The last week:
Www.caringbridge.org/visit/creachfamily.
9.10.10
I feel guilt. I feel guilty for feeling. I feel guilty for feeling guilt. Who am I to have feelings right now? Feelings that aren't empathy, sympathy, compassion. How can I feel my own feelings and not hate myself? This is a new level of guilt for me. Maybe it's a good thing I'm nor catholic. Yet.
Sent from my iPhone
13.9.10
shoulder
I don't have one to cry on, beloved audience, and so, for tonight, you will be mine. How can my oldest girls teachers assign them huge online homework projects, assuming that every household has unlimited computer and internet access. I have so much homework to do, and every hour they spend, diligently searching "environmental news stories of 2004", is an hour I spend panicking about my late assignments. This world, here in beautiful central oregon, has complete disregard for the single mother on a less than crappy income. The state will help me with childcare after I jump through 100 hours of relentless hoops that land my kids in a pedophile infested daycare that I have to drive them to at god awful pre-work and post-work hours. How does that help??? I don't qualify for foodstamps, so all of you self-righteous right-wingers can rest easy, the money that I make that barely covers the rent will keep us in rice and beans and your hard earned tax money can be spent on someone more deserving. what the hell. I am angry. I don't expect a free ride. I am working ridiculous hours trying to support five people, and pay a nanny that I can't afford. But I need help, and there is no help for someone like me. If I quit my job I would be immediately eligible for all kinds of amazing things. I could stay home and make quilts, maybe even get an A in a class again. Wouldn't that be wild? Of course, I would be severely inconveniencing people like, oh , me? who pay taxes. God bless America, and save me some space in Canada, because I am high and dry for medical insurance, a policy for me would be more than my car payment, and my kids barely qualify, because I am making so much. Do they not know what rent is, and what it costs to feed 4 kids, to feed Halle? And where is their father? Wouldn't we all like to know. Well, don't worry, he's paying child support. Less than his minimum, but enough to make us ineligible for any help. Right on. Who made this system up? The same cop that pulled me over for not using a turn signal and took me to jail? The idiot who invented the lie that the lord opens and closes the womb and we should just have as many babies as we can possible crank out before our uteruses turn into quivering masses of escape-artist caliber stealth. Where are you now, you lofty purveyors of righteous charity and provision of the Lord - he always pays for what he orders, doesn't he? That's why there are babies starving to death all over the world. God loves them. I am angry and the religious right, the religious masses, religion in general. You told me that these babies were god's will and here I am, failing them miserably. God doesn't give you more than you can handle - which is the reason for 80% of suicides. I am tired. Tired of fighting and trying and working and hiking and struggling and paying and wanting to do the right thing, pull my weight, pull the weight of five, no six people, since the father of my children can't shoulder his own. To all of the people who told me I would be blessed with my full quiver: where are you now? Don't chide me for my shortcomings. Congratulate me that the five of us are still alive and relatively healthy, in spite of you. God, let me raise my children to be wiser than I. You gave us minds to reason, bodies to use and govern, and hearts to care. Let me impart this to my children, if I give them nothing else.
8.9.10
family
Tonight Halle had a meltdown. She burst into tears at the table and disappeared outside. I would say it was unwarranted and inexplicable, but when I put myself in her troubled fourteen year old shoes, as much as I feel sometimes like I can't relate to her spock-like antics and severe tomboy streak, I can't imagine the emotional stress that she feels and can't even nail down in thought, much less verbalize. She has been here one week. Her whole world is turned over and upside down. She started high school in a new town with new people. Her mother is a raving lunatic who comes in the door at night, drenched to the bone, filthy and tired, ranting at her about what she is doing wrong, what she isn't doing right, and how the fate of the cosmos is about to come crashing down because she won't stop fighting with her ten year old sister about who was watching whom dress after their shower. Then you throw 14 year old hormones on top of all that, a dad who lives in Timbuktu and nothing here that smacks of comfort and nostalgia and stability, and it's a pretty raw deal. I let her be, wherever she was, taking an occasional worried glance out the window for her, until the sun went down, then I began searching in earnest. The little booger sneaked back into the house while I was down the driveway looking for her (I remember that trick - "What? I was here the whole time!") and was busily eating her cold dinner by the time I got back. I bit back the next rant about me having enough to worry about without her adding to my burdens, and luckily I think she read the silence as some form of manipulation, as she went about reassuring me that she wasn't mad at me and she had just talked to her dad about stuff.
Erica C was telling me about a fight she was having with her little sister, apparently there is some sort of drama, and Erica had told Carrie that she had broken trust and was ruining the family. I caught her quickly and told her that nobody has that much power. Families should be stronger than that. I told her that people who think that god wants them to judge each other will try to manipulate other people, pushing that sort of guilt on them, but really, is there anything any of us could do to ruin our families if we were all truly dedicated to loving unconditionally and demonstrating more of god's grace and forgiveness and less of his judgement. I suppose some of my family would argue that I am ruining my family, but I guess it is subjective. In the eye of the beholder. If my "transgressions" were enough to ruin the family I would guess that the family wasn't very stable to begin with. It was a good little talk, and I know that MacKenzie was tuned in, as I heard her chime in from the upstairs that she could certainly be a family ruiner, and was then shushed by my mini-sermon. Judgement and condemnation and manipulation can ruin families, not sinners, which we all are.
We surveyed in the rain today. It was mostly an experiment to see how much water one can absorb off of manzanita plants in a pair of jeans. I think I soaked up at least a couple gallons. I spend a lot of my survey time thinking. Thinking about how lovely it would be to have a husband to support me so I wouldn't HAVE to trudge through the damp woods unless I felt like it. And how nice it would be to have someone to sit on the couch with at night and compare crappy days.
I forgot, in my SpaW narrative, to tell about my paraffin foot waxing experience. After I dressed up in the awkwardly large robe, the massage therapist took me to her little room, on the way asking me if I needed to use the ladies room. I felt pretty secure that I could make it through 60 minutes, so I declined. Then she asked if I would like the complimentary paraffin foot treatment. All I heard was complimentary, so naturally I was quite eager to have any such treatment. She dumped the hot wax into a little baggy and the stuck my foot in it. So, the whole thing about warm water and potty training? Well, suddenly, I wondered if I actually could make it 60 whole minutes. But she waxed up my other foot, and wrapped some little booties around them, and told me to take my robe off and get onto the massage table, and not to worry if the booties fell off. If I could have on 30 second clip of humiliating video of someone I hated, I would plant a camera in this little room and treat my enemy to a paraffin foot waxing and massage. When the therapist left the room I jumped off the table, and landed in the hot squishy bags of wax, experiencing a sensation that was identical in almost every way to stepping in a hot. fresh pile of puppy poop on carpet. the only thing missing was smell. And if you want to know how I can compare, well, I couldn't tell you without throwing up. so I squished my way awkwardly to the door, took off the awkwardly big robe, and there I stood, in the middle of the room, buck naked except for big booties full of squishy hot wax. I stared at the massage table across the room and pondered my best approach. In the end I decided to go for the hurried lunge, feeling certain that one of my mortal enemies was filming the whole endeavor from some secret corner. Nothing could have been less graceful than that single, naked room crossing, half leap, half shuffle, under the blankets and shoving the booties out of sight along with the rest of my silly looking body. Nothing sexy about this routine. But it was worth it. When she peeled the wax off it felt almost as good as taking off my fire boots and dirty socks after a three day spike camp in the wilderness. It was almost as if my feet could breathe the free air again. I would totally risk the video leak to have it done again. But maybe I would get on the table first then try to throw the robe onto the hook, rather than squishing around in the booties. Not sure on that one.
Now I have to see how much homework I am avoiding.
Erica C was telling me about a fight she was having with her little sister, apparently there is some sort of drama, and Erica had told Carrie that she had broken trust and was ruining the family. I caught her quickly and told her that nobody has that much power. Families should be stronger than that. I told her that people who think that god wants them to judge each other will try to manipulate other people, pushing that sort of guilt on them, but really, is there anything any of us could do to ruin our families if we were all truly dedicated to loving unconditionally and demonstrating more of god's grace and forgiveness and less of his judgement. I suppose some of my family would argue that I am ruining my family, but I guess it is subjective. In the eye of the beholder. If my "transgressions" were enough to ruin the family I would guess that the family wasn't very stable to begin with. It was a good little talk, and I know that MacKenzie was tuned in, as I heard her chime in from the upstairs that she could certainly be a family ruiner, and was then shushed by my mini-sermon. Judgement and condemnation and manipulation can ruin families, not sinners, which we all are.
We surveyed in the rain today. It was mostly an experiment to see how much water one can absorb off of manzanita plants in a pair of jeans. I think I soaked up at least a couple gallons. I spend a lot of my survey time thinking. Thinking about how lovely it would be to have a husband to support me so I wouldn't HAVE to trudge through the damp woods unless I felt like it. And how nice it would be to have someone to sit on the couch with at night and compare crappy days.
I forgot, in my SpaW narrative, to tell about my paraffin foot waxing experience. After I dressed up in the awkwardly large robe, the massage therapist took me to her little room, on the way asking me if I needed to use the ladies room. I felt pretty secure that I could make it through 60 minutes, so I declined. Then she asked if I would like the complimentary paraffin foot treatment. All I heard was complimentary, so naturally I was quite eager to have any such treatment. She dumped the hot wax into a little baggy and the stuck my foot in it. So, the whole thing about warm water and potty training? Well, suddenly, I wondered if I actually could make it 60 whole minutes. But she waxed up my other foot, and wrapped some little booties around them, and told me to take my robe off and get onto the massage table, and not to worry if the booties fell off. If I could have on 30 second clip of humiliating video of someone I hated, I would plant a camera in this little room and treat my enemy to a paraffin foot waxing and massage. When the therapist left the room I jumped off the table, and landed in the hot squishy bags of wax, experiencing a sensation that was identical in almost every way to stepping in a hot. fresh pile of puppy poop on carpet. the only thing missing was smell. And if you want to know how I can compare, well, I couldn't tell you without throwing up. so I squished my way awkwardly to the door, took off the awkwardly big robe, and there I stood, in the middle of the room, buck naked except for big booties full of squishy hot wax. I stared at the massage table across the room and pondered my best approach. In the end I decided to go for the hurried lunge, feeling certain that one of my mortal enemies was filming the whole endeavor from some secret corner. Nothing could have been less graceful than that single, naked room crossing, half leap, half shuffle, under the blankets and shoving the booties out of sight along with the rest of my silly looking body. Nothing sexy about this routine. But it was worth it. When she peeled the wax off it felt almost as good as taking off my fire boots and dirty socks after a three day spike camp in the wilderness. It was almost as if my feet could breathe the free air again. I would totally risk the video leak to have it done again. But maybe I would get on the table first then try to throw the robe onto the hook, rather than squishing around in the booties. Not sure on that one.
Now I have to see how much homework I am avoiding.
7.9.10
woman vs. civilization
that show, man vs. wild, always bugged me. I mean, first of all, why put yourself in those situations of the direst straits if you don't have to, and secondly, what about the camera crew, bearing their pain in silence along with you, big showoff. But I am thinking, since that one went over so well, it's time for a new reality show (are you listening, Ellen Degeneres?) : it's called "woman vs. civilization" and it's all about the ridiculously impossible to overcome scenarios that I (and a million other outnumbered single mothers) face every day, not by choice, and with no suffering camera crew. My only documentation help is my rapidly declining macbook. And if, out of the whole deal, I scored a new one, well, I'd feel pretty successful.
Today was the first day of school. We decided to go with the Jersey shore representation and I'd like to give a shout out to MacKenzie, for sporting more ass-crack and cleavage than any 13 year old should know about; Natalee, for bringing back the electrocuted look of the crimper on a premenstrual day, and Aspen, sporting the bump-it for the all out pookie look. Is that her name? The one with the bump-it in her hair? Anyway, I am glad that I am not totally sure about that. Hats off to Halle, who sported the look of "that kid". You know, the one with the totally legit tourist t-shirt and boys shoes. I took her shopping the night before. To Target. Thinking it would be a good place to find simple, yet somehow stylish clothes that she would wear. It was very much like what I imagine shopping with Spock would be. "Mom, those shoes are highly illogical." and, "can't you take out your fashion urges on MacKenzie?" because, according to Halle, fashion doesn't matter. Until she sees an oversized orange plastic watch that she has to have. "But mom, it's so cool!" "But Halle, fashion doesn't matter!" "Well you wanted me to care about fashion, now I am." "So will you wear the button down henley?" "no." "well, then I don't believe that you do care." "But this is my own style." "You have a style?" "Yes, it's logical." "Like a giant plastic orange watch." "exactly." "Ok." I am still not sure who won that one.
So I debated going to work today, feeling guilty about leaving them to find their way to the buses on their own. Turns out it's a damn good thing that I didn't, because the bus stops were all more than a mile away and we're still uncertain about which ones go where. I guess they will figure it out tomorrow. I won't say that I didn't have a two hour panic attack when I realized that the little girls will be floundering on their own off to school every morning, down the road 1/2 mile and past a sketchy trailer park, which, judging by their fashion sense, is where we should be living.
To add to the rapture of this glorious day, as I was rushing (illegally) to Redmond to submit a bus stop request form for the little girls closer to home, and then headed to the laundromat that has become my second home, I got a call from my boss, reassuring me that I was in fact, going to be laid off Sept. 30. That would all be well and good since I had another gig worked up with the other Arch crew here, except I think I may have given that job away to Hannah. Oops. So tonight I filled out the trusty old Costco Application. Again.
To compensate for the hyperventilation of the morning, I decided to use the SpaW gift card that Cassie gave me this afternoon. I went and had a "petite facial" and a 60 minute massage. As I lay there, having all kinds of wonderful things rubbed into my tortured pores, I was trying to force myself to relax instead of counting the minutes and calculating how late I would be in picking up the kids from their first day of school. After about 2/3 of the facial, I decided that they would all get home sometime tonight, somehow, and even if the police got involved because my children were abandoned on school sidewalks, I needed to try to enjoy the super posh spa. So I cuddled down into the ridiculously big robe that made me feel like a cross between Mr Miagi, Mulan and a sumo wrestler, and I attempted basking. SpaW is very clean, very formal, and very expensive. About three minutes into the basking I decided that if this was how celebrities lived, getting facials and all, I am going to be one. Then I can have a nanny pick up the ferociously stylish students, which is what happened after all. No sense in getting a nice relaxing massage if you can't get out 25 minutes too late to get your kids and nobody answers their phones and the traffic is backed up to California. I mean we can't have all that carefree relaxation going to waste now, let's throw a little bit of panic in there. Somehow we all made it home, and the only reminder of the massage was when Truck licked the residual massage oil off of my arms after dinner. But SpaW has fabulous cucumber water, and fishy crackers. Highly recommend. It all worked out and eventually I fell asleep doing my homework which consisted of three moderately boring videos, and then made a lovely dinner of the raviolis that Jessica left in my frig, and actually unpacked some more trunks and boxes and made the house that I may be kicked out of next month a little more like home.
tonight I think I will sleep. relaxing is exhausting work.
