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...
27.7.10
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...
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