Saturday, March 04, 2006

Good grief! Aren't I a whinny little bitch?

When did this happen?? HOW can I stop it?

I don't know.

I've had tons of advice, here in person, from well intentioned individuals. The most popular of sayings: Learn to accept the way things are; Grin and bare it; Wake up in the morning and "choose" to be happy; Go to the park everyday just to get away; and my favorite: Take up crafting.

Uh, yeah, crafting. As for the park, actually, it's a great idea, but with the wind here, and my asthma/allergies, not conducive to communing with nature, ya know?

Learn to accept the way things are. Ok. Tell me why. Even I know the answer to it: because it would make life infinitely better, and help me to handle things in a more constructive way. Ok. Tell me how. Even I don't know the answer to that one!

Grin and bare it. What is there to grin about when wiping your dad's butt after he's moved his bowels? What is there to grin about when emptying his urinal for the 20th time of the day? What is there to grin about when trying to get him to do what his Doctor's have told him to do and he refuses to, because he seriously thinks he knows better?

Wake up in the morning and choose to be happy. Lordy, I've tried this one. I've tried waking up, and saying to myself "ok, girl, you're going to approach everything today with a smile on your lips and a song in your heart. You won't let your temper get out of control, and you'll try to be a little loving towards he that rules the roost". Then the song starts "Old man river, that old man river..." and you get the first of 50 "go to hell" looks after telling dad to stop crossing his legs and cutting off the little circulation he has left.

Now see? Whinny little bitch! Of course, I can adopt the attitude that (cue music): this is my diary, and I'll whine if I want to, whine if I want to, whine if I want to. Which, to some extent, I am doing. But hell, even I'm depressing myself more reading all this moaning I've been doing this past week.

I can say ENOUGH ALREADY! And vow to not moan and groan about it again, but all it will take is one thing to set it off again. The only time I'm not like this is when I'm at the gym working out. Man, would I love to live there! But, I can't. So, I need to find some way of getting out of this damn funk I'm in, and move past it.

I know I'm lucky, when it comes down to it. I don't have to work to support us. If I did, well, then I wouldn't be in this situation, as he'd be in a 24hr care facility. But we don't have the money for it. We have just enough each month, to pay all the bills, and afford my gym membership and groceries, with not very much left over when it's done, and not enough for me to afford MY doctor's visits, getting my eyes checked (which hasn't been done for 10 years) or dentist visits,which is why I now have a complete upper denture.

But still, I know I have it better than a lot of people. I keep reminding myself about all the victims of Katrina, in the Gulf Area, and how they'd be happy as clams to have what I have. Then I think, yeah, for about a month. Then they'd be right where I am. You can only go without human contact for so long before it starts to affect you deeply. I can go weeks without having a conversation with someone. Seriously. Weeks. That's not healthy!

So, I post to my blog, bitch, moan and groan, hoping that something will pop out at me, some solution, to help me feel better. To be happy. To not feel so damn depressed.

Visions of *jacuzzi bubbles dancing in my head. Yea......that's the ticket! :)

*you know, it's funny: whenever I do spell check on a post that has the word jacuzzi in it, spellcheck brings up the alternative of "jackass". I think that's pretty damn appropriate! ;)*
Ok. So you're scared. You have no fun. You're bored.

That TV-Head-Shrinker says it's because you're a boring person. That there's no such thing as a boring situation. That it's up to us to make a boring situation, well, un-boring.

My ass. I'd love to put the THS in my situation, and see how un-boring he can make it. He wouldn't be able to talk to him. HE CAN'T HEAR AND WON'T EVEN TRY TO GET INTO THE CAR TO ALLEVIATE THE SITUATION!

