4/8/10 - Seafood and Recap

My mom has been trying to do something nice for me. And I keep thwarting her efforts. Mostly because what she’s been trying to do requires the expenditure of money that’s just not necessary. But regardless, she’s starting to get irritated with me I think. So she’s taking me and the kids to dinner tonight. At Red Lobster. I’ve been craving seafood for weeks and it’s the only seafood restaurant in town so off we go.

My Dad had a doctor’s appointment today with his main doc to debrief and reassess after last weekend’s debacle as well as the doc being out of town for the last two and half weeks. The doc was irritated that everything was handled the way it was and was also irritated that his prescription of a gout medication made everyone assume that my Dad had been diagnosed with gout. I kind of wanted to tell him to either get over himself or else write better diagnostic notes in the file. But he’s also endeavored to mess about with my Dad’s meds, so we’ll see how it goes. He’s taking my Dad off the blood thinners so that he can switch him to anti inflammatories and is switching his pain med to a slow release pain patch instead of the every 4 hours morphine he had been on. I’m worried about taking him off the blood thinners as that opens him up to risks of heart attack and stroke. But hopefully the benefits outweigh the risks. And the doc said we’d know the benefits fairly soon, so if they don’t outweigh, then he’ll go back to the blood thinners. It’s all such experimentation at this stage, which I find utterly infuriating. I mean, my dad has to pay the price of his comfort so that the docs can figure all of this out, in a case that is not unique that they’ve all seen so many times before and still can’t get right. And when my Dad has little more than his comfort left, I tend to get my hackles raised when they start messing with it.

So I’m keeping my fingers crossed and looking forward to scallops this evening.

The Price of Raw

When I started this blog a little over a year ago, I never really thought anyone would read it. Or at the very most I thought I’d have a few consistent readers, you know, people like my mom, maybe friends who I don’t get to see very often (and I was pretty much right). But that’s about it. I mean who wants to stick around for a 365-word-a-day snapshot of one woman’s life, regardless of how colorful her language is. I wasn’t doing it so that it would get read. I was doing it so that I could make myself write every day. It was just about the writing. It also turned out to be an incredible outlet for me during the hardest year of my life. A way to process an incredibly complicated and painful time of my life that simply could not be overlooked.

Probably the most consistent piece of feedback I’ve gotten on this blog is that it is raw. The emotions, the language, the situations. All of it is raw. And I’ve been called courageous and inspiring for being willing to air that rawness to the outside world. Now, I don’t know how courageous or inspirational I am, but I do know that raw was (is?) the only way for me to be. There’s just been too much to polish. Too much to try to hide or shirk or simplify.

For the most part, I’ve not let myself get too bogged down in worrying about what I put out there. Because as I said, I am not writing it because I need people to read it. So why should I give a shit what they think of it? And I don’t. Except for today I got dealt a sucker punch to the gut. Today I got handed down a sweeping judgment of myself, my life and my family. And it came in large part because of what I write here. Amidst the adrenaline fueled anger that I’ve been feeling all day, is also a deep sadness. Sadness that through everything I’ve written, expressed and learned over the last 15 months, that all they gleaned from it was a chance to judge.

3/6/10 - Anger

I think that anger takes two basic forms. Those which are situational, the “I can’t believe you just did that to me!” types of anger. More like bursts of fury. They fade relatively quickly and usually don’t have much to do with anything except the offending person or thing.

Then there is the anger that is rooted in who we are. Rooted somewhere deep enough that it can’t be so easily let go of or dismissed. Rooted somewhere solid enough that it takes years maybe even a lifetime to be able to put it down and direct our energy into something more positive.

And I’ve been going round and round with the latter as of late. There is this anger that is rooted in my childhood. That is connected to my parents and that has been flying in my face as of late in response to the fact that my father is dying and everything that comes with that. You would think that the hardest part would be the issues related directly to my dad. Those that come from the fact that he was gone for a lot of my early childhood. Those that come from the fact that he’s not an emotionally ebullient man and always left me guessing as to my place in his heart. Those that come from the fact that he had exceptionally high expectations for me that I struggled, and often failed, to meet.

But instead, and probably harder than all of those combined, the anger that is arising is with my mother. Perhaps that’s because she’ll still be here and is therefore the safer candidate at which to vent anger. Or perhaps, losing my father is just opening the floodgates to that deeply seated anger that has been dormant for so long. I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s making it extremely difficult for me and my mom right now. And I’ve yet to find the words to explain it all to her without her feeling like I’m just attacking her. And if I want to one day be able to truly let go of this anger, I must first find a way to express it.

