Dear mom...

I know it's a common theme for parents to want better for their children- hell, I feel the same regarding Kitten- but it is no longer your place to decide what's good enough for me. Feel however you want, that's yours, but I'm having a tough time with having it foisted upon me. I'm sorry that you don't feel that I'm growing fast enough. I'm sorry my life isn't as you want it to be- that I'm not coming to your conclusions (or that I may be, but not fast enough). I'm seeing even more clearly that it's about the journey and I hate to tell you this but I may never reach the outcome that you want for me. You see, you want what's best for me but you see "best" through the filter of your own story. You want for me the outcome you wish you'd had, and that just wouldn't be right for me. It's not personal! I'm not punishing you by traveling my road any more than I was punishing you when I weaned before you were ready! Please mom, take your heartbreak and own it! Stop blaming us because until you do, you can't nurture anything more than the "injustice" that feeds you!

And I am mortally tired of not being good enough.

Day Eleven - In Remembrance.

I'm taking the evening to process and be thankful.  Remembering is important.  Feeling is hard.

Day Six - The stuff we carry never gets lighter...

Dirty mirrors and work clothes. 

By 2002, Kitten was four and I found myself in the midst of a re-kindling.  After two years of only telephone and email contact, Wolf and I had a face-to-face visit.  It lasted ten days, out here on the Island, and resulted in Kitten and my relocation to Ontario to create our new family.  Why Ontario?  Well, Wolf was the sole proprietor of a thriving company which wouldn't have taken well to uprooting.  

 ... yes, this does have something to do with hair and my issues therewith...

My bleach phase was on hiatus and I hadn't done anything more than remove the remaining white tips from my hair.  Ontario weather is brilliant!  I grew up in arid Alberta and, therefore, didn't know my hair was curly.  The constant Hamilton humidity meant twelve hours of air-drying time after I washed my hair.  I finally had a wash-n-go 'do!

So, the very air was my friend, and my hair was growing ridiculously fast.  My life was fresh and new.  I was ready to start playing again.  There was only one problem.  Wolf was the sole proprietor of a thriving company in Hamilton, Ontario - I was 'Dharma' to Wolf's 'Greg,' but with less self worth and more guilt and a martyr complex that beat all.  I was bound to the rules of upper-middle class society.  No visible piercings.  No funky colours.  Buy yourself a nice dress...

And then, two years had passed.  My hair was mid-back length and shapeless.  Wolf was afraid to let me cut it, so I let myself get talked in to a 'complimentary birthday haircut' by our stylist friend.  Oops.  I asked for long layers, she layered it.  I walked out with diamond head.  You know, where the fullest part of the hair is at the jaw line and it tapers both up and down from there?  Well, I stuck with that cut for about two weeks (see a pattern here?) before I grabbed the scissors.  Wolf said he'd feel better if he cut it, as he could see the back of my head.  So, he cut it.  That one didn't even last 48 hours before I fixed it.

Two years later I cut off several inches in an attempt to clear up my split ends.  I swore I'd start trimming in every couple of months, but it was already too late.  The obsession was growing without my realizing.  While I was busy being resentful, I neglected to see the strengthening correlation between my okay-ness and my hair.  And my hair got longer.  Two more years later and I had six inches removed.  It was back to an inch above my bra strap.  And my hair got longer...

I'm standing at the crossroads, nine years from my last play-with-my-hair day.  My locks are long enough that they get caught under my leg when I get into the truck.  They are badly damaged from years of sweater collars and it takes me almost an hour to get shampoo and conditioner through and then rinsed out of them.  It's like having a baby.  Everything has become difficult: sleeping, showering, cleaning, working... it's always in the way.  Even if I put it up...  It takes way too much energy, and it isn't energy I want to spend.

Are you asking how it got to this point?  Why I didn't cut it sooner, if it was bugging me so much?  Because it's long.  It's really, really long.  In a world where long hair is defined as 'below the shoulders,' it has become more than novelty.  It's a defining characteristic.  A part of me points out how pathetic that is.  I'm a great person.  I'm kind and likable.  None of those things is effected by the length of my hair.  My value or 'specialness' isn't decreased because I don't have long, unhealthy, resented hair.

Besides, it's not like it won't grow back...

