I have a queen size bed. I bought it about seven years ago. The exgirlfriend and I had been sleeping on a futon. A horrible, tiny lumpy futon. That first night in the queen bed...it was such a luxury. I could turn over and not get an elbow in the eye.
The ex has moved on, but I've still got the bed. You'd think I'd be feeling lonely in this big bed all by myself. But...uh...I'm not sleeping by myself. I've got about 30 pounds of canine cuteness sprawled out beside me. These two are small dogs. I keep telling them..."You're little dogs, you don't need that much space." They're not buying it.
Before Ellwoood, Charlie was not a cuddler. But Charlie's such jealous lump that he has to be closer than Ellwood, and since Charlie has a tendency to snap at Ellwood if Ellwood dares to touch him while he's sleeping, I end up with one on each side of me. I think I need a bigger bed...
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
A Game I Can Really Get Into...
I think I've mentioned a time or two my feelings on marriage. It's fine for other people, but I'd rather just stand here while you beat me with a stick. Basically, it's not for me.
It seems the folks at Adult Swim can empathize, and they have created the most fantastic game...Five Minutes To Kill Yourself: Wedding Day. You can personalize the wedding to represent you and your potential mate. It even allows for same sex couples....or you can just let it pick for you, which is what I do. It's great fun and a good way to kill (get it..ha...I'm so damn funny) five minutes.
Go here and check it out. Poke around the site for other fun games. (I like Zombie Hooker Nightmare, too.)
It seems the folks at Adult Swim can empathize, and they have created the most fantastic game...Five Minutes To Kill Yourself: Wedding Day. You can personalize the wedding to represent you and your potential mate. It even allows for same sex couples....or you can just let it pick for you, which is what I do. It's great fun and a good way to kill (get it..ha...I'm so damn funny) five minutes.
Go here and check it out. Poke around the site for other fun games. (I like Zombie Hooker Nightmare, too.)
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thankful
I've spent my day doing what I love most...cooking. And cooking my favorite meal of the year, at that. There is something about traditional Thanksgiving fare that just lightens my soul. I love the simple flavors, the savoriness of it all. Not to mention that while it takes quite awhile, it is the simplest, most straightforward of cooking. And I'm damn good at it.
While I dislike the racial history behind Thanksgiving, it is my favorite holiday. I am hardly religious or even "spiritual," but the gathering together of the people I love so that we may feast and enjoy and simply be together, without all the consumerism that mars Christmas is lovely.
As I went about my tasks...boiling the yams and making stuffing, I realized how very different this Thanksgiving is from the last one. Last year seems so far away, perhaps because so very much has happened this year, and I am miles away from the life I was living last year at this time. All the joy had gone from my life and I was so numb, so anesthetized by my depression that I didn't even see it. I went through the motions, but took no joy in what has always been a joyful task for me.
I have so very much to be thankful for this year. I am thankful, as always, as I will forever be, for my beautiful, healthy, brilliant daughter. I am thankful for the task of being her mother, though it isn't easy and some days it is harder to see the joy, she, more than anything else in my life, gives me a reason every morning to be. If I accomplish nothing else in the world, being her mother will be enough. Though, to be brutally honest, I haven't always felt that way. I was not one of those mothers who looked at their infants the moment they were born and felt that indescribable feeling of coming home to oneself. I spent years struggling with the occasional resentment I felt that I was not living the life I had wanted, the fear of being "just a mother." I wish it had been easier, that I had felt the rightness of being her mother from the moment she was born, but then, those things that are the most important rarely come easily to me.
And while this has, in many ways, been the hardest year of my life, I am thankful for the things that got me here. I am thankful to be feeling again. And, yeah, the pain has sucked. But, I've also found the capacity for joy again. I'm still a little rusty at all of this, and parts of my heart are so broken I wonder if it will ever again be whole. But, even if it isn't, at least I am present in my life once more, present as a mother and a sister and friend, and that is beautiful to me.
I am thankful for my family, without whom this year could have been the death of me. I never cease to be amazed at the good fortune that gave me a second family to give me what my first could not. I am thankful for all the people who love me despite my craziness, despite my irrationality. I'm not the easiest person to love, and my family and my best friend (who is half a world away from me tonight, but still the one of the biggest pieces of what makes my life beautiful) make it look simple. I thank you and I love you with all of my all too imperfect heart.
While I dislike the racial history behind Thanksgiving, it is my favorite holiday. I am hardly religious or even "spiritual," but the gathering together of the people I love so that we may feast and enjoy and simply be together, without all the consumerism that mars Christmas is lovely.
As I went about my tasks...boiling the yams and making stuffing, I realized how very different this Thanksgiving is from the last one. Last year seems so far away, perhaps because so very much has happened this year, and I am miles away from the life I was living last year at this time. All the joy had gone from my life and I was so numb, so anesthetized by my depression that I didn't even see it. I went through the motions, but took no joy in what has always been a joyful task for me.
I have so very much to be thankful for this year. I am thankful, as always, as I will forever be, for my beautiful, healthy, brilliant daughter. I am thankful for the task of being her mother, though it isn't easy and some days it is harder to see the joy, she, more than anything else in my life, gives me a reason every morning to be. If I accomplish nothing else in the world, being her mother will be enough. Though, to be brutally honest, I haven't always felt that way. I was not one of those mothers who looked at their infants the moment they were born and felt that indescribable feeling of coming home to oneself. I spent years struggling with the occasional resentment I felt that I was not living the life I had wanted, the fear of being "just a mother." I wish it had been easier, that I had felt the rightness of being her mother from the moment she was born, but then, those things that are the most important rarely come easily to me.
And while this has, in many ways, been the hardest year of my life, I am thankful for the things that got me here. I am thankful to be feeling again. And, yeah, the pain has sucked. But, I've also found the capacity for joy again. I'm still a little rusty at all of this, and parts of my heart are so broken I wonder if it will ever again be whole. But, even if it isn't, at least I am present in my life once more, present as a mother and a sister and friend, and that is beautiful to me.
I am thankful for my family, without whom this year could have been the death of me. I never cease to be amazed at the good fortune that gave me a second family to give me what my first could not. I am thankful for all the people who love me despite my craziness, despite my irrationality. I'm not the easiest person to love, and my family and my best friend (who is half a world away from me tonight, but still the one of the biggest pieces of what makes my life beautiful) make it look simple. I thank you and I love you with all of my all too imperfect heart.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Junk Science
At the risk of sounding really conceited, I'm a really intelligent girl. There's quite a bit going on my noggin...no common sense 99% of the time, but that's a whole other ball of wax.