2/21/10 - Digestion

Migraine. Migraine. Migraine. I’ve had a migraine since Thursday. I’ve spent all day today on the couch, moaning occasionally, watching movies. I can’t look at my computer, so I’m typing this out as quickly as possible just to get my daily writing out of the way. I know it’s a stress/not drinking enough water/not getting enough sleep thing. But seriously. I’m way over it now.

But having the time to just lie on the couch has also given me some time to think and digest. I spent most of this past week trying to re-reach out to some friends. Because I am tired of being angry. And I’m tired of feeling like I’m never going to be anything but angry. So I reached out to a friend I’ve known since the beginning of high school who is now a UCC minister to get some perspective. And I reached out to my oldest friend who lost her mother in college and her father not to long after The Boy was born. They both wrote me words that took quite a bit of digesting – in the best possible way. Words that I needed to hear but couldn’t come up with on my own. Words that provided the perspective that I needed but couldn’t get to because I was so cemented into my current angry point of view. Words that reminded me that it’s ok for this to be hard, that it’s ok for me to be angry, that it’s ok for me to not understand. But it’s my banging my head against the wall of that lack of understanding that’s creating such anger and strife for me right now. They were words I needed to hear and needed to digest and I’m so grateful for them and the friends who wrote them.

Ultimately I’m pissed off that my dad is dying. And that’s just compounded by the fact that I can’t for the life of me control or make any sense out of any aspect of that. Yeah. That just plain sucks.

So in some respects I suppose I’m glad for the space and time to reflect, even if it was accompanied by pain and strobe lights.

The Mess That I Am

So I have this anger. This anger that I keep expecting to start dissipating as the time goes by. This anger that I’ve been diligently trying to just let be in the hopes that it would burn itself out. Here’s the problem though, it turns out when you “diligently” try to do something, you’re not actually just letting it be, are you?

So, here’s the truth. I am angry. I’m so angry I can hardly see straight. I’m angry that my father is dying. I’m angry that my father will not let me in during this time of grief and ending. I’m angry that he won’t let me help him find the answers he’s craving so that he can have some peace in whatever time he has left. When this diagnosis first happened, it brought my dad back to me. He was present and honest and actively choosing to bring me into his process. Now he’s gone back to sitting still again, in the worst possible way. There’s no peace or growth in this sitting still. Or at least there doesn’t appear to be any, but I wouldn’t really know for sure because he won’t, you know, let me in.

And I’m angry because everyone just expects me to understand. My dad expects me to take care of my family and that’s it. My mom expects me to just let them both do whatever they want exclusive of my place in this family. Our oldest family friends expect me to sit back and just understand. I do not understand. I do not understand how it’s ok to shove your only daughter away from you when you’re dying under the guise of wanting me to take care of my “own family.” What the hell is that?!? My parents aren’t my family?

To be honest I’m tired of understanding. I’m tired of walking on eggshells. I’m tired of pretending like everything is ok. I’m tired of acting as if my feelings about my father dying don’t actually matter.

I want permission to be angry. I want permission to fall apart. I want permission to be the mess that I am.

The angry, tired mess that I am.

One of those Days

I wanted to do nothing but lie on the couch, read and eat cookies today. Alas and alack, that’s just not allowed when you have a 3 ½ year old dictator nipping at your heels constantly for food, drink and entertainment. I mean seriously, when is this pup ready to get her own damn juice?! There are just days that are harder than others to remain civil when The Girl asks for the umpteenth time for a snack or a different show or exclaims in her best Scarlett O’Hara impersonation that she is bored. Today was one of those days.

Today was one of those days that when The Boy’s school called mid-afternoon to tell me he had a fever and would I please come pick up my germ infested child and The Girl was dawdling in getting dressed that I found myself screaming at her to please just put on some pants already. How hard is it to just put on pants?! Because she had switched out her pretty princess nightgown for the infinitely more weather appropriate shorts and a t-shirt. In February. When the high the last week hasn’t been above 30 effing degrees. Today was one of those days when little things like that simply drive me over the edge.

