Friday, April 30, 2010
After Suzanne's girls were in bed for a nap, Suzanne told me that Maya's friend tried to call Maya on the cell phone. To apologize, perhaps? We weren't sure, but it did get me thinking about how I was taught to be with my friends growing-up.
I don't remember tiffs at a young age though I know they happened (If I could find Eric Peterson on Facebook I would like to apologize for knocking him down and rolling him a few times in third grade, though). I remember an incident in high school when I friend came flying into my house where I was hanging out with friends, yelled at me for not including her (I'd forgotten to call) and burst out of the house. Before she left I did apologize to her, but it didn't diffuse.
Much to my annoyance, my Mom had me call her the next to to "see if she was OK". I was pissed to have to do this after I'd been verbally assaulted in my own house. And she didn't apologize for the outburst in the end anyway. However, I have always remembered that lesson, because I learned that if you put effort in, you can never say that you didn't at least try.
To this day, when I have had tiffs with friends (or boyfriends, for that matter), I have always done my best to not fling mud. In fact, one of the instances was with the friend mentioned a few entries below this one. When our friendship unraveled, she would call me over and over, subtly instigating me. Finally, I realized that she wanted me to be pissed off at her and show it. She wanted me to fling mud. That it would actually help her feel better if in her mind she could call me a bitch. I know I can be a bitch, but in this instance, it wasn't in me to be one.
I am very aware of the importance for me personally to handle stuff like that with as much decorum as possible. I hate that word because I think it sounds snotty (perhaps I am, I guess), but I think it applies.
I'm sure there have been plenty of times when I have not thought my thoughts through and blurted out something that hurt someone. I hope they told me if I did and I hope they received an apology from me.
This non-mud-flinging way is important to me on two levels; at the end of my life, I want to know that treated others the best way I could. And, I never want to say something thoughtless to someone and leave them or myself haunted by it for the rest of time. Regret is not something I want anything to do with.
After a moment, Kelly says, "Don't call me a moron"
Thursday, April 29, 2010
After poor little Alyssa got her blood drawn for the allergy testing, Suzanne and I brought her back home and we enjoyed some conversation about life, love, happiness, relationships, and some of my recent realizations which have included that A) all couples, even if they have been together for years, are still trying to figure out their relationship, and B) no one, single or otherwise, has it (life and how to be happy in it) figured out. Appreciated conversation.
We all took a walk together after dinner, wandering their friendly neighborhood and making a stop at a nearby playground, "You're getting a good taste of American, apple pie suburban life!" Joe said, " Tomorrow will be spicier, I promise." I told him I didn't need spicy, but apparently, he meant literally - were going for Mexican tomorrow night.
As an employee of the Clinic headed out the door, a fellow employee fixed the tag hanging out of the back of her shirt. The two exchanged some friendly words and he made her laugh.
I wish I was one of those types who could brighten someones day with a simple interaction. It's not that I feel I am perpetually grouchy, and it's true that I am out of practice and opportunity after a long time away from interacting with strangers for a living, but I do believe in the importance of sending good vibes out into the world. I just don't think I'm very good at it.
Which gets me thinking about the idea of "you get what you give". I feel like I have a lot to give. I have a lot I want to give, but life has not brought the chance for me to give for good. For always. I'd like that. But perhaps that's my doing? Whatever. That's a blog entry for another day.
Branching off that - I think some people do give off something into the world that results in doors being opened for them. I knew someone years ago who once sat on her front step, determined that something good would happen that day. Some neighbor (I don't remember the details), asked her to stay in his huge home for the summer collecting his mail while he was gone the whole time. And to make the story more serendipitous, she was in need of a place to stay.
Maybe to be that way - have tons of things happen to you, you have to be over-the-top like she was. All the time. She fell-in love with someone new every three weeks. I did have some envy in that, but I also recognize it's just not who I am. She married a foreigner in return for rent payment so he could get his green card (and she actually held a wedding reception!). She attempted to "save" her sister by traveling to her middle eastern country and bringing her an American to marry and bring her back. The sister refused to be saved and she fell in-love with the husband she'd gotten for said sister. Well, fell in-love for a little while.
