stuck

I went for my first ever acupuncture treatment today. I have to admit I am totally open to it. I want it. The acupuncturist was a youngish good looking fellow. I filled out the forms and gave him my story. He mentioned “qi” and gave me a bit of a smile, as if expecting me to roll my eyes. Instead I told him I was open to anything. And I want this pain in my shoulder to go away even if it involves me dancing naked around a fire and walking on hot coals while chanting. I’ll do anything at this point. I am not convinced that the mere “wanting” is almost enough to make this treatment work but I think it will help. At any rate, the needles were applied, I stayed stretched out on the table for 20 minutes. The needles were removed and I was done. When I was putting my shoes on my shoulder did not hurt as it has during this mundane task for the last 5 months. It was a surprisingly pain free exercise . Still I am being cautious and don’t for a minute believe I am going to be healed so instantly but I do believe this is going to help.

Writing about various and sundry physical ailments isn’t exactly what i had in mind for this page, but it’s what happened today and i gotta start somewhere. From here on out the topics will hopefully open up. Along with my qi.

 

exactly

 

How I Live Now

It’s been two years since I’ve been here. I lost the correct e-mail and password to this blog and could not get it back until the other day at work when it came to me in a blinding light. I had about 5 e-mails and four or more blogs back in the day so finding the correct combo of e-mail address and password for this particular blog was quite the feat. If the creative bug bites me, I’ll be posting more here soon. I’m 54 now and life has taken on a decidedly sedentary, mundane slant. Observations of life might not be so exciting as a result but time will tell……..

 

Gone to the Dogs

I’m finding little to blog about these days. Work has been sucking the life out of me.  The library I work at now is very large and filled with a mix of kind, dangerous, crazy and rude people of all ages.  One of the worst parts of the job has been the middle school kids who swarm the library every day after school. Most are waiting on the Metro bus but waiting inside the library while they wreak havoc upon all around them. The bus stop is very poorly located directly in front of the library entrance.  Having a daughter of approximately the same age, I am appalled at the rude behavior of these kids. They are surly and disrespectful and they really bring out the worst in me. If my daughter acted the way they act she would be grounded for months. Our work team is trying to come up with effective ways to deal with them but it’s not going to happen overnight.  My solution is to trespass the whole group for at least a month and let them stand out in the rain or sun or cold or warm or whatever while they wait for the bus. If they need to hang out somewhere, they can go to the park. I’ve turned into a sour bitch. And I’m a Teen Librarian. Ha!!! Being a “Teen Librarian” was never my choice. It’s had some rewarding moments over the past 10 years for sure, but right now I’m pretty much over it.

On the home front, the girl and I adopted a little tan and white Chihuahua mix named Rosie. 7 pounds of unadulterated love. She was a stray picked up in L.A. and sent up here because their shelter was too full. The vet says she’s a Chihuahua/Dachshund mix.  I always thought Chihuahuas were snippy little terrified rat dogs, but Rosie is so well adjusted and friendly it’s hard to believe she was a shelter dog. We’re working on her house training and she seems to be slowly getting it….

Around me, friends are becoming unravelled. One of my best friends is on suicide watch, another going in and out of coherency, others just sad and bothered and stressed out over life in general. It does seem that this day and time has created a new negative energy in the general population. I’m just glad to be home alone tonight with my dog in my bed and ready for some sleep. Baby steps. Realizing one good moment at a time. It’s that or stroke out it seems. Over and out……

 

Hurt Locker

Haven’t seen the movie and it has nothing to with this post but I find the title apropos so I shamelessly steal it. Over the weekend the daughter and I continued to  unpack and discard various items that had been plucked from the old homestead and randomly thrown into boxes and delivered to the doorstep by the ex. Found items: Elyse’s first pair of baby shoes, old photos, children’s books, cameras, baby clothes, VHS tapes of Elyse’s babyhood, past library programs, etc. But the most dangerous find of all: my accordion file of  writing dating back to high school. Once upon a time there were volumes, but I burned most of it when Elyse was a baby as I didn’t want anyone, especially her, to find all of the painful tales of woe after I was gone. But I did retain some choice bits. As I pulled the file out of the box I said to her “this is some dangerous stuff here…….” and I took a break and started reading it. Dangerous indeed. And curious.  