Today was one of those days when I was resentful to have a sick kid. A day when I found myself fervently praying that his fever breaks tonight because if I have to keep him home tomorrow then I don’t get my alone time while The Girl is in school. And my sanity is demanding alone time. Plus I haven’t even really started this week’s story for 52 in 52. I have the general premise in my head, but no clue as to how I’m actually going to write the sucker.

Today is one of those days when I am crabby and find myself teary while reading a story to The Boy before bed. One of those days when I would have been happy to not have to talk or listen to anyone. One of those days when my best bet would’ve been to lie on the couch, read and eat cookies.

Wall

Ok, so apparently I’ve lost my mind. Or hit a wall. Or something. Because it appears that my current options are either crying mess or harpy. Lovely. Exactly how I wanted to kick off my week! I just cannot seem to pull it together. I’m trying to just be, as uncomfortable as it may be, in the hopes that all of this will just work itself out and I can go back to my own version of functionality. Because bursting into tears every time someone asks how I am is just not acceptable. And neither is screaming at my children just because they happen to be breathing in my general vicinity. I’m being ridiculous.

People keep telling me that I need to refuel myself so that I can keep being strong. And while there is definitely part of me that would like to take that advice and would definitely like to go back to being strong, the me that is right now just laughs and throws dirty looks when I hear that advice. Because right now it feels like it would take years to refuel. That laying on a beach with no responsibilities, no expectations, no nothing for several months straight would do nothing but scratch the surface. And there is no part of me that feels strong right now. I feel like I could very well disintegrate on the spot. Like a stiff wind could just blow the pieces of me away like brittle leaves.

And I wish I could say that I was being dramatic. But that’s how I feel right now, brittle and hollow. And that just really sucks. Mostly because it came out of nowhere. I was doing so well! I mean, yes, I’ve had a couple of crabby days and a bunch of rollercoaster riding, but I never expected anything like this. To just be laid flat with grief and stress before my dad actually died. I don’t know what to do with this. But I’d like for it go away now. I’ll click my heels, wrinkle my nose, apparate, Calgon take me away, whatever it takes I’m more than willing to try. Just no more crying or yelling please.

Bad Day

I’m having a bad day. And here’s the mind fuck that has been chasing its tail through my bad day pity party: I should be above bad days. Or, more to the point, I should be able to rise above bad days. I should be able to just allow them to move past me without buying into their bullshit. I should just make my mind some soothing tea and let it rant and rave without actually giving it any unwarranted attention. I should be able to slough off bad days without a care. But apparently I can’t.

Because I’m crabby and I want to cry. My husband has half the day off and instead of enjoying the family time, I was actually resentful that he was home. My mom called to tell me she was in a car accident and my first thought was “what do you want me to do about it?” What the fuck is wrong with me?!

Here is what’s wrong with me today: my dad has started going downhill again and I’m not there to help or see any of it for myself. My cell phone is dead as dead gets and we have zero funds to get a new one. My car needs about $1,000 worth of work. My husband’s car needs about $1,000 worth of work. I desperately need a haircut. I have zero confidence in my ability to write anything more than simple journal entries and am considering aborting my 52 project. And we have zero wiggle room in our budget and none coming in the foreseeable future and that just flat makes me angry. And we’re out of brownies.

That’s about it. That’s what’s wrong with me. So pretty much nothing has changed. My dad is dying. We have no money. I’m struggling with how to actually be a writer. What the hell else is new? And yet today is a bad day. Because today I’m mired down in the muck of circumstance. Because for some reason, today, I let myself sink down into the swamp water of my mind.

And now I’m all slimy. So I guess I’ll go take a shower and just keep breathing.

Gratitude

My dad sort of disappeared several years ago. He found himself travelling down an extremely difficult road and his response was to withdraw to the point of almost completely disappearing. I would occasionally see him emerge whilst playing with his grandchildren. But mostly he was just gone.

Keeping in mind that I have always been a daddy’s girl, you can imagine the anger I felt about suddenly losing my father while he was sitting right in front of me. You can imagine how abandoned I felt. You can imagine the level of sorrow I had knowing that if he would only let me, I could probably be of some assistance along the journey he was on.

And I’ve held somewhat of a grudge for this disappearance. I’ve been angry with him for a long time now. And while it may sound clichéd and hypocritical, when his diagnosis made its way down the pike, all was forgiven. Not forgotten, not by a long shot, but forgiven. But, as most profoundly life changing revelations are, my dad having cancer has proven to be a gift. It’s brought my dad back to me. He is utterly and completely my dad again. For better and for worse, he’s my dad again. And I’m so grateful for that I can’t appropriately put it into words.