THS wouldn't be able to go anywhere for more than 2 hours at a time. Just long enough to go and work off the stress at the gym. Certainly not long enough for a movie. You have to add the amount of time it takes to drive to where-ever you're going, and most movies these days are just about 2 hours long. Trust me, anything over that 2 hour mark, and you're facing the possibility of the urinal being full, along with his drinking glass, his pants, his chair, and the floor. There's also the bowel situation. It's always so much fun to come home and have to clean shit off the recliner, the floor, and his ass.

True, you could go to dinner. But considering the above situations that you face, every single time you leave the house, a nice relaxing dinner isn't even in the realm of possibilities. I, for one, am not going to spend $50 on a good dinner, only to throw it up once I'm back home taking care of one of the above scenarios.

But, there IS the gym. Oh, thank TPTB for the gym. All those lovely weight machines that help you sweat, get your heart rate up, and all that wonderful anger that comes flowing lovingly out of your limbs, and into the equipment, where it stays, ready to attach itself to the next person in line.

And the jacuzzi. To hell with your phobia about public tubs. Who cares if someone pee's in it. You shower at the end of your date anyway. All that lovely, hot, bubbly liquid elixir, swirling around you, telling you to just soak. Lean back. Close your eyes. Screw everything else in your world, this is YOUR time.

Then the sauna. Dry heat of course. Laying back on the bench, with the towel rolled up for your pillow. Just breathing. Deeply. Concentrating on the breaths coming in and out of your nose. Just melting into the wooded slats supporting your tired, achey, overweight body. Bliss. This is what you perceive as heaven. No one yelling for you. No one wanting something from you. No one interrupting the task you are trying to complete. Silence. Blessed silence. And then the dream you have of traveling the States kicks in.

Just you, the road, and probably a dog. Boxer? Lab? Sheppard? Who cares. It's the freedom to go where ever you want, for how ever long it takes to get there. Not having to worry about anything other than the driving conditions and weather. Hotels. Bless-ed Hotels. With their maid service, room service. Not having to wash a damn thing other than yourself and your clothes. No beds to make, laundry to do, cooking and dishes. Just you and the dog. With YOU being first at all times.

Yes, the dream. That's the only thing getting you through this. Knowing that when the time comes, you can sell everything, split the money with the sibling, and just hit the road for adventure. Meeting different types of people. Seeing places that you aren't even aware of. Open road, green hills and blue sky. And Vermont in the fall.
When is enough, enough?

When you give everything you've got to give, do as much as humanly possible to help, go beyond the "call of duty", why is it, we're expected to give more?

How many times do you have to reach down into the pit of your stomach, and give more than you did the day before? Is it any wonder you explode out of frustration? Is it any wonder you find any excuse to escape the surroundings? To just get away for a couple of hours each day?

It's very frustrating, isn't it. And there's never any "off" button. It's always "on".

But you can't walk away. If you did, there'd be no one to truly care what happens. And the guilt. Oh the guilt would haunt you for the rest of your life, more than likely ending your life before it should be ended.

But what kind of life do you have now? I mean really. What do you have?

Yes, you have a roof over your head, a warm bed to pass out in each night, when you can actually do it. Food, clothes, computer, car, gym membership. But what about fun?

What fun do you have? Who do you go out with? What's the last movie you saw? When was the last time you went out to dinner, or to a party, or to a club? Hell, when was the last time you just got in the car and drove up to the Lodge? To the Galleria?

When was the last time you had a good laugh? Heard a really good dirty joke? When was the last time you had a pleasant conversation, in a normal voice, without having to yell every syllable s l o w l y, so that you could be some what heard?

And what about your fears? The ones you never voice. The ones you kick out of your brain so they don't overwhelm you in sadness? What about them? You can't ignore them indefinitely. Eventually, they'll break down the door and rob you completely of your sanity, if you don't acknowledge them.

But you can't. It's too much. You'd drown in them, obsess over them, pick at them until they're a festering mass of hurt and pain that nothing can extinguish.

But they're there. You've pushed them just beyond your realm of vision. You can just see them. They're like a tiny little spec, off in the distance. And you know they'll get bigger as you draw closer to them. Big enough to completely wipe you off the face of the earth.

