...a little bit of this, and a little bit of that...
...a journey through my ups and downs...
Roy Orbison’s Mystery Girl, long shadow, walking. Lovely shape of arms and hands swaying, fifteen feet tall. Long and lovely.
~*~*~
Out for a walk in an effort towards fitness. Looking for ways to appreciate my physical self. I find the shadow lovely. It’s a start.
It’s easy to wax full of ambition and resolve when the sun is setting, the belly is content and the wine glass is nearly dry. In my imagination I run effortlessly, cool wind on my face, the strains of Chariots of Fire echoing in my mind. I run and run and run and run. I fancy myself like young Beethoven, in that fabulous scene from Immortal Beloved, where he runs and runs and runs, finding his bliss, and floats beneath a million stars with the Ode to Joy bursting from his heart.
Alas. The morning comes, and the light of day exposes the fantasy for what it is. This body, though sturdy and strong, is by no means nimble and spry. Binding the breastage in order to even attempt a run is no small feat that leaves me sweaty and practically winded before I’ve even put one foot to the floor. Once outside, it takes almost no time for the burning sensation to sear its path along the outside of my legs, from my ankles to my knees.
I huff and I puff, and quickly decide that walking suits me fine.
Even so, I allow the fantasy to live on in the far reaches of my mind.
I want to be fit. I do. I don’t want to wait for a near tragedy or a wake up call to rattle my brains into acknowledging that I should respect myself enough to honor my vessel in every way imaginable, at all times, without fail.
There are so many forms of so-called motivation that I simply do not respond to. In fact, they tend to have the opposite effect. I need to find that sweet spot in which I block out that which doesn’t serve me well, and hone in on that which does.
I’m a work in progress. I may be forty six, but it’s not too late. It’s never too late. Or, rather, it’s not too late until it’s too late. Right now, it’s not too late.
So here I go. Podrunner intervals for C25K locked and loaded. Push ups for Android, check. Water bottle, full.
a little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now
Look!
I survived! (Day 1, anyway.)
hope springs eternal
Spring is springing and I think I may be getting ahead of the seasonal blues, so I am hereby stopping the Wellbutrin XL therapy.
Today.
Now.
We shall see shortly whether or not this is (was) a good idea.
capturing a new year
I’ve noticed some of my blogging friends have chosen a theme word to help focus the year. Simplify. Breathe. Listen. Words like that. What word would best encapsulate my aspirations for 2011? I can think of many words that describe how I feel at this moment.
Drained. Deflated. Depleted.
Relieved. Relieved to have my boys home, asleep in their beds, and to have a little alone time to regroup, try to figure out where I am, how I am, and let tears stream down my face as I try to sort these things out.
I’ve had a week off from work, but it doesn’t seem as though I’ve had a vacation, even though I did get two full nights of sleep in during that week, and even though I had two fine grown-up days that bathed the senses with visual, aural, and gastronomic goodness.
Maybe this is the year to focus on loving myself the way I want to be loved, or treating myself the way I want to be treated. Or to put the golden rule into action and love others the way I want to be loved and treat others the way I want to be treated. In general, I think I do these things (for others). For me, I can give myself time. I can carve out more time with which to do things that edify me. That I can do. But what of intimacy? Why is it that I have such a deep and persistent ache for physical touch, for embracing, for intimacy? I don’t know how to assuage this ache alone, and I can’t make it an expectation for another. So I’m stuck, like a spoiled and whining child who wants something she can’t have. The difference being that that which I want to receive is also that which I want to give. That said, I like to think that I don’t come across as spoiled and whiny. I hope that I come across as loving, giving, and nurturing.
Stuck. Stuck is not the word that I want to use to define my year.
Maybe I will find a way to overcome the ache, and just live, just be.
Be. That can be my word.
Be.
a little bit of goth
trick or treat
not so comfortably numb
I woke up with a sore throat and a screaming headache, and did a sinus flush to try to clear out the gunkies. I was so distraught that this sore throat continues to make my life miserable, and spent some time re-assessing whether I should drag my sorry self back to the doctor, but the headache has improved a bit and I’m not hacking up as much or coughing as much, and the throat pain is at bay for now, so I think I’m starting to get better. My neck aches now, though.
Oxycodone makes me itch. It’s a seven year old prescription, so I’m surprised it does anything at all. One pill left.
So Gadget is out there, somewhere, saying I Do to a twenty seven year old today.