The recurring theme: Loneliness, isolation and disconnect from the world. Some letters written to my dad, old boyfriends, old friends. Poems, lyrics, simple regurgitation of life’s events. Some of it amusing, most of it pretty darned depressing. All written before I had hope of having a child and finding that kind of love.  I had several abortions in my youth and the last one just about did me in. I had wanted to keep the baby but my boyfriend of the time turned on me, as did my mother, and being young(ish) and alone and afraid, I let them convince me to have the abortion. After that I wanted to die. I spent a lot of time thinking about it too. Looking back on that young woman and reading the intensely painful writings, I see a survivor. Perhaps it sounds a bit corny, but I have survived. Little did I know at the time, how could I have known…. that life would finally reward me with a beautiful daughter. There are reasons we keep records of painful pasts. I don’t want to dwell on it, but it is a good reminder of how far I have come. And it’s a good reminder not to forget my blessings when depression tries to take me down again – that black dog that has followed me my entire life as Mr. Churchill so aptly put it…  

 Here’s one poem I found, which I still like despite its youthful silliness, written in my mid 20’s (on a typewriter, no less):

A butterfly drinks the tears of a turtle.

a butterfly drinking turtle’s tears.

a butterfly drinking.
turtle’s tears.

a butterfly.
drinking turtle’s tears.

And I, the butterfly who dances in the air just long enough to sip a turtle’s tear.
Survival. Necessity the mother.
A born again caterpillar 
I have built a formidable cocoon.
Years it took to build this one, kiddo.
Indestructible it seems.

 

Gypsies

We’ve moved again. The cabin is now a place I will visit but I shall live there no more.. The daughter’s father pulled a massive series of drunken fucked up antics, including taking her for Midwinter Break to Arizona to visit his parents, leaving for the airport at 7 a.m. drunk on absinthe. Nice. I channelled Ari Gold for about an hour, screaming into the phone “what the FUCK is going on?” and then turned my Ari impersonation on to poor S. who was just waking up but who was also drunk. Drunk men. Don’t care much for them at 7 a.m. with a little girl sobbing on the phone that she’s scared to get on the plane with her drunk dad. They had a ride, so they made it safely to the airport and on to the plane.  I scared S. out of the cabin and took 2 valium and went back to sleep.  It felt like a really bad nightmare and I had to knock myself out to stop the Ari Gold.

The girl had a great time in Arizona but upon return to Seattle the drunken Dad experience continued so I had to scoop her up and camp out with her at my sister in law’s condo for a week while I scrambled to find an apartment. I felt homeless. Desperate. So sorry for her. Fortunately the condo was luxurious so we were refugeein’ it up in style.  

So I finally found an apartment that suits us and we moved in last Friday. I really can’t take moving again for a long long time but I will say that the girl and I have it down to a science. I call us The Sunshine Moving Company.  It’s exhausting. I’m tired.  Work has been exhausting as well so the creativity I seek for this blog is suffering. I come up with some good ideas late at night after a few glasses of wine and a little weed, but I’ve been hand writing thoughts that are a little hard to decipher in the morning. Note to self: remove computer from the bedroom and put it in living room after daughter goes to sleep. Right. 

Today is a day off from work and I still have so much to do but for some reason I can’t get dressed or out of bed. Guess there’s little choice. Onward and upward. Again.

 

February

So I haven’t posted in a while. I’ve started a few, but they fizzled. Tonight I’m sitting at the ex’s house (i.e. my old house) waiting to pick him and my daughter up from the airport. They’ve been in Arizona visiting his parents this week and I’ve been staying here watching the animals. At first, it seemed unbearably depressing to be here. Now it seems odd to be leaving. The cabin is nice – don’t get me wrong –  but it’s too small. It’s too hard to access. Muddy drive, lots of stairs, locks on gates, etc. I like pulling up to the curb and walking up a walkway to a house.  Have I mentioned I’m fat and lazy too? 20 lbs. gained in the past year. Menopause, drinking, eating late at night, no excercise  – it’s made me the man I never wanted to be. Oh. Man, because I played with the clippers the other night and now have no hair left. It will grow out. I like not having to do anything with it. But I do look rather butch.