Which one scares you the most? The one where you'll not know what to do when this is all over? The one where you're running towards the goal, but your feet are in cement blocks?

Or is it the one where there's no one? Yes, that's the one isn't it. Because there's no one now, and there hasn't been for a long, long time. And don't you get tired of people telling you that God should be enough? Don't you just want to slap them, and point out how easy it is for THEM to say that, since they have what you don't have?

God can't put a protective arm around you when you feel yourself slipping into that darkness. God can't go for a walk, holding your hand. God can't sit next to you in the movie house, snickering with you at how absurd the plot is, or who has had plastic surgery. God can't tell you there's too much garlic in the sauce.

And God can't hold you at night, when everything closes in, and it overwhelms you, and you break down.

When is enough, enough?

Friday, March 03, 2006

A good friend of mine (Hi sweety!) asked me to tell her about faith last night. After thinking about it for a couple of minutes, this is what I came up with:

Faith is knowing that in the end, everything will be ok. It's knowing that as long as we give it our best shot, that we'll come out of it stronger, calmer, and knowing a little bit more about ourselves. It's believing that God doesn't give us anything that He thinks we can't handle. It's knowing that if God brings us to it, He'll bring us through it. Faith is believing that every person that is in our lives, God has put there for a reason. That's what I believe faith is.

But thinking about this longer, I think faith is deeper than that, and individualized. My faith is not your faith, and yours is not mine. I think, that at the core of our being, whether or not you believe in God, we all have a hope that we'll be ok. And we put faith into it, because we want to believe in that hope no matter what. Some might call their faith, dreams. Or plans. Or desires. But, I think, in the end, it all comes down to one thing: believing that we'll be happy, and content, in our lives, so long as we work hard at it, and strive to be a good human being. We have faith that if we put enough good energy out into the world, that we'll eventually get positive energy back. It's that Karma equation: what goes around, comes around, and I fully believe that is true.

A good example of Karma biting someone in the ass, is the US Olympic Skier, Bode Miller. For a couple of weeks before the Olympics began, he started bad mouthing team mates, other athletes (Lance Armstrong and Barry Bonds to name a few), and talking about how he's not there for the team, he's there for himself, and something about skiing hung over or loaded. I remember saying to dad that he'd better be careful, because his Karma was going to come back and bite him in the ass and he won't win a single medal. Well.......he didn't. He skied like shit. Running off the course, straddling gates. Overall, a very embarrassing showing for the young man with a big mouth. He put out all that negative energy before the Olympics started, and it found him on that mountain top in Italy, and bit him in the ass. And I laughed every time he screwed up. Twisted of me, I know!

I'm interested in knowing what you think faith is. Whether or not you believe in God, I'd like to know. Please leave your comment for me, and the rest of the internet world to see. Anonymous comments welcome this time.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

I was asked the other day if I thought I'd ever get married again. Since the person doing the asking doesn't know me, I delighted them with the answer.

No.

What?!? They asked flabbergastedly.

No.

(blink blink)

But, but, why? They sputtered spittingly.

After I dried myself off, I answered them as honestly as I could.

Been there, done that, divorced it, chopped it up, froze it and fed it to my dogs, 3 times.

They didn't get the humor in the above statement. All I got, again, was

(blink, blink)

But, they asked innocently, aren't you afraid of being alone?

Now it was my turn

(blink, blink)

And in turn, they

(blink, sniff, blink)

*sigh* No, I'm not afraid of being alone. I do better alone, than with someone.

But, how could you do better alone?

Again, me

(blink, blink)

Now, at this point, I'm starting to feel like this is an invasion of my privacy. I'm a very private person. V E R Y. You think not? Who among you knows my full name, address and bra size? That's what I thought.

And because they thought I hadn't heard the question the first time, they repeated it.