As an intelligent girl, it never ceases to amaze just how uneducated (or just plain stupid) other people can be. There's so much information available in the world, it seems a waste to not take advantage of it. But, that's not the worst of it, really. The worst thing (as far as I'm concerned, anyway) is that some people will believe anything they read or see or hear someone else say. The idea of finding legitimate sources, or cross-checking facts simply doesn't occur to them. They read it on the internet or in some new-age dimestore novel and so, of course, it must be true.
This sort of thing, the "I saw it on the internet, so it must be true" ridiculousness is my single largest pet peeve. When I run into it, it makes my head explode. Okay, not really...but it does set me off on a three hour lecture about fact checking and peer reviews and reliable sources, and no, goddammit, Wikipedia is NOT a fucking reliable source.
The Archaeogoddess runs into this far more often than I do, what with her being a an archaeologist and all. I once listened as this utter moron I know talked about The DaVinci Code conspiracy crap with the Archaeogoddess as though it was fact and not ridiculous fiction. The Archaeogoddess kept a polite smile on her face the entire time, and then politely changed the subject. If it had been me, I'd have berated the woman up one side and down the other...but that's just part of my charm.
Here's a hint, folks...if it's been "kept hidden" or if it's a "secret they don't want you to know" move on. It's likely utter nonsense.
And just because there was a "new study" that showed that the cure for cancer is rubbing bacon grease in your butt crack, that doesn't mean every cancer patient should be slathering on the lard. A study is just that...a single study. It could have been an anomaly, a chance occurrence, a mistake made by the researchers. In order for something to be true, you must be able to prove it. You must show me proof. I want to see first sources, and repeatable results. Your cousin's friend who drank pomegranate juice and suddenly cured her fibromyalgia isn't going to impress me.
As an intelligent girl, it never ceases to amaze just how uneducated (or just plain stupid) other people can be. There's so much information available in the world, it seems a waste to not take advantage of it. But, that's not the worst of it, really. The worst thing (as far as I'm concerned, anyway) is that some people will believe anything they read or see or hear someone else say. The idea of finding legitimate sources, or cross-checking facts simply doesn't occur to them. They read it on the internet or in some new-age dimestore novel and so, of course, it must be true.
This sort of thing, the "I saw it on the internet, so it must be true" ridiculousness is my single largest pet peeve. When I run into it, it makes my head explode. Okay, not really...but it does set me off on a three hour lecture about fact checking and peer reviews and reliable sources, and no, goddammit, Wikipedia is NOT a fucking reliable source.
The Archaeogoddess runs into this far more often than I do, what with her being a an archaeologist and all. I once listened as this utter moron I know talked about The DaVinci Code conspiracy crap with the Archaeogoddess as though it was fact and not ridiculous fiction. The Archaeogoddess kept a polite smile on her face the entire time, and then politely changed the subject. If it had been me, I'd have berated the woman up one side and down the other...but that's just part of my charm.
Here's a hint, folks...if it's been "kept hidden" or if it's a "secret they don't want you to know" move on. It's likely utter nonsense.
And just because there was a "new study" that showed that the cure for cancer is rubbing bacon grease in your butt crack, that doesn't mean every cancer patient should be slathering on the lard. A study is just that...a single study. It could have been an anomaly, a chance occurrence, a mistake made by the researchers. In order for something to be true, you must be able to prove it. You must show me proof. I want to see first sources, and repeatable results. Your cousin's friend who drank pomegranate juice and suddenly cured her fibromyalgia isn't going to impress me.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The Archaeogoddess Rocks!!
Ha..I love it...Archaeogoddess...rocks...get it? I kill me!!
Anyway, my best friend is on a dig in Qatar as a paid archaeologist. You can read about her adventures here. I am so proud and amazed and thrilled...despite the fact that she's even less accessible than normal due to lack of regular internet access.
On a completely unrelated note...I have been reunited with my beloved laptop and should, therefore, be back to posting quasi-regularly. I broke my ankle the day before Halloween so my life has been that much more lacking in adventure, but I'm sure I'll find something to blog about, given enough time I always find something about which to complain.
Anyway, my best friend is on a dig in Qatar as a paid archaeologist. You can read about her adventures here. I am so proud and amazed and thrilled...despite the fact that she's even less accessible than normal due to lack of regular internet access.
On a completely unrelated note...I have been reunited with my beloved laptop and should, therefore, be back to posting quasi-regularly. I broke my ankle the day before Halloween so my life has been that much more lacking in adventure, but I'm sure I'll find something to blog about, given enough time I always find something about which to complain.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Reunited....
...And it feels so good...
My trusty laptop is back where it belongs...sure, it only took a month for them to replace the motherboard...the motherboard of a computer only 9 months old, but it's not like I'm complaining or anything...Fuckers...
So, the loss of my laptop for the last month has meant more time on my hands. Even on the days when I was able to use my sister's computer while she was at work, that atill left hours of no computer access of everyday. And then I up and broke my ankle...because I am a dork like that...and I had even more time on my hands. So, rather than use my time productively, I spent a lot of time thinking, obsessing really. Because Facebook keeps me from thinking...it's true. The last day and a half have been filled with mindless Facebooking. Good times...
My trusty laptop is back where it belongs...sure, it only took a month for them to replace the motherboard...the motherboard of a computer only 9 months old, but it's not like I'm complaining or anything...Fuckers...
So, the loss of my laptop for the last month has meant more time on my hands. Even on the days when I was able to use my sister's computer while she was at work, that atill left hours of no computer access of everyday. And then I up and broke my ankle...because I am a dork like that...and I had even more time on my hands. So, rather than use my time productively, I spent a lot of time thinking, obsessing really. Because Facebook keeps me from thinking...it's true. The last day and a half have been filled with mindless Facebooking. Good times...
Thursday, October 29, 2009
My Laptop is Broken...
Seriously broken...as in the power comes on, but it won't boot up. I'm hoping it's an easy fix and that it doesn't damage any of my data, but the repair people at Best Buy have had it for over a week now and I have no idea what's going on with it. In fact, the bastards won't even answer the phone today. Don't they understand I NEED my laptop? How can I stay on top of shit without my laptop? (Okay, who the hell am I kidding, I can't even stay on top of shit with my laptop...sigh...)
Anyway, internet action is spotty at best and only available when I can steal my sister's laptop...so that's why there have been no recent posts...not because I'm a lazy bitch...
Anyway, internet action is spotty at best and only available when I can steal my sister's laptop...so that's why there have been no recent posts...not because I'm a lazy bitch...
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Winter Soon...
I live in California, so my next sentence makes no sense. I hate summer. I live for winter. The rain, the sweaters and extra blankets and stews and soups and even the quality of the light. California sunshine, especially by summer's end, is painfully brilliant. It washes out the sky, leeching it a pale baby blue that lacks depth or beauty.
As winter approaches and the leaves fall and the sun sinks lower in the sky, I want to curl up on the sofa with a good book and the beautiful quilt my mother made me. I start breaking out my winter recipes, soups and beans and biscuits and cornbread.
