It's my internal censor at work. The one that says, "Are you sure it was not a hormonal surge that made you say that stuff?" And I say, "No, it was not hormones -- really. These are thoughts that are bouncing around in my head but it only seems that under the influence of certain hormones -- or alcohol -- that I feel brave enough to step out on a limb and say the stuff that really matters to me." And then I start wishing that I was a stand-up comic. Because those folks? They have the ability to say whatever they think without really caring about the fallout. Maybe that's why I love them so much. To the point that most of my list of "future husbands" are comics. But then I woke up from that dream.
And that post still haunts me so I know that it will probably turn up here one day. In the meantime, I'm going to snip a bit of it away. One of my favorite stand-up bits.
Enjoy. And maybe this will give you a clue to the rest of that post. Oh, and yes, I was always the kid who pulled back the band-aid slowly. Don't know why.
Friday, November 16, 2007
501
I have been remiss in marking off milestones but I was determined to mark this one. (It was supposed to be for number 500 but as you see I kind of spaced that one.) The idea first entered my head around the time of my oral surgery. Ya know. I had all that vicodin-induced free time on my hands back then.
First of all, I must say thank you to Gloria. She is the person who got me started in the world of blogging. Without her, this blog would not exist.
I have never been big on marking anniversaries but somehow I thought that this one was worthy. Yes, this is my 501st post here.
When I first started blogging, I thought that it was a passing fancy that would quickly fade. Little did I know. Along the way I have met some wonderful people. But there's more to it than that.
In younger days, I wrote all the time. As well as writing in my journal, I wrote a great deal of fiction. And my fiction moved people. Probably because it was semi-autobiographical. I learned this in eighth grade. My mother read the stories that moved my teachers and classmates and recognized elements of myself in the characters. I learned that if I couldn't be emotionally open, then my fiction was crap.
For years, the stories just flowed. And then one day they dried up. I had the most extreme case of writer's block. This happened sometime in college because I remember Emerald telling me that I was a wonderful storyteller. I remember sitting at parties, slowly gaining an audience as I wove whatever tale struck my fancy that night. (OK. I'll admit it. The stories were usually the lesser known tales from Hans Christian Andersen. And I always told folks the source of the tale.) It was like magic to me. And then the magic ended.
Then Gloria mentioned blogging to me. I saw it as an opportunity to once more write. And to find myself.
When I started blogging, I had reached the conclusion that I had forgotten who I really was. I thought that it would be a way for me to find my way back there -- back to the person I used to know. The person who wasn't so busy trying to make everyone else happy. Because that's how my family makes me feel. That I shouldn't say anything unless it's pleasant. And over the last four years, that's how I felt at work. My job was to go in and to act through a role that wasn't necessarily me most of the time. I came to realize that I could not escape the family thing but I could make a choice about my job. I'm tired of pretending to be someone who I am not.
And finally there was a breakthrough. And yes, I realize that some did not enjoy the post but it felt really honest. So much so that I was afraid to post it because I was so used to being someone else. And so yes, now you know the truth. The supposedly hardened partygirl is rather sentimental. (And yes, the partygirl thing is yet another defense mechanism. I am naturally a painfully shy person.) For years I have told folks that a cynic is just a hopeless romantic who has been burned one time too many.
So I would like to say thank you to all of you who have come along with me on this journey. Of course, this journey is nowhere near the end, and so I hope that you will join me for the next 500 posts -- or more. Who knows where this will all lead.
First of all, I must say thank you to Gloria. She is the person who got me started in the world of blogging. Without her, this blog would not exist.
I have never been big on marking anniversaries but somehow I thought that this one was worthy. Yes, this is my 501st post here.
When I first started blogging, I thought that it was a passing fancy that would quickly fade. Little did I know. Along the way I have met some wonderful people. But there's more to it than that.
In younger days, I wrote all the time. As well as writing in my journal, I wrote a great deal of fiction. And my fiction moved people. Probably because it was semi-autobiographical. I learned this in eighth grade. My mother read the stories that moved my teachers and classmates and recognized elements of myself in the characters. I learned that if I couldn't be emotionally open, then my fiction was crap.
For years, the stories just flowed. And then one day they dried up. I had the most extreme case of writer's block. This happened sometime in college because I remember Emerald telling me that I was a wonderful storyteller. I remember sitting at parties, slowly gaining an audience as I wove whatever tale struck my fancy that night. (OK. I'll admit it. The stories were usually the lesser known tales from Hans Christian Andersen. And I always told folks the source of the tale.) It was like magic to me. And then the magic ended.
Then Gloria mentioned blogging to me. I saw it as an opportunity to once more write. And to find myself.
