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...

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Exclusive - Bill Clinton Extended Interview Pt. 3
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Healthcare Protests

Oh, Bill...you know just how to sweet talk me...

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...

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...

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...

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.

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...

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.

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...

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...

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.

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.

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.

Single Is Working For Me

I've gotten a lot of advice since the break-up. Advice on how to move on, when to start dating, how to feel better...that sort of thing. And some of it has been useful. But most of it has been utter nonsense.

I've had people tell me that I should just face facts that because of my advanced age (32) and the fact that I have a kid, there's no way that anyone will ever want me. And you know...it's not my happily coupled friends who say these things. It's my single friends/relatives who say these things. And most of them are older than I am. I assume it's projection on their parts. And if it turns out to be true for me, then the fact that they are single will somehow have nothing to do with them, and everything to do with age and family status.

I've also had people tell me not to wait. To "get back on the horse" again. But, you know what? I am loving being single. I love it. I haven't been single as an adult. I was with my daughter's father on and off from the time I graduated high school until my daughter was a few weeks old and then I was with the girlfriend. So for the last 13 years I've been in a relationship with someone who shared none of my interests, whose interests I didn't share. I've spent 13 years apologizing for being intelligent, for loving to learn things about religion and politics and history and for sticking my nose into every book I find. I've been told that I'm condescending and patronizing when I tried to talk about what interested me.

I don't have to try and please someone anymore. I have issues with conflict. As brash and loud and opinionated as I am...when it comes to actual conflict with a partner, I twist myself into knots trying not to make them angry. Because in my warped mind, nothing is worse than having that person be angry at me. I know why I do it...I've had enough therapy that I get that, I just don't know how not to do it. And so, I'm not constantly worrying about that anymore. I'm making decisions, big and small, based on what I want and need and what's best for my mini me, rather than what is likely to piss someone else off the least.

And you know...I have friends. I have my family. I'm not in the least bit lonely. I'm laughing more..spending more time with people than I have in years. It's good. Really good. I'm not ready to bring someone new into my life. I want to really get to know me...I want to indulge my need for new and useless information. I want to focus on me and my kid and not deal with the guilt trip because I'm not worried about taking care of an adult.

I am not only not looking for a new relationship...I am actively resisting the idea. I am not ready. I know what I don't want, but I don't have the first idea of what I want. And until I'm sure I'm not going to end up in screwed up long term relationship volume three, I'm going to run as fast as I can from even the slightest hint of romantic entanglement.

It Isn't the Entree

So, I made the mistake of clicking on one of those "recommended" stories on Yahoo. I won't link to it, because it was lame and I don't like to share lameness. But, basically it was yet another story telling women just what is wrong with them that they are still single.

Seriously...do straight girls actually believe this shit? That the reason they don't have fulfilling marriages with 2.1 childrena and picket fences and all of that crap is because they ordered a salad on their first date? Or because they didn't order a salad on a first date?

I'm single, for the first time since the summer after I graduated high school. And I'm actually beginning to really enjoy it. And realize why it was so damn necessary, but that's a whole other post. Now, I have no intention of being single for the rest of my life but I'll be damned if I'm going to try any of these "tricks" to find myself a decent partner.

First of all...finding someone isn't really all that hard. I know happily partnered people with all sorts of really big character flaws that would send me screaming in the other direction and I'm by no means the pickiest girl on the planet. (Honest self-observation or subtle dig at my exes? You decide.) The question isn't so much about finding "someone" as it seems to be about finding The One. You know, the one person in all the world that was created just for you, who will make up for the prom date that stood you up and the lover who stole your entire dvd collection.

The only problem with that little scenario...It just isn't that easy. You aren't going to find that person until you really know you. Because, while the drummer who broods mysteriously in the corner while laughing at your attempts to seduce them is exciting...exciting doesn't help when you are working out the details of a life together. If you're an intellectual who would rather spend an evening reading the latest issue of your favorite scientific journal while your partner would rather be watching a marathon of The Real World...it's not going to work.

There just isn't any magic rule for being lucky when it comes to love. But, if you're reading books that tell you the reason you're alone has anything to do with your choice of entree on your first date, you're looking in the wrong direction.