So much of who I am at my core is because of my dad. He cultivated in me a deep sense of right and wrong as well as a foundation based in respect, integrity and compassion for everyone around me regardless of their station in life. An absolute commitment to family (in whatever form it may take), constant learning and a relentless wonder at the world around me. A tremendous sense of humor. I do wish however that he’d injected some of his innate patience into me though, that is one area in which I am severely lacking that he has in spades.

Tonight as I listened to us banter back and forth and laugh heartily at each other’s stories and memories, I had to lean back and just be grateful. So very, very grateful for the chance to just be with my daddy again.

Stages 1 and 2

My darling, dear and most appreciated friend M bought The Girl and me lunch again today. She also brought me some books on grief including one to read to the kiddos. One of which is by Elizabeth Kubler Ross who is pretty much the guru of death and dying. It was she who came up with the 5 stages of grief. I have heard her speak and she is without a doubt the kindest, gentlest soul I’ve ever heard utter words of any kind.

My mom and I talked a bit about the 5 stages when I was there and I talked a bit with M today as well. The first stage is denial. After the year I’ve had, I’ve pretty much lost all ability to be in denial about anything, it is just not worth my time and energy anymore. But anger? Anger is something I know a little bit about. And with this particular life event, my anger is twofold. The first of which is absolute anger at the fact that my father is going to be take away from me and my children well before we’ve learned everything he has to teach. The second of which is anger that I am an only child and thus have to shoulder and navigate this cracking a part of my family alone.

Also, I’m angry right now that life seems to not give a damn that my father is dying and so has decided to not just give me a friggin’ break with anything. We are just barely keeping our heads above water financially and are in fact having to learn how to breathe water this month. The mortgage company doesn’t care that my dad was in the hospital, only that I make sure to pay the late fee when I am finally able to make our payment this month. Also? My car is in dire need of some serious TLC and I have no way to provide anything for it but gasoline at the moment, and that only sparingly.

So there’s a tour of my anger. If you’re really lucky you’ll get an equally as thrilling view of the next three stages as well.

This? This is a Vent

I woke up crabbier than crabby this morning so today’s post is just one big ‘ol vent session. I was going to vent on Facebook and then remembered that today is Veteran’s Day and felt like a big ‘ol selfish person for wanting to vent instead of thanking all the soldiers past, present and future. So you get it instead. Feel free to just come back tomorrow.

The children don’t have school today and I would love to take them to Denver and go the Natural History Museum or the Children’s Museum or go out for a fun lunch at one of their favorite places. But I can’t do any of that. I can’t drive to Denver because I have to conserve gas. I can’t even take them to McDonald’s for lunch let alone Fargo’s or Chuck E. Cheese. I can’t really do anything with them today because we have no fucking money.

I’ve tried really hard to stay positive about this whole financial crisis that we’re in. I’ve tried really hard to keep it all in perspective and know that it’s for the best and will give us a chance at real stability instead of credit card funded illusion. I’ve struggled to keep the bitterness at bay by taking responsibility for my actions while not laying a gigantic morass of guilt around my neck. I’ve done all of these things every day since we first realized that bankruptcy was our only option.

But today? Today I am angry and bitter and guilty. Because I manage the money in this house and I am apparently so good at it that I managed us right into near complete financial ruin. I so want to take my sweet children and do something fun and frivolous today and I can’t because I fucked up. And that feels pretty awful. And that’s not even touching the guilt that floods if I consider what would happen if one of the cars broke down or our heater went out.

Today I want to throw a huge, out of control temper tantrum about the whole thing and go to Starbuck’s on the way to Red Robin. But I can’t. And that sucks.

Tales from the Trenches

My husband is an insurance claims adjuster for a huge company and he occasionally brings home stories that he or one of his coworkers has dealt with during the course of their day. He doesn’t do it often because his area of specialty is bodily injury claims from car accidents. And as much as I try to support him and be interested in what he does, I don’t really have any desire to hear about how many people get hurt every single day. And I’ve made this fact abundantly clear over the last 6 years that he’s been doing this. Having a mother who barely survived a car accident has pretty much put me at saturation when it comes to hearing about vehicle accidents of any kind.