Day One

A thought occurred to me, just after posting my last entry.  I really enjoyed the last NaBloPoMo in which I participated.  I loved the commitment of sitting down in stillness, at least once per day, to focus on writing something - anything.  So, I decided to commit myself to a little piece of sanity, whether I'm an official part of the annual event or not.

I'm not, for the record.  The universe took me to task for overusing one particular excuse and I found my quiet, only-child household 'enlivened' by a very high energy, thirteen-year-old, oldest-brother-of-four!  I was gifted with the opportunity to learn what "chaotic" truly meant!

I have to get Kitten to dance class and just might have a moment, once we return, to add a bit more detail to this too-brief illustration.

Facing the future with... something,

Beth

It's coming...

Once again, October is almost over which means NaBloPoMo is on my mind.  The thing is, I'm not feeling really secure in my world right now and I don't know if I should unleash that on whoever still stops in here.

So, iffen yer feeling so inclined, drop me a comment of encouragement and I'll add my name to the ring.

It's all big stuff...

I've had a lot to think about, lately. The best way for me to break it down would be chronologically, I think.

First, as you may have been able to glean from my last post, I went out and got a touch blotto... for the first time in over a year. It took all of 4 drinks.

I had been invited to attend 'Girls' night out' by a couple of my co-workers and though I didn't want to go, I had already blown off several invites and thought it prudent to make an appearance, if nothing more. So, it was just us, the ladies. For the first time in over a year I was out, on my weekend, without Wolf. I had already decided I wasn't going to drink but my friend handed me her vodka/lime to sip and my thirst was on.

• Back-story: I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome. For the last year and a half of my drinking years I would get the nastiest gut pains starting about a half hour from ingesting the first sip of whatever I was imbibing. I took this as a sign that it was time for me to back off a little. It took the 1.5 years to confirm my suspicions... and to let go of my favourite vice.

I think the first thing I noticed was that my gut didn't hurt. That was definitely a pleasant surprise which, obviously, precipitated another drink. By the end of the night, I still had no pain. I did, however, have the dawning of an ugly realization. I am a self-righteous bitch. But only when I'm not looking.

Wolf has always been a drinker. He never had a problem with it. As long as I was binging, I didn't mind either. But there came a time when alcohol became an issue for me and at the point that I could no longer deny that, it began hurting me. Well, with me no longer drinking I was better able to judge his drinking. How very convenient. This very judgement was fed and nurtured within me until last Monday. Eww.

Being who I am, I analyzed this to it's smallest detail and, once home, told Wolf all about it. I apologized for my self indulgent behaviour to which I was treated to the most relieved, sweet smile from my love. It really was amazing. The whole thing was amazing. I mean, I don't have the urge to spend my weekends plastered, thank God, and my feelings have changed regarding Wolf's occasional night with the boys. I know there will likely still be work to do to prevent me from slipping back into my old habit, but I'm up for that.

Next, Wolf had his neurologist appointment. The good doctor confirmed epilepsy, probably caused by Wolf's massive head injury. The back of his skull, travelling just below 60 km/h (about 37 m/h), met a curb. The doctor said that within two weeks Wolf would be called in for a cerebral angiogram. Hopefully the test will reveal the scar tissue on his brain and that the removal of said tissue is possible. They will also look at his aneurysm to see about taking care of that, too. Cleansing breath...

The 'third' thing that I'm working on is a new life. I have always been an 'artist.' I've know what I can do with a pencil, given the time and patience, and that I would love to make it a living. I know that my potential has not really showed in the bits and pieces of art that I have put on display. For the past week or so, I've been working on a portrait of one of my co-workers. Did I say that already? Well, If so, sorry about the repetition. My point is, I've shown the incomplete drawing to several people and each of them has asked what I will charge for my service. I've never had a clue. How does one put a price on something like this? What if the price is too much, or too little. How would I correct that, after the fact, for others without being totally unfair?!

Well, I was told, based on the info I had to date (it's taken me about 6-8 hours so far, I'm about half done...) that a picture this size, with this amount of detail, I could/should be charging about $450. It throws me and I think, "Really?" I'm timid about the whole thing, looking at the possibilities and daring to wonder - no, to dream that it might be possible. Wow. Really?

I guess I'm daring to dream... Now, I just need to finish the thing and get it 'out there.'