Today was the first day of school. We decided to go with the Jersey shore representation and I'd like to give a shout out to MacKenzie, for sporting more ass-crack and cleavage than any 13 year old should know about; Natalee, for bringing back the electrocuted look of the crimper on a premenstrual day, and Aspen, sporting the bump-it for the all out pookie look. Is that her name? The one with the bump-it in her hair? Anyway, I am glad that I am not totally sure about that. Hats off to Halle, who sported the look of "that kid". You know, the one with the totally legit tourist t-shirt and boys shoes. I took her shopping the night before. To Target. Thinking it would be a good place to find simple, yet somehow stylish clothes that she would wear. It was very much like what I imagine shopping with Spock would be. "Mom, those shoes are highly illogical." and, "can't you take out your fashion urges on MacKenzie?" because, according to Halle, fashion doesn't matter. Until she sees an oversized orange plastic watch that she has to have. "But mom, it's so cool!" "But Halle, fashion doesn't matter!" "Well you wanted me to care about fashion, now I am." "So will you wear the button down henley?" "no." "well, then I don't believe that you do care." "But this is my own style." "You have a style?" "Yes, it's logical." "Like a giant plastic orange watch." "exactly." "Ok." I am still not sure who won that one.
So I debated going to work today, feeling guilty about leaving them to find their way to the buses on their own. Turns out it's a damn good thing that I didn't, because the bus stops were all more than a mile away and we're still uncertain about which ones go where. I guess they will figure it out tomorrow. I won't say that I didn't have a two hour panic attack when I realized that the little girls will be floundering on their own off to school every morning, down the road 1/2 mile and past a sketchy trailer park, which, judging by their fashion sense, is where we should be living.
To add to the rapture of this glorious day, as I was rushing (illegally) to Redmond to submit a bus stop request form for the little girls closer to home, and then headed to the laundromat that has become my second home, I got a call from my boss, reassuring me that I was in fact, going to be laid off Sept. 30. That would all be well and good since I had another gig worked up with the other Arch crew here, except I think I may have given that job away to Hannah. Oops. So tonight I filled out the trusty old Costco Application. Again.
To compensate for the hyperventilation of the morning, I decided to use the SpaW gift card that Cassie gave me this afternoon. I went and had a "petite facial" and a 60 minute massage. As I lay there, having all kinds of wonderful things rubbed into my tortured pores, I was trying to force myself to relax instead of counting the minutes and calculating how late I would be in picking up the kids from their first day of school. After about 2/3 of the facial, I decided that they would all get home sometime tonight, somehow, and even if the police got involved because my children were abandoned on school sidewalks, I needed to try to enjoy the super posh spa. So I cuddled down into the ridiculously big robe that made me feel like a cross between Mr Miagi, Mulan and a sumo wrestler, and I attempted basking. SpaW is very clean, very formal, and very expensive. About three minutes into the basking I decided that if this was how celebrities lived, getting facials and all, I am going to be one. Then I can have a nanny pick up the ferociously stylish students, which is what happened after all. No sense in getting a nice relaxing massage if you can't get out 25 minutes too late to get your kids and nobody answers their phones and the traffic is backed up to California. I mean we can't have all that carefree relaxation going to waste now, let's throw a little bit of panic in there. Somehow we all made it home, and the only reminder of the massage was when Truck licked the residual massage oil off of my arms after dinner. But SpaW has fabulous cucumber water, and fishy crackers. Highly recommend. It all worked out and eventually I fell asleep doing my homework which consisted of three moderately boring videos, and then made a lovely dinner of the raviolis that Jessica left in my frig, and actually unpacked some more trunks and boxes and made the house that I may be kicked out of next month a little more like home.
tonight I think I will sleep. relaxing is exhausting work.
30.8.10
On balance
My parents would tell you I have none. That my life is spiraling crazily our of control, I am self-destructive and an adversary to the well-being of my children. But it is moments like this present one that help me know, let me continue believing that there is a yin to my yang, an up to my down, a white to my black. No Prozac limping me thru this one. Gave that one up months ago. No drugs at all, in fact. No alcohol for... Well I can't remember how long. And here I am : happy. Ecstatic. Content. Full of unjustified faith and hope. One more shift on a long overdue fire. En route to what will potentially be the most truly epic TAB show of all time. And then Wednesday, I get Halle home. Just in time for her highschool registration event. Then a day off, to get everything else squared away. It's finally coming together. Just when I thought I would fracture into brittle pieces from the stress, things fall into place. Halle and Kiz got transfer approvals into the bend schools. Aspens eyes are clearing up. Nat has school supplies to organize. I have work. Overtime even. For now.
The only obstacle left is the DUI. Three beers and I didn't use my turn signal. Now I am criminal status. I've got it mostly cleared up, preemptively checking off the steps the court will order for a diversion. There remains only the matter of not being able to drive. And the burning brand of the DUI that complements my bankruptcy status and fulfills my parents sordid fantasies of my debauchery. Is it ridiculous that Paris hilton's cocaine related arrest made me feel less miserable, inexplicably? I have learned my lesson, no doubt. No question. Never again will I entertain the notion that I can handle even one beer and drive. I am terrified. Being in jail, even for a few hours, was hands down the worst experience of my life. I would rather be in perpetual maternal labor. But maybe I've forgotten how bad that is. Or maybe the incessant pain I have lived with has hardened me to it.
Speaking of pain - I am in daily shock at how much healthier I feel. Like a new person. My back hurts like it always has, but the overpowering sense of being unwell, with no end or relief in sight, is gone. I can't believe it when a day goes by and I forgot to take pain killers. Because I didn't need to. This is ecstasy. Sometimes i almost appreciate, and bask in the burning in my back, it's like a reminder that nowhere else hurts. Everything else feels good, and alive. Silly as it sounds, I feel radiant.
People (mostly guts that I know) tell me I am grouchy. I think I am not the frivolous flirt they have known, and it puzzles them. I am preoccupied with survival. I can't look to those boys for the temporal rush that entertaining them has provided in the past. It males me sad, all of it. Those boys. My aloneness. So I have closed off that part of myself for now. Becoming a crabby old spinster. Until my time comes. And the boy who can provide a sustained smile for my heart.
Now I should focus on my driving.
Sent from my iPhone
21.8.10
Just when
I thought I was on top of it. I was gonna keep going. I was getting ahead of the game. So I tried to rewire my own dryer. And apparently forgot everything I ever knew about electricity. I'm feeling shaken, stupid, and lucky to be alive. For my next boyfriend I think I will date an electrician. What was I thinking? And now my poor landlords have to deal with replacing the whole panel. At least the house didn't burn down. Good lord. Tomorrow is Sunday. I was supposed to go work. But that would mean leaving my kids to muddle through with no power and my landlords to fix the mess on their own. I really can't do that to them. Oh man. Somehow I'd really love to get some overtime in. Someday. Stupid girl.
Sent from my iPhone
20.8.10
note to Aunt Lynn
I am a little overwhelmed. But it seems to be getting better. It's just the mess that I can't get on top of. The girls try to help, but end up frustrating me when they ask me where to put stuff and I don't know. And I just haven't had time to preclean the places we're sleeping and stuff, which grosses me out, but I just keep assuring myself that no one will die. It's still cleaner than my ex mother inlaw's, where they spent all summer. It's a constant internal conversation in my head. "It's not the kids, they're being good. Just breathe, in a couple weeks all this stress will be hard to remember. We have food, a roof, a place to sleep (even if we don't have beds yet) and a paycheck coming. I have work through October at least. Things will work out. Child support is coming again, consistently, and more than before, even if it isn't the full amount. We will make it." I go through this at least 500 times a day in my head. My spinning, aching head. I was going to work today, overtime, but woke up at 5:38 in tears because I was so tired so I called my supervisor and said I couldn't. Which was fine. But $220 I could have made. Oh well. I slept til 11, apparently I needed it. And then I have gotten so much done, little stupid things that were swirling in my mixed up head. changed addresses, visited all the girls schools (which opened a whole new can of confusing worms), finished cleaning my room at the old house, all moved out of there... it was a productive day. Now I get to make a whole new list for tomorrow and monday (working sunday), and try to get a million more little things done.
Tomorrow I want to take the girls up to Crater Lake, so they don't feel like this whole Bend thing is a big crock of nasty mom business. We drove up to the top of lava butte last night after another load from storage. The butte sits smack dab in the middle of town, so the sun was just setting and the lights of Bend were twinkling like a million pixies in the pink light. It was really pretty. The girls loved it. It smelled like sage and juniper. I think that is my favorite thing about this place. The smell, it's everywhere. Not great for allergies, but in the summer time sometimes there's some smoke from the big fires and then I am really happy. :)
Our yard has aspen trees. There aren't a ton of Aspen trees here so it's cool that our yard has them. Aspen of course thinks that's why we live here, or the trees are here, because we are. It all makes sense to her. They've been organizing their play house, and Natalee has invented a new art medium of leaves and sap and rocks. They're pretty little pieces. I was a little outraged at the pitch in Aspen's hair, but oh well, it happens, in the name of artistic endeavor.
Obviously I need to make some friends so I don't randomly gush everything out at you. I usually blog this stuff. Maybe I will copy and paste so that the other two people who care about us can read it, and my mom who secretly reads my blog and won't admit it until I write something that really pisses her off. But I am glad that she can keep up with us even when she's pretending not to. And I like to imagine that not everything I write is offensive to her. :)
Ok, gotta make another run to the storage unit. My back is doing so much better that I think I will try to get my 500lb table into my tahoe, just so I can complain again. But if it won't fit there's still plenty of other garbage that I can't believe I moved here. My old roommate (from last week) has said I can have a yard sale at his house in town. which will be good.
-L
Tomorrow I want to take the girls up to Crater Lake, so they don't feel like this whole Bend thing is a big crock of nasty mom business. We drove up to the top of lava butte last night after another load from storage. The butte sits smack dab in the middle of town, so the sun was just setting and the lights of Bend were twinkling like a million pixies in the pink light. It was really pretty. The girls loved it. It smelled like sage and juniper. I think that is my favorite thing about this place. The smell, it's everywhere. Not great for allergies, but in the summer time sometimes there's some smoke from the big fires and then I am really happy. :)
Our yard has aspen trees. There aren't a ton of Aspen trees here so it's cool that our yard has them. Aspen of course thinks that's why we live here, or the trees are here, because we are. It all makes sense to her. They've been organizing their play house, and Natalee has invented a new art medium of leaves and sap and rocks. They're pretty little pieces. I was a little outraged at the pitch in Aspen's hair, but oh well, it happens, in the name of artistic endeavor.
Obviously I need to make some friends so I don't randomly gush everything out at you. I usually blog this stuff. Maybe I will copy and paste so that the other two people who care about us can read it, and my mom who secretly reads my blog and won't admit it until I write something that really pisses her off. But I am glad that she can keep up with us even when she's pretending not to. And I like to imagine that not everything I write is offensive to her. :)
Ok, gotta make another run to the storage unit. My back is doing so much better that I think I will try to get my 500lb table into my tahoe, just so I can complain again. But if it won't fit there's still plenty of other garbage that I can't believe I moved here. My old roommate (from last week) has said I can have a yard sale at his house in town. which will be good.
-L
19.8.10
ebb and flow
statistically, things aren't getting any less stressful, but I must be adapting in a charming darwinian fashion to the chaos level of my life these days, because it is beginning to feel manageable. We stopped at the storage unit tonight and I realized that it will take me approximately 15-20 more trips with my tahoe to get it all, if I do two trips each day after work, that is about 10 days worth of moving, which brings me right up to my deadline to be out of my storage unit, and makes me so tired I want to throw up. I am thinking one good day with Trent (new and best landlord ever)'s trailer, I could possibly do it in 5-6 trips, and that is only mildly exhausting. Assuming I can figure out how to load and move the table that three guys struggled with by myself. Well, with Kizzie.
Stephanie C. is coming to save me. For $30 a day, god willing subsidized by the state, I will have someone to herd the kids around, maybe help to get us settled in, and get the school year off to a rolling start while I cram as much overtime in as possible before the end of the federal fiscal year. Again, exhausting, especially when I think about my school starting at the end of this month, any kind of after school sports for the kids, and finding an EMT class to squeeze in somewhere. No wonder I kept falling asleep today. At work. I mean, when else would I sleep?
Aspen's pink eye is finally starting to clear up. Just as I was preparing myself mentally for another trip to the urgent care. I think we might have it under control. Please god. Kiz has been a big help to me, even though I am still stressed and crabby. I will have to think of a way to make it up to her. Halle is in DC, and grudgingly finally responded to my worried texts that she had in fact arrived safely after traveling cross country alone. More good news: Truck is super happy here. His face is happier. It's weird. He still gets stressed when we drive away, but he's starting to figure it out that this is home now. But he seems like such a different dog. Maybe it's having the kids back too. Anyway he's a peach.
Just another month or so of major social, financial, technical stressors and we should be in the clear. I am really really excited about the morning I get to sleep in. Not sure when this will be, exactly, but I am excited nonetheless. But now my eyes won't stay open...
Stephanie C. is coming to save me. For $30 a day, god willing subsidized by the state, I will have someone to herd the kids around, maybe help to get us settled in, and get the school year off to a rolling start while I cram as much overtime in as possible before the end of the federal fiscal year. Again, exhausting, especially when I think about my school starting at the end of this month, any kind of after school sports for the kids, and finding an EMT class to squeeze in somewhere. No wonder I kept falling asleep today. At work. I mean, when else would I sleep?
Aspen's pink eye is finally starting to clear up. Just as I was preparing myself mentally for another trip to the urgent care. I think we might have it under control. Please god. Kiz has been a big help to me, even though I am still stressed and crabby. I will have to think of a way to make it up to her. Halle is in DC, and grudgingly finally responded to my worried texts that she had in fact arrived safely after traveling cross country alone. More good news: Truck is super happy here. His face is happier. It's weird. He still gets stressed when we drive away, but he's starting to figure it out that this is home now. But he seems like such a different dog. Maybe it's having the kids back too. Anyway he's a peach.
Just another month or so of major social, financial, technical stressors and we should be in the clear. I am really really excited about the morning I get to sleep in. Not sure when this will be, exactly, but I am excited nonetheless. But now my eyes won't stay open...
17.8.10
There is no try
Even though I feel like I can't, now there's no option. I've sealed my Fate signed my destiny. Made my bed. There is no one to run to. Not one shoulder to cry on. It's just me. The girls. The dog. And the god who is there.
Mom says I blog because all of the people who "sing my praises" for the things I write give me a false sense of affirmation. I write because I feel better after I do. It's been that way since before I can remember. All of my writing used to be repentance and apologetics and pleas for forgiveness. Now I find myself doing all of that after I write, or because I write. I still haven't decided which side of that coin is less painful. I guess I'm much happier now, since I continue to do it and it seems to alienate all of the people who have always required repentance and apologetics from me. Except god. Funny how he's still there even when I'm not painting sunlight and roses with my words. He doesn't need me to live in happyland unreality to be around me.
As much as I want, and sometimes try to pretend that my life is a beautiful happy dreamland, the truth is that right now, for the past several years, and for the foreseeable future, this road is long, hard, and exhausting. Not that we don't have fun along the way, I tend to make sure of that in my own selfish ways, but it is an unnatural lifestyle. One of me, four of them, a shittanked economy, no marketable skills from my widely varied background, and a lot of emotional baggage. If I could just decide where to start. I think I gave up on the baggage after my counseling attempts just left me more bitter. So it's focusing on those hard to find marketable skills that still leave me time to raise the outnumbering quartet. But the hard thing is, like dating, in the job world, it's the whole package, kids, baggage, fat dog and all. It's terribly inconvenient, and downright frightening for most prospective boyfriends/employers. So my new tactic is omitting unnecessary details when I'm pitching myself. Until they become necessary. Which is usually a bit early in the conversation than I had hoped.