Communal Living

Things are going quite well in this little corner of the universe. I've had a very fun week, thanks to the fact that two of my cousins are in town. One of them has moved here (woohoo!) and the other is on an extended visit. They both have children, so we've basically just been spending the day together. Today was the first day of swimming lessons for the brood. My mini me is taking a stroke refinement lesson and her younger cousins are either doing their "Mommy and Me" class or the "Intro to Swimming" class.

As we've coralled our children and helped each other with cooking and cleaning, I've been pondering the advantages of having "sisters" for lack of a better term. In our modern society, we're all really focused on "doing our own thing." Which has its advantages and drawbacks, but the biggest drawback is the loss of community. We're all very focused on our lives, our own children, our own needs. It used to be that neighbors, friends and families spent time with each other at home. It was nothing to pop next door for a cup of milk or to gossip about the neighbor on the other side.

And not that I'm looking to get married...but I understand some of the appeal of polygamy. Not the lock the women and children on the compound kind of polygamy, but polygamy as it is practiced in other cultures. Motherhood can be a lonely and frustrating time. Even if you don't work and can spend all your time parenting, you still feel like you don't have enough hands or patience. And having other women around who are also mothers, who love your children, who are willing to help care for them, there is something very comforting about that. There is always someone there to lend a helping hand, a comforting shoulder and a supportive ear. And it's just more fun.

To tell you the truth, I've lived in apartments where I didn't know the name of my next door neighbor, let alone any information juicy enough to use as gossip fodder. I love living this close to my family. I love that my cousins and I are so close and that our children are so close that we dump them all in the bathtub at the same time. I can't ever give my daughter siblings, but she has her cousins, and they are as close as siblings, with all the good and bad that comes with it. Yes, they squabble over who got more ice cream or whose sandwich is better, but they also cuddle together while my daughter reads them stories.

I love, too, that because of all this time we're spending together, my nieces and nephew (okay, well I suppose you could say cousins, but they call me "Auntie" and I call them my nieces and nephew) have become so comfortable that they will let me pick me them up the second I walk in the door, they give me hugs and kisses and don't seem to notice which one of us is bathing/feeding/changing them, and know that coming to any of us for help is an option.

My daughter and I are close, in part because I've not worked in a quite awhile due to my health so I've been able to be home with her. I'm glad we're as close as we are, but I've always wished that weren't so constantly alone. Because even before the breakup, my daughter and I spent most of our time alone together due to the exgirlfriend's work schedule. And, frankly, even though she was working, she hated us leaving on the weekends to go and spend time with family. I'm loving that I get to spend time with my cousins any time, that I don't have to worry about someone else's schedule.

My sister and I are putting in a rental application for a house that will give us all a bit more space and privacy. Which means that in just a few short weeks (hopefully) I won't be hearing her scream "Seriously?" every time someone else uses the bathroom. Because, you know, we should only use it when we are certain she isn't going to want it. What was that I was saying about sisters? Sigh...

I'm Rubber, You're Glue....

All my life I've listened to what others think of me. Not the others who love me and actually know me. Know what's in my heart and who and what I am...No, those loving, compassionate voices are a whisper beside the shrieks of the few people who dislike me.

Now, I'm not everyone's cup of tea. I get that. I'm not the nicest girl in the world and I'm flaky and more than a bit lazy. But, I'm not cruel, and hurting someone, regardless of what they've done to me, hurts me. I don't like it when I know I've let my brain get ahead of my heart. Because my brain is quick and clever and has a tendency to lash out before I can "filter" what's going on.

It's time for a change, though. I need to stop listening to the things that people who don't like me say simply to hurt me. Generally speaking, the feeling is quite mutual. It's rare for me to want to befriend someone who doesn't want to befriend me. So, why on earth do I ignore the words of the people I love most, the people I admire and respect?

...Because I Knew You'd Freak Out!!!

I have a reputation for being high strung. I'll be the first to admit that it's not an unearned reputation. I have said frequently that I wouldn't live with me, and I wouldn't...I'm opinionated and neurotic and melodramatic. Not a picnic by a longshot.

But some people would have you believe I'm a compassionless shrew who freaks out over the least little thing. Not true. If I'm stressed and tired, I might flip out over nothing. However, both of my exes love to excuse lying to me, or omitting the truth or waiting until the last minute to tell me something by saying they didn't tell me something because they knew it would upset me. And, yes, sometimes the truth that they omitted or, frankly, hid would cause me to freak out, but lying? That will always cause me to freak the fuck out.