And, finally, my most recent lesson came today. I have linked my despair directly and irrefutably to anxiety. I awoke with a headache and immediately thought about this being the last day of my weekend. My mind took me to work tomorrow morning, and I was standing behind my till. I shook it off pretty quickly but my chest was a bit tight and I was instantly antsy. I managed to 'forget' the whole thing is pretty short order but I did become quiet. Wolf kept asking me what was wrong, and nothing was wrong. I was just quiet. And not hungry. And withdrawn.

Kitten was trying to tell us about her dream and one of Wolf's favourite things to do is pester the hell out of people. Every few words that Kitten would get out, Wolf would ask a question or link her words to a quote... whatever. Well, I was trying to re-engage with my family when Kitten said, "and there were these mountains and a river was winding between them..." when I smiled at her and said, "A river runs through it, which is the name of a movie." Well, my timing was off because I guess that was her breaking point. She just looked at me, eyes widened like I was the biggest betrayer, ever. Then her lips pinched shut and she turned to her breakfast without a word. I said I was sorry, and Wolf poked a little more. Well, I was done. I screwed up (which, when I'm at my best is a hard pill to swallow. At my worst, I shouldn't be permitted the care of a goldfish, let alone a child!) and had to leave the room.

As we all know, kids are far more resilient that we often give them credit for. Within minutes, she was knocking on my door, asking if she could finish the telling of her dream. I said yes and all was well. Except me. I crashed. Hard.

I realized that I wasn't trying to engage with my family for my sake. I know that when the ocean is turbulent, I need to just ride the wave. The less I fight, the quicker I reach solid ground. I know my limitations when I'm in that place. I know damned well that to deny my feeling is dangerous. And now I know that to deny my feelings, even when I think I'm helping others, is to hurt them as well as myself.

Biggies, all. Whoo-ee. And, as usual, the universe throws stuff at me when it's most pertinent. This morning, just before the emotional shit hit the fan, I saw this picture:




Thank you...

Perfectionist in the Kitchen.

I used to be a slob. If I didn't see it, I didn't have to clean it. Out of sight, out of mind. 'I need to eat? I'll wash a pot and a plate... or maybe I'll just eat out of the pot. Yeah, that's easier.'

I used to be professionally unemployed. 'Too much stress. I don't fit in the world. I'm too depressed. I don't function the same way as others."

I used to cook as little as possible. Everything I made tasted exactly the same as the only seasonings I'd use were garlic powder, onion powder, soy sauce and, maybe, salt. I had no love for food. As long as it was edible, it was fine. It would keep me from starving. I mean, is that not the purpose of food, really?


I have a new-found love for clean, clutter free spaces. Working in somewhat cramped quarters with up to two other people in the same tiny area has shown me, first hand, how important it is to put everything in its place.

Speaking of work, I am and have been for almost five months. I've only held two jobs for longer than this one. One was with a family member and the other will not be spoken of, here. Five days a week I wake up and get ready. Five days a week I go in to the store where I bide my time until the end of my shift. I arrive on time, to a place that goes against many of my ideals, and spend eight hours with some of the funniest people I have ever met in a place where I almost fit. Often I have to battle my way through the days. I battle tears and despair -- this is not the life I wanted. Sometimes, though, I look forward to my day and it flies by.

I still have no love of food. Don't get me wrong, I truly appreciate a tasty meal and I finally know a little something about what that means. Wolf is a genius in the kitchen. I have learned, over the past almost seven years what good food tastes like and I would love, on one hand, to be able to produce such meals. I just tend to get a little stressed and flustered. Then, the F*ck-Up rears her ugly head and it's all a wash. The F*ck-Up, for the record, is my sixteen year old self who is a complete basket case who "can't do anything!!"

So, make me clean and I'll take a toothbrush to corners and a razor blade to crusted on grossness. I'll scrub toilets and bathtubs and make everything shiny and spotless. Sent me out to work and I'll bring in a much needed and appreciated paycheque. I'll go against my nature and do my best to work through my shit. I'll go above and beyond anything I have accomplished so far in my life, but please, please don't make me cook!!!

What I want and why I (tell myself) I can't have it, followed by the reason my reason is stupid...