But I'm coming to terms, albeit grudgingly, with the fact that I am, and will, for an undetermined and predictably lengthy period of time, single. I am truthfully working on being happy by myself. Well, ok, not really alone, but without a confidant or a friend or a someone to lean on. Sometimes I catch myself wanting to lean on the girls, and reprimand me for my selfishness and neediness. So
Every time I start to think poor me, nobody wants a frumpy mother of four with dubious contributable traits for any kind of relationship, I instead try to focus on how strong this is making me, and healthy, and prepared for anything. Ok. It sucks. But I will not be desperate and I will make the best of it.
And this whole family thing, being the blacksheep and all. Destroying the perfect harmony of the extended family. I am finally working through the guilt of not "honoring" my parents, a deadly and unforgiveable sin, according to the patriarchal Nazi with no wife or family, bill gothard. I have never allowed myself to consider being angry with them for the way I was raised, the grooming for marble, the pounding down of my worth as a human being since I was born female, useful only to bear children, stumble men into wickedness, and manipulate the world around me. I couldn't judge them, or condemn. They are my parents. I owe them honor. But then again, according to those laws I should be dead. So should my parents. My kids. Everyone. I'm kinda over it. I mean, it's already been established they I'm going to hell. Why am i trying so hard to save my soul by redirecting my parents for the effort they made is raising me as righteously as possible, even at the expense of my mind and soul. It's not that I think they Ever intended any of this to go so far south, but when it did (ie marble, david), they ran so fast and so far from responsibility it was a triple whammy of guilt, self condemnation, and rejection all rolled into a self righteous display of finger pointing and image preservation. It all adds up really. I remember getting the image lecture about representing the family when we would go out for hamburgers in Portland. I couldn't have been more than six.
I don't know. The more I think I learn, the more I find out I don't know, and never will. We only get one shot at this life and I've done my performing and Ass kissing. Probably more than my share. It's time to move on. To teach my girls to take it on the chin and push through, and don't slow down for the doubting thomases and the denying peters. Time will tell. Truth will prevail. Day will come, sun will shine and we'll be fine.
(assuming the spiders in the new house don't eat us.)
Sent from my iPhone
14.8.10
Plan of Attack:
So I have the kids now. Well, three of them. And that hugely overwhelming sense of anxiety is back, that I had a couple weeks ago when bank account A was overdrawn $2000 and my only hope of a paycheck was lost in the mail. The paychecks, and possibly even the child support payments, have settled into a predictable rhythm (into bank account B), that gives me hope that the financial desperation is over. The anxiety stems from the fact that I have a ginormous refrigerator and a washing machine that I cannot lift by myself, to move. Sweet, sweet Jessica has offered to help, and I know that I can con ricker and maybe even Nate into helping me, but my back has been so bad these last few days that for some ridiculous reason the thought of moving the big things is giving me panic attacks. Maybe that's what I am pinning the panic on, when really it has more to do with the pure, unadulterated upheaval of our lives, and the intense longing I have for us to be settled into a rhythm of work and school and peace and productivity. Long term. But I fear that just as soon as we get into the swing of things I will find myself laid off. This is where I am on my face before god, in whatever form he exists, and I plead for mercy. Let me find favor with the powers that be and let me stay employed this winter. For the sake of my children, please.
But I am trying to focus, not on the 5.5 foot pile of misc crap in my small room at Ricker's, that I am sure stresses him out as much as me, but the fact that the whole pile will soon be in our new house, and will be put away, or maybe sold, or thrown away, within the next couple of weeks. But I am so tired. I want, once again, the fairy godmother. who apparently decided I am too much work and went on permanent hiatus. So, tomorrow morning, I will load as much sh** into the rig as possible, go up to Tumalo and offload said sh**, hook up to the trailer, and begin the perilous journey of relocation, yet again. As much as you have all heard me say it time and time again, I would just as soon burn down the entire house, complete with all my earthly possessions, as I would move again, any time in the foreseeable future.
There is so, so much to do. I am in complete physical disarray, and keep trying to snap myself into clear functionality. But until this fall when I can finally end the constant torment that my uterus provides, I will keep having to push through the misery and pretend I am fine.
On the up side, we floated the river today, got a tinge of sunburn, and watched the Bend Elks make a poor showing at the league championship game. It wasn't a bad day, and I kept trying to remind myself of that when I was fighting the urge to pass out and/or cry. Just my body against me now. The rest is cake.
So how to approach this next phase of life: without the aid of prozac, I will be proactive, confident, and I will not give up or let down until we have a life that all 5 of us can live with. Ok, granted, Natalee will not have her own room, in spite of the fits, and they will all be fighting about some aspect of the sleeping and living arrangements, but that just comes with the territory of having 5 girls in one house, right? It will be great. No TV to melt our brains, no video games to turn us into zombies, plenty of things to fight about, though, bathroom usage, disappearing hairbrushes, etc. It will all be just like home in no time at all.
But I am trying to focus, not on the 5.5 foot pile of misc crap in my small room at Ricker's, that I am sure stresses him out as much as me, but the fact that the whole pile will soon be in our new house, and will be put away, or maybe sold, or thrown away, within the next couple of weeks. But I am so tired. I want, once again, the fairy godmother. who apparently decided I am too much work and went on permanent hiatus. So, tomorrow morning, I will load as much sh** into the rig as possible, go up to Tumalo and offload said sh**, hook up to the trailer, and begin the perilous journey of relocation, yet again. As much as you have all heard me say it time and time again, I would just as soon burn down the entire house, complete with all my earthly possessions, as I would move again, any time in the foreseeable future.
There is so, so much to do. I am in complete physical disarray, and keep trying to snap myself into clear functionality. But until this fall when I can finally end the constant torment that my uterus provides, I will keep having to push through the misery and pretend I am fine.
On the up side, we floated the river today, got a tinge of sunburn, and watched the Bend Elks make a poor showing at the league championship game. It wasn't a bad day, and I kept trying to remind myself of that when I was fighting the urge to pass out and/or cry. Just my body against me now. The rest is cake.
So how to approach this next phase of life: without the aid of prozac, I will be proactive, confident, and I will not give up or let down until we have a life that all 5 of us can live with. Ok, granted, Natalee will not have her own room, in spite of the fits, and they will all be fighting about some aspect of the sleeping and living arrangements, but that just comes with the territory of having 5 girls in one house, right? It will be great. No TV to melt our brains, no video games to turn us into zombies, plenty of things to fight about, though, bathroom usage, disappearing hairbrushes, etc. It will all be just like home in no time at all.
11.8.10
on finding rest.
So I got it out, the anger. It has subsided to a dull ache that I can easily confuse for the herniated disk in my lower back or the giant cyst on my left ovary. All bearable in perspective. I have decided to go get my kids this weekend and I am so excited. I know within two weeks I will be complaining about the stress, but it's a better stress than this out-of-reach helpless kind of stress.
Today I moved the very first things of mine into the new house. Trent (the landlord with the suspiciously un-idahoan accent) is replacing the downstairs shower, a nice surprise. I really cannot wait to get moved. This weekend will begin the craziness, I am actually looking forward to it. Of course this weekend we have to fit moving in around the Elks championship game (which is totally worth bringing the kids home for) and the First Multi-Annual Snow Creek Crew Barbeque/ campout. it will be delightful, in an exhausting way.
The neighbors next door had a screaming, rage out fight last night at about 2:30 AM, which made me embarrassed that I have ever fought or raged out at any point. How silly and small of me. It is so sad and ugly. It made me ashamed of the anger that I have inside of me, and made me all the more determined to work it out. Interesting, as if to challenge my new resolution, when I got to work this morning and volunteered to take on a site monitoring job for my boss, I was harshly told that she wouldn't let me do it because I am not a "professional" archaeologist. Smackdown. It makes me wonder why I am getting paid to do archaeology work if she really thinks my lacking a little piece of paper makes me that incompetent. I am still reeling a little. Even though I have monitored and surveyed and done all of these things at least as much, if not more than the rest of my crew. But they have their pretty little diplomas in anthropology and I am garbage. But I have work, so I will set my will and eat my pride and do whatever mindless work she seems to think I can handle. Photocopies, etc. And I will not tell her off. Yet.
Today I moved the very first things of mine into the new house. Trent (the landlord with the suspiciously un-idahoan accent) is replacing the downstairs shower, a nice surprise. I really cannot wait to get moved. This weekend will begin the craziness, I am actually looking forward to it. Of course this weekend we have to fit moving in around the Elks championship game (which is totally worth bringing the kids home for) and the First Multi-Annual Snow Creek Crew Barbeque/ campout. it will be delightful, in an exhausting way.
The neighbors next door had a screaming, rage out fight last night at about 2:30 AM, which made me embarrassed that I have ever fought or raged out at any point. How silly and small of me. It is so sad and ugly. It made me ashamed of the anger that I have inside of me, and made me all the more determined to work it out. Interesting, as if to challenge my new resolution, when I got to work this morning and volunteered to take on a site monitoring job for my boss, I was harshly told that she wouldn't let me do it because I am not a "professional" archaeologist. Smackdown. It makes me wonder why I am getting paid to do archaeology work if she really thinks my lacking a little piece of paper makes me that incompetent. I am still reeling a little. Even though I have monitored and surveyed and done all of these things at least as much, if not more than the rest of my crew. But they have their pretty little diplomas in anthropology and I am garbage. But I have work, so I will set my will and eat my pride and do whatever mindless work she seems to think I can handle. Photocopies, etc. And I will not tell her off. Yet.
10.8.10
getting it out.
Tonight was the last Elks game of the season. This tradition of $2 Tuesdays and other random nights selected usually for their respective promos has become a thing I love. It is a cheap excuse to scream and yell and sing and dance, all the while, being socially acceptable. So the Elks suck. But Statler and Waldorf provide the back row entertainment with their "back to the team" silent strikes towards the end of the games when the Elks really suck. And Ricker trudges up and down the aisles crowing "CoooLd BEEEER Heeerre", in a very serious and business like manner, basking in the glory of his cash on the side and strenuous physical workout. And Kale always gives me the first on one the house, because he is Kale the beer man, and he can, and he is good. And I have become one of the chorus of press box hecklers in Pierre's Posse, memorizing all of the appropriate burns and zingers to shout at Jared and the radio announcers at the appropriate times. All of these things are good. So good. I sit with my crew and plot the next weeks oddball adventures and reminisce about the totally un-job-related happenings throughout the past week at work. And it is good.
But even so, I come home and I am angry. So, so angry. So frustrated, not knowing where to turn for help, where to find a shoulder to cry on, and wanting so much to not have reason to. I desperately want to be the strong shoulder for everyone else, the help to turn to, but at this point in my life I need more help than I can offer. Things are working out all right. The rent is slowly getting paid, The ominous threat of financial ruin hanging over my head is receding, and I know things will work out. And still I am angry. Mostly I am angry at my family, and yet I can't say anything because it will be interpreted as hate and bitterness and all of the unhealthy things that I loathe. More than ever before I feel so violated, abandoned, and mocked by my family. The ones who helped to get me here, where I am, and now have nothing to offer me but constant reminders of how much in jeopardy my life is, the life with my children. Their nieces and grandchildren. It is one thing to be written off, but it is by far another to be shunned and charged for unproved sins on top of it. I don't know what to do with the anger. Except to get it out. I don't want to throw up any more emotion on anybody else. But how do I get it out. I have been praying, repenting, forgiving, resolving, evolving. Every thought I have been earnestly working to "take captive", to replace bitterness and ingratitude with thankfulness and joy in the path I am on. I fight every minute to change every negative vibe that comes after me with something good, and happy, and right. I have even been trying to tell good and happy stories of my life and past and family. Remembering the good times, trying to outshine the shadow of this moment of time.
Money really is the root of all evil. Even though we paint it with morals and ethics and standards and philosophies, it really is behind all of the worst parts of humanity. It is money between me and my sister. Phone bills unpaid, three wheelers of questionable ownership and investment, gas money that I simply have not had yet to contribute to their trek across the state pulling my trailer. It's money that my parents see me expressing my apparently twisted values with, spending the dollars I need for rent on beer, concerts, designer jeans. Filing bankruptcy, the ultimate shirking of responsibility, that casts a shadow of shame across the family. Money that I owe them, that I borrowed to try to claw my way out of the quicksand that ultimately I succumbed to. If I had even several thousand dollars, my family would be happy with me again. If my rent was paid through the winter, we would all have peace. If I had the money, I could go to a doctor or a chiropractor and get my back fixed. I could take the time off work to get a hysterectomy, to write the book I desperately need to, and to get better than a 2.73 GPA in school. All if I just had some money. Crazy thing is, I don't even want it. I don't want the money. I want a home. I'd rather never see a dollar and know that there was no threat of eviction this winter. I'd like a car, even a piece of crap, that I know will get me to work, my kids to band practice. I'd just as soon not be involved with buying it at all. I just want it to be. I want to know my kids will be fed, clothed, get their teeth fixed and their yearly check ups. I think that is why I have come to peace with being on food stamps (yes, the shame!) - it doesn't involve the exchange of money. It is charity, food provided when we could not other wise afford it. I am fine with that. I am sorry to those of you who pay taxes, I know you feel used. But I promise you, even if you didn't pay the taxes, our miraculous government would somehow find a way to provide food for us. Maybe I have bowed down to Baalaam, and I have forgotten the laws of my ancestors. But there is no one in my world who seems interested in helping us survive, other than that ridiculous puppet show of a ruling body.
This is where the anger kicks in again. If I had a husband. If the father of my children would provide for his kids. We can't live on thin air, but when there is no work, after countless interviews, odd jobs, minimum wage gigs, struggling to get by, don't you dare lecture me about what I am doing wrong. Don't you tell me I have been the cause of our financial ruin. Don't you dare say it is my lack of trying. Leeroy would call me a lazy piece of shit, he always did. My parents call me reckless and irresponsible. My sister is simply a mercenary, a hereditary trait I see in myself as well, but fight to overcome. Oddly enough, my ex husband may be my greatest ally in this turmoil. As negligent and derelict in his obligation as he has been, I understand the struggle, and I see at least some effort. I know he has external motivating factors (a new fiancee), but recently he told me, without bitterness, that he trusts me to do the right thing for the kids, when it comes to finances, and that gave me the reassurance that eventually, someday, he will follow through. I just pray to god it won't be too late. In the mean time, there is no charity, no welfare, that I will turn down. We will go to food banks. I will beg. I am growing accustomed to it. The bottom line is that we must have a roof over our heads. We must, we will, stay housed. Right now it is a black hole that I see, the future of our rent. I don't know how. But we will. Somehow. I know there is nothing I will not do to make sure we have a place to sleep at night. God help us, we will.