I remember the day I said I Do. I had a screaming migraine. I was 38 and three days past the most traumatic and horrific miscarriage of my life. And I was thinking “I do NOT” in my head the whole time. But I went ahead and said it anyway. Coward. So what was I thinking? That I don’t want to have bastard children. Social pressure. Imagined social pressure. And so it goes. I’ve paid the piper, again and again for that moment of cowardice.
But I have my boys! My world!
the bird
I’ve been sick all week. Trying hard not to let it take hold. I even took all of us to urgent care on Tuesday, to get checked out. We got the all clear, but got one prescription for LB for the pink eye that was making the rounds, just in case. So who gets pink eye? Me. Followed by BB. LB has a runny nose and a cough. BB is a bit stuffed up. And I’m a complete mess. I took a sick day on Friday, which is just as well because BB got kicked out of daycare the minute they noticed his rosy eyes. It’s funny how such a ruckus is made over pink eye. Whatever version we have doesn’t even hurt. It’s nothing compared with the sore throat that has persisted all week. I’ve been drinking lemony tea, gargling with cayenne pepper and vinegar, sucking on menthol throat drops, popping the ibuprofen like it’s going out of style, and even working my way through the remnants of my ancient prescription painkillers. Thank GOD the boys don’t have the sore throat. I wouldn’t know how to help them and it would break my heart to know they had to just suffer through it.
So this is the big wedding weekend for Gadget. His daughter and stepson are here from Kentucky, having arrived on Tuesday. His twin and significant other arrived yesterday from New York. I’m not sure who else is here, but rumor has it that it’s a big wedding, with 200-300 guests. Gadget mentioned something months ago about the boys having a role in the ceremony. I started trying to make some plans a few weeks ago, so that the kids could see that side of their family. It turned out that Friday was a no-school day, so I told Gadget that I could actually bring the kids over on Thursday after work. That way they could spend some time with their siblings. They’ve never even met LB. “We’ll see….” is what I got from Gadget. I tried to solidify plans as the week progressed. He finally said “No, don’t bring the kids over until around 4pm on Saturday.” Why not Thursday, I asked. Gadget said he wouldn’t even be home until 9:30pm Thursday, and his kids wouldn’t babysit. WTH. I wasn’t asking them to BABYSIT. And at 16 and 21, are they not responsible enough to spend a few hours with my boys, their BROTHERS, unaccompanied? WTH? So it comes out that there is some function on Saturday for the over 12 crowd and there is nobody to watch the little kids. He pretty much declares that I should bring them over at 4 on Saturday and pick them up Sunday. I told him I’m not a taxi service. My window of helpfulness was Thursday evening. If he couldn’t work with that, then figure it out his own. I thought I was very clear.
Fast forward to today. Saturday. 3:54pm. He texts me.
Him: Are you bringing the kids?
Me: I’m sick.
Him: That’s ok two can play your silly game. I knew you would pull some crap like this, but whatever.
Me: What game. I’m sick. U can come get them if you want.
Him: Whatever
Me: I’ve been waiting for you to communicate about how u want to handle the boys and haven’t heard a word. What do u expect?
Him: At least I didn’t make up something. To be at least civil and not make up a lie not to do something. I wanted to bring the kids here to spend time but everything didn’t work out that way but I have talked to you and you wanted nothing to do with anything so there you go. You got all mad. You’re just pissed.
Me: U told me when u wanted them here. I told u what worked for me-Thurs. I told u to figure out a plan. Did u? And I DON’T LIE.
Him: If I have to pick them up then they won’t be back until u pick them up on Wed. When I say I don’t have fuel I’m not making it up.
WTH. He didn’t even TRY to figure out an alternate plan. He thinks it’s appropriate that I drop everything, drive an hour each way, and drop the boys off at the time he edicted. His family members live North of me. He lives South of me. He could coordinate with someone to pick up the boys on their way. He’s asked my dear friend’s husband to photograph the wedding. He could ask them to bring the boys. He had several options he could have explored, yet he did nothing.
So, here I am, sicker than hell, can barely swallow or breathe, and I just break into sobs. Right in front of BB. So then I have to tell BB that I’m crying because his dad thinks I’m lying about being sick. Not to mention, my beautiful angel of a boy has been excited and looking forward to seeing his relatives. And I had to tell him, no, you can’t go see them Thursday. Or Friday. And it doesn’t look like he’s coming to get you now.
Still sobbing, I check the clock and call my friend. Luckily, they’ve not left yet, so they come over and get the boys. Solution.
The man is incompetent. And an ass. Check out the reflection. It’s ludicrous that I would make up a story and lie. That he could even conceive such a notion speaks volumes as to how deeply he knows the essence of ME.