My kitchen is a disaster area. I made potato soup and biscuits and bread pudding yesterday. I know that other people can cook without using every dish and destroying every cooking surface. I'm not one of those people. I can't cook without the end resulting looking like the morning after a frat party.
Oh, but it was heavenly stuff. Lots of garlic and goodness. And months and months of my favorite season yet to come...I'm a happy, happy girl tonight...
As winter approaches and the leaves fall and the sun sinks lower in the sky, I want to curl up on the sofa with a good book and the beautiful quilt my mother made me. I start breaking out my winter recipes, soups and beans and biscuits and cornbread.
My kitchen is a disaster area. I made potato soup and biscuits and bread pudding yesterday. I know that other people can cook without using every dish and destroying every cooking surface. I'm not one of those people. I can't cook without the end resulting looking like the morning after a frat party.
Oh, but it was heavenly stuff. Lots of garlic and goodness. And months and months of my favorite season yet to come...I'm a happy, happy girl tonight...
Sunday, September 20, 2009
I Guess You Just Never Get Over Your First...
In the 1996 presidential election, I was voting for the first time and I had a kick ass government teacher who made the process interesting. Needless to say, I voted for Clinton. I was madly in love with that president. He was my dream president and to have voted for him in my first election...well, it was the beginning of my love/hate affair with politics.
In the dark ages of the Bush administration, I missed Clinton fiercely. I idealized that man, that presidency. For a president like Bush to follow Clinton seemed the worst sort of irony.
But then, a few years ago, I started to read more than the standard press reports, delved a bit deeper than the pretty little sound bites you get on the evening news. I realized that Clinton wasn't quite the dream man I thought he was. I learned about Rwanda, learned what a publicity whore the Clinton machinery really was. It took a bit of the shine off the memory, and the man.
And yet, every now and then I see him on tv...doing an interview and he says something that makes me forget my disappointment and takes me back to the first heady days of my political awakening.
This being Sunday, there is nothing on tv, so I was going through my dvr recordings and getting caught up on The Daily Show. And there he was...in all his eloquent glory talking about healthcare. And he said what I always want to say to my conservative family about healthcare. And yeah...being on The Daily Show is a bit like preaching to the choir, but I still have to share it because...well, because it's just damn good...
Oh, Bill...you know just how to sweet talk me...
In the dark ages of the Bush administration, I missed Clinton fiercely. I idealized that man, that presidency. For a president like Bush to follow Clinton seemed the worst sort of irony.
But then, a few years ago, I started to read more than the standard press reports, delved a bit deeper than the pretty little sound bites you get on the evening news. I realized that Clinton wasn't quite the dream man I thought he was. I learned about Rwanda, learned what a publicity whore the Clinton machinery really was. It took a bit of the shine off the memory, and the man.
And yet, every now and then I see him on tv...doing an interview and he says something that makes me forget my disappointment and takes me back to the first heady days of my political awakening.
This being Sunday, there is nothing on tv, so I was going through my dvr recordings and getting caught up on The Daily Show. And there he was...in all his eloquent glory talking about healthcare. And he said what I always want to say to my conservative family about healthcare. And yeah...being on The Daily Show is a bit like preaching to the choir, but I still have to share it because...well, because it's just damn good...
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Exclusive - Bill Clinton Extended Interview Pt. 3 | ||||
| ||||
Oh, Bill...you know just how to sweet talk me...
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
The Gosselins
I admit it. I'm one of those people who watched Jon & Kate Plus Eight. I enjoyed the show, enjoyed the kids...thought it was cute. I even sort of enjoyed the not so friendly byplay between the two of them. Yes, I winced from time to time when she was particularly harsh or he was particularly checked out of their relationship, but I thought it was nice to see that other couples were effected by stress. Too often, we expect that people will be perfect even during extremely stressful times. And no, I don't understand the stress of that many children...but I do know the stress of a chronic illness and too little money.
Their divorce has been tough for me to watch, probably because I'm going through a similar thing. No, there is no divorce, but I don't think the demise of a ten year relationship is that much different.
I always kind of felt sorry for Kate. Which I know puts me in the extreme minority. Everyone felt sorry for Jon because Kate was a complete shrew, which she admittedly is...but Jon was such a non connected lump that I kinda understood her shrewiness. I mean, having one child and being alone in that endeavor, as I have been for the last six months, sometimes drives me to the brink of insanity, I can't even begin to imagine what having eight kids and an emotionally bankrupt partner would be like. I'd be locked up in a loony bin somewhere mumbling lines from Monty Python to myself.
So, yeah...can't say I was terribly surprised when they announced the divorce. But, what they're saying about each other in the press...? It's unbelievable. I mean...I know that when your heart is broken and you have all this hurt and anger you say horrible things, things you mean and things you don't mean. And realistically, while you're trying your damnedest to keep your kids out of the crossfire, sometimes they hear what you've said. And this is both a good and bad thing because while you hate for your kids to hear that sort of thing, it gives you a chance to talk to your kid and explain that you're human and that you make mistakes and that sometimes anger and sadness make you say things you regret. It can be a good moment for you to teach your kid a lesson about life.
But when you go on Larry King and declare that you despise someone...that's not done in the heat of the moment. That's cold calculation. When you give an interview to People magazine saying that the child's other parent doesn't care about them that's calculated as well. And these kids aren't going to have a good teaching moment, because what you say in the heat of the moment you can explain...but what you say in a cold and calculating attempt to hurt someone...you can't explain and you can't expect to be forgiven for. For the rest of their lives, those kids are going to be able to read and hear what their parents did to hurt each other, and that's the kind of pain you can't outgrow...
Their divorce has been tough for me to watch, probably because I'm going through a similar thing. No, there is no divorce, but I don't think the demise of a ten year relationship is that much different.
I always kind of felt sorry for Kate. Which I know puts me in the extreme minority. Everyone felt sorry for Jon because Kate was a complete shrew, which she admittedly is...but Jon was such a non connected lump that I kinda understood her shrewiness. I mean, having one child and being alone in that endeavor, as I have been for the last six months, sometimes drives me to the brink of insanity, I can't even begin to imagine what having eight kids and an emotionally bankrupt partner would be like. I'd be locked up in a loony bin somewhere mumbling lines from Monty Python to myself.
So, yeah...can't say I was terribly surprised when they announced the divorce. But, what they're saying about each other in the press...? It's unbelievable. I mean...I know that when your heart is broken and you have all this hurt and anger you say horrible things, things you mean and things you don't mean. And realistically, while you're trying your damnedest to keep your kids out of the crossfire, sometimes they hear what you've said. And this is both a good and bad thing because while you hate for your kids to hear that sort of thing, it gives you a chance to talk to your kid and explain that you're human and that you make mistakes and that sometimes anger and sadness make you say things you regret. It can be a good moment for you to teach your kid a lesson about life.