But today, he brought home a story from one of his coworkers that works in the property department and it’s a doozy to be sure. Apparently a man caught a burglar in the house and decided to take action instead of hiding in the closet with his cordless phone waiting for the cops to arrive. So he immobilized the intruder with his own gun and kept him at gunpoint face down on the floor. At which point the cops arrived and shot him. Three times. In the back. And then one more time in the leg. They then proceeded to drag him out onto the porch while they handcuffed the, you know, actual criminal. Then they called the paramedics while the homeowner was laying on his own porch bleeding to death. Oh yeah, and his wife and children were watching the whole thing as well.

As he was relating this story to me over dinner tonight, my mouth was hanging open and I kept expecting him to give me the punch line. But it just kept getting worse! I cannot even imagine how angry this entire family must be, let alone the deep betrayal they must feel. But mostly I was thinking how very, very much I hope they sue the hell out of that police department and I hope that the cops who shot this father and husband have to face him every single day in court.

Utterly Irrational

I have a totally irrational hatred of Tom Brady. The man just brings out the worst in me. I cannot bring myself to think positive thoughts about him regardless of how nice he is or how well he plays the game of football. I mean I am sitting here watching him literally have a record breaking game where he just threw 5 touchdowns in one quarter. Not one half, not in the whole game, in one freaking quarter. And I cannot bring myself to be even mildly amused by this. I find myself screwing up my face and sticking out my tongue at the TV.

Keep in mind that I still feel this way about Tom Brady knowing that I have nothing to lose in my fantasy matchup this week with him. I can’t even explain it away that way. One would think I’d have the same kind of wrath towards Drew Brees at least for this week after watching him have yet another game of his life annihilating the Giants as I watched him rack up points for my opponent. It’s painful to lose like this granted, but Drew Brees is a good comeback kid kind of guy so even though he single handedly assured my loss this week, I still kinda like the guy.

Every time I see Tom Brady’s stupid name in the headlines I cuss him out under my breath. It makes me crazy that his pretty face married a supermodel. Even his sweet baby irks me. It’s totally irrational. To the point where I have never even had a Patriot player on any of my fantasy teams. I just don’t want any association with him (although I’m about to break that rule by picking up Maroney as a possible workhorse running back).

The only thing I can come up with to even come close to explaining it is that it’s all just so cliché. He’s the star quarterback pretty boy who always gets the job done and always gets the girl. He’s “humble” and easy going. He’s charming and professional and oh so focused. And it’s always a given that he’ll win.

He may as well be a cardboard cutout.

10/17/09 - Jumping through Hoops

Here’s the most irritating thing about filing for bankruptcy (other than having to give a lawyer a big pile of money to have it legally, and publically, recorded that we don’t have any money) – having to take the pre and post-filing classes that are required by federal law. We have had to go through several companies that offer these classes for an assortment of fees (yet again having to spend more money to prove that we don’t have any money) and figure out which one will not only be the cheapest, but also the most expedient. Because we can’t legally file with the courts until we get the pre-filing credit counseling course taken and the completion certificate sent to our lawyer so he can include it in the final petition.

Now, let me be clear in that I really, truly understand why these classes are required. No one wants people to use bankruptcy as a way of hiding from a huge pile of debt that they got into on purpose. And no one wants someone to file for bankruptcy without having explored every single available option. It really is a last resort sort of thing. So making these courses mandatory gives people two more hoops to jump through as well as making sure they are educated on the process and its ramifications. I totally get that. Having said that however, they are a presently a gigantic pain in my ass.

Especially this first class because it’s a two parter. We each have to take the online course which I’m guessing will take about an hour or so and then we have to schedule a phone counseling follow up call to help establish a budget which will probably take another hour or so. I know that 2 hours sounds pretty inconsequential. But it’s really not. Especially since it’s computer and phone time where I have to, you know, pay attention. Show me a mother who time for this.

And the part of me that has painful clarity on why we are in this process resents the fact that I am forced to pay someone to tell me this is a bad place in which to be.

Western Union

“In a few minutes your love can be tangible.” – Western Union slogan

This particular slogan makes me irrationally angry. Maybe because I was pretty much raised in a time when wiring money has gone completely out of fashion except in the movies where the only people who wire money are felons and white trash kids stuck in some hickville trailer park without a clean wife beater. It makes me think of men with huge pot bellies sending money to their old ladies who are standing in their curlers, hair nets and polyester muumuus. It makes me think of dirty out of the way offices that you have to search out in the seedier parts of town.