Un-flipping-believable. I am *this* close to incorporating the f-bomb into my vocabulary. I was recently able to produce the gesture depicted above, albeit still with a smile, and not directed at the ex. That one was directed at my geeky friend, who I shall call Sailor. I think he’s trying to toughen me up. He shares his drama and I attempt to give him a rational female perspective. I share my drama, and he offers his crude male perspective. Basically, he says I should stand up for myself and take Gadget to the cleaners by going after max child support and daycare contributions.
Thus far, no man I encounter seems to understand my idea of the high road. I don’t get it. They almost unanimously share tales of child support woes. Maybe it just kills them to see that they, being the nice guys they are, get shafted, yet Gadget, being the apparent ass that he is, gets to skate. Gadget, as we all know, thinks he is being shafted.
I’m tired of trying to explain it to anybody. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to make his life miserable. I’m not vindictive. I just want him to step up and be a man. Good Lord. Just. Be. A. Man.
And I hope and pray with all the hope and earnestness that I have in my heart that I can live long enough to raise my children, because if they had to be raised by him, they would have a tough road, without good and honorable examples and guidance. I don’t want them to think it’s okay to lie. Or to be selfish. Or self-serving. Or materialistic. Or lazy.
So I guess I better step up my game, as far as taking better care of myself goes. I have young lives to help shape.
adorned
Today I honored myself.
I bought some pretty things to adorn myself. Pretty things to celebrate me. Pretty things to make me feel more pretty. This year I’ve lost 38 lbs, without dieting and without trying. I think the hot mama in me is re-emerging. She’s been buried for a very long time. She’s coming back, because I’m coming back. I’m finding myself again, rising from the rubble of the past fifteen or twenty years.
Today I had a migraine. Today I took vicodin. Today I had a massage. Today I shopped. Today I walked. Today I had ice cream. Today I walked through a mall with no anxiety. Today I had the worst Thai food ever. Today I told my kids I love them. Today I dreamed. Today I smiled. Today I laughed. Today blue eyes looked into brown eyes. Today I talked to people I love. Today I remembered people I lost. Today I shared precious memories. Today I learned new things. Today I embraced. Today I kissed. Today I listened. Today I talked. Today I heard music. Today I danced. Today I stretched. Today I did yoga. Today I sang my heart out. Today I cried my eyes out.
Today I realized that everything is going to be okay. Today I am ready to let go. Today I let go. Today I am at peace. Today I am ready to rest.
Today was a very good day.
I’ve recently finished up a round of medical appointments, having neglected these things since having LB. I think that I was mostly burned out on medical attention after he was born, having been through SO much testing and surveillance for so very long. But I finally decided I should follow through, and as well, there was the friendly STD allegation of recent history.
Mammogram. Check. Results? Normal. There’s nothing like embracing a cold mass of metal machinery and getting your boobs smashed between two even colder glass plates.
Diabetes status. Check. HbA1C results? 6.1. Diabetes risk cutoff? 6.0. So close. Bah. Now my doctor wants me to attend the diabetes information course at the hospital. Which is the same course I was mandated when I had gestational diabetes with LB. Which is the same course I was mandated when I had gestational diabetes with BB. I’m pretty sure there will be nothing new for me to learn. I’ll probably get a new glucometer out of it, though. Hopefully it will be the same model that insurance prefers, otherwise it will be a complete waste.
Ob/Gyn annual. Check. Results? Normal.
Supplemental STD panel, blood work, and cultures. Check. Results? Normal. Clean. As in, empty allegations. Which speaks volumes to the accuser. Psycho. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned… Even so, it’s good to know. Skills is clean. I’m clean. And as for Gadget –I have no idea at this point of his fidelity. He claims to have never cheated, but I’ve caught him in lies before, which pretty much negates any level of trust. But I’m clean. So that’s that. Good. To. Know.
Ob/Gyn IUD status. Check. Results? Normal. Okay, so I’m having some issues. Apparently it’s not uncommon to bleed, and bleed, and bleed, while the body is getting adjusted. Nice. It’s not bad, per se, but it’s getting old. And as for the IUD causing my recent emotional meltdowns, my doctor was very skeptical. He did, however, agree that it was most likely related to the increased ovarian function side effect of the metformin, which is taken for the diabetes. He also agreed that it would be a good idea to map moods and symptoms for the next three months and make an evaluation after that. So that’s that. I have a plan. And a fragile emotional state.