But when you go on Larry King and declare that you despise someone...that's not done in the heat of the moment. That's cold calculation. When you give an interview to People magazine saying that the child's other parent doesn't care about them that's calculated as well. And these kids aren't going to have a good teaching moment, because what you say in the heat of the moment you can explain...but what you say in a cold and calculating attempt to hurt someone...you can't explain and you can't expect to be forgiven for. For the rest of their lives, those kids are going to be able to read and hear what their parents did to hurt each other, and that's the kind of pain you can't outgrow...
Monday, September 07, 2009
I'm No Betty Crocker...
My poor little munchkin is sick. She's got the flu, and is absolutely miserable. So when she asked for my "really good potato soup." I was more than happy to oblige. I stole the recipe from Julie Powell's Julie and Julia. I feel no guilt about this because she stole it from Julia Child, and it's the best and easiest soup recipe I've ever encountered. My mini me adores it, and tell me that it's the best potato soup she's ever had.
So, I made a great big pot of soup and that's what we've been indulging in all weekend. We were supposed to be with family celebrating a cousin's birthday, but the she had to get sick and ruin that plan, so I've been shoving fluids down her throat, along with Ibuprofen. And when I'm not tending to her, I've been a busy little worker bee this weekend. I finally finished unpacking my bedroom, which is fantastic. I also cleaned rat cages and the kitchen and did some grocery shopping. I'm currently staring at the living room trying to muster up some strength to unpack the last of the boxes and hang the pictures. So far, no luck...
I never really imagined myself to be the soup-making kind of mom. In fact, I never really imagined myself as a mom. And no, I'm not the mom who gets up every morning and makes fabulous breakfasts and packs great lunches. She eats hot lunch at school and breakfast more often than not is cereal and juice. I don't greet her at the door when she comes home with fresh baked cookies. But, when I do cook for her, I feel good about it. I love it when she tells me how much she enjoys something that I've made. Currently, she's been begging for homemade egg rolls. I make the best egg rolls, if I do say so myself.
So, no...I don't wear pearls to do the vacuuming and it's not uncommon for me to spend the day in my pjs...but all that aside, I think I'm a pretty good mom...I'm just not June Cleaver or Betty Crocker, but really that's okay...because I'm pretty sure I'd be homicidal if I ever tried to fit that roll...
So, I made a great big pot of soup and that's what we've been indulging in all weekend. We were supposed to be with family celebrating a cousin's birthday, but the she had to get sick and ruin that plan, so I've been shoving fluids down her throat, along with Ibuprofen. And when I'm not tending to her, I've been a busy little worker bee this weekend. I finally finished unpacking my bedroom, which is fantastic. I also cleaned rat cages and the kitchen and did some grocery shopping. I'm currently staring at the living room trying to muster up some strength to unpack the last of the boxes and hang the pictures. So far, no luck...
I never really imagined myself to be the soup-making kind of mom. In fact, I never really imagined myself as a mom. And no, I'm not the mom who gets up every morning and makes fabulous breakfasts and packs great lunches. She eats hot lunch at school and breakfast more often than not is cereal and juice. I don't greet her at the door when she comes home with fresh baked cookies. But, when I do cook for her, I feel good about it. I love it when she tells me how much she enjoys something that I've made. Currently, she's been begging for homemade egg rolls. I make the best egg rolls, if I do say so myself.
So, no...I don't wear pearls to do the vacuuming and it's not uncommon for me to spend the day in my pjs...but all that aside, I think I'm a pretty good mom...I'm just not June Cleaver or Betty Crocker, but really that's okay...because I'm pretty sure I'd be homicidal if I ever tried to fit that roll...
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Identity
Gay, straight...or something in between?
Back in the day, before the exgirlfriend, I identified mainly as straight, though admitted that should I find a girl I was attracted to, I would definitely not hesitate to act on it. However, once I dated a girl, lived with a girl, loved a girl, it became abundantly obvious that I was most definitely not straight. But since I still have all those pesky hormonal reactions to attractive guys, also clearly not gay.
Most people would use the word bisexual, but I hate it. Aside from it's clinical sound, it just has such a negative connotation within the queer community. Somehow, being in between is construed as either a cop out or an inability to commit to the gay community. And it's true that a lot of people struggling with their identity do use bisexual as a stepping stone. But for me, it's not a stepping stone. It is what I am. Not gay, but not straight, either.
And gay girls generally avoid bisexual girls like the plague. And not without reason. There are plenty of girls who call themselves bisexual, but really mean bicurious and end up using the gay girl as an "experience." Leading them on, forgetting that their great party story is going to be simply a heartbreak for the other girl. Many bisexual girls have a boyfriend and want a girl on the side or to bring into the bedroom to spice up the relationship. In short, a lot of bisexual girls use gay girls as sex toys, with little regard for the consequences. The end result is that once a girl says she's bisexual, most lesbians head for the hills.
Much worse, in my opinion, are the girls who claim to be straight, despite an ongoing relationship with another girl. As in..."I'm straight...I just happened to fall in love with her." Um...here's the thing...if you get off on fucking a girl...you aren't straight. And I don't understand not copping to it. The homophobes are still going to hate you, perhaps even more than "normal" queers. To paraphrase the utterly fantastic Mistress Matisse, there is no such thing as a First Pussy Free policy.
Another pitfall for the bisexual girl, most guys take it to mean that you want to put on a show for them...um...no. No, no, no, no. If I'm with a girl, I want to be with a girl. When I'm with a girl, I'm not doing it because it's turning some guy on. I'm doing it because it turns me on. That's why that whole Katy Perry "I Kissed A Girl" phenomenon disgust me to no end. Kiss girls if you want to, if it feels good and you like it...but don't do it to get the attention of some guy. Other women deserve more respect than to be used as spectacles for some drunk guy.
It would be easier to be straight or gay. There aren't nearly as many landmines. You don't have to worry about "betraying" the queer community if you fuck a guy and you don't have to wonder if the guy at the bar buying you drinks is doing it because he genuinely likes you, or if it's because he's imagining watching you go down on the girlfriend he left at home...
Back in the day, before the exgirlfriend, I identified mainly as straight, though admitted that should I find a girl I was attracted to, I would definitely not hesitate to act on it. However, once I dated a girl, lived with a girl, loved a girl, it became abundantly obvious that I was most definitely not straight. But since I still have all those pesky hormonal reactions to attractive guys, also clearly not gay.
Most people would use the word bisexual, but I hate it. Aside from it's clinical sound, it just has such a negative connotation within the queer community. Somehow, being in between is construed as either a cop out or an inability to commit to the gay community. And it's true that a lot of people struggling with their identity do use bisexual as a stepping stone. But for me, it's not a stepping stone. It is what I am. Not gay, but not straight, either.