*heavy sigh this time* I don't play nicely with others. I don't share well. I don't ask permission. I'm selfish. I'm stubborn. I have a very bad Irish Temper. I tend to blaspheme. At this point, I stopped, looked at them, and asked if that was enough of an answer.

Those aren't reasons to not spend your life with someone!

(blink, blink) OH! Well that's different! You asked me if I was ever going to get married again!
If I meet the right person, whom I think I can get along with and they won't bug me too much about cleaning the bathroom all the time, sure! I'll spend some time with someone!

Needless to say, that wasn't the exact answer they were looking for, and they sashayed away, allowing me to continue with my workout. This entire encounter had me seriously thinking about switching to another gym. The people at this one are far too friendly and talkative. My sweating keeps getting interrupted, and I despise that. I get myself too the gym by berating myself to go, and once I'm there and in my groove, just leave me the fuck alone so I can do my workout and not screw up my rep counts, dammit.

Now, had they asked me if I was afraid of being lonely....well, that would have been an entirely different conversation, one that would have left me a bawling, fetal position, wet, soppy mass on the floor.

But they didn't.

And I'm glad.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Here it is, 1:41am, and I'm wide awake. This is getting so darn frustrating! And the more frustrated I get, the harder it is to fall asleep, and it's just a vicious little circle that my brain keeps playing with me.

Now last night, I was in bed before 10pm, and slept until my alarm went off at 6am. What was the difference between yesterday and today? Yesterday was my workout day. I was at the gym by 7:15am Monday morning, and wasn't back home until 10:30am. Nice long workout, jacuzzi for 10 minutes, then a nice hot shower. And it was HARD not taking a nap Monday, but I didn't, which is why I was in bed before 10 and sooooooouuuuund asleep......all night. I woke up this morning, or Tuesday morning, feeling as if I had slept! That was the first time this year I have felt that way.

So, why don't I work out every day? Because my Doctor has advised me not to. He said that my body needs 24 hours to rest after it's been exercised for more than an hour, and my workout is an hour and a half. So, after I get home from the gym, later in the morning, I'm going to put a call into him, and see if it would be ok if I did water aerobics inbetween the days I do my regular workout. If not, well, I know me, and I'll do what I want to do and what appears to work for me.

I have to say, that so far, the days after my workout, my muscles aren't aching like they did before. Why is that, you may ask? Because I'm forcing myself to get into the jacuzzi after I work out. Why forcing myself? Because I have this phobia about getting into public jacuzzi's where people can pee in the water! LOL Yeah, I know, gross, but that's what people do! I remember, when I was 16, and my dad bought us all memberships to George Eifferman's Gym in Vista, California. My sister and I used to get into the jacuzzi after our workout, until one day, when we were getting ready to get in, and there was, ahem, human feces at the bottom! Can we say EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWW?

Since then, I haven't been able to get into a public jacuzzi. Which is why the last time I had a gym membership, which was a little over 10 years ago, I never got into the jacuzzi, and my muscles hurt like crazy the next day. So, I'm not even thinking about it when I get into that hot bubbly water now. I just get in, sit back, close my eyes, and concentrate on breathing in and out through my nose. Which is how I start my meditations......which used to work to help me go to sleep, but it doesn't now, because my brain won't stop shooting all these idiotic messages to me.

Like I said......vicious circle. And it's now 1:55am. Time to play Bejeweled2.

*sigh*

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Thinking out loud

I've started blogs, over the years, with the intention of using them as an outlet for my stress. An online journal. An open diary. With comments enabled on all of them. Which begs the question:

If this were a true outlet for stress, a true journal, why have comments enabled?

The chances of getting derogatory and nasty comments are great, which is why I've moved my blog so much over the years, and also why that little blurb in the About Me section is there. Luckily, with this one, I've not. I've only gotten thought provoking, or quasi-sarcastic comments. Nothing nasty, and I'm very grateful for that and thank the few commenters I've had (armaedes, princess ladybug, valerene) for being respectful and kind.