When I started blogging, I had reached the conclusion that I had forgotten who I really was. I thought that it would be a way for me to find my way back there -- back to the person I used to know. The person who wasn't so busy trying to make everyone else happy. Because that's how my family makes me feel. That I shouldn't say anything unless it's pleasant. And over the last four years, that's how I felt at work. My job was to go in and to act through a role that wasn't necessarily me most of the time. I came to realize that I could not escape the family thing but I could make a choice about my job. I'm tired of pretending to be someone who I am not.
And finally there was a breakthrough. And yes, I realize that some did not enjoy the post but it felt really honest. So much so that I was afraid to post it because I was so used to being someone else. And so yes, now you know the truth. The supposedly hardened partygirl is rather sentimental. (And yes, the partygirl thing is yet another defense mechanism. I am naturally a painfully shy person.) For years I have told folks that a cynic is just a hopeless romantic who has been burned one time too many.
So I would like to say thank you to all of you who have come along with me on this journey. Of course, this journey is nowhere near the end, and so I hope that you will join me for the next 500 posts -- or more. Who knows where this will all lead.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
The Police have invaded my life
Funny how it takes someone else's post to remind you of a topic upon which you had planned to write. Happened to me Monday night.
I have always loved this song. Thankfully now there is a video. I really love the crazy chola hair in the second segment -- the one after the fashion show.
I like to think that this song is for me and all the other single women out there.
Yep, we just keep coming back.
Oh, and speaking of things coming back, Retail Boy sent me a text message last week.
I kid you not. This was written by a 36-year-old. And no, I did not answer. There were way too many places to begin. But I won't even get into the fact that he writes a text message like he's a teenager.
No, I'm not still annoyed. I've just moved on. And my current life does not include his whiny-ass bitch self. In past days, I would have said OK and then have milked him for the free meal. The current me thinks differently. There is no meal worth more than the time I would lose putting up with his whining at this point. (See? I have grown.) In fact the thought of sharing a meal with Retail Boy almost makes me vomit in my mouth. He is not the "love bug" for which I am waiting. But I'm patient. The right one will come around eventually.
I had forgotten about the message until Friday night. Because during my lovely scenic drive, I passed his place of employment. Such a shame that I also noticed a fascinating looking restaurant located next door. So now I'm trying to figure out how to check out the restaurant yet still avoid him. *sigh* Of course, if Cookiecrumb really needed stuff from that store at discount, I'd be willing to bite the bullet. But only then.
And finally, something made me check out the band line-up at my former fave bar here. It seems that one of my all-time fave bands played last weekend. I am bummed that I missed the show. But upcoming shows? Seems that Drummer Boy's band will be showing up later this month. Part of me wants to show just so that I can sever all ties completely. But then there's the part of me that's afraid of what I will say/do after a few cocktails. Even with this fear, I'm still leaning toward showing up. At least so I can tell him off -- while giving props to the rest of the band. Because I still love their music.
And for those of you who might care -- a cat update. The cute little fur mice? Tailless. Actually, the black one is not only tailless but also gutted. There's this piece of fur on my carpet that used to be a toy mouse. The white one is also tailless and looks like it suffers from mange. That's because there are patches of fur all across the carpet that I haven't vacuumed up yet. And before you yell at me, I only have enough energy to eat, watch TV, and read blogs besides working these days. Cleaning has once more been relegated to weekends. Unless I do it before eating. But last night I was beyond starving when I got home. That's the only way that I can explain taking a wrong turn after leaving Bed Bath & Beyond. I was just following my original path even though my path should have changed after my shopping trip. Yep. Brain death due to low sugar levels.
And if I have snacks handy, I go for protein-rich snacks like nuts instead of carbs. Carbs are temporary energy. And evil to folks who have a family history of diabetes. Even though my last blood test said that I was well on my way to hypoglycemia instead of diabetes. But carbs are the enemy for folks who are hypoglycemic as well. (Now that I think about it, my mother has often suggested that I am bipolar because of sudden mood swings. Perhaps instead is is due to sudden changes in my blood sugar levels. Because when my blood sugar is low, I am one cranky ass bitch.) Then again, a friend told me that most adult-onset diabetics are usually borderline hypoglycemic before they become diabetic. So I try to keep an eye out on things. Just like the glaucoma.
I hope to find balance once more. That point at which I can work and be productive when I get home. Hopefully without the insomnia. Because in the past that's where I've usually found my energy. Nope. In bed by midnight. After that, there's no telling what could happen.
And if I'm up too long, I use music to re-ground myself. Here's the lyrics to one of my favorite songs in the wee hours of the night...
Because Erykah Badu can almost always get you in the right frame of mind. Just like Jill Scott can.