And gay girls generally avoid bisexual girls like the plague. And not without reason. There are plenty of girls who call themselves bisexual, but really mean bicurious and end up using the gay girl as an "experience." Leading them on, forgetting that their great party story is going to be simply a heartbreak for the other girl. Many bisexual girls have a boyfriend and want a girl on the side or to bring into the bedroom to spice up the relationship. In short, a lot of bisexual girls use gay girls as sex toys, with little regard for the consequences. The end result is that once a girl says she's bisexual, most lesbians head for the hills.
Much worse, in my opinion, are the girls who claim to be straight, despite an ongoing relationship with another girl. As in..."I'm straight...I just happened to fall in love with her." Um...here's the thing...if you get off on fucking a girl...you aren't straight. And I don't understand not copping to it. The homophobes are still going to hate you, perhaps even more than "normal" queers. To paraphrase the utterly fantastic Mistress Matisse, there is no such thing as a First Pussy Free policy.
Another pitfall for the bisexual girl, most guys take it to mean that you want to put on a show for them...um...no. No, no, no, no. If I'm with a girl, I want to be with a girl. When I'm with a girl, I'm not doing it because it's turning some guy on. I'm doing it because it turns me on. That's why that whole Katy Perry "I Kissed A Girl" phenomenon disgust me to no end. Kiss girls if you want to, if it feels good and you like it...but don't do it to get the attention of some guy. Other women deserve more respect than to be used as spectacles for some drunk guy.
It would be easier to be straight or gay. There aren't nearly as many landmines. You don't have to worry about "betraying" the queer community if you fuck a guy and you don't have to wonder if the guy at the bar buying you drinks is doing it because he genuinely likes you, or if it's because he's imagining watching you go down on the girlfriend he left at home...
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Killing Time Until True Blood
I'm having one crapfest of a weekend. Nothing really going on, other than that apparently while I sleep tiny, angry elves sneak into my bedroom and beat the living crap out of me. And also slip sedatives into everything I eat and drink. I think they're working for the "I Hate The Queen Of The Universe Club." Maybe that's where the dues money goes...
So, yeah...like the title says, I'm basically just killing time until I can watch another installment of True Blood. Mmmm...yummy vampires!! I could be doing laundry or unpacking the boxes in my bedroom..but no, that would require energy and I have none thanks the minions of the "I Hate The Queen of the Universe Club." (Man, I've got to find a shorter way to say that.) So, I guilt-tripped my sister into letting me use her laptop since mine has been sabotaged by the Club. For some reason, the ac plug isn't working which means, no charge to the battery, which means no laptop. Yeah, there were tears...I'm taking it in this week because my life is meaningless without it.
So, I spent Friday evening at my aunt and uncle's house making yummy, yummy food with my cousin. We had the world's best bruschetta, which I made, but I can't really take all the credit because the tomatoes were the uber yummy ones my aunt grows herself and then there was fresh basil from my cousin's basil plant...I'm telling you, it was better than sex. Okay, maybe not better than ALL sex, but certainly better than some of the sex I've had...after all there is a ton of sex I've had in my life that I'd never want to have again, but I really, really want some more of that bruschetta!
And then yesterday was a frenzy of activity...kind of. The munchkin and I made a compost bin and I bathed the dogs, much their dismay, but now they are soft and clean and smell good, which are all requirements for anything I let sleep in my bed. I also cooked moose for the first time in my life. We're at the end of the month, "Oh fuck, we have nothing but stew meat and crackers" stage. A coworker of my sister's gave her a bunch of moose meat because we live in Amador County and that's just how the Amador County folk roll. It was good, but kinda wierd. I kept reminding myself that there was no difference between moose and cow, but myself wasn't really buying it. It's been ages since I've had any kind of game meat...I mean, when I was a kid, we didn't eat anything but game meat, but that was because my step-father was a freak who liked to shoot stuff.
So, yeah...like the title says, I'm basically just killing time until I can watch another installment of True Blood. Mmmm...yummy vampires!! I could be doing laundry or unpacking the boxes in my bedroom..but no, that would require energy and I have none thanks the minions of the "I Hate The Queen of the Universe Club." (Man, I've got to find a shorter way to say that.) So, I guilt-tripped my sister into letting me use her laptop since mine has been sabotaged by the Club. For some reason, the ac plug isn't working which means, no charge to the battery, which means no laptop. Yeah, there were tears...I'm taking it in this week because my life is meaningless without it.
So, I spent Friday evening at my aunt and uncle's house making yummy, yummy food with my cousin. We had the world's best bruschetta, which I made, but I can't really take all the credit because the tomatoes were the uber yummy ones my aunt grows herself and then there was fresh basil from my cousin's basil plant...I'm telling you, it was better than sex. Okay, maybe not better than ALL sex, but certainly better than some of the sex I've had...after all there is a ton of sex I've had in my life that I'd never want to have again, but I really, really want some more of that bruschetta!
And then yesterday was a frenzy of activity...kind of. The munchkin and I made a compost bin and I bathed the dogs, much their dismay, but now they are soft and clean and smell good, which are all requirements for anything I let sleep in my bed. I also cooked moose for the first time in my life. We're at the end of the month, "Oh fuck, we have nothing but stew meat and crackers" stage. A coworker of my sister's gave her a bunch of moose meat because we live in Amador County and that's just how the Amador County folk roll. It was good, but kinda wierd. I kept reminding myself that there was no difference between moose and cow, but myself wasn't really buying it. It's been ages since I've had any kind of game meat...I mean, when I was a kid, we didn't eat anything but game meat, but that was because my step-father was a freak who liked to shoot stuff.
Friday, August 28, 2009
A Hearty Welcome to the "I Hate The Queen of the Universe Club"
I don't watch Fox News or listen to Rush Limbaugh or Ann Coulter. I don't do it because I know they will talk about me (a liberal) in very derogatory terms. I don't respect their opinions, so why subject myself to it?
But, I'm a sensible like that. I try to avoid situations in which people tell me how much I suck. I don't need to hear it. There are plenty of situations I can't avoid that people tell me how much I suck, why look for more? Yet there are plenty of people who know I don't like them, know I've got all kinds of negative opinions about them and yet they can't stay away from the words I post here. I'm always sort of confused by this. If you don't like me, if you think I'm a lying psycho bitch, then what the fuck are you doing here? I've gotten pissed about it, gotten depressed about it, but now I've decided to take advantage of it.
See, a few of my regular readers come here because I can be pretty funny from time to time. What better way to amuse them than to start giving the members of the "I Hate The Queen of the Universe Club" what it seems they want? I'm going to find a way to blame them for everything from a bad hair day to the war in the middle east. Maybe that will give them the sense of power they seem to be seeking. If they want to hear how much I think they suck, then why not indulge them? It might keep me from feeling stabby. (Stabby is my new favorite emotion. The Archaeogoddess sent me a link to the The Bloggess' blog, and I've stolen this term from that amazingly funny site.)