But I still ask myself: am I really accomplishing what I want with this blog, by allowing comments? Or is the fear of appearing to be a "pussy" by turning off comments, overriding my need for carthasis?

Though this blog is only a few days old, my blogging experience is not. And I have found myself worried more with who's commenting, are there any comments, or what are people saying, than whether or not I'm reaching my goal. Doesn't that defeat the purpose?

Private journaling is just that: private. Generally hand written, in a book of paper. The only person that sees it or reads it is the author. The thoughts expressed are done so in a non-censored way, with no regards to spelling, political correctness or caring what someone else may or may not think. It's a completely honest journal, with the end result being catharsis.

Online journaling is public. Anyone with access to the internet can search blogs and read what someone else is thinking or feeling, and if comments are enabled, comment. Some use the comments section to belittle and judge. Others honestly comment and offer their perspective, which can be enlightening, funny, and a form of validation.

In this age of technology, where everything that a person thinks or feels can be transmitted within seconds (depending on your internet connection) and commented on just as quickly, are we bypassing that old custom of writing just to get the thoughts and feelings out, and becoming more concerned with how others see us? Or is it that we've always been concerned with how others see us, and with this technology we can get instant gratification and/or validation?

I personally prefer online journaling. It's easier than trying to find a pen that writes, or having to look up the spelling of a particular word, when I can just sit here at my desk, let my fingers pound the keys, hit backspace when I screw up, then click on spellcheck when I'm done. Never mind trying to find a journal that is large enough for me to write in, and spending the money it would cost for it. I'm already paying for this internet connection, and this blog is free. But I'm still concerned with what comments are being left, and find myself checking that first thing in the morning after my computer is booted up. Right after checking email.

So, is the need for validation greater than the need for self-expression? Am I going to censure myself, knowing that the world can read what I'm typing here, so as not to offend their delicate systems? Will I be more concerned about offending people I don't know and will more than likely never meet, than with my own well being?

At this moment, I have no idea. It's something I'm thinking about, but have no idea what the outcome will be.

Sunday, February 26, 2006

The more things stay the same.....

Vernon Baker is a hero. He is one of many black service men that fought for our country, and a country(Italy, near Torino) being invaded by Nazi Germany in WWII. Mr. Baker, and his comrades, were treated as less than human, they were segregated, and sent on suicide missions, because of the color of their skin.

I hear so often, how great this country is. How much freedom we have. But have you ever noticed, most of the people saying these things are white Americans? I have. As long as their is still violence against people because of the color of their skin, the type of religion they practice, their gender and their sexual orientation, we are still that country that sent men on suicide missions because they were black. We are still that country that made black people sit at the back of the bus, wouldn't allow black service men into the PX or the military bars, but would allow German prisoners, because they were white. We are still that country that thinks women are supposed to be barefoot and pregnant, with a frying pan in one hand, and a diaper in the other, while still being "beautiful" for her "man".

WWII ended a little over 60 years ago. We've not come that far. Read the newspaper. Look at all the black churches being sent afire in the south. Look at all the sexual discrimination against women in the work force, who still aren't earning the same amount of money, as a man, for the same job. Look at all the supposed "Christians" telling others that their religion is wrong and they will go to hell for it. Look at the crimes against the gay community. Look at the abuse some children go through at the hands of "adults". Look at the over-crowding of our prisons.

I'm not saying that all of the ills of our country are because of White America. Black, Hispanic, Jewish, Italian, and all other ethinicity's are just as bad. We have black against white, Christian against Jew, Republicans against Democrats, man against woman. How great would this country be, if we truly embraced our fellow American, lifted them up, celebrated them, and worked together to form a strong, united country? No one could touch us. No one could threaten us. No one could break us.

By the way, I'm a white female. Catholic. Independant. And I love my country. But oh, it could be so much more. So very much more.