15 years ago, when I got married, as an idealistic 18 year old, the thought of struggling for such basic things would have been laughable. Of course, we lived in a similarly idealistic community, where family and friends just pitched in and made it work. Here, in a new town, I am working to build that community, but already I have made friends who have extended themselves in ways that humble me completely. Ricker, Karen, so many of my TAB friends. The ones that my family consider the most superficial and non-consequential. These are the people who have stepped up. Co-workers I have just met, facebook friends I haven't seen in years offer me the support that I once got from my family and religious circle. I never cease to be amazed at the love and generosity of human beings, when you get to know the right ones.
Every day is a choice. Every minute is a struggle. Happy for sad, thankful for angry, faith for despair. Every week is healing and evolution. Always learning what is the most important, which choices are right and wrong and why sometimes the wrong ones must be made. I am so flawed and in need of repair, and yet everyday I see more reason to believe that this is fixable, that I am fixable.
This weekend I will go get my girls, and then the intensive healing can begin. We will find peace and stability and rest at last. No, dear family, it is not my "loose canon" lifestyle that has caused this instability. It is not my recklessness, the sin in my life, my broken relationship with god (because that is far from broken). It is not me floundering to come to terms with who I am. More than ever before I know who I am, what I am. But you can't get blood from a turnip, or make a father pay child support, or live on absolutely nothing for two years. You just can't. Yes, we are unstable. We have moved a thousand times and we, all five of us, are crying out for home. But it wasn't in Tumwater, it wasn't in Northport, and god willing it is here in Bend. If you don't have a solution to offer, help to extend that is actually help, and not condescension masquerading as input and advice, I will gladly take it. Counsel, direction, solutions that I have not thought of to a seemingly helpless situation... I am all ears. But I don't need help identifying the problems. They are very real, very obvious, very painful. So feel free to share with me a better way to fix this than I can see now, something better than bankruptcy, better than begging, depending on the welfare system... I am all ears. As silly as it sounds, the thing I keep chanting over and over in my head is one of Disney's gems: "if you can't say something nice.." and when I find that I have nothing to say for some time, I realize I need some realignment. But as much as I try to not let it out, the bad thoughts and words, I try just as hard not to let them in. So I will turn a deaf ear to non-constructive and misinformed lectures. I have no room for them in my very tired and overwhelmed soul. I have only space for survival, hope, and resolution. That is all.
But even so, I come home and I am angry. So, so angry. So frustrated, not knowing where to turn for help, where to find a shoulder to cry on, and wanting so much to not have reason to. I desperately want to be the strong shoulder for everyone else, the help to turn to, but at this point in my life I need more help than I can offer. Things are working out all right. The rent is slowly getting paid, The ominous threat of financial ruin hanging over my head is receding, and I know things will work out. And still I am angry. Mostly I am angry at my family, and yet I can't say anything because it will be interpreted as hate and bitterness and all of the unhealthy things that I loathe. More than ever before I feel so violated, abandoned, and mocked by my family. The ones who helped to get me here, where I am, and now have nothing to offer me but constant reminders of how much in jeopardy my life is, the life with my children. Their nieces and grandchildren. It is one thing to be written off, but it is by far another to be shunned and charged for unproved sins on top of it. I don't know what to do with the anger. Except to get it out. I don't want to throw up any more emotion on anybody else. But how do I get it out. I have been praying, repenting, forgiving, resolving, evolving. Every thought I have been earnestly working to "take captive", to replace bitterness and ingratitude with thankfulness and joy in the path I am on. I fight every minute to change every negative vibe that comes after me with something good, and happy, and right. I have even been trying to tell good and happy stories of my life and past and family. Remembering the good times, trying to outshine the shadow of this moment of time.
Money really is the root of all evil. Even though we paint it with morals and ethics and standards and philosophies, it really is behind all of the worst parts of humanity. It is money between me and my sister. Phone bills unpaid, three wheelers of questionable ownership and investment, gas money that I simply have not had yet to contribute to their trek across the state pulling my trailer. It's money that my parents see me expressing my apparently twisted values with, spending the dollars I need for rent on beer, concerts, designer jeans. Filing bankruptcy, the ultimate shirking of responsibility, that casts a shadow of shame across the family. Money that I owe them, that I borrowed to try to claw my way out of the quicksand that ultimately I succumbed to. If I had even several thousand dollars, my family would be happy with me again. If my rent was paid through the winter, we would all have peace. If I had the money, I could go to a doctor or a chiropractor and get my back fixed. I could take the time off work to get a hysterectomy, to write the book I desperately need to, and to get better than a 2.73 GPA in school. All if I just had some money. Crazy thing is, I don't even want it. I don't want the money. I want a home. I'd rather never see a dollar and know that there was no threat of eviction this winter. I'd like a car, even a piece of crap, that I know will get me to work, my kids to band practice. I'd just as soon not be involved with buying it at all. I just want it to be. I want to know my kids will be fed, clothed, get their teeth fixed and their yearly check ups. I think that is why I have come to peace with being on food stamps (yes, the shame!) - it doesn't involve the exchange of money. It is charity, food provided when we could not other wise afford it. I am fine with that. I am sorry to those of you who pay taxes, I know you feel used. But I promise you, even if you didn't pay the taxes, our miraculous government would somehow find a way to provide food for us. Maybe I have bowed down to Baalaam, and I have forgotten the laws of my ancestors. But there is no one in my world who seems interested in helping us survive, other than that ridiculous puppet show of a ruling body.
This is where the anger kicks in again. If I had a husband. If the father of my children would provide for his kids. We can't live on thin air, but when there is no work, after countless interviews, odd jobs, minimum wage gigs, struggling to get by, don't you dare lecture me about what I am doing wrong. Don't you tell me I have been the cause of our financial ruin. Don't you dare say it is my lack of trying. Leeroy would call me a lazy piece of shit, he always did. My parents call me reckless and irresponsible. My sister is simply a mercenary, a hereditary trait I see in myself as well, but fight to overcome. Oddly enough, my ex husband may be my greatest ally in this turmoil. As negligent and derelict in his obligation as he has been, I understand the struggle, and I see at least some effort. I know he has external motivating factors (a new fiancee), but recently he told me, without bitterness, that he trusts me to do the right thing for the kids, when it comes to finances, and that gave me the reassurance that eventually, someday, he will follow through. I just pray to god it won't be too late. In the mean time, there is no charity, no welfare, that I will turn down. We will go to food banks. I will beg. I am growing accustomed to it. The bottom line is that we must have a roof over our heads. We must, we will, stay housed. Right now it is a black hole that I see, the future of our rent. I don't know how. But we will. Somehow. I know there is nothing I will not do to make sure we have a place to sleep at night. God help us, we will.
15 years ago, when I got married, as an idealistic 18 year old, the thought of struggling for such basic things would have been laughable. Of course, we lived in a similarly idealistic community, where family and friends just pitched in and made it work. Here, in a new town, I am working to build that community, but already I have made friends who have extended themselves in ways that humble me completely. Ricker, Karen, so many of my TAB friends. The ones that my family consider the most superficial and non-consequential. These are the people who have stepped up. Co-workers I have just met, facebook friends I haven't seen in years offer me the support that I once got from my family and religious circle. I never cease to be amazed at the love and generosity of human beings, when you get to know the right ones.
Every day is a choice. Every minute is a struggle. Happy for sad, thankful for angry, faith for despair. Every week is healing and evolution. Always learning what is the most important, which choices are right and wrong and why sometimes the wrong ones must be made. I am so flawed and in need of repair, and yet everyday I see more reason to believe that this is fixable, that I am fixable.
This weekend I will go get my girls, and then the intensive healing can begin. We will find peace and stability and rest at last. No, dear family, it is not my "loose canon" lifestyle that has caused this instability. It is not my recklessness, the sin in my life, my broken relationship with god (because that is far from broken). It is not me floundering to come to terms with who I am. More than ever before I know who I am, what I am. But you can't get blood from a turnip, or make a father pay child support, or live on absolutely nothing for two years. You just can't. Yes, we are unstable. We have moved a thousand times and we, all five of us, are crying out for home. But it wasn't in Tumwater, it wasn't in Northport, and god willing it is here in Bend. If you don't have a solution to offer, help to extend that is actually help, and not condescension masquerading as input and advice, I will gladly take it. Counsel, direction, solutions that I have not thought of to a seemingly helpless situation... I am all ears. But I don't need help identifying the problems. They are very real, very obvious, very painful. So feel free to share with me a better way to fix this than I can see now, something better than bankruptcy, better than begging, depending on the welfare system... I am all ears. As silly as it sounds, the thing I keep chanting over and over in my head is one of Disney's gems: "if you can't say something nice.." and when I find that I have nothing to say for some time, I realize I need some realignment. But as much as I try to not let it out, the bad thoughts and words, I try just as hard not to let them in. So I will turn a deaf ear to non-constructive and misinformed lectures. I have no room for them in my very tired and overwhelmed soul. I have only space for survival, hope, and resolution. That is all.
7.8.10
on moving (again)
I've spent the better part of this week helping my friend Cassie sell ALL of her earthy possessions so she can move to Florida to go to marine archaeology school with only what she can fit in her car. For the average (just turned) 24 year old, it seems like it wouldn't be that complicated. But Cassie has a different story. When she was 11, her mom was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. She resolved to see her two daughters graduate from high school, and after years of struggle as a single mom who put herself through school and raised two free thinking and powerful daughters, she passed away last year a few months after her youngest daughter graduated. Cassie was left with the accumulation of her mother's life, all of the furniture, knick-knacks, dishes, even the mini van. So, following the counsel of her aunt, Cassie set out to get rid of everything, ruthlessly sifting through photographs, family heirlooms and basic life necessities that were a bittersweet link to her mother and their past. The last two days has been the final push. Moving sale. Cassie leaves on Monday and we have yet to move the biggest pieces of furniture and appliances. God willing they will sell today at the yard sale, but if not, we have to figure out how to get them out of Cassie's house and where to take them...
All of this has given me pause. As I have been helping Cassie I have been imagining my life, or the life of my children, in this scenario. Maybe the years of knowing what was coming helped, but I can't wrap my brain around how this must have felt for Cassie and her sister. I am so spoiled, I have a healthy mother (in spite of what she thinks) and a father who has always provided for us, my family doesn't know want on the desolate level of limited time. While we say we know that life is short and at any minute we could lose a love one, to have it that close to you, so much reality in your face, I feel like it would have rendered me disfunctional. But Cassie is strong, she is competent, she is capable, and she is pursuing her dream. Cassie may be one of my heroes. It makes me thankful on a whole new level for my quirky and ridiculous family, because while with them, I am frustrated and irritated, without them, I would be lost. And I am ashamed of how we take for granted the time we have with the people who made us who we are.
I know that my parents think I am somehow disconnected with who I am, or who I am supposed to be. They think the turmoil in my life is the result of my rejection of my upbringing and they believe I have no internal peace. I wish there was a way to communicate the solidness of who I am now. That through the way they raised me, through my experiences with David, my life at Marble, I have tried to glean all of the best of those and infuse my own beliefs and purposes with them, to create a life for me and the girls that I can get behind and believe in. I don't expect my family to get behind it, to believe in it, but I would for all of the world have them know that in spite of the ridiculous situation I am in, barely able to support my family, literally struggling to stay housed and employed, I firmly believe we are on the right path, and I sincerely hope for the day where the external struggle subsides and collides with the internal peace and all five of us can breathe relief. I wonder whether Cassie's mom ever found that place, or whether the knowledge of her limited time churned constantly in her soul. I have felt that frustrated discontent of feeling like I can't get to where I need to be before my time runs out, but how much more intense it must have been for her. There are so many things I want desperately to have in place for my girls, regardless of when my time comes, and while Cassie has had many burdens to bear, her mom did make some provisions for the girls, and refusing to go before they were independent adults was probably her biggest success. Mad props to you, Linda Vesper, if I have to go, may I leave my children with the solidarity that you did.
In a way, not knowing how much time we have left is a mercy. But in a way, it allows us to live complacently, ignoring the harsh reality of our relational failures and sweeping messes under the rug for another day. But god only knows how many days we have left. I pray that each day we do the thing that makes that day worth being. I know that doesn't make sense, but I feel like I have lived days that simply didn't matter, days that wouldn't be noticed if they disappeared from history completely. No day should be disposable. Each day should somehow affect the days before and the days after it. Somehow. Maybe this is the destructive idealism that my dad was referring to that keeps me from settling. But if only he knew how much I want to settle. To never move again, and to make all of my days important from one home base. And the standard of what makes a day important may be one of the most subjective things ever, much to the chagrin of my parents. The things that are life changing to me are frivolous to them, and their life priorities seem completely absurd to me, so I guess it all evens out. If disneyworld is the thing that makes each day important, then by all means, go get it! But for me... well, you all know what I find meaningful. Some silly little band from north carolina that speaks ages of wisdom in their lyrics. As blasphemous as it is to my parents, the music I listen to is my church. It is where I hear truth and guidance and find my solace. I would apologize for the lack of pink pews and hymnals and overhead projectors and fill in the blank sermon notes, but I am not sorry, nor would I ever consider trading it back. But that's just my take on it...
All of this has given me pause. As I have been helping Cassie I have been imagining my life, or the life of my children, in this scenario. Maybe the years of knowing what was coming helped, but I can't wrap my brain around how this must have felt for Cassie and her sister. I am so spoiled, I have a healthy mother (in spite of what she thinks) and a father who has always provided for us, my family doesn't know want on the desolate level of limited time. While we say we know that life is short and at any minute we could lose a love one, to have it that close to you, so much reality in your face, I feel like it would have rendered me disfunctional. But Cassie is strong, she is competent, she is capable, and she is pursuing her dream. Cassie may be one of my heroes. It makes me thankful on a whole new level for my quirky and ridiculous family, because while with them, I am frustrated and irritated, without them, I would be lost. And I am ashamed of how we take for granted the time we have with the people who made us who we are.
I know that my parents think I am somehow disconnected with who I am, or who I am supposed to be. They think the turmoil in my life is the result of my rejection of my upbringing and they believe I have no internal peace. I wish there was a way to communicate the solidness of who I am now. That through the way they raised me, through my experiences with David, my life at Marble, I have tried to glean all of the best of those and infuse my own beliefs and purposes with them, to create a life for me and the girls that I can get behind and believe in. I don't expect my family to get behind it, to believe in it, but I would for all of the world have them know that in spite of the ridiculous situation I am in, barely able to support my family, literally struggling to stay housed and employed, I firmly believe we are on the right path, and I sincerely hope for the day where the external struggle subsides and collides with the internal peace and all five of us can breathe relief. I wonder whether Cassie's mom ever found that place, or whether the knowledge of her limited time churned constantly in her soul. I have felt that frustrated discontent of feeling like I can't get to where I need to be before my time runs out, but how much more intense it must have been for her. There are so many things I want desperately to have in place for my girls, regardless of when my time comes, and while Cassie has had many burdens to bear, her mom did make some provisions for the girls, and refusing to go before they were independent adults was probably her biggest success. Mad props to you, Linda Vesper, if I have to go, may I leave my children with the solidarity that you did.