1. I want a more muscular physique.
a) I don't have time.
b) I wake every morning a couple of hours before my family so I can do my computer stuff without neglecting anyone.

2. I want to get a handle on my depression.
a) It is a mental disorder that I have no control over.
b) Spending hours online when I could be living makes me blue.

3. I want to be a better mom and wife.
a) I'm so tired when I get home, all I want to do is sit for a while.
b) Sitting 'for a while' doesn't constitute hours on facebook, getting annoyed when I'm interrupted. There's no reason I can't sit for a while on the couch with my daughter and husband while we talk about our discoveries of the day.

4. I want to go back to school, take a few courses.
a) I don't want to graduate from the institution with a huge debt hanging over my head.
b) Yeah, and living from paycheque to paycheque is a barrel of monkeys. Going into debt over the electric bill, with no hope of improvement is so much better than a student loan (and the potential job that will help pay it off).



Okay, I'm kind of stuck there. My shoulder hurts and I want to get ready for my day.
(can you believe it's been almost a month?!!)

Wishing you, yes you, a fantabulous day!

Pee-ess: I don't think I made a note yesterday or the day before so I will now. Wolf passed out twice on Thursday and once yesterday. it would seem to me that things are continuing to escalate. What else are you "almost positive" about, Doctor God?!

Realizations.

We're halfway through NaBloPoMo and I have a bit of a problem. I don't want to do this anymore. Not just for the sake of writing... well, crap, really. I've looked back through the entries here and compared them with my Cheers blog (where everybody knows my naaaame...) and the quality of writing is so very different.

I created this blog with the purpose of starting over. I wanted to have a place where no-one knew me and where my old emotional crap couldn't find me. As a result, I'm not really here. The words in these entries are straight forward, calm and without any style whatsoever. Trust me, the stuff I've written this month is garbage.

Now, I'm going to finish the NaBloPoMo challenge. It's who I am. I'm one of those, "If you can, do!" people. This is hardly a challenge for me, to come here everyday and write something - anything. Writing is one of my favourite things to do. Writing is easy. Writing something worth reading, however, is another thing altogether. So, I will complete the challenge in the same way and for the same reason that I complete every a game of Algerian Patience Solitaire. Because I can.


"What about at the end of this challenge? What are you going to do, then?" you may be asking... oh wait. I have no readership!! No one's asking anything! Ha. Well, that sure takes the pressure off of me. There's no one here to disappoint or say good bye to. Phew!

Well then, I think I'll take that comforting thought with me as I grab a coffee and shower. I've two days left in this work week and I plan on using them as wisely as I possibly can.


Oh yeah, and I slept like crap last night. I'm facing this day on about 4 hours of sleep. I'm actually a touch bummed that it isn't raining. In fact, it's near cloudless and if it stays this way, the store just may be busy.

Sh*t.

Alive and kicking, so to speak.

Okay, I know that I've been gone a really long time and I generally don't like that fact. I haven't had the time or motivation to write lately no matter how I would love to do just that.

I want to be able to catch up just like that but I am so distractable and time runs a bit faster for me because of it. If only I had... there are too many things and none of them would actually help. If only I had a laptop... I'd still have to open it and use it without getting totally distracted. If only I had a laptop that wasn't connected to the internet... I'd still have to get my writings from it to the PC. If only I had a Mac... No, that one pretty much stands, lmao. I have to make the time, post the pictures... there's a lot to do and the list gets a little longer everyday. This is not a bad thing, it just is.

I'm very glad for the 'friend page.' It means that you will know this is here, rather than not knowing of the update until you happen to check in, like other (cough-blogger-cough) blogs. Ahem, I seem to have a tickle.

Anyway, I have already eaten butt-loads of computer time and Kitten wants to check on her blasted webkin. I must let her as she finally, finally cleaned up her room and it only took 3 weeks. (Truth be told, I didn't really institute consequences until this week. It works! It confused her a little bit after the 2 wishy-washy weeks - wait a minute, she's nine! - but I'm sure we'll both get the hang of this thing.)

I'm outta here, but maybe this entry signals the beginning of the Three Posts a Day part of my cycle? Ooh, suspense

A new place for my thoughts.

I can't promise that this will always be cheery but I do promise honesty. I will be angry and sad and joy filled and wretched. It's all in here, waiting.