She attempted to be a chocolatier, a master of yoga. She talked about running a B&B. In Italy. There was more (although I think I could have stopped at marrying for the green card), that made her fascinating and completely exhausting.
I remember her withholding personal information which would prevent her from being chosen for a jury in a local trial. Not only did she fib to get on the jury but she then volunteered to be foreman in the case she should have had nothing to do with considering her past traumas. I had little sympathy for her when the experience "wrecked" her.
Lots of things happened to her, good and bad, because she chose the paths which would result in the best story. She would jump into things and perhaps "suck the marrow out of life" (in my opinion, in this instance, she was actually "biting off more than she could chew").
I've never been one to think doors would just open for me. I always thought I would work hard and open the doors I was meant to go through (which then leads me to wonder what's "meant" for me and why am I chained to the idea of it?). I wonder if I can learn, or make a conscious effort to send out good vibes that would help open doors I wouldn't normally consider going through?
And now my head hurts.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
I left Tully around one this afternoon after a quick game of "Guess Who?". The drive from New York to Ohio was long. Six hours, which was the same distance I drove yesterday (seriously, it was just yesterday?), but the last two hours dragged. And my shoulder is bothering me, (likely not helped by sitting still for so long). Hopefully not for long - I will return to MA in time to have the metal taken out a few days later. Actually, this trip was supposed to happen later in the month of May, but my poor surgeon's mom died and my surgery was moved. So, I am a bit achy and sore until then and my friends got their house guest sooner than they planned.
Driving into Cleveland was cool after so many years since my internship at The PD. Familiar street names and that funky part of the highway where you very suddenly have to drive about 40 MPH because the road turns at a ninety degree angle.
And now I am with my good college friends, Suzanne and Joe, who I lived with junior year and who are now married with two little girls. More quality time with old friends to follow!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
First stop, upstate New York to see my old friend Kelly, her husband Bryan and to meet their two young sons. The ironic drive included rain, wind, sun, rain, sun, and even snow. I was told recently that when you experience loss all of your past losses come back to you. I don't really care for that theory (why would anyone want that? Dealing with new stuff is enough without the old stuff dredging-up), but it proved to be the case while I listened to some Indigo Girls.
It has been many years since I've listened to them. I was taken aback by my visceral reaction to their music, but I just let it go and it was good. Song after song brought me back to a different time in my life. Music can be like a time capsule that way. A time capsule from thirteen years ago. They are poets, for sure, and as I listened and remembered the lyrics they had new meaning to me too.
Closer to Fine, for example, is interesting to me because few things made me "take my life less seriously" back then...
Maybe give me insight between black and white
The best thing you've ever done for me
Is to help me take my life less seriously, it's only life after all
Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable
And lightness has a call that's hard to hear
I wrap my fear around me like a blanket
I sailed my ship of safety till I sank it, I'm crawling on your shore.
Power of Two was interesting to listen to again. We used to sing that one at the top of our lungs. The lyrics are still fantastic. I think.
And the lyrics of Thin Line, which were stuck in my head when I was hospitalized for my diagnosis my junior year, I always thought strange (that just these lines were stuck in my head)...
now i'm tryin to get back
to what i know that i should be
hoping to God that i was just
a temporary absentee
And now I am hanging with good friends and am in love with their two sons, Wesley and Everett. (I wonder if they will notice them missing if I put them in my car tomorrow?)
Monday, April 26, 2010
I think Oliver was most uncomfortable with my trimming his tail. Now he has a slightly squirrel-ish tail. I think he's a bit embarrassed by it's inability to properly express his excitement for things.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Me - "I think you mean 'pains in the ass'........because you have one ass but many pains, not many asses and one pain, so it's 'pains in the ass.'"
Thursday, April 22, 2010
This time is different. Partly because I have “a little bit of help”, but also because there is no cocaine. There are however, very difficult, unfair problems. And this time it wasn't just a friend. “It's not who you are,” my Mom told me today, “You stick around when the going gets tough.” We were talking about my sadness in having to walk away this time, too. How much it pains me to not be there for someone who saw me as a confidante, a friend, and a love.