By the way, if you want to join the "I Hate The Queen of the Universe Club" you are going to have to contact a current member. Needless to say, they don't give me a whole lot of information about membership, dues, mission statements...I'm just the object of their obsessive hatred, not like a real person or anything...
But, I'm a sensible like that. I try to avoid situations in which people tell me how much I suck. I don't need to hear it. There are plenty of situations I can't avoid that people tell me how much I suck, why look for more? Yet there are plenty of people who know I don't like them, know I've got all kinds of negative opinions about them and yet they can't stay away from the words I post here. I'm always sort of confused by this. If you don't like me, if you think I'm a lying psycho bitch, then what the fuck are you doing here? I've gotten pissed about it, gotten depressed about it, but now I've decided to take advantage of it.
See, a few of my regular readers come here because I can be pretty funny from time to time. What better way to amuse them than to start giving the members of the "I Hate The Queen of the Universe Club" what it seems they want? I'm going to find a way to blame them for everything from a bad hair day to the war in the middle east. Maybe that will give them the sense of power they seem to be seeking. If they want to hear how much I think they suck, then why not indulge them? It might keep me from feeling stabby. (Stabby is my new favorite emotion. The Archaeogoddess sent me a link to the The Bloggess' blog, and I've stolen this term from that amazingly funny site.)
By the way, if you want to join the "I Hate The Queen of the Universe Club" you are going to have to contact a current member. Needless to say, they don't give me a whole lot of information about membership, dues, mission statements...I'm just the object of their obsessive hatred, not like a real person or anything...
Monday, August 24, 2009
How Many Second Chances?
Getting over the collapse of a ten year relationship should hurt. It should be difficult. There should be tears and sleepless nights and anger and fear. But, there should also be an end to the pain, a lessening of the pain. Ever so slowly, the good days should come to equal and then outnumber the bad.
That is how it works if you are smarter than I am in the relationship department. If you are smarter than I am, you don't answer the phone when your ex calls after you've said that you are done talking to her. If you are wiser than I am, you remember all the lies you've caught her her in and you don't believe her apologies and her pleas for forgiveness and second chances. You make yourself indifferent to her attempts to get at you through second sources. And you refuse to believe that she has any desire to make amends, no matter what she's told others.
However, I am not smart when it comes to my heart. I am not good at giving up on people I love, even when they hurt me. And this is what I must learn. This is what I have to remind myself to do, every second of every moment. I must learn that no matter how much I love someone, they don't have the right to hurt me again and again. I must remind myself that if I expect others to value me, I must value myself. And that means that my affection and compassion must come at a cost. Not an exorbitant one, or an unrealistic one...it is simply that my time and affection must be earned through kindness, compassion and affection for me. It is not unreasonable to expect the people I love to love me in return.
I must also remind myself that it is not a second chance when you've done it before. Everyone deserves a second chance to do the right thing. But no one deserves infinite chance to continue doing the wrong thing.
That is how it works if you are smarter than I am in the relationship department. If you are smarter than I am, you don't answer the phone when your ex calls after you've said that you are done talking to her. If you are wiser than I am, you remember all the lies you've caught her her in and you don't believe her apologies and her pleas for forgiveness and second chances. You make yourself indifferent to her attempts to get at you through second sources. And you refuse to believe that she has any desire to make amends, no matter what she's told others.
However, I am not smart when it comes to my heart. I am not good at giving up on people I love, even when they hurt me. And this is what I must learn. This is what I have to remind myself to do, every second of every moment. I must learn that no matter how much I love someone, they don't have the right to hurt me again and again. I must remind myself that if I expect others to value me, I must value myself. And that means that my affection and compassion must come at a cost. Not an exorbitant one, or an unrealistic one...it is simply that my time and affection must be earned through kindness, compassion and affection for me. It is not unreasonable to expect the people I love to love me in return.
I must also remind myself that it is not a second chance when you've done it before. Everyone deserves a second chance to do the right thing. But no one deserves infinite chance to continue doing the wrong thing.
Stuck On Repeat
I've got a gazillion or so songs that I love and usually listen to on shuffle on my mp3 player, bur right now I've got these two songs stuck in my head and on repeat...
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Only In My Dreams
I had the most beautiful dream last night. I dreamt that I was driving home from my parent's house and there, by the side of the road, was my sweet Cera dog. I dreamt that I opened the door of the car and she jumped into the car and I brought her home. The dream was so real and vivid. I could feel her fur, that silky coarse German Shepherd fur...I could feel the weight of her leaning into me, draping her head over my shoulder in her distinctive puppy hug.
In the dream, I brought her home to my new place...And the whole ride home she stood in the back seat with her head on my shoulder while I was driving. Just the way she always had. When I woke up, I could still feel her fur in my fingers, and the weight of her leaning against me. And then, as I became more aware, there was the sick feeling in the hollow of my stomach. Cera is gone, and has been since March.
During the first dreadful chaos that followed the break up, my six year old German Shepherd/Chow mix that had been with us since she was only 9 weeks old, went missing. I lived in the middle of nowhere on a mountain. I was living in the small guest house on the same plot of land as my parent's house. We lived on over 90 acres of wilderness. Our neighbors, such as they were, lived up the same mile long dirt road we did. None of us have fences or anything like that, and our dogs have always had the run of the mountain. Cera loved it. She was always exploring, coming back to check in and then heading off again in search of adventure.
The first night Cera didn't come back at bedtime I was only a little worried, because while it was rare for her to not come back at bedtime, it wasn't unheard of. But when she still wasn't there when I came home from my daughter's softball game, I began to get very scared. I called the neighbors, asking if anyone had seen her...I called the shelter and the local vet offices. I was worried but sure she'd turn up soon. I made up fliers and my daughter and I drove all over our area putting them up and driving up and down the tiny dirt roads along the canyon. We knocked on doors and looked in ditches and called out to her over and over again.
There were a few calls in those first days. Vague sightings that could have been from before she went missing. Nothing concrete. I berated myself for putting off microchipping her, though truthfully, I don't think anyone found her and turned her in to a vet or shelter. I called all the shelters within a 150 mile radius, and faxed endless fliers to endless vet's offices. No one has seen Cera. And they would remember Cera. There aren't many all black German Shepherds with purple splotched Chow tongues who are missing their right front leg. She would have been recognizable. I still troll the shelter websites, calling on any black German Shepherd mixes listed, even when I've seen the picture and know in my heart that it's not her. Even worse is when there is no picture, only a short description and I actually begin to hope, only to be told, yet again, that the dog in the shelter is not my dog.