It pretty much makes me think of anything but love.

And maybe that is what the slogan is trying to change. Trying to shift the point of view back to a quick way to send your oldest son money across country because he blew a tire on his spring break road trip. Because I think most Western Union offices are probably in well lit grocery stores nowadays.

But it also speaks to the part of me that is just flat royally pissed off that we’re in the financial state we’re in. Because to tell me that THE way to make my love tangible is to send money to family and friends just makes me want to scream since it’s just about the only thing I can’t presently send them. I can send virtual hugs and all of the positive vibes and thoughts I can muster. I can send cards and emails and Facebook love notes. I can think of all kinds of funny, silly, creative ways to “make my love tangible” should I ever feel the need, but sending money is really not one of them (not that I wouldn’t love to receive that kind of token of all of your love).
Also on some philosophical level it makes me irate that I should ever have to make my love tangible. I mean who really wants their loved ones to nail down how very much they are loved into a hot pink teddy bear or a bouquet of flowers?

Not Ok

I am not feeling romantic or wistful or any of the other things I’ve been feeling lately. Today I am angry. I am angry because the son of a friend of mine is laying in the PICU at Denver Children’s Hospital fighting for his life. He came home with a sore throat and fever a week ago and is now on a heart/lung bypass machine fighting for his life. And I am angry because the doctors should have been able to prevent this. I am angry because I keep hearing about how H1N1 is pretty mild and the only danger is in overwhelming the medical system and then this sweet boy gets it and is living hour to hour. But mostly I am angry because there is an entire hospital 90 minutes from my doorstep full of nothing but children in danger and the world is still turning. People are still going grocery shopping and going to work and paying bills and driving around like that is ok. And it is absolutely the hell not ok.

I have another friend whose daughter is also at DCH right now and while she is not in critical care, she is also not healthy and got a life altering diagnosis not too long ago that turned their whole world upside down.

And The Girl has a pediatric cardiologist appointment in just over a week to see if we can add a few more things to her little plate.

And none of this is ok.

Will there ever be a way to reconcile children dying or getting horrific sicknesses or being born with disastrous genetic syndromes? I know all the arguments for natural selection and fate and what makes us stronger. And in the face of a sweet boy being kept alive by machinery I declare all of that to be bullshit. There is just no reason for this much pain and sorrow. These parents have done nothing to deserve being made stronger in this way. These children should be romping with their friends and siblings. Being silly and having fun.

There is no excuse. And it makes me angry in a way that I can’t contain or justify.

Fear and Anger

Here’s something I haven’t quite figured out yet – how do I get far enough away from the fear and/or anger in a situation so that I can be active in the problem solving?

We’ve had this whole money problem thing dogging us for years. It all started when I quit a really toxic job not long after we moved back to Colorado. I got pregnant with The Boy soon after that and even though I was still looking for a replacement job, no one wanted to hire me when I was already pregnant and would be leaving for maternity leave so soon after being hired. My husband lost his job when The Boy was 6 weeks old and with both of us essentially being unemployed (I had started my consulting business by then but was nowhere close to bringing in a consistent paycheck) we drained our savings and racked up a suffocating amount of credit card bills. That was more than 6 years ago now and we’ve been seriously struggling ever since. There have been times of respite, when my consulting business was going gangbusters or when my husband was on hurricane catastrophe duty and getting doubled paychecks with all the overtime. But essentially it’s been a constant struggle.

And with each passing year the options available have lessened and become less solutions and more choice between two bad alternatives. I’m just not a big fan of being pushed into a corner, especially when I’m the one who has done the pushing.

It pisses me off that we haven’t been able to visit my husband’s parents since The Boy was about 18 months old simply because we can’t afford it. It pisses me off that I’m about to ask The Boy to choose between a birthday party and his guinea pig birthday present because we cannot afford both. It pisses me off that I can’t put The Girl in preschool this year. It pisses me off that we don’t get to have date nights nearly as often as we need them.

But under all that pissed-offedness is fear. A deep fear that my family will be living in a cardboard box in the near future.