What does it say about me as a person that I had to walk away? That I can not handle it when someone I care about is dealing with their problems in a way that I would not? Am I sheltered? Weak? Do I lack compassion or understanding? I know people are human. I have learned that I am a fragile one despite my trucker mouth and sometimes-too-honest way of talking to people. I struggle with being simultaneously clingy and in desperate need of space, and a bit of a control freak with a tendency towards depression. I pendulum back and forth between being a “just get your shit together” type and having concern and compassion to the point of paralysis. When I care about someone, especially if they have shown me unconditional love as he did, the exterior protection falls off me like useless rusted armor and everything hurts ten-fold.
When I was told I was diabetic, I was taught how to manage it. You take shots, this many, this number of times a day. And now, I'm on the pump. When I found out something was wrong with me, something life-threatening, I learned how to be as healthy as possible and then I just did it. There was no other choice. I do not want to die, do not want to go blind or lose some of my toes or treat myself so poorly that I will never be able to bear children (if I ever fucking get around to attempting it, that is). I did not want to leave the people who love me by being reckless with my condition.
I wish it were that way for anyone who had a health issue. But it's simply not. For me, it was figure out what you need to do and just do it, but some scenarios are more complicated than that. He thought that what I saw was an ugly person with an ugly core. I wish that were the case, because then it would not hurt so much to not have him in my life anymore. In truth, what I saw was a beautiful person with an ugly problem to deal with.
Now that he's not here to remind me, I have to try to remind myself that although I feel I have let down someone very important to me, I too am human.
Loneliness is a shit emotion. A cruel one, too, because you can feel it even when surrounded by loved ones.
I sat there in that little room, answering questions, holding it all in. Trying to keep my feelings from brimming over, embarrassing me and making others uncomfortable.
"Do you drink alcohol?"
"No," I answered.
"Do you smoke?"
"No," I answered.
"Feel light headed or dizzy?"
"No," I answered.
"Experiencing any shortness of breath?"
"No," I answered.
"Feeling any pain in your heart?"
"No," I lied.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
Witnesses say Shaver wasn't provoked before shooting man
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Thursday, April 8, 2010
"Yeah, I haven't stopped because I figure I can walk outside and drop dead on my stoop, y'know? I could die any time!"
"Yeah, but that's not really the point!"
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
She is looking to learn something about her birth mother. Something beyond the woman she met.
It makes me think of my journals and who might read them someday. It will have to be long after I'm gone cause really, that would be embarrassing. (It's embarrassing enough that I'm narcissistic enough to wonder about this) I do not have a child I gave up for adoption so whoever would read about me might already know who I am. Or at least they'd know of me, I would think. I wonder how my journals might present me. I wonder if they are accurate to who I am. Or, do my emotions or life experiences lead me to edit and as a result only a fraction of me comes through?
My sister-in-law told me that I am documentarian from every angle. I write a journal about personal stuff, I write a blog about less personal stuff, and I photograph everything left.
The daughter in the book also wonders what kind of teen her mother was - one who dressed like and adult or one who wore poodle skirts?
Last night I was watching Taking Woodstock with my parents. At one point, a bunch of hippies started dancing around naked on the lawn of a motel to greet some lawyers and organizers looking to set-up shop for Woodstock. The short stout elderly woman who runs the hotel yells at them, running at them with a broom, "Cover up your bits! We've got company!"
It was funny, but I digress. 'Ever wonder what you'd be like born in a different era? I'd like to think that if were Alice Paul's age ("Iron Jawed Angels" is a must watch) that I'd join the forces and be a suffragette. In the 1960s, would I be a hippie or an activist?
Or would I be neither? Just a photographer documenting it all?
“Success means having the courage, the determination, and the will to become the person you believe you were meant to be”
- George Sheehan
Monday, April 5, 2010
Extreme close-ups of my pretty birthday flowers!...
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
When my parents leave town, somehow the house becomes mine all mine, and projects get done. My project this time? Replace the "temporary" shelves from the early seventies.
And only one fingernail was broken in the completing of this project!
Friday, April 2, 2010
It made my day.