Here's the thing...while I'm the first to admit that I'm highstrung and dramatic, I'm also fairly logical. I don't freak out over nothing at all. If you're sure that whatever it is is going to freak me out, then hiding it or postponing is hardly the best way to go about defusing an imminent breakdown. And these are people who have lived with me. Not casual acquaintances...they've heard my monologues about how much I hate lying, what a waste of time it is. Especially since it's really hard to keep the truth from coming out...what's that line about how two people can keep a secret as long as one of them is dead?

I often wonder how much my flying off the handle at them is self-fulfilling prophecy...that in attempting to keep something from happening they actually set into motion the events that cause me to lose my shit.

I Would Never Wish Bad Things...

I try really hard to "be the bigger person" and it takes something outrageously unacceptable for me to cut someone out of my life. I've forgiven things I thought I'd never forgive, and have learned that saying "never" to something is pretty much the quickest way to bring it about.

That being said...I'm extremely quick to anger. I have a short fuse and it doesn't take much to make me lose my shit and scream at someone. But that's usually where it ends. It's rare for me to hold a grudge. The only way I can even bring myself to do it is by ending contact with that person, and even that is not foolproof. I believe in second chances, I believe in letting people make amends, if they are so inclined. Life is so short and choosing hate over love, choosing hatred over forgiveness seems so wasteful. There is plenty of anger and hatred in this world, and far too little forgiveness and acceptance.

Of course, I'm human, and an extremely high-strung human at that. While my heart breaks over any tragedy that occurs to someone, I must admit I take a fiendish delight in the smaller mishaps that occur in someone's life when I am angry with them, or if I don't particularly care for them. Is it honorable? No, of course not, and regardless of how altruistic I want to be, when I'm hurting over something that someone has done to me or to someone I love, I want them to feel a bit of that. I want there to be some kind of punishment. I'm not saying I want bad things to happen, mind you...

A former friend of mine referred to this sort of thing as "tiny acts of terrorism." Of course, these were things she would do, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about things I can't control that makes the person in question a tiny bit unhappy. For instance, I'm watching the last season of The L Word right now, and one of my ex's favorite characters (Shane) has hooked up with her most hated character (Jenny). And I have to admit I thought about the reaction she'll have when she sees it (if she hasn't already) and I giggled...for about five minutes.

I don't want bad things to happen to her, or anyone else for that matter...but there is a tiny vindictive part of me that would love to exact revenge. Thankfully, the rest of me is a bit more mature and compassionate. So, while I genuinely hope that she finds the happiness that has eluded her, and that nothing catastrophic happens in her life, I refuse to feel guilty about my moment of vindictive glee. And I'm honest enough to admit where it comes from, and that it exists...can you really ask for more from me?

Things That Suck

Having only 8 episodes of Season 1 of True Blood until the weekend of June 28...I am so not good at waiting...

Late night panic attacks.

Having nothing new to read.

Empty promises.

....There Is a Season

There is a place here in my home town that has seen every season of my life. It's right down the road from me, it's known as "Lion's Park," but for the uninitiated, it's sort of a misleading name. It's not really a park in the traditional sense of the word. No long stretches of unnaturally green manicured lawn, no swings or sand boxes. It's got a few ramshackle picnic tables, a few ugly cement barbecues and the prerequisite "outhouse." It's also got a creek and beautiful native trees and grasses.

Here in my home town it's a common site for teenage assignations and anything else you don't want your parents to watch you do. Needless to say, I've spent a fair amount of time there and it holds a lifetime of memories, good and bad. I've fallen in love there, laughed there, cried and screamed there. It's seen my frantic first kisses and angry break up scenes. It's seen my daughter grow from a hairless baby in nothing but a diaper to a beautiful girl on the brink of adolescence. No other place in the world screams home to me the way it does.

Tonight, after spending the evening with my cousin, watching our daughters run around like maniacs, I drove my daughter to Lion's Park. We sat on the tailgate of my 4Runner, listened to music and stared at the stars. The feeling of history was so think you could touch it. It was one of those sweet moments you could almost feel hardening into a touchstone to bring out in later years and remind yourself of what used to be...