So I’m searching for an apartment and hoping to have my own space soon. I need it. I know it. Cabin life has been sweet for the most part but, forgive me S., the cabin smell is not one I appreciate. A bit moldy. My clothes smell moldy. My allergies are having a party on the scale of  the Olympics. Must get my own space.

Started my “new” job at a huge branch in the north area of Seattle. I was pretty pissed about being transferred, but once I got there I realized it was just what I needed. The old branch of 10 years was sucking the life out of me. Lots of negative energy. Too much like a dysfunctional family and not enough like a workplace. I’m no corporate shill but I think I’m going to try to keep it at least slightly professional and keep  my personal life out of the spotlight in this new branch. No coworkers joking about my sex life, lifestyle, cleavage, etc….

So. Nothing too earth shattering here. Perplexed as always about life, love, money and all of it. Do I have hope? Yes. And that is good.

El Nino has given Seattle an early Spring and a very mild winter.  Cherry blossoms abound.  I’ve been noting birds and wildlife along the shore.  There is hope.

 

Late and Later

The question was posed. “What are you afraid of?”  As in, what am I afraid would happen if I was stripped of all my pretense and all my walls, and all my bullshit?  I would be exposed. Naked. Unsure of who or what I am. I’ve been running for so long I have no idea what it means to rest. What it means to sit alone with myself and actually find one little bit of information about who I am.OK. That’s not totally true.. I have an inkling….  but still I run. Like a dog in the desert. Parched, starving, bones exposed, still running toward a non-existent horizon. Because I am afraid. If I stop, I will have to feel. The pads of my paws are raw. I have many scars. I’ve run through rivers, valleys, barbed wire fences, over ragged hills, past the blazing fires on the side of the road. Shotguns roaring in my ears. My legs buckle, my lungs collapse. I am sprawled on the side of the road panting and desperate for air. But here I am. And the sun is rising. Hot. Unrelenting. I gather my strength and pull myself up. One more dash for home. A home I have to build from the ground up with the last ounce of resolve that remains. Digging, clawing at the ground. No longer able to run. Clawing back to the embryonic state of unlearning all I have learned. Blank. Fresh. Searching for a bit of water and a respite from the sun.  When will it begin? Now? Seems like a good time.

 

Reprieve

A good night’s sleep.  A new school year. A new morning. A beautiful daughter. A fresh start. A grateful nod to the Universe.  And to friends and family who never let me down.  9/9/09 !!

9 = forgiveness , compassion and success.

 

Cold hard floating

I took a blanket and a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes to the beach. I was determined to walk into the icy waters of Puget Sound and either freeze or drown or both. It was past midnight. I chose the most beautiful part of Alki beach.. the very private and lovely Lowman Beach. On a very secluded street, I parked in front of the Rubber Ducky Museum, which is a favorite landmark amongst locals and my daughter especially.  It is extremely precious. Sidewalk fountains adorned with rubber duckies of all styles, tiny water slides into a little pool, a shrine for  the rubber ducky. …. amazingly never touched by vandals.. I thought of how my daughter loved that place  as I parked there planning my exit from the world.

I sat on the beach for a while, drinking straight from the bottle. Smoked a cigarette. And then proceeded to walk into the water. It was amazingly NOT cold. I swam out pretty far from the shore. I turned onto my back and floated, looking at  the night sky and the moon. It was beautiful. Then I remembered why I was there and tried to force myself below the water. I could not. I kept emerging. My self wouldn’t let myself annihilate myself. I floated for a long time. It seemed like hours. Time was frozen. The tide carried me down the beach. I became disoriented. I swam to shore but I was now in an unfamiliar place on the beach. Nothing but rocks and craggy sharp edges. I could not stand. I think my muscles had frozen from the cold. I kept falling and cutting my hands and legs. Hitting my head on the rocks. I tried to crawl. I was getting nowhere. I laid there and decided I would just die from exposure. Then I started crying out for help. There were houses up the hill. Nobody was around. I was alone and cold and wet and bleeding.  I gave myself one last push to find my way back to where I had started and somehow crawled and stumbled back there.

A couple was sitting on the beach by the driftwood logs with bottles of liquor. The girl wanted to help me. The guy seemed incapacitated – he could not get up either…funny…and he kept telling me to come lie down by him. I just sat there crying. The girl had a cell phone and asked who she could call to help me. I had her call my ex husband. I tried to find my purse and blanket which were nowhere to be found. I had no cell phone, no nothing. I figured the tide had taken them out to sea. Time had no meaning. I was lost.