Live and Let Live

I have an extremely hard time walking the line between reality and love. There are so many people and things that I love and the boundary between them, with their vibrant colors and fantastical joy, disappears in the face of the cold and stark reality of everyday life. I have so many brilliant and talented people who sing, dance, play music and create amazing works of art with pen, paint and performance. I’ve such deep respect and adoration for these people whom I am lucky enough to call my friends.

The problem is that one of my biggest strengths is also my biggest weakness. I am an eternally hopeful, hopeless romantic. That capacity enables me to be a giver in the broadest sense of the word. I would give anything for my family and friends, especially if it was to help them achieve something they really believed in. It enables me to always see a silver lining. It enables me to always be on the lookout for the light at the end of the tunnel, even when I can’t see my hand in front of my face for the darkness. The flip side, however, is that if one of these people whom I love, has to pass on a gig because they can’t get the time off of work, or they have to shift their artistic style in order to land jobs that will actually pay the bills or they turn their passion into a job that takes them away from everyone who loves them, I get filled with so much irrational anger that I am sure they think I’m crazy.

Anger at the world for low-jacking them in an effort to ensure adherence to a predetermined flight path. Anger that the reality of doing your soul’s work most of the time is not as shiny and ephemeral as it could be. Anger at brilliance compromised.

But even that anger is romanticized I think. Because it goes from one extreme to the other. I think the real problem is not the world, or how artists exist in that world, but my attachment to a romantic vision which in and of itself places limits on love.

Hole Please

There is only thing that I despise almost the same amount as missing someone. I just really hate feeling embarrassed. It’s one of those emotions that make me want to cry and scream and throw things all at once. I want to crawl into the darkest, dankest hole I can find and stay there until every person I’ve ever known is gone and has long forgotten my very existence. Yeah, it’s really that bad.

I go to extreme lengths to avoid any potential brush with embarrassment. Going on 10 years ago, when my now husband had let on that he was going to propose I threatened to say no if he did it in any kind of public or embarrassing way. I research things within an inch of their lives to make sure I know stuff before I actually talk to anyone about just about anything. When I’m in a room of people I don’t know, I hang back and watch everyone else for a while to figure out where the bathroom is or what the flow of traffic is. I mean it’s a bit on the neurotic side, the extent of my aversion to even remote feelings of embarrassment. And I know it’s inching towards crazy.

This is why I’m now going to tell you about my day. My day that now has me wanting to chain smoke cigarettes and slam cheap beer in my deep, dark and dank hole.

On Friday we found a perfect car for my husband. A great, versatile car that would suit our family and him really well that we could have for a long, long time. I was excited and happy about the purchase.

And then today, we went back in to finish the paperwork and were informed that the dealership couldn’t get us financed. Apparently our credit scores are great, but banks are all fucked up and so we had to give the car back. Who has had to give a car back? Seriously…

And it was awful and they handled it poorly and I handled it really poorly.

I want my hole. I want it right now. Where is a good hole when you need one?

Assignment to Violence

I just watched a story on the news where a school district close to here had a teacher who gave an assignment to students to conceptualize and illustrate an act of terror on the US. The teacher claims that the original assignment was lost in translation and takes full responsibility for not describing what he was actually after well enough. Imagine if you will, students bringing this assignment home and then trying to explain to their parents why they were drawing pictures of strange people with lots of guns and bombs aimed at the White House. The parents then went immediately to the district to complain and the district then came down on the teacher for giving an assignment that was in direct conflict with the district’s zero tolerance policy for violence. The Superintendent was interviewed on the news saying “Here we are giving these kids an assignment that could potentially get them expelled for doing the assignment.” The assignment was cancelled and any and all completed assignments were “destroyed.”

Now don’t get me wrong. If The Boy were to come home with this sort of assignment it would most definitely take me off guard and probably my gut, reflexive response would be one of anger as well. Anger that a teacher was asking my son to think up a new way to be violent and then figure out how to perpetrate that violence. That’s just really something for which I personally have zero tolerance.

But it makes me extremely curious to see what the initial, and mistranslated, concept for the assignment was. I want to know what the point of it was; what the teacher was trying to convey. Because I tend to want to give the teacher the benefit of the doubt. I tend to want to think that he was trying to broaden horizons and encourage critical thinking.

The news didn’t give any information on what the original intent was for the assignment of course. They just focused on the drama and scandal behind the whole thing. But it makes me wonder if we’ll ever be able to look at things like terrorism with rational and critical thought instead of just reflexive emotion.