In a way, not knowing how much time we have left is a mercy. But in a way, it allows us to live complacently, ignoring the harsh reality of our relational failures and sweeping messes under the rug for another day. But god only knows how many days we have left. I pray that each day we do the thing that makes that day worth being. I know that doesn't make sense, but I feel like I have lived days that simply didn't matter, days that wouldn't be noticed if they disappeared from history completely. No day should be disposable. Each day should somehow affect the days before and the days after it. Somehow. Maybe this is the destructive idealism that my dad was referring to that keeps me from settling. But if only he knew how much I want to settle. To never move again, and to make all of my days important from one home base. And the standard of what makes a day important may be one of the most subjective things ever, much to the chagrin of my parents. The things that are life changing to me are frivolous to them, and their life priorities seem completely absurd to me, so I guess it all evens out. If disneyworld is the thing that makes each day important, then by all means, go get it! But for me... well, you all know what I find meaningful. Some silly little band from north carolina that speaks ages of wisdom in their lyrics. As blasphemous as it is to my parents, the music I listen to is my church. It is where I hear truth and guidance and find my solace. I would apologize for the lack of pink pews and hymnals and overhead projectors and fill in the blank sermon notes, but I am not sorry, nor would I ever consider trading it back. But that's just my take on it...
5.8.10
Beer Me
I need a cold one. I am overheated, overtired, and tottering precariously on the brink of hysteria. So I finally get a check yesterday - David's whole tax return. Awesome. $1200. I of course rush to the bank to get it in so I can start paying bills. Luckily I got the $230 in cash I owe Ricker, because the ridiculous bank put a 4 day hold on my check - from the State of Washington. "Well, you never know what can happen!" says the too-well-scripted-over-nice bank lady with the polynesian accent on the phone. "We are just protecting your interests." Apparently the State of Washington is bouncing checks like me lately. Well at least we have that in common. Stupid banks, stupid money, stupid brokeness. Oh well, she said my funds would be available to me tomorrow. Isn't that nice?
On a less crappy note, we surveyed about three hundred thousand acres today, and found two unrecorded prehistoric sites. For those of you who are not privy to the world of dorkyology, that means there were cool arrowheads (totally inappropriate and politically incorrect reference), obsidian pieces (flakes) and other tools, that all looked like bits of broken glass to me but apparently bring a cool dime on the black market, which is why you will never learn the location from me. And because I have no idea where the heck we were. I was busy making yard sale signs for Cassie in the back seat on the way out, and sleeping on the way in.
Tally: things that are going RIGHT: tomorrow, I might have access to my money. Eventually, I have two paychecks from the forest service that will find their way to me. My redcard was printed today. That means fire time. God Willing. And I know he is. The Enterprise archaeology team here in Bend is already fraternizing with my boss's boss to recruit me as soon as my boss runs out of funding for me = work in the fall. I GET MY KIDS BACK IN THREE WEEKS!!!!!! Aunt Lynn (god bless her) bought me and her fam (and their new exchange student) tickets to a Keith Urban, John Mayer, and THE AVETT BROTHERS show at the gorge, that I was so woefully bemoaning missing. It was requiring all of my willpower to not steal money to buy a ticket.
So now, after a cool shower, which highlighted my sunburn like a radiant beacon of outdoorsiness, I am going to drag my fat hound dog to the park and hang yard sale signs. Oh crap, my car is out of gas. And my money is frozen in time. For the love of pete. calculate... It's about 5 miles to the park, in addition to the five or six I did today, all uphill and all in heavy timber... ew. I am just too lazy to do it. Plan F (it's easiest just to skip to that one) make BBQ chicken, huge potato salad, brownies, etc for Cassie's going away party, drink wine and feel sorry for myself. Ok, scratch the last part: drink wine and solve all of the worlds problems. And DON'T DRIVE ANYWHERE.
On a less crappy note, we surveyed about three hundred thousand acres today, and found two unrecorded prehistoric sites. For those of you who are not privy to the world of dorkyology, that means there were cool arrowheads (totally inappropriate and politically incorrect reference), obsidian pieces (flakes) and other tools, that all looked like bits of broken glass to me but apparently bring a cool dime on the black market, which is why you will never learn the location from me. And because I have no idea where the heck we were. I was busy making yard sale signs for Cassie in the back seat on the way out, and sleeping on the way in.
Tally: things that are going RIGHT: tomorrow, I might have access to my money. Eventually, I have two paychecks from the forest service that will find their way to me. My redcard was printed today. That means fire time. God Willing. And I know he is. The Enterprise archaeology team here in Bend is already fraternizing with my boss's boss to recruit me as soon as my boss runs out of funding for me = work in the fall. I GET MY KIDS BACK IN THREE WEEKS!!!!!! Aunt Lynn (god bless her) bought me and her fam (and their new exchange student) tickets to a Keith Urban, John Mayer, and THE AVETT BROTHERS show at the gorge, that I was so woefully bemoaning missing. It was requiring all of my willpower to not steal money to buy a ticket.
So now, after a cool shower, which highlighted my sunburn like a radiant beacon of outdoorsiness, I am going to drag my fat hound dog to the park and hang yard sale signs. Oh crap, my car is out of gas. And my money is frozen in time. For the love of pete. calculate... It's about 5 miles to the park, in addition to the five or six I did today, all uphill and all in heavy timber... ew. I am just too lazy to do it. Plan F (it's easiest just to skip to that one) make BBQ chicken, huge potato salad, brownies, etc for Cassie's going away party, drink wine and feel sorry for myself. Ok, scratch the last part: drink wine and solve all of the worlds problems. And DON'T DRIVE ANYWHERE.
4.8.10
new leaves
and turning them over. How is it always so very, very hard? I made my southward break full of optimism and hope, believing beyond anything that I was on the right track. The most ridiculous thing of all is that I still feel that way. With EVERYTHING going against me, and bad luck courting me at every turn, it is truly a wonder that I haven't done something drastic, like start smoking, or drink more, or maybe even curse. But actually, in spite of all of the mayhem and mischief that life throws at me in some manic quest for entertainment, I still believe somehow, someway, it will work out. It has to. Sure my paycheck got lost in the mail just when I was $2000 overdrawn, but you can always open a new bank account somewhere far far away. Sure I went to see my kids a few weeks ago and had no gas money to get home, but my bestie bailed me out and I love her forever. Sure my car is tottering on the brink of repossession and I can't make my very first rent payment on the only chance of a home me and my kids will have this fall, but I got lucky enough to find a sucker of a landlord who has faith in me as a person after only a couple of meetings. (gogogadget personality!) Sure I don't have money for groceries, gas, toilet paper or tampons, but thank god for Ricker's newspaper subscription. Sure my back feels like it's broken and hurts me worse than I ever imagined, but I have become a firm believer and advocate for veterinarian liniment gel. (Thank you Christy B.) Sure my car got impounded for some tickets that I have no idea how I will afford or when I will contest them, but my heckuva guy roommate loaned me the $230 I needed to get it out, even when I was a month behind on my rent.
I've received some flack lately for my negativity, and the downfall of exposing my children to the unstable and insecure life we are faced with. The flack giver(s) are so free and generous with their criticisms, all the while offering no constructive counsel. If you see a Way Out, by all means, show me!!! I am floundering on a see of yes, instability, and yes, insecurity, but when the father of one's children decides not to support said offspring for two successive years, and the job market is anything but hospitable even with the best of resumes, which I certainly do not have (however entertaining my resume may be), one will do what one must to survive, and to see to the survival of her kids. And she will mess up, big time. And she will eat dirt, repeatedly. But she will get back up, trudge on in pain and humility, and work every minute to be grateful, hopeful, and positive. So please don't read despondent hopelessness into my words, I believe it will work out. It doesn't make the pain-filled process any less pain-filled, and it certainly doesn't put money in the bank, not all the hoping and even praying. I have tried. But the leaves are turning, ever so slowly, and will be new again soon.
I've received some flack lately for my negativity, and the downfall of exposing my children to the unstable and insecure life we are faced with. The flack giver(s) are so free and generous with their criticisms, all the while offering no constructive counsel. If you see a Way Out, by all means, show me!!! I am floundering on a see of yes, instability, and yes, insecurity, but when the father of one's children decides not to support said offspring for two successive years, and the job market is anything but hospitable even with the best of resumes, which I certainly do not have (however entertaining my resume may be), one will do what one must to survive, and to see to the survival of her kids. And she will mess up, big time. And she will eat dirt, repeatedly. But she will get back up, trudge on in pain and humility, and work every minute to be grateful, hopeful, and positive. So please don't read despondent hopelessness into my words, I believe it will work out. It doesn't make the pain-filled process any less pain-filled, and it certainly doesn't put money in the bank, not all the hoping and even praying. I have tried. But the leaves are turning, ever so slowly, and will be new again soon.
27.7.10
on justice
I am fairly certain it doesn't exist. Only in human minds as a lofty ideal which has yet to be realized anywhere tangibly. I think that I don't believe in justice anymore. It's a great thought. I would be nice, but if there was justice in this world, every last one of us would be dead, maimed, or living in serious fear of one of the above. I think justice was an invention of the religious powers that be, or were. Another ridiculous attempt to repress and control through fear and manipulation the minds of the masses.
I do believe in Karma. I have to. If I didn't, there would be no point. I have to hang on to the hope that if I continue doing the best I can, being the absolute best person I know how to be in every moment, that someday that will pay off in goodness for me and my family. It is a driving and compelling thing for me now to consistently make good choices, sacrificial choices, tradeoffs for the future when I put other people before me, and try to do the right and ethical thing at all times. I hope so much that intent holds some payoff. That while good intentions pave the path to hell, a well intended heart can guide actions toward the best at any given moment.
right now each minute of every day feels like a struggle. I struggle as I remember where I have come from, I struggle when I panic about where we are headed. I struggle to let go of the past, trusting that there will be a future. I struggle to see through the very dirty and clouded glass of hope into the future that good things will be there. Just hang on. just hang on. One step. You have to, no choice. Take the next step, and the next. Smile when a happy thought crosses your mind. Get carried away with daydreams. But keep pushing forward. I never expected life to resemble child birth so closely. Getting to the point where I think for certain that I CANNOT do it, but knowing for certain that I HAVE to, there is no choice. No turning back. I can't undo motherhood or 10 years in a cult. I can't reverse the process that I set into motion 15 years ago, regardless of how naive and uniformed and ridiculous I was. No sense bitching about it. Push on. Enjoy the moments. Grab the happiness you can along the way, don't let go...
I do believe in Karma. I have to. If I didn't, there would be no point. I have to hang on to the hope that if I continue doing the best I can, being the absolute best person I know how to be in every moment, that someday that will pay off in goodness for me and my family. It is a driving and compelling thing for me now to consistently make good choices, sacrificial choices, tradeoffs for the future when I put other people before me, and try to do the right and ethical thing at all times. I hope so much that intent holds some payoff. That while good intentions pave the path to hell, a well intended heart can guide actions toward the best at any given moment.
right now each minute of every day feels like a struggle. I struggle as I remember where I have come from, I struggle when I panic about where we are headed. I struggle to let go of the past, trusting that there will be a future. I struggle to see through the very dirty and clouded glass of hope into the future that good things will be there. Just hang on. just hang on. One step. You have to, no choice. Take the next step, and the next. Smile when a happy thought crosses your mind. Get carried away with daydreams. But keep pushing forward. I never expected life to resemble child birth so closely. Getting to the point where I think for certain that I CANNOT do it, but knowing for certain that I HAVE to, there is no choice. No turning back. I can't undo motherhood or 10 years in a cult. I can't reverse the process that I set into motion 15 years ago, regardless of how naive and uniformed and ridiculous I was. No sense bitching about it. Push on. Enjoy the moments. Grab the happiness you can along the way, don't let go...
24.7.10
I look in the mirror and I see my dad's eyes. They are deepset, moody, analytical and philosophical. I see my mother's mouth. All the potential for the stubborn set jaw and the soft approving smile, and the sweet tempting lips that offer love. But then I see the flaws, the blemishes, the errors and mistakes that I abound in. The asymmetrical right eye that doesn't smile with my left one. The teeth that err on the side of large, the chin that hosts a backup layer for no apparent reason. All flaws I don't see in my parents, flaws that they apparently never had. Mistakes they apparently never made. The sadness I see in my face is something that I would imagine I have seen a shadow of in my dad's expression, but most likely it was a delusional grasp at self redemption. How did such an imperfect and lost soul spring forth from two people who will appear to have it all together at any cost?
I cannot seem to succeed. To follow their footsteps of steady marriage, stable work and normal life. I am a failed attempt at love, life, even some moments survival, it seems, eludes me. More than ever the face in the mirror, the body, the person I am on the outside is so very very far from what I feel inside and who I want to be. How did this happen? Am I growing backwards with time? It certainly feels like it. Maybe my best and only success was 15 years ago married to David, blissfully ignorant of his transgressions against god and nature and me, bearing children as if to redeem my mortal soul. Maybe it is when I veered from that lifestyle that I lost myself, any input I had to where my body and mind and soul would end up. I am in love with the idea of who I am, who I want to be, but it always seems just out of reach...
I cannot seem to succeed. To follow their footsteps of steady marriage, stable work and normal life. I am a failed attempt at love, life, even some moments survival, it seems, eludes me. More than ever the face in the mirror, the body, the person I am on the outside is so very very far from what I feel inside and who I want to be. How did this happen? Am I growing backwards with time? It certainly feels like it. Maybe my best and only success was 15 years ago married to David, blissfully ignorant of his transgressions against god and nature and me, bearing children as if to redeem my mortal soul. Maybe it is when I veered from that lifestyle that I lost myself, any input I had to where my body and mind and soul would end up. I am in love with the idea of who I am, who I want to be, but it always seems just out of reach...
12.7.10
lifeline
Contrary to widely held beliefs, I still pray. I pray to a God who transcends all religions, denominations, races, creeds, genders, doctrines, politics and basically every level of humanness. There is no room for human pettiness in the realm of the God I pray to. But three or four times a year, possibly closely correlated with hormonal peaks and ebbs, and/or major life traumas (side note: according to a recent pamphlet I read about life traumas and how they can effect one's health, I realized that on an annual basis my kids and I were subjected to life traumas [i.e. moving, illness, moving, loss of job, moving, changing schools, moving, etc.] at least two or three times a year.) happening around us, I pray to God for a lifeline. A phone call, a book, a fortune from a fortune cookie, a quote in a restaurant bathroom stall, anything that can touch me where I wallow and remind me that survival is possible. I pray earnestly and fervently, and I listen for the response every time my phone rings, watch every billboard and read every horoscope in anticipation of the lifeline I need. It has been my sister many times. My mother, even a brother a time or two. It has been the most unexpected of friends, obscure of song lyrics, or completely misinterpreted sign. But wherever it finds me, the lifeline has never not been there, evidence once again of a God much greater than human contraptions that say inspiration comes from Oswald Chambers, Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul or the Kabbalah. Granted any of those could be the source of a lifeline sometime, but it's refreshing to know that God can reach me through the reflection in a mud puddle or the twisting of a tree branch just as easily. I have decided to not take any of the little messages that life gives me for granted. I am curious to know when I might be handed a lifeline that I didn't even know I need... sometimes I think that's what a horoscope is good for. Especially the ones in Cosmo.
One of my goals this year, in addition to walking/biking to work, losing 35 lbs, and getting off ALL of my drugs, is to read books that were written as lifelines. Since I have already read the bible three times cover to cover in two different translations, I am going to move on. Maybe the Torah, the Qur'an, that obscure little book written by Ghandi that the guy I met at McMenamin's told me about, Frank Sinatra's autobiography, and obviously, if Will Ferrel had a philosophy book published, that would top the list. Maybe this reading list is one of my more realistic goals. If only I could find a way to get paid to read them. Like with working out, if I could get paid for it it would be so much easier. Which is actually ridiculous, since the forest service technically can pay me for 30 minutes of physical training a day and I have yet to cash in on that...