After making the call, the couple decided they’d better get the hell away from me. Certainly I was trouble. They gave me a towel and left. I was freezing. Frozen solid sitting on a driftwood log. I decided to try to go to the street to see if my ex was looking for me. A resident of the hood  was walking down the sidewalk ,  all well dressed and handsome. I can only imagine what he thought seeing me stumbling around the sidewalk with soaking wet sandy clothes and a towel wrapped around me. He asked what I was doing and I told him I had tried to drown myself. He called the only two numbers I could remember. Again the ex husband and the ex boyfriend.  No answers. He called 911. He called his wife to tell her he had found a woman who had tried to kill herself and he had to stay  till help arrived. I went back to the shore to look for my stuff. I couldn’t see or feel my limbs by this point. My glasses had somehow managed to stay on my face but I still could see nothing in the dark. There was nothing.

Eventually my  husband arrived and explained to the good Samaritan that he would take me home. No 911 needed, although they were on their way. He drove me home. He left me alone in my apartment. I took a really long steaming hot shower and then put on my warmest pj’s. It took hours to warm up.

I brushed myself with near death. Stupid. Selfish. Self-centered. Wanting out of the struggle. But then I couldn’t do it. I am still here. And write here for your entertainment. Feel my pain. I want you to. Things will be better in the morning. I’m sure of it.

 

Dreamblog

I have a separate dream blog but the dream I just awoke from was so powerful and revealing I have to share here. Basically I was back in South Carolina at the beach with friends, old and new. Lifetime friends, a new man who was extremely hot and promising.. indeed the dream was sex filled and left me longing upon the several wakings I had during the night… I also woke up crying a couple of times. The South Carolina coast, Pawley’s Island, Litchfield Beach and Murrel’s Inlet in particular, are the most beautiful, peaceful and genteel places on earth. Right here in the old USA. I must admit I say that having never traveled outside the US other than to Canada and Mexico. At any rate, having grown up vacationing at  those ” elegantly shabby” beach towns I have a special place in my heart for them. Although development is continuously threatening to encroach, last time I checked (and it’s been a few years)  the beaches remained pretty under-developed and natural.  Clean sand, warm water in the summer, flat, rock free beaches. I mention rock free cause here in Washington the beaches are brutally unfriendly with their rocks, boulders and frigid waters. Pretty yes, but not meant for swimming or getting in to and having the sensual experience of being in the water, being with the water and the waves… at least not for this east coast native.

In my dream coastal towns of SC, the inlets have marsh grasses, crabs, fish, shrimp. Long docks out into the waterway where you can sit in the little gazebos at sunset and tie chicken necks to a long string, drop them in the water and come up with a crab dinner in about a half hour.  In the morning, take the shrimp nets and drag them through the more shallow waterways and have a fresh shrimp dinner after an afternoon of “heading” them in the shade of  a huge moss draped oak tree.  Take a jon boat to one of the small  inland waterway islets and sit in the silence with nothing but ocean birds and waves lapping at the pure white sand.  Get a hammock and a screened porch and have a cold beer at sunset.  It’s pretty much paradise as I recall.

But I digress. The dream was the usual combo platter of me looking for love, looking for a coffee cup and coffee, looking for a private place to shower (we were all staying in the large, luxurious but still a lovely kind of rustic beachfront house of my childhood friend Christina) and there I was  looking , looking, longing. At one point my friend Barb and I were in some public waterfront place , a marina perhaps, and looked out the window where a crowd had gathered to watch a spectacularly weird occurrence of a huge school of dolphins swimming in the canal out front while the Seattle Mariners and The Sounders where also doing some choreographed routine along the bank of the canal. The Mariners, the Sounders and Dolphins!!! All at once?? I had to have pictures, but had a hard time capturing the dolphins on camera, they were always just out of my lens view. Why a baseball team and soccer team from Seattle were in there,  I have no idea. I don’t even go to the games or consider myself a fan in any way .