I keep meaning to write a fitting memorial for my beautiful girl. But I can't bring myself to do it. To do so would be to admit that she truly is gone and is never coming home, and I am not ready to admit that. Better for the time being to hope that someone out there has her, that she's safe and sound tonight with a family that is looking for her rightful family and they're giving her love and keeping her belly full until the day that we can be reunited.
Sweet dreams, my Cera girl...until we meet again...
In the dream, I brought her home to my new place...And the whole ride home she stood in the back seat with her head on my shoulder while I was driving. Just the way she always had. When I woke up, I could still feel her fur in my fingers, and the weight of her leaning against me. And then, as I became more aware, there was the sick feeling in the hollow of my stomach. Cera is gone, and has been since March.
During the first dreadful chaos that followed the break up, my six year old German Shepherd/Chow mix that had been with us since she was only 9 weeks old, went missing. I lived in the middle of nowhere on a mountain. I was living in the small guest house on the same plot of land as my parent's house. We lived on over 90 acres of wilderness. Our neighbors, such as they were, lived up the same mile long dirt road we did. None of us have fences or anything like that, and our dogs have always had the run of the mountain. Cera loved it. She was always exploring, coming back to check in and then heading off again in search of adventure.
The first night Cera didn't come back at bedtime I was only a little worried, because while it was rare for her to not come back at bedtime, it wasn't unheard of. But when she still wasn't there when I came home from my daughter's softball game, I began to get very scared. I called the neighbors, asking if anyone had seen her...I called the shelter and the local vet offices. I was worried but sure she'd turn up soon. I made up fliers and my daughter and I drove all over our area putting them up and driving up and down the tiny dirt roads along the canyon. We knocked on doors and looked in ditches and called out to her over and over again.
There were a few calls in those first days. Vague sightings that could have been from before she went missing. Nothing concrete. I berated myself for putting off microchipping her, though truthfully, I don't think anyone found her and turned her in to a vet or shelter. I called all the shelters within a 150 mile radius, and faxed endless fliers to endless vet's offices. No one has seen Cera. And they would remember Cera. There aren't many all black German Shepherds with purple splotched Chow tongues who are missing their right front leg. She would have been recognizable. I still troll the shelter websites, calling on any black German Shepherd mixes listed, even when I've seen the picture and know in my heart that it's not her. Even worse is when there is no picture, only a short description and I actually begin to hope, only to be told, yet again, that the dog in the shelter is not my dog.
I keep meaning to write a fitting memorial for my beautiful girl. But I can't bring myself to do it. To do so would be to admit that she truly is gone and is never coming home, and I am not ready to admit that. Better for the time being to hope that someone out there has her, that she's safe and sound tonight with a family that is looking for her rightful family and they're giving her love and keeping her belly full until the day that we can be reunited.
Sweet dreams, my Cera girl...until we meet again...
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Selling Sex
I just finished watching the documentary 'Very Young Girls.' It's a documentary on prostitution, and the exploitation of young girls.
Now, I actually support the legalization of sex work. I think that if adult women make a choice to provide sexual services in exchange for money, that's their business and there is simply nothing wrong with it. Sex work in and of itself is not exploitative. If a woman chooses to be a sex work provider, chooses the days and times that she will work, which clients she will see, what sex acts she is willing to perform...that's not exploitation. It's freedom.
However, most women who have the power to make those kinds of decisions choose not to enter sex work because of the legal implications. Furthermore, criminalization of sex work makes it dangerous. Clients are aware that sex workers are outside the law and that status means they aren't as likely to call law enforcement for protection. And because all sex work is illegal, girls and women who are forced into sex work by predatory pimps, poverty or drug addiction have little recourse for reaching out to get help. Girls who are being held against their will by vicious pimps are arrested and prosecuted, not rescued and helped.
'Very Young Girls' provides insight into the nightmare that these children live daily. In this country, a 13 year old girl cannot legally consent to sex, but she can be prosecuted for receiving money for sex. It simply makes no sense. It's like saying you can rape a woman and then if you give her money, she is somehow not a victim. These girls are not choosing to have sex for money. They are being forced to have sex with men to make money for other men. And these pimps know their stuff. They know how to target girls from hellish homes, girls who are looking for someone to give them acceptance and love. And they know how to draw them in, make them feel loved for the first time in their lives, and then use the love girls are dying to give to them to turn them out on the streets. And rather than rescue these girls and help them, our laws put them in jail cells and then right back out onto the street into the clutches of their abusers.
The documentary delves into the work of GEMS (Girls Education and Mentoring Services), an organization run by a former victim of sexual exploitation. The organization works with the girls to attempt to rehabilitate them, get them off the streets, off the drugs and out of the hands of their pimps. They give girls the chance to get an education and a job and a life. The work that goes into helping these girls is mind boggling. And a lot of the girls go back to their pimps, because the pimps are masters of manipulation. It is the sort of organization that is actually doing the work that our elected officials are supposed to be doing, but aren't.
If you're looking for a cause to champion or have money that you can donate, or just want to learn about the amazing work these people are doing check out their website. You can find the documentary on Netflix, it's available for streaming online. I highly recommend it.
Now, I actually support the legalization of sex work. I think that if adult women make a choice to provide sexual services in exchange for money, that's their business and there is simply nothing wrong with it. Sex work in and of itself is not exploitative. If a woman chooses to be a sex work provider, chooses the days and times that she will work, which clients she will see, what sex acts she is willing to perform...that's not exploitation. It's freedom.
However, most women who have the power to make those kinds of decisions choose not to enter sex work because of the legal implications. Furthermore, criminalization of sex work makes it dangerous. Clients are aware that sex workers are outside the law and that status means they aren't as likely to call law enforcement for protection. And because all sex work is illegal, girls and women who are forced into sex work by predatory pimps, poverty or drug addiction have little recourse for reaching out to get help. Girls who are being held against their will by vicious pimps are arrested and prosecuted, not rescued and helped.
'Very Young Girls' provides insight into the nightmare that these children live daily. In this country, a 13 year old girl cannot legally consent to sex, but she can be prosecuted for receiving money for sex. It simply makes no sense. It's like saying you can rape a woman and then if you give her money, she is somehow not a victim. These girls are not choosing to have sex for money. They are being forced to have sex with men to make money for other men. And these pimps know their stuff. They know how to target girls from hellish homes, girls who are looking for someone to give them acceptance and love. And they know how to draw them in, make them feel loved for the first time in their lives, and then use the love girls are dying to give to them to turn them out on the streets. And rather than rescue these girls and help them, our laws put them in jail cells and then right back out onto the street into the clutches of their abusers.
The documentary delves into the work of GEMS (Girls Education and Mentoring Services), an organization run by a former victim of sexual exploitation. The organization works with the girls to attempt to rehabilitate them, get them off the streets, off the drugs and out of the hands of their pimps. They give girls the chance to get an education and a job and a life. The work that goes into helping these girls is mind boggling. And a lot of the girls go back to their pimps, because the pimps are masters of manipulation. It is the sort of organization that is actually doing the work that our elected officials are supposed to be doing, but aren't.