Why the hell am I still wide awake at 3 AM?
One of my goals this year, in addition to walking/biking to work, losing 35 lbs, and getting off ALL of my drugs, is to read books that were written as lifelines. Since I have already read the bible three times cover to cover in two different translations, I am going to move on. Maybe the Torah, the Qur'an, that obscure little book written by Ghandi that the guy I met at McMenamin's told me about, Frank Sinatra's autobiography, and obviously, if Will Ferrel had a philosophy book published, that would top the list. Maybe this reading list is one of my more realistic goals. If only I could find a way to get paid to read them. Like with working out, if I could get paid for it it would be so much easier. Which is actually ridiculous, since the forest service technically can pay me for 30 minutes of physical training a day and I have yet to cash in on that...
Why the hell am I still wide awake at 3 AM?
1:56
This is me, wide awake and staring at a dark ceiling. My lower back is on fire, my stomach feels like it's full of razor blades, and my head aches. And I can't sleep. Swirling around my muddled head are dollar signs and broken hearts and desperate frustration.
Here I am at 33. Most of the people my age that I know, and many younger people, are sleeping peacefully in their beds, next to their spouses, with their children tucked in safely down the hall. My girls are a million miles away right now. hopefully sleeping, with sand and marshmallow stuck in their hair, dirty clothes and the smell of campfire saturated through them. They are probably dreaming of horses, and kittens and climbing on rocks, and slippery fish. Maybe they're dreaming of scary precipices like the one we have been living on for years now. I feel so desperate. Desperate to provide them, and me with stability that should have been guaranteed them from the get-go. Is it all my fault, for divorcing David? Was I supposed to bear my pain in silence and model for them how one turns the other cheek for a lifetime, succumbing to the lies of inadequacy and condemnation? Why are we the ones suffering for the sins of the father? Why am I lying here in pain with no peace and no rest, in mortal fear for the future of myself and my girls. It just isn't fair. I want it to stop, all this uncertainty, to go away. I want to be sure of something. Anything. Right now I am sure of nothing. Other than what I want. It makes my heart hurt as much as the rest of my body to know that. To feel that uncertainty. It makes me angry and ill. I just want to be sure of a house, a job. Food on the table. I can't express how I feel when people are stressed about the money they need for disneyworld. I know I am irresponsible. It is so aggravating to see david be endlessly irresponsible and I am the one paying for it, but every latte of irresponsibility in my life is reaped a thousandfold almost instantly. Maybe that's just it, the age old lesson. I can't change him, can't fix him or anyone else. I can only fix me. I can only work on me, guard my responses, choose my reactions, think through my actions. All things I have never been good at. I am impulsive, compulsive. sometimes repulsive to myself. Right now I feel like I must be repulsive to everyone as I wallow in my financial squalor. Obviously I repulse my family, I am the lost cause, the black sheep with no hope for salvation. All of the personal revelation in the world can't make up for the rejection of one's upbringing.
Yes, that is the basis of my unhappiness, isn't it. The fact that Jesus isn't the center of my life anymore. I mean, look at all the happy christians and their perfect debt free lives and families. Their beastophile husbands and ostrich relatives and blissful denial. This is why they make prozac, Jesus comes in a prescription bottle these days. If that is the case, then I am most definitely a christian. although I've been off of prozac for a couple weeks now, hence the lunatic raves you read now. God love PMS. All of the great writers must have most definitely been pre-menstrual. The lucidity with which I see the world at this moment of pain filled time is immeasurable. Don't worry, tormented internet. I won't burden you with my rant much longer. The drugs I took should kick in right about the time my kidneys fail, and I fall to sleep. Which should be any minute...
Here I am at 33. Most of the people my age that I know, and many younger people, are sleeping peacefully in their beds, next to their spouses, with their children tucked in safely down the hall. My girls are a million miles away right now. hopefully sleeping, with sand and marshmallow stuck in their hair, dirty clothes and the smell of campfire saturated through them. They are probably dreaming of horses, and kittens and climbing on rocks, and slippery fish. Maybe they're dreaming of scary precipices like the one we have been living on for years now. I feel so desperate. Desperate to provide them, and me with stability that should have been guaranteed them from the get-go. Is it all my fault, for divorcing David? Was I supposed to bear my pain in silence and model for them how one turns the other cheek for a lifetime, succumbing to the lies of inadequacy and condemnation? Why are we the ones suffering for the sins of the father? Why am I lying here in pain with no peace and no rest, in mortal fear for the future of myself and my girls. It just isn't fair. I want it to stop, all this uncertainty, to go away. I want to be sure of something. Anything. Right now I am sure of nothing. Other than what I want. It makes my heart hurt as much as the rest of my body to know that. To feel that uncertainty. It makes me angry and ill. I just want to be sure of a house, a job. Food on the table. I can't express how I feel when people are stressed about the money they need for disneyworld. I know I am irresponsible. It is so aggravating to see david be endlessly irresponsible and I am the one paying for it, but every latte of irresponsibility in my life is reaped a thousandfold almost instantly. Maybe that's just it, the age old lesson. I can't change him, can't fix him or anyone else. I can only fix me. I can only work on me, guard my responses, choose my reactions, think through my actions. All things I have never been good at. I am impulsive, compulsive. sometimes repulsive to myself. Right now I feel like I must be repulsive to everyone as I wallow in my financial squalor. Obviously I repulse my family, I am the lost cause, the black sheep with no hope for salvation. All of the personal revelation in the world can't make up for the rejection of one's upbringing.
Yes, that is the basis of my unhappiness, isn't it. The fact that Jesus isn't the center of my life anymore. I mean, look at all the happy christians and their perfect debt free lives and families. Their beastophile husbands and ostrich relatives and blissful denial. This is why they make prozac, Jesus comes in a prescription bottle these days. If that is the case, then I am most definitely a christian. although I've been off of prozac for a couple weeks now, hence the lunatic raves you read now. God love PMS. All of the great writers must have most definitely been pre-menstrual. The lucidity with which I see the world at this moment of pain filled time is immeasurable. Don't worry, tormented internet. I won't burden you with my rant much longer. The drugs I took should kick in right about the time my kidneys fail, and I fall to sleep. Which should be any minute...
11.7.10
on judgement
I have decided to be done with that. judging. people, motives, situations. You never really ever know the whole story. This is my workout: don't judge; don't eat white flour and refined sugar; quit spending money; give up guys; drink less beer; get well; pay off debts. which is the hardest ? probably the white flour.
and again
I find myself in an irrational and emotional state. How can someone be so happy and sure of the fact that life is good, while at the same time be drowning in the panicky feeling that at any second I will be sucked down the drain into the dark abyss I deserve of financial ruin. I am so high on the mantra of "it's only money", and how it shouldn't dictate ones life. And yet here I am, tossing and turning at night wondering whether I will lose my car, be homeless, or something worse before the month is out. So then I seem to be unable to control the need I have to impulse buy something. anything. something I love to make me feel like I am not an impoverished welfare case with no hope of survival. Damn the credit cards. Damn the emotions. I really just want to vent, and yet I feel awful dumping this whirlpool of feelings on anyone. And realize that there is no one in my life at this present time that wants, or can even stand, to hear me go on. So I puke out my guts to the internet. Make me feel better, world wide web.
Let me tell you what I hate, cyber land: I hate feeling completely out of control of my body. No matter how much I eat, or don't, the pounds, or at least the inches just gang up against me and my entire wardrobe, compelling me to drive to old navy to find elastic waist shorts so that I can skip the mumu for a couple hours. You think I exagerate, but no, it's true. The only thing I fit into is my new sweat shorts and my shapeless sun dresses, which earn me constant congratulations on my advanced stage of gestation, and worried offers of condolences for my condition in the blazing heat. Hey, if it means a free chair at the front of the stage or an ice cold lemonade, whatever. I will be pregnant forever. The frustration with my weight and or size leads directly into my frustration with my other bodily functions, and how I never know from moment to moment which system will break down on me next, and whether my face will break out, my stomach will inflate to unbelievable proportions, or I will wake up feeling like my lower back is broken. I want to be in control of how my body feels. To not feel trapped in a stuffy fat suit and aggravated reproductive system. Make it stop!!! I am resolved to reshape my diet, to rebuilt my immune system from the ground up and get f-ing healthy!!! Which is why I went to mcDondalds for a cheeseburger and large fry today. Last fling, right? Right.
I also hate the transecting loss of control of my finances. I hate that the credit card companies have me by the twisted and mangled ovaries, and now the debt consolidation firms are vying for control of my gonads. I hate them all, the lecherous predators that I offered myself to so willingly. Damn them. I just want one quick leg up, a chance to get my balances down to where my payments won't be eaten up in fees and 26% interest rates. If you think I am kidding, I will send you my credit report. It will make you cry, and not in a good way.
I really hate living in limbo. I CAN'T WAIT to move into my new house, and every minute is filled with the overshadowing fear that I won't be able to come up with the $1600 I need by August 1st to move in. So to steady my frenzied nerves I went to summer fest and bought a new bag. God. I blame the praise and worship band that was playing on the main stage and compelled me to go do something bad in retaliation. I think I don't really have a grasp on how bitter I am at organized religion. And all this time I thought I was so well balanced. Kostecka was right. But I have to believe I will find a way. beg, borrow, steal. I will, have to, have a life for me and the girls. I just want that. I want stability. I want peace and rest. If only David could pay his child support. I could pay rent. It would balance out. It would mean the difference between bankruptcy and paying off my bills. It would mean the world. Another realm of bitterness that I am avoiding: David.
I really love my life. I have the best life I could have imagined. It will be even better when the girls are here and we are settled in. When so many of these questions are answered. I love this place. I love my job, albeit temporary. And I will do whatever I have to to make it work. Whatever I have to. Except maybe clean my room. I am thankful. Now if I can just get on top of it...
Let me tell you what I hate, cyber land: I hate feeling completely out of control of my body. No matter how much I eat, or don't, the pounds, or at least the inches just gang up against me and my entire wardrobe, compelling me to drive to old navy to find elastic waist shorts so that I can skip the mumu for a couple hours. You think I exagerate, but no, it's true. The only thing I fit into is my new sweat shorts and my shapeless sun dresses, which earn me constant congratulations on my advanced stage of gestation, and worried offers of condolences for my condition in the blazing heat. Hey, if it means a free chair at the front of the stage or an ice cold lemonade, whatever. I will be pregnant forever. The frustration with my weight and or size leads directly into my frustration with my other bodily functions, and how I never know from moment to moment which system will break down on me next, and whether my face will break out, my stomach will inflate to unbelievable proportions, or I will wake up feeling like my lower back is broken. I want to be in control of how my body feels. To not feel trapped in a stuffy fat suit and aggravated reproductive system. Make it stop!!! I am resolved to reshape my diet, to rebuilt my immune system from the ground up and get f-ing healthy!!! Which is why I went to mcDondalds for a cheeseburger and large fry today. Last fling, right? Right.
I also hate the transecting loss of control of my finances. I hate that the credit card companies have me by the twisted and mangled ovaries, and now the debt consolidation firms are vying for control of my gonads. I hate them all, the lecherous predators that I offered myself to so willingly. Damn them. I just want one quick leg up, a chance to get my balances down to where my payments won't be eaten up in fees and 26% interest rates. If you think I am kidding, I will send you my credit report. It will make you cry, and not in a good way.
I really hate living in limbo. I CAN'T WAIT to move into my new house, and every minute is filled with the overshadowing fear that I won't be able to come up with the $1600 I need by August 1st to move in. So to steady my frenzied nerves I went to summer fest and bought a new bag. God. I blame the praise and worship band that was playing on the main stage and compelled me to go do something bad in retaliation. I think I don't really have a grasp on how bitter I am at organized religion. And all this time I thought I was so well balanced. Kostecka was right. But I have to believe I will find a way. beg, borrow, steal. I will, have to, have a life for me and the girls. I just want that. I want stability. I want peace and rest. If only David could pay his child support. I could pay rent. It would balance out. It would mean the difference between bankruptcy and paying off my bills. It would mean the world. Another realm of bitterness that I am avoiding: David.
I really love my life. I have the best life I could have imagined. It will be even better when the girls are here and we are settled in. When so many of these questions are answered. I love this place. I love my job, albeit temporary. And I will do whatever I have to to make it work. Whatever I have to. Except maybe clean my room. I am thankful. Now if I can just get on top of it...
10.6.10
So it goes like this:
I fail my pack test. I bounce (at least) three more checks. I don't have enough room on any of my credit cards to get gas, and the gas light is on. I start bleeding, again. Which necessarily means that I start hurting, again. Like crazy. Truck bites a little girl. I get all emotional and frustrated. Then I go to target, praying I can find a few dollars or my target card isn't shut off, to get some feminine hygiene products. To be thrifty, I buy the store brand super tampons. Or what I thought were super because the box was green. Green = super. That's always how it is. Except in this case, it's a variety pack. I don't need a variety pack. I need supers. Thousands and thousands of supers. In green wrappers. Apparently it doesn't matter so much because the store brand supers in green wrappers are not so super and just generally do me no good whatsoever. Somehow instinctually knowing this would be the case, I get some name brand over night Kotex pads to play backup. Turns out, it's ok that the store brand non supers in green wrappers aren't super, because Kotex overnights are the size of a small baseball field, with wings, and I am fairly certain that nothing will escape them. I have coverage from front waistline to back waistline, and a little bit of a fan effect for extra playing field. So fail away, store brand tampons. I laugh in your non-superiority with the security of my giant flying sports complex of a maxi pad. Finally, someone remembered why they were called MAXI pads. At some point I thought I would wake up from all of this as a bad dream, but really, I never did, and now that I have miraculously defeated the defenses of both the unsuper green tampons and the acres of maxi pad, I am even more keenly aware of the ever tightening vice of shin splints radiating from below my knee and wrapping around the outside of my ankle like a hot, stinging python of pain. It is a good night. To take many drugs and go to sleep early. Tomorrow is a good day to tackle the 10 days of schoolwork I am behind on because my second late registration petition was finally approved when the dean of the school got on my bandwagon. I have twenty days to complete three semester credits of research. No problem, since I plan on being bedridden throughout the weekend. It is, after all, my birthday weekend, and I can curl up in a spastic ball of pain and misery with my research if I want to. Especially since I am out of beer. And money. And patience.
27.5.10
I can.
I mean, there's only so much you can do, right? then you have to kinda throw your hands in the air and step back. It's like surrendering to the will of the universe, or god, or whathaveyou. I guess I am there. I am so happy, and so thankful to be here. I am working intently on focusing only on the good things, the good reasons in my life, which probably seems somehow irresponsible or stupid. but I am working - I am even looking for more work on the weekends. I am praying (don't tell anyone). I am sorting out in my head and on paper how in the hell I will get out of this mire of quicksand I got myself into. I am not being passive, but at the same time, I have hit the end of my human rope. So, throw it out there to the cosmos and wait for the fallout. And hope and pray it isn't life threatening to anyone. I came to terms with the fact that if my storage unit payment gets returned and worst case scenario I get locked out and somehow ultimately and permanently lose all of our earthly possessions - they really are just THINGS, and somehow, we would recover. Granted we would never find another Dr Suess love seat, but still, it's just THINGS. Somehow we won't be homeless. Even if, worst case scenario, all the girls have to share my room here at Ricker's (god forbid he read this), for a month or so til I can scrape together first and last and actually get approved for a rental, we would all live. We've done it before. so i won't get down. not the rain, or the red, or the tummy aches from hell will convince me that I made the wrong choice. It WILL work out. Somehow, sometime.