Bottom line. The coast of SC is where I have always planned to retire. My life is currently at a crossroads. I woke up mumbling and crying “I have to go back. I have to go back.” As in, I have to leave Seattle and return to my home. I think I do.  This could be part of the alcohol free, new antidepressant, good night’s sleep cocktail I am enjoying, but I think not. I think my core psyche comes out when I’m not smacking it down nightly. This is just the tip of the iceberg.

Now I must start looking at how to realize the dream of heading to Pawley’s Island. The only thing I have in Seattle is a job (a hot commodity these days, I know), a few friends and a reputation. Stagnant. Inertia. Much work to do.

 

Giving up might be the best thing

If you give up and surrender then change can come into your life. I have to give up all of my beliefs, all of my concepts, and start over. Re-learn the world. Like a toddler, I will simply stumble around in a gleeful blissful state of not knowing anything. Because everything I have learned, everything I have believed in, everything I thought I knew has been wrong.  I believed I had a chance of  an increase in my hours at work. I believed that I might be making more money and be able to improve my living situation, I believed that things couldn’t get worse, I believed that I had a chance.  Well I’m not getting more hours at work, I’m not going to be making more money. In fact, I’ve even had an hour cut from my schedule. It’s just an hour, but still.  I believed that I could pull myself out of this hole of depression and madness. I believed that I was funny and attractive. I believed that I could carry off faking it a little longer.

It’s all off the table. I’m going to surrender. And I think surrendering to some form of god is the only thing left for me. I don’t know which form of god. But I have to give myself up to something bigger than myself. Let someone or something else take over for a while. Cleanse my mind, my soul, my body. Wipe the slate clean and start over. What am I talking about? I don’t know . I’m on the reference desk and slightly sedated with the help of some valium in order to make it through the day without a constant stream of tears running down my face. Crying is cleansing but it also wrecks your makeup and makes you look like a crazy person on the reference desk.  I bought some Lotto tickets.  I’m taking my dog to the rescue people next week. I’m going to have my paycheck garnished by several creditors. But in the end it’s only money. My daughter has relatives who can care for her if I cannot. We’ll just wait and see what happens.  I like valium.

 

WTF?????

Good Lord. Lost my mind for  a minute or a few years. Whatever. Reading back over this shit blog makes me feel like a smart misguided idiot.   I think I got it now. Thank you karma, thank you pain. Thank you joy. Thank you for letting me hate myself forever. Thank you for the nonstop challenge. Thank you for lettin’ me be mice elf again…..     thank you for life.

 

When a man becomes an obsession… or – There and Back Again

I am once again revisiting  the eternal struggle to wash my brain of  the boy.  To find the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. The ups and downs of  this relationship have been documented in this blog for a long time.  I am not clear on why I cannot get over him. It’s been 2.5 years of continuous and alternating pain and joy.  It’s like fucking Brokeback Mountain for heterosexuals.  We’ve gone from being sorta together (boy don’t do monogomy), to being totally cut off, to being fuckbuddies, to being homemade porn stars, and now back to crazytown.  He has a new fling. A freaking 26 year old. Not that hot, but obviously she’s got something he wants for now.  I am having fucking NIGHTMARES about it all. 

While the boy is charming and funny and smart, his life is a total trainwreck.  I should be glad to let someone else deal with his drama for a while.  Would I really want him if he was mine to have? Why am I so attached? So obsessed?  There is obviously a connection there that strikes a deep and primal chord in me. The only way I can explain it is that pain and drama are so heavily ingrained in my psychological makeup, that he is the perfect fit for that very self defeating, masochistic chink in my brain.  He fills a part of me that thrives on this stuff and it makes for a very powerful addiction.  Add to that:  I just love being around him. And the sex is perhaps the best I’ve ever had. The perfect trifecta for addiction. I feel like it is going to kill me. I cannot let that happen. What the hell?  I need electro shock therapy. I need to move to another country. I can’t believe I am back here again. I guess I never really left.  Writing about it is therapy for me. In which case, I should be doing a lot more writing……..

 

Mystery Solved: Massive Missing Librarian Found

Library officials on Monday located a Plus Size Librarian who had been missing for more than two hours after she was believed to be oversleeping or overdosing, or both, a top Library official said.

The Librian was located at her basement dwelling, in the bathroom, via cellphone, said Library Administrator Peavey Higenbotham. “The Librarian has been moved to our anti-social subversive employee holding area where she is sarcastically answering questions,” Higenbotham said.