I have always loved this song. Thankfully now there is a video. I really love the crazy chola hair in the second segment -- the one after the fashion show.
I like to think that this song is for me and all the other single women out there.
"A girl like me don't stay single for long
Cuz everytime a boyfriend and I break up
My world is crushed and I'm all alone
The love bug crawls right back up and bites me and I'm back."
Yep, we just keep coming back.
Oh, and speaking of things coming back, Retail Boy sent me a text message last week.
"U Still annoyed with me? wanna get 2-gthr soon. dinner n drinks on me. :)"
I kid you not. This was written by a 36-year-old. And no, I did not answer. There were way too many places to begin. But I won't even get into the fact that he writes a text message like he's a teenager.
No, I'm not still annoyed. I've just moved on. And my current life does not include his whiny-ass bitch self. In past days, I would have said OK and then have milked him for the free meal. The current me thinks differently. There is no meal worth more than the time I would lose putting up with his whining at this point. (See? I have grown.) In fact the thought of sharing a meal with Retail Boy almost makes me vomit in my mouth. He is not the "love bug" for which I am waiting. But I'm patient. The right one will come around eventually.
I had forgotten about the message until Friday night. Because during my lovely scenic drive, I passed his place of employment. Such a shame that I also noticed a fascinating looking restaurant located next door. So now I'm trying to figure out how to check out the restaurant yet still avoid him. *sigh* Of course, if Cookiecrumb really needed stuff from that store at discount, I'd be willing to bite the bullet. But only then.
And finally, something made me check out the band line-up at my former fave bar here. It seems that one of my all-time fave bands played last weekend. I am bummed that I missed the show. But upcoming shows? Seems that Drummer Boy's band will be showing up later this month. Part of me wants to show just so that I can sever all ties completely. But then there's the part of me that's afraid of what I will say/do after a few cocktails. Even with this fear, I'm still leaning toward showing up. At least so I can tell him off -- while giving props to the rest of the band. Because I still love their music.
And for those of you who might care -- a cat update. The cute little fur mice? Tailless. Actually, the black one is not only tailless but also gutted. There's this piece of fur on my carpet that used to be a toy mouse. The white one is also tailless and looks like it suffers from mange. That's because there are patches of fur all across the carpet that I haven't vacuumed up yet. And before you yell at me, I only have enough energy to eat, watch TV, and read blogs besides working these days. Cleaning has once more been relegated to weekends. Unless I do it before eating. But last night I was beyond starving when I got home. That's the only way that I can explain taking a wrong turn after leaving Bed Bath & Beyond. I was just following my original path even though my path should have changed after my shopping trip. Yep. Brain death due to low sugar levels.
And if I have snacks handy, I go for protein-rich snacks like nuts instead of carbs. Carbs are temporary energy. And evil to folks who have a family history of diabetes. Even though my last blood test said that I was well on my way to hypoglycemia instead of diabetes. But carbs are the enemy for folks who are hypoglycemic as well. (Now that I think about it, my mother has often suggested that I am bipolar because of sudden mood swings. Perhaps instead is is due to sudden changes in my blood sugar levels. Because when my blood sugar is low, I am one cranky ass bitch.) Then again, a friend told me that most adult-onset diabetics are usually borderline hypoglycemic before they become diabetic. So I try to keep an eye out on things. Just like the glaucoma.
I hope to find balance once more. That point at which I can work and be productive when I get home. Hopefully without the insomnia. Because in the past that's where I've usually found my energy. Nope. In bed by midnight. After that, there's no telling what could happen.
And if I'm up too long, I use music to re-ground myself. Here's the lyrics to one of my favorite songs in the wee hours of the night...
"See I picks my friends like I pick my fruit
& Ganny told me that when I was only a youth
I don't go 'round trying to be what I'm not
I don't waste my time trying ta get what you got
I work at pleasin' me cause I can't please you
and that's why I do what I do
My soul flies free like a willow tree
doo wee doo wee do wee
And if you don't want to be down with me
You don't want to pick from my appletree
And if you don't want to be down with me
Then you don't want to pick from my appletree
And if you don't want to be down with me
Then you don't want to pick from my appletree
And if you don't want to be down with me
You just don't want to be down."
Because Erykah Badu can almost always get you in the right frame of mind. Just like Jill Scott can.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Guilt sets in
All week long I have been enjoying your blogs. And each time I read, I realize that I haven't really posted this week. Of course, I really haven't had much to say. (I think I have been saving my energy for Saturday.) But today, something happened. I learned that there's a pretty good chance that I won't be laid off. So the cats and I are dancing. Well, I am. The cats are thinking, "Won't someone come and save us from this crazy woman?"
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