If you're looking for a cause to champion or have money that you can donate, or just want to learn about the amazing work these people are doing check out their website. You can find the documentary on Netflix, it's available for streaming online. I highly recommend it.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Feeling Icky
Well...we have moved. That is to say that most of our belongings are in our new home, and we are sleeping here, but there are boxes everywhere and stuff still at the other house. It was a long and often frustrating weekend. Moving is such a stressful experience when you are well and everything is organized.
But, I am neither of those things. I didn't get everything packed before moving day, not by a long shot. I had the muscly help for only one day, so getting furniture was the priority that day. Never mind that I had stuff piled on top of stuff and hadn't vacuumed in ages. Sigh. I long to have one of those immaculately clean houses that always feels relaxing, but I hate, hate, hate cleaning. I've never been all that fond of cleaning, but definitely being sick has exacerbated the issue. It's hard to want to use what little energy I do have to do something I find so completely distasteful, regardless of the necessity.
To make matters more difficult on myself, as I insist upon doing, I ran out of my thyroid meds and didn't call it in in time to have the doctor's office fax over the refill, so I wasn't able to pick it up until this afternoon. So, today marked the third day with no thyroid meds and as a result of that combined with the exhaustion caused by moving made for miserable day today. I was awoken by Charlie barking at the guys who came to trim trees and service the water purifier system. I knew within seconds of opening my eyes just how bad the day was going to be, and decided that I had no other choice but to use today to rest. I intended to spend the day on the couch, doing nothing. But, then Ellwood vomited on my bed, so that made sheet washing a necessity.
Then, I decided that since a full day of rest was apparently out of the question, I'd take the burden off my sister a bit by going and getting the salt pellets for the water softener. I loaded the dishwasher, puttered at a few other things, but every little thing I did wore me out and required rest.
There is still so much left to do; clean up at the old house, unpacking, figuring out where things go. I know tomorrow is going to suck, as well, and I've promised to make dinner for my moving help by way of thanks since money is out of the question, but with all that I need to do...like finish bringing over kitchen items so I can actually cook dinner, and putting away what I can so that I can start to settle in...I just don't think it's going to happen.
But, I am neither of those things. I didn't get everything packed before moving day, not by a long shot. I had the muscly help for only one day, so getting furniture was the priority that day. Never mind that I had stuff piled on top of stuff and hadn't vacuumed in ages. Sigh. I long to have one of those immaculately clean houses that always feels relaxing, but I hate, hate, hate cleaning. I've never been all that fond of cleaning, but definitely being sick has exacerbated the issue. It's hard to want to use what little energy I do have to do something I find so completely distasteful, regardless of the necessity.
To make matters more difficult on myself, as I insist upon doing, I ran out of my thyroid meds and didn't call it in in time to have the doctor's office fax over the refill, so I wasn't able to pick it up until this afternoon. So, today marked the third day with no thyroid meds and as a result of that combined with the exhaustion caused by moving made for miserable day today. I was awoken by Charlie barking at the guys who came to trim trees and service the water purifier system. I knew within seconds of opening my eyes just how bad the day was going to be, and decided that I had no other choice but to use today to rest. I intended to spend the day on the couch, doing nothing. But, then Ellwood vomited on my bed, so that made sheet washing a necessity.
Then, I decided that since a full day of rest was apparently out of the question, I'd take the burden off my sister a bit by going and getting the salt pellets for the water softener. I loaded the dishwasher, puttered at a few other things, but every little thing I did wore me out and required rest.
There is still so much left to do; clean up at the old house, unpacking, figuring out where things go. I know tomorrow is going to suck, as well, and I've promised to make dinner for my moving help by way of thanks since money is out of the question, but with all that I need to do...like finish bringing over kitchen items so I can actually cook dinner, and putting away what I can so that I can start to settle in...I just don't think it's going to happen.
Monday, August 03, 2009
On Anger
I despise being angry. I hate the way my stomach churns and my eyes prick with unshed tears. I hate the callous way my brain puts together deadly insults and hurls them without hesitation, without considering the consequences. I hate the screaming, the hasty decisions, the thirst for vengeance. I hate the way anger uses love as a weapon of blunt force, causing pain and destroying that love in the process.
I have for years swallowed my anger because I hated the person it made me. And yet, tonight, I find myself longing for the anger that has sustained me over the past months. Anger gives you strength and purpose. It doesn't hurt. At least, it doesn't have the same hollow knife's edge pain that accompanies the sorrow and grief that is all that is left of a love once vibrant and strong.
In my anger, the years that I've spent loving that lost heart that used to beat with mine seemed inconsequential. When anger was my companion, I didn't mourn all the soft, gray mornings I awoke to find my arms full of my lover and my brain full of the warm, sweet scent of the curve of her neck. My anger reminded me of all the tiny annoyances, all the larger slights, and ignored the beautiful, breathless moments that made up our life together.
Tonight, my heart is wrapped in silver grief. This grief is softer and deeper than my previous grief. This is the grief of acceptance. The grief that looks back at the past from an impassable distance. This is grief accompanied by gratitude for the moments that still burn so brightly in my mind. This is grief tempered by the knowledge that I am closer to the woman I want to be because I once loved and was loved so completely. This is grief wrapped in sorrow for the pain I have caused my once beloved, for the pain she has caused herself. This is grief wrapped in forgiveness for the pain she has caused me.
Life moves on, as it ever has.
I have for years swallowed my anger because I hated the person it made me. And yet, tonight, I find myself longing for the anger that has sustained me over the past months. Anger gives you strength and purpose. It doesn't hurt. At least, it doesn't have the same hollow knife's edge pain that accompanies the sorrow and grief that is all that is left of a love once vibrant and strong.
In my anger, the years that I've spent loving that lost heart that used to beat with mine seemed inconsequential. When anger was my companion, I didn't mourn all the soft, gray mornings I awoke to find my arms full of my lover and my brain full of the warm, sweet scent of the curve of her neck. My anger reminded me of all the tiny annoyances, all the larger slights, and ignored the beautiful, breathless moments that made up our life together.
Tonight, my heart is wrapped in silver grief. This grief is softer and deeper than my previous grief. This is the grief of acceptance. The grief that looks back at the past from an impassable distance. This is grief accompanied by gratitude for the moments that still burn so brightly in my mind. This is grief tempered by the knowledge that I am closer to the woman I want to be because I once loved and was loved so completely. This is grief wrapped in sorrow for the pain I have caused my once beloved, for the pain she has caused herself. This is grief wrapped in forgiveness for the pain she has caused me.
Life moves on, as it ever has.
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