The questioning aims to clarify all circumstances of how she disappeared and why she did not send any (emergency) signals or call her branch library to alert them of her whereabouts.

The Librarian, who often uses various aliases such as “Lefty” or “Cherry”, had not been heard from since Saturday.  When last seen she was carrying approximately 20 pounds of extra weight, several tons of excess baggage and a rather large, scabbous cold sore on her bottom lip and chin. 

She was scheduled to arrive in her branch library at 11:30 a.m. Monday morning. The news came from several bitchy employees who had immediately begun speculating that the Librarian was cavorting with a local Jamaican male, known for his propensity for late night showering. 

The U.S. military also had a report last week that the Librarian’s car  had been seen skirting the runway at McChord Air Force base south of Tacoma. She appeared disoriented and totally clueless that she was headed in the oppposite direction of Seattle where she was destined according to several sources. The U.S. military was not involved in the search.

The branch Manager, Helmut Schmidt, had previously spoken to the Librarian about her irratic behavior and ongoing acts of anarchy within the branch.  While he had considered placing her on suicide watch, he was waiting to see if her antidepressants would kick in at some point over the weekend.  

“The Librarian has now arrived at work, she is missing the majority of her hair and several bald spots are visible but she appears otherwise unharmed, unless you count the cold sore which persists and the strange rash that has appeared on her chest, just above her rather abundant cleavage. Disciplinary action could be forthcoming depending on the Librarian’s willingness to provide free blowjobs for management, once the cold sores and rashes clear up.

 

The Rules

1.  Act like you believe all that is around you and follow along.

2. Never cry in front of you enemies.

3. Don’t overthink your decisions

4. Make some decisions.

5. Keep tweezers handy at all times.

6. Give it a shot…. get up before noon.

7. Look in the mirror after you dress for work.

8. Look at all that is around you and realize you don’t have to pretend it is how it is. And you don’t have to follow along.

9. Stop poisoning yourself.  And stop poisoning your entire existence.

10. Listen to music, sing, play an instrument and don’t be afraid to sound stupid. But keep your audience small…. perhaps just yourself as audience. And a dog if you have one.

11. Eat food. Even if you think you will die from it.

12. Try to be as honest as you can, but only if you can take it as well as you can give it.

13. Cuddle some form of life daily.

14. Write trite shit on your blog if it makes you feel better. Because only you read this blog and it will remind you of what you feel someday.

15. Wish everyone would quit co-opting the song “Mad World” because it was your personal favorite secret song that has now gone viral.

16. Log off. But not forever. Because you still have options. Tomorrow you can question your integrity.

17. Don’t forget about Cuttlefish. They can tell you a lot about survival.

 

Monday Muddle-Through

First trash news I read or heard about today was Ryan O’Neill “flirting” with his own daughter at Farrah’s funeral. He didn’t recognize his own daughter. She had to tell him it was her, Tatum…. And I thought my childhood was fucked up. Or my adulthood more likely. Or one gave way to the other…. blah blah blah….

On other fronts, I have many, many thoughts but probably not the chops to report on them. If you want deep, thoughtful and consistent blogging: GO ELSEWHERE.

But I do have a few things.  One is this idea of getting  A PHYSICAL. Of which I am supposed to be starting the process in the a.m.    I figure I can have all these stupid tests and they will tell me what I already know. I am dying. How many years do I have left? Probably too many. My life expectancy far exceeds my financial ability to maintain, I fear. . But that’s an old crybaby tune I’ve been wailin for too long.  “I’m a baby  with a diaper and no one to change me”  (diaper speak wanna be poet pun) was my college anthem. Either you get it or you don’t.

What? I’m not lugubrious enough  tonight? Funny. I made a conscious decision the other morning to stop being so sad about everything. Funny how that works. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. But the crazier you become, the easier it is to say YES!!!!

Random: Watching Anthony Bourdain touring an underground bat habitat in Jamaica. Sliding down to a hot core of earth covered in “cockroach and bat feces” and whining about how awful it is. But no one is wearing gloves or any other protective clothing. You listen Bourdain! If you’re going underground into a sludge pile of feces, you wear gloves … at the least!

Stories. It’s all stories. And the telling…..