In the meantime, I can't wait to see my kids again. I wish I had the money for a house now and could whisk them down here. sigh. so many things I want to show them, and do with them. I spent all day reading about the ancient history and geology of the area here. Gee whilikers! how awesome is this place? Totally awesome. Can't wait to go spelunking with the girls, and check out the high desert museum, and kids eat free on sundays at cascade lakes brewing... all good things.
For now, I need to go make a budget for the money that seems so imaginary and far away. A budget that will nudge me gently when dutch brothers calls to me from across the street. A budget that will help me remember why rice and beans are one of my favorite meals. I can make this happen. I can. I can.
In the meantime, I can't wait to see my kids again. I wish I had the money for a house now and could whisk them down here. sigh. so many things I want to show them, and do with them. I spent all day reading about the ancient history and geology of the area here. Gee whilikers! how awesome is this place? Totally awesome. Can't wait to go spelunking with the girls, and check out the high desert museum, and kids eat free on sundays at cascade lakes brewing... all good things.
For now, I need to go make a budget for the money that seems so imaginary and far away. A budget that will nudge me gently when dutch brothers calls to me from across the street. A budget that will help me remember why rice and beans are one of my favorite meals. I can make this happen. I can. I can.
25.5.10
on begging
I have never been a borrower. I think I would rather be a beggar or a stealer if I had to choose, but even of those, I would probably resort to stealing if I could somehow circumvent my conscience. But since I can't, I am forced to beg. It seems absurd that I should feel the churning emotions that I feel when I am begging money from family members, and especially when I am pleading with the father of my children, ever so nicely, to pay back some of the thousands of dollars he is behind in his child support. Of all of my bleak moments, and there have been many, and they have been very bleak, this may in fact be my bleakest. My head hurts from frantically trying to squeeze every cent of possibility out of any source to reconcile the ever widening abyss of debt that is swallowing me alive. I have not paid my new roommate rent yet. I am not confident the payment for my storage unit didn't get returned from the bank. I haven't paid the insurance on the car that has a payment due in two days, and my bank account is $50 overdrawn. I don't have money for groceries, definitely not for beer, although I know that many of my dear fans are counting the beers I have had in the last months and adding them up to an insurance bill. Oh how I wish I could regurgitate. But then I remember that Joe (sarah) paid for 90% of the beer I drank before the move. What an angel and a friend she was. Is. I don't remember ever feeling so completely desperate, but, at the same time, a sense that somehow it will work out. I have no idea how. I really am, this time, on the brink of some major repercussions. repossession, homelessness, starvation. I mean already the alcohol withdrawals I am having are devastating. (KIDDING!!!) But see, I can still afford a sense of humor. I will sell my jeans. I can do that. I can always buy more jeans when I am rich. Next stop, eBay. Oh shit, they won't let me list cause my last seller fee got returned unpaid. crap. Plan F. More begging. A good face-to-face sit down with Ricker. "Ricker, I know I am living in your house, but I don't have any money." Ricker: "Just a little?" Me: "No, none." Ricker: "Would you like a beer?" me: "yes." Apparently I am not too broke to fantasize either.
tonight I got home from work and saved a rabbit. It was a grey lop eared rabbit sitting next to the tire of a big lifted up ford out on the street. I packed it around like a baby until Ricker pointed out the rabbit's appropriate abode, and I took it home, thinking to myself that at least I wasn't too poor to save a life. Truck really wanted to eat the rabbit. Or at least sniff it.
I really am not entirely certain I will be able to claw my way out of this one, folks. My brother is kindly loaning me enough to un-bounce my bank account. My parents cautiously and wisely capped off their $1600 loan to me with the last two hundred and a reasonable demand for a repayment plan. The first $1400 is still from my move to Northport. Another good reason to never, ever move again.
My head hurts from problem solving. Saving bunnies and resolving national issues. I had to improvise a system for the other arch techs at work today for researching our project area. I did it. I am good at the things I do. My boss wasn't even there to notice how good I am. But I got a job started that the other techs were staring at incredulously. Fake it 'til you make it. That's how I roll. Apparently it doesn't pay well.
What I'd give for a beer. "ricker?..."
tonight I got home from work and saved a rabbit. It was a grey lop eared rabbit sitting next to the tire of a big lifted up ford out on the street. I packed it around like a baby until Ricker pointed out the rabbit's appropriate abode, and I took it home, thinking to myself that at least I wasn't too poor to save a life. Truck really wanted to eat the rabbit. Or at least sniff it.
I really am not entirely certain I will be able to claw my way out of this one, folks. My brother is kindly loaning me enough to un-bounce my bank account. My parents cautiously and wisely capped off their $1600 loan to me with the last two hundred and a reasonable demand for a repayment plan. The first $1400 is still from my move to Northport. Another good reason to never, ever move again.
My head hurts from problem solving. Saving bunnies and resolving national issues. I had to improvise a system for the other arch techs at work today for researching our project area. I did it. I am good at the things I do. My boss wasn't even there to notice how good I am. But I got a job started that the other techs were staring at incredulously. Fake it 'til you make it. That's how I roll. Apparently it doesn't pay well.
What I'd give for a beer. "ricker?..."
23.5.10
Lost
I haven't really been a big follower of Lost. I have watched a few episodes, but the finale tonight gave me a sense of affirmation that I have been collecting all too easily from my new life. It seems like everywhere I turn I find another confirmation that I am in the right place, drinking the right coffee, avoiding the right bills... as if that was possible. It's this concept of the afterlife. Life after death. Heaven, if you will, and the subjective possibilities of what awaits us when we cross over. The concept of heaven being an collective existence with the people who have been the most important and formative in our life, whichever life or reality we have to recollect, is reminiscent of C.S. Lewis afterlife in The Great Divorce, where the guides through the harsh reality of death were often the most humbling of leaders, people from your life who were somehow beneath you, or presented a reminder of your frailties and flaws. In this season finale, Jack finds himself faced with the reality that all of the time travel and simultaneous realities and memories from dual lives on the island and off, are overshadowed by the timelessness of death. He is surrounded, for whatever the enduring moment of forever feels like, with the people that had the most profound effect on his life. I wonder who my people would be. Looking back, on the chronology of mishaps and blunders and adventures that make up my life, who would be there with me in the timeless forever after? Some are obvious. Family members who have so much influenced me that to take out their effect would cause a tragic domino effect of implosion, and nothing would remain standing in my life. Friends, who, whether in my life for brief moments or long years, shaped who I am, drew the caricature that is my animated life on earth. Some enemies perhaps, the ones who intentionally or not, threw obstacles in my path that rerouted me in an unexpected and sometimes painful direction. And of course, dogs. All of my dogs had better be waiting for me in the hereafter, or I will have words with the powers-that-be.
For the last few days I have struggled with admitting to myself that I am actually praying, but I am. Praying in earnest to god. A god, The god. The one that's got the whole world in his hands. Breathing prayers of thanks and gratitude. Whispering prayers pleading for help, for survival, for open doors and clear paths. Of all of the times in my life this is one in which I am sure I am balanced precariously on the brink of do or die, for me and my girls. It's sink or swim, and although I am fervently ready to swim miles and miles in seas of sharks and piranhas to make this life work, I am haunted by the feeling that my hands are tied and I am utterly at the mercy of this god that hold the sharks and piranhas and miles and miles of seas in his hands. He holds the stamina I need to swim, the confidence I need to float. and he doesn't hold it over my head like a life rope, or dangle it in front of me like a carrot. It is simply here for me to reach out and grab it, as it always is and has been, but I still pray for the eyes to see it and the persistence to stay humble in my fight.
Tomorrow is day one of the new life. Bring it on. (But secretly, I could really use a good hug and somebody to make my lunch for me.)
For the last few days I have struggled with admitting to myself that I am actually praying, but I am. Praying in earnest to god. A god, The god. The one that's got the whole world in his hands. Breathing prayers of thanks and gratitude. Whispering prayers pleading for help, for survival, for open doors and clear paths. Of all of the times in my life this is one in which I am sure I am balanced precariously on the brink of do or die, for me and my girls. It's sink or swim, and although I am fervently ready to swim miles and miles in seas of sharks and piranhas to make this life work, I am haunted by the feeling that my hands are tied and I am utterly at the mercy of this god that hold the sharks and piranhas and miles and miles of seas in his hands. He holds the stamina I need to swim, the confidence I need to float. and he doesn't hold it over my head like a life rope, or dangle it in front of me like a carrot. It is simply here for me to reach out and grab it, as it always is and has been, but I still pray for the eyes to see it and the persistence to stay humble in my fight.
Tomorrow is day one of the new life. Bring it on. (But secretly, I could really use a good hug and somebody to make my lunch for me.)
21.5.10
My Life
MacKenzie always gets mad at me for telling her she smells like a kid. The other day I texted her and told her that I missed kid smell, and I could feel her sticking her tongue out at me and wrinkling her nose up like she always does. When she is old in a wheelchair and her tongue is perpetually sticking out of her mouth because her muscles have memorized that expression, I will be looking down from heaven and laughing at her. Of course my heaven will be very different from the textbook version. I have been thinking lately that heaven should be personality appropriate, much like our lives are assigned to us and have very different contexts and experiences, why on earth (or not) would heaven be universal for everyone. It's kind of like assuming that god is only expressed in one likeness, one religion, one style of people. How silly. My heaven will consist of big beds with lots of pillows, dogs with wrinkly faces and little girls fighting over tutus and plastic kazoos. I fully expected to be missing my kids in a week or so, but four days? This is ridiculous. I am turning into a, a, well, a mother. WTH?
I do miss my kids. I miss quirky Northport. I don't miss smelly Bob and dirty Bob and Larry and Daniel who should have been related but weren't. I don't miss Paula Fowler and her intimidated tentativeness that made her really creepy, as well as the smell of booze saturated flesh that she and a broad spectrum of other regulars wafted around town. I miss Jennifer and Dan and Karen and Troy and Margaret, even Zach and his perpetual fake storming around town in a huff. I miss Sarah, predictable Sarah, and Steve and Andrea and the beers that I knew I shouldn't drink and the chili I knew I shouldn't eat but couldn't even begin to resist. I miss Justin. And I really miss Calvin.
I am nervous about starting work. Like real official work, where once again I am the small fish in the big pond and I have all of the nights this week to have bad dreams about how I screw it up. I can't afford to screw it up. So I have to be successful. And when I look back on my most successful moments, they were the times that I pushed through even the hardest or most awkward situations with blustery confidence, convincing everyone around me I knew what I was doing when really I was terrified of letting my clumsy nerd show. I know it will go well. I know it will be great. If I can figure out what the hell to wear the first day. Yes, right now, that is my hugest stress. Not the pending overdrawn bank account or the bad credit that will prevent me from finding a place to rent. Not the fact that I have no food to eat and no money to buy food, or to pay the rent that I owe my roommate. No, I am stressed out about which jeans I have that are work/field appropriate, and what kind of impression I need to make out of the gate. Hey, there's a lot riding on this. It's a fashion emergency. I will lose many hours of sleep over the next few nights trying to figure this out.
Last night I saw a band called Diego's Umbrella. They refer to themselves as "Mexi-Cali gypsy pirate reggae" music. If you ever have a chance to see them, you must. There really is no good way to encapsulate the experience, except to say I am fairly certain I will see them in their red caped costumes in my own personal heaven. Probably opening up for the Avett Brothers. The night before that I saw Sally Ford and the Sound Outside. Also a band I strongly require anyone who has the chance to go see. (yes, require.) Even though I haven't had money for beer, and I have maybe mooched a pint or two off of the roommate whom is still owed rent, it has been a glorious conformation that I have come to the right place. It's funny that I stood in front of the stage at the bar last night, wishing it was an all ages show and I could have my kids there dancing with me. I am excited for them to grow up in a town like this. Excited for them to be 21 and able to experience these things with me. There are a lot of all ages shows here from what I gather. We will find them. Especially the free ones. Tomorrow Ricker and I get to tour the Deschutes Brewery. This has been a lifelong (well, adult-lifelong) desire of mine. And I am hoping they give out samples, again, since I lack beer funds. Either way I will get to smell the hops and maybe taste the malted barley, and hear the whole process one more time. It never really gets old, especially coming from some dreamy hunk of a brewmeister, which I am sure Bend will not fail to produce. Every fellow here seems better looking than the last. It's as though I moved to stage one of my personal heaven. Live music, good looking guys and beer. The only thing missing is the smell of kids.
I do miss my kids. I miss quirky Northport. I don't miss smelly Bob and dirty Bob and Larry and Daniel who should have been related but weren't. I don't miss Paula Fowler and her intimidated tentativeness that made her really creepy, as well as the smell of booze saturated flesh that she and a broad spectrum of other regulars wafted around town. I miss Jennifer and Dan and Karen and Troy and Margaret, even Zach and his perpetual fake storming around town in a huff. I miss Sarah, predictable Sarah, and Steve and Andrea and the beers that I knew I shouldn't drink and the chili I knew I shouldn't eat but couldn't even begin to resist. I miss Justin. And I really miss Calvin.
I am nervous about starting work. Like real official work, where once again I am the small fish in the big pond and I have all of the nights this week to have bad dreams about how I screw it up. I can't afford to screw it up. So I have to be successful. And when I look back on my most successful moments, they were the times that I pushed through even the hardest or most awkward situations with blustery confidence, convincing everyone around me I knew what I was doing when really I was terrified of letting my clumsy nerd show. I know it will go well. I know it will be great. If I can figure out what the hell to wear the first day. Yes, right now, that is my hugest stress. Not the pending overdrawn bank account or the bad credit that will prevent me from finding a place to rent. Not the fact that I have no food to eat and no money to buy food, or to pay the rent that I owe my roommate. No, I am stressed out about which jeans I have that are work/field appropriate, and what kind of impression I need to make out of the gate. Hey, there's a lot riding on this. It's a fashion emergency. I will lose many hours of sleep over the next few nights trying to figure this out.
Last night I saw a band called Diego's Umbrella. They refer to themselves as "Mexi-Cali gypsy pirate reggae" music. If you ever have a chance to see them, you must. There really is no good way to encapsulate the experience, except to say I am fairly certain I will see them in their red caped costumes in my own personal heaven. Probably opening up for the Avett Brothers. The night before that I saw Sally Ford and the Sound Outside. Also a band I strongly require anyone who has the chance to go see. (yes, require.) Even though I haven't had money for beer, and I have maybe mooched a pint or two off of the roommate whom is still owed rent, it has been a glorious conformation that I have come to the right place. It's funny that I stood in front of the stage at the bar last night, wishing it was an all ages show and I could have my kids there dancing with me. I am excited for them to grow up in a town like this. Excited for them to be 21 and able to experience these things with me. There are a lot of all ages shows here from what I gather. We will find them. Especially the free ones. Tomorrow Ricker and I get to tour the Deschutes Brewery. This has been a lifelong (well, adult-lifelong) desire of mine. And I am hoping they give out samples, again, since I lack beer funds. Either way I will get to smell the hops and maybe taste the malted barley, and hear the whole process one more time. It never really gets old, especially coming from some dreamy hunk of a brewmeister, which I am sure Bend will not fail to produce. Every fellow here seems better looking than the last. It's as though I moved to stage one of my personal heaven. Live music, good looking guys and beer. The only thing missing is the smell of kids.
Catching Up
so many things have happened in the last couple of months. good things. unexpected things. things like driving for two days to Reno with all four kids for a single concert, and then all the way back. things like getting a job with the Deschutes National Forest by basically cold calling the forest archaeologist and begging repeatedly to be hired. awesome things like packing my entire life up (yet again) and moving it into a storage unit (yet again) in the amazing city of Bend, Oregon, where I hope to stay for a very, very long time.
Last year, when I made the foolhardy decision to drive all over the northwest for some silly concerts, who would have thought that hitchhiking my way with a total stranger (Hollie Ash), to another total stranger's house (Dusty MacNeill), where I met a whole group of even stranger strangers (Timdog, Josh, Ben, Lindy, Olychild), I would eventually connect with some strange guy at a show in Southern Oregon who would eventually be my roommate (Ricker)? for all of the flack I get about my TAB obsession, I must say it has served me well. Provided me with a widespread community of friends, some of which I have yet to meet (Ben Dover), and many of which have profoundly affected my life in intentional and unintentional ways. So here I sit, in Ricker's spare room, answering to all of the gossipy speculation that comes with the announcement that I have moved in with a single male. We of course, immediately started Avett nerding out, comparing concert experiences, trivial knowledge and signed posters. it's a geeky sort of paradise. And Ricker loves my fat dog. Just yesterday they were discussing the finer aspects of lawn aeration and appropriate lounging techniques. We should be JUST fine for a couple of months.
And there is this boy (Calvin Lowry). silly me with my schoolgirl crush on a boy who is much too young for me. but he has been my lifeline. my sidekick, my shoulder and my muscle for the last few weeks. and now I miss him. he reminded me what it feels like to be treasured, valued, respected. he has made me happy. consistently happy. happier than I can remember being in many, many years. He is the wrong boy for me in so many ways, but the more time I spend with him I know that I love who he is for all of the right reasons. this is what a relationship should be based on, mutual respect, equal footing, understanding, tolerance, and working to overcome the insecurities, attitudes and habits that tear people apart. he has been my hero. and I miss him already.
somewhere in the last couple of months I squeezed out an entire semester's worth of school, and surprised myself with only one D in the whole load of credits. A D that I am hoping to somehow redeem to a C. Ordinarily, a full load of online classes would be a bunch of no-sweat A's, but working 6 days a week, trying to be some sort of a mother, and meet all of the other requirements on me somehow took my grades out at the knees. Since January, I have been a professional house cleaner, painter, hardware store clerk, beer bottler, babysitter, biathlon organizer, student, karaoke dj, mother and every once in awhile, a friend. I miss my friends. I have had so little time to chase them down and find out their worries and struggles, which is the thing that make my own burdens seem easier to bear. When my shoes start to feel uncomfortable, it helps me to try someone else's on, someone that I care about, and realize that everybody has miserable feet sometimes. I am a lucky girl. I am sludging through the muck of a messy life in my heavy boots and I am making it.
I am slated for graduation in one year. Graduation from college. It's only taken me 12 years, but it will be a B.S. degree that I earned all on my own, racking up debt and barely skimming by with passing grades while I juggle it all. I can't wait to have that stupid little piece of paper that kids ten years younger than me think they are working hard for. That will be gratification. The same gratification that I felt when I watched my kids play soccer, or tuba, or stand in the front row at an Avett Brother's concert and sing every word. There is a smugness that I feel, knowing that somehow I had a hand in shaping this thing, this success. I made it happen. I will figure out how to pay for it later. In the meantime, I will cry tears of thanks and relief for every returned overdraft fee from the people on the other end of the phone at Bank of America (I LOVE you Ida!).
I have to go explore my new city now, so I can seem somewhat knowledgeable when I start work on Monday morning. I will be a federal employee. And my first weekend includes a paid holiday, as if to remind me of how completely awesome my new job is, and the fact that I made the right choice, regardless of the headaches and stress. I am happy. I am excited. I am here. Come see me!!!!
Last year, when I made the foolhardy decision to drive all over the northwest for some silly concerts, who would have thought that hitchhiking my way with a total stranger (Hollie Ash), to another total stranger's house (Dusty MacNeill), where I met a whole group of even stranger strangers (Timdog, Josh, Ben, Lindy, Olychild), I would eventually connect with some strange guy at a show in Southern Oregon who would eventually be my roommate (Ricker)? for all of the flack I get about my TAB obsession, I must say it has served me well. Provided me with a widespread community of friends, some of which I have yet to meet (Ben Dover), and many of which have profoundly affected my life in intentional and unintentional ways. So here I sit, in Ricker's spare room, answering to all of the gossipy speculation that comes with the announcement that I have moved in with a single male. We of course, immediately started Avett nerding out, comparing concert experiences, trivial knowledge and signed posters. it's a geeky sort of paradise. And Ricker loves my fat dog. Just yesterday they were discussing the finer aspects of lawn aeration and appropriate lounging techniques. We should be JUST fine for a couple of months.
And there is this boy (Calvin Lowry). silly me with my schoolgirl crush on a boy who is much too young for me. but he has been my lifeline. my sidekick, my shoulder and my muscle for the last few weeks. and now I miss him. he reminded me what it feels like to be treasured, valued, respected. he has made me happy. consistently happy. happier than I can remember being in many, many years. He is the wrong boy for me in so many ways, but the more time I spend with him I know that I love who he is for all of the right reasons. this is what a relationship should be based on, mutual respect, equal footing, understanding, tolerance, and working to overcome the insecurities, attitudes and habits that tear people apart. he has been my hero. and I miss him already.
somewhere in the last couple of months I squeezed out an entire semester's worth of school, and surprised myself with only one D in the whole load of credits. A D that I am hoping to somehow redeem to a C. Ordinarily, a full load of online classes would be a bunch of no-sweat A's, but working 6 days a week, trying to be some sort of a mother, and meet all of the other requirements on me somehow took my grades out at the knees. Since January, I have been a professional house cleaner, painter, hardware store clerk, beer bottler, babysitter, biathlon organizer, student, karaoke dj, mother and every once in awhile, a friend. I miss my friends. I have had so little time to chase them down and find out their worries and struggles, which is the thing that make my own burdens seem easier to bear. When my shoes start to feel uncomfortable, it helps me to try someone else's on, someone that I care about, and realize that everybody has miserable feet sometimes. I am a lucky girl. I am sludging through the muck of a messy life in my heavy boots and I am making it.
I am slated for graduation in one year. Graduation from college. It's only taken me 12 years, but it will be a B.S. degree that I earned all on my own, racking up debt and barely skimming by with passing grades while I juggle it all. I can't wait to have that stupid little piece of paper that kids ten years younger than me think they are working hard for. That will be gratification. The same gratification that I felt when I watched my kids play soccer, or tuba, or stand in the front row at an Avett Brother's concert and sing every word. There is a smugness that I feel, knowing that somehow I had a hand in shaping this thing, this success. I made it happen. I will figure out how to pay for it later. In the meantime, I will cry tears of thanks and relief for every returned overdraft fee from the people on the other end of the phone at Bank of America (I LOVE you Ida!).
I have to go explore my new city now, so I can seem somewhat knowledgeable when I start work on Monday morning. I will be a federal employee. And my first weekend includes a paid holiday, as if to remind me of how completely awesome my new job is, and the fact that I made the right choice, regardless of the headaches and stress. I am happy. I am excited. I am here. Come see me!!!!
20.3.10
To the girls:
These are the things that I hope you can forgive me for:
I hope someday you can forgive me for pulling out the demon mother voice on sunny Saturday mornings when it seems as though nothing in the world should be wrong. Forgive me for not appreciating the perfection of the ideal first-day-of-spring weather on the first day of spring, the Harry Potter marathon on NBC, and how the chores are not really a big deal. I am sorry for letting you stay up so late that you can't make your brain process simple things without complete meltdowns, and then getting mad at you.
I hope you can forgive me for not being able to listen to anything but the Avett brothers from December 2007 until ?. I have tried. I have dabbled elsewhere. It really is compulsive. It makes me happy, divinely happy, and when I am away from it, I come back remembering how much I love it. I don't know why this group of unpolished poets has so completely stolen my heart. Maybe it is just that my heart was so susceptible to stealing, and they were there. And they were safe. They weren't going to run away, or call me names, or find a more attractive audience. They are unconditional. I hope you can forgive my twistedness. I suppose it's not healthy, but it might be my only link to some version of sanity. Mom says that they don't love me back, the Avett Brothers, and she is right. They don't, technically, specifically, love me back, but they give me, in their lyrics and their melodies, the shoulder to cry on, the arm around me that I so much want. So in some way they do. In a way that is just as tangible as a bible bound god, or pink-church promises. Maybe it is my religion, this music. Maybe it is my link to salvation. Is it that much sillier than an invisible deity that somehow outranks the easter bunny and santa clause? I don't know. I don't know that anybody does. I know many people who think they do know. And kids, I hope you can forgive me if I ever made you believe I am one of the people who knows anything. The only thing that I am certain about is that nothing in this life is certain. I also hope you can forgive me for subjecting you, repeatedly, to the people and institutions that push their doctrines of so many shapes and sizes down your soft and pliable throats. But this is our world, and maybe then I should apologize for bringing you into a life full of judgement and ridiculous beings full of arrogance and ignorance. No. This is life, it is our life, and from all of these places and people we learn more about who we are and what we want to be. If we don't, then we are the judges that we despise. We are the arrogant ignoramuses who cannot see past the box we grew up in. Forgive me, girls, if I don't raise you to see over the edges of our box. I want to, so badly I can taste it.
I hope that you can forgive me for not giving you the solid platform of forever in one place, one lifestyle, one family structure. I want it so badly for you, for me. For us to be one thing forever. The same thing. The same every day. And we are, we will be, if we can live wherever we are, consistently, unconditionally, passionately, just like the music that is always the same regardless of where it plays.
Forgive me girls, for not having answers for you. Answers that I want so badly for myself. Answers to questions of heartbreak and wise choices. Questions of love and belonging and wishing. Right and wrong. For you I would find the answers and carve them into stones that would guide you. But the answers that are handed to me from all sides do not equal the evidence of this life. I have not found them yet. Some people think they have. I am glad they feel that way. I even hope someday maybe you girls will know the answers, or think you do. Then you can have the solidarity that I envy so much. I am sorry that I cannot give you that.
There are so many things that I am sorry for, so many things that I can only hope and pray to the god who is there, whichever one he is, that someday you will value as the color of your background that made you into the incredible people you are, and for all of the adventures you are having, you will draw from the drawbacks of your upbringing and bask in the light of the shadows of our darkest days. Some days I see this, I know that even the bad times serve us well. Other times I lose sight. But every day I try to remember to be grateful. Grateful for you four crazies. Grateful for my overflowing growler of unexpected twists and turns in life. Grateful that I can't look back and wonder how it could have been more exciting. Grateful for a roof while it is ours, food while we are full and music for as long as it will play. Life goes on, in spite of the failures and disappointments. It just trudges through, sometimes losing a shoe in the mud, or a hat in the wind, but it pushes on. And the stories to tell just pile up. And for that, I am not sorry.
I hope someday you can forgive me for pulling out the demon mother voice on sunny Saturday mornings when it seems as though nothing in the world should be wrong. Forgive me for not appreciating the perfection of the ideal first-day-of-spring weather on the first day of spring, the Harry Potter marathon on NBC, and how the chores are not really a big deal. I am sorry for letting you stay up so late that you can't make your brain process simple things without complete meltdowns, and then getting mad at you.
I hope you can forgive me for not being able to listen to anything but the Avett brothers from December 2007 until ?. I have tried. I have dabbled elsewhere. It really is compulsive. It makes me happy, divinely happy, and when I am away from it, I come back remembering how much I love it. I don't know why this group of unpolished poets has so completely stolen my heart. Maybe it is just that my heart was so susceptible to stealing, and they were there. And they were safe. They weren't going to run away, or call me names, or find a more attractive audience. They are unconditional. I hope you can forgive my twistedness. I suppose it's not healthy, but it might be my only link to some version of sanity. Mom says that they don't love me back, the Avett Brothers, and she is right. They don't, technically, specifically, love me back, but they give me, in their lyrics and their melodies, the shoulder to cry on, the arm around me that I so much want. So in some way they do. In a way that is just as tangible as a bible bound god, or pink-church promises. Maybe it is my religion, this music. Maybe it is my link to salvation. Is it that much sillier than an invisible deity that somehow outranks the easter bunny and santa clause? I don't know. I don't know that anybody does. I know many people who think they do know. And kids, I hope you can forgive me if I ever made you believe I am one of the people who knows anything. The only thing that I am certain about is that nothing in this life is certain. I also hope you can forgive me for subjecting you, repeatedly, to the people and institutions that push their doctrines of so many shapes and sizes down your soft and pliable throats. But this is our world, and maybe then I should apologize for bringing you into a life full of judgement and ridiculous beings full of arrogance and ignorance. No. This is life, it is our life, and from all of these places and people we learn more about who we are and what we want to be. If we don't, then we are the judges that we despise. We are the arrogant ignoramuses who cannot see past the box we grew up in. Forgive me, girls, if I don't raise you to see over the edges of our box. I want to, so badly I can taste it.
I hope that you can forgive me for not giving you the solid platform of forever in one place, one lifestyle, one family structure. I want it so badly for you, for me. For us to be one thing forever. The same thing. The same every day. And we are, we will be, if we can live wherever we are, consistently, unconditionally, passionately, just like the music that is always the same regardless of where it plays.
Forgive me girls, for not having answers for you. Answers that I want so badly for myself. Answers to questions of heartbreak and wise choices. Questions of love and belonging and wishing. Right and wrong. For you I would find the answers and carve them into stones that would guide you. But the answers that are handed to me from all sides do not equal the evidence of this life. I have not found them yet. Some people think they have. I am glad they feel that way. I even hope someday maybe you girls will know the answers, or think you do. Then you can have the solidarity that I envy so much. I am sorry that I cannot give you that.
There are so many things that I am sorry for, so many things that I can only hope and pray to the god who is there, whichever one he is, that someday you will value as the color of your background that made you into the incredible people you are, and for all of the adventures you are having, you will draw from the drawbacks of your upbringing and bask in the light of the shadows of our darkest days. Some days I see this, I know that even the bad times serve us well. Other times I lose sight. But every day I try to remember to be grateful. Grateful for you four crazies. Grateful for my overflowing growler of unexpected twists and turns in life. Grateful that I can't look back and wonder how it could have been more exciting. Grateful for a roof while it is ours, food while we are full and music for as long as it will play. Life goes on, in spite of the failures and disappointments. It just trudges through, sometimes losing a shoe in the mud, or a hat in the wind, but it pushes on. And the stories to tell just pile up. And for that, I am not sorry.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)