Speaking of clean slates. I’ve been feeling melancholy, looking about this place that I call home. I wish it were easy to just get a new place and walk away from this place. Gadget is dragging the removal of crap on and on and on. I don’t have a truck any more, so can’t really haul all his crap to the dump, and even if I could, it would mean that I’d have to deal with it, move it, lift it, sort it, and I just don’t want to even look at it, let alone touch it. So I let him take his sweet time. I’m on the verge of getting bitchy about it soon, though. And once all the traces are gone, what then? I think I will need to re-organize, redecorate, re-arrange, and maybe refurnish. Maybe all those things will help. It’s not very practical to move, after all.
And as for Gadget playing nice? Next weekend is supposed to be his weekend, but apparently he has plans, and he claims his plans are work-mandated, so he won’t be taking the kids. Next weekend is my 45th birthday, and whatever plans may have been brewing in my little sphere of love must now be adjusted. It’s hard not to think that he’s purposefully being difficult and uncooperative.
On a good note, this weekend is a fun family fest with my niece and nephew, my two boys, and Skills’ daughter, all here for a sleepover. We will have pizza tonight, a taco bar tomorrow, possibly a cookie baking session, some Wii or other game time, and hopefully some fun outdoor activities, if the weather is nice.
Gadget might show up to retrieve a check that arrived for him. Of course if there’s money involved, he makes himself available. Hopefully he’ll haul away some more crap. But he doesn’t get to take the kids –not when they’ve got their cousins and friends over. He referred to Skills as my ‘boy toy’. I wonder if he’ll even look him in the eye, if he shows up while Skills is here. I wonder if it will be hard for him to see. I wonder what assumptions he will make. True, Skills is oh so easy on the eyes, so of course the ‘boy toy’ reference is to be expected. Will there be comparisons? Where Gadget is a big, hulking, morose clod hopper, Skills is an agile, deft, good-natured, gregarious and quick-witted ray of light. Night and day. Gadget will most likely skulk about in the garage and not even emerge to show his face. Hopefully.
Thoughts whir about in my mind, spinning, spinning, spinning. Sometimes fragments get caught for a moment, and I can get a glimpse of what they might be. Mostly, they spin. I’ve been collecting these fragmented pieces, bit by bit, and generally find myself thinking two things.
One. He could have kept this boat afloat with only the tiniest of investments. I could have kept the life pattern we had on steady hold for quite some time. Years, or even decades. It wouldn’t have taken much, on his part.
Two. Why did he not love me?
Ultimately, I’m glad, even relieved, that he didn’t try to invest that tiny bit of himself in us, because the outcome would have been only a half-lived life. I don’t want a half-lived life. I want to live fully. To joy, and rejoice. To howl with laughter so rich that it hurts. To love and be loved. So we’re all better off this way. Truly.
But I think that I am also angry. Angry that he didn’t love me. He was free enough with those words, but not the substance that supports them. Without that substance, how could those words carry any weight? So yes, I’m angry, because what’s not to love?
The pragmatic part of me reasons that people are people and we’re all unique. Different. Sometimes we don’t mix well. It’s just the way it is.
He’s angry too. He wants nothing to do with me. He’s angry that I rejected him, but he doesn’t seem to get that I (r)ejected him because he rejected me.
~*~*~*~
BB wanted to see him this weekend. He kept asking about his dad. We called and left messages. We thought he might perhaps come by, but he didn’t call and he didn’t come by. Sunday evening he did call, and BB was at the dining table playing with his Transformers. “I don’t want to talk to him,” he said, and kept concentrating on his Transformers.
My heart wrenched, tied up and twisted inside of me. It nearly took my breath away, and I tried not to let my expression change or show what I felt. It’s hard to describe the thoughts and concerns those seven words produced. I looked at my child, and wondered if he was just being five, or if there was a deeper hurt in there. And I’ve been watching him ever since. Gazing at him intently, but not so that he notices me. Watching the way he plays, the way he acts. He seems fine. And yet. Today when I picked him up from daycare, he looked melancholy and said he didn’t feel well. My aching heart. I was cheerful and teased him and he snapped out of it within minutes, but it’s all new, this forlorn look. Of course he knows to try to play me for whatever he can, be it getting out of picking up after himself, helping him finish his dinner, trying to stay up later or watch more TV. But this time it was different. Or else he’s learned a new trick.
I need to remain vigilant and be prepared to make countermeasures to any emotional distress he may be feeling. I want to chase those demons away. Be gone! Leave my boy alone!
~*~*~*~
Today I saw a counselor, for the first time in my life. Overall, I feel a bit frustrated by the experience. We talked about several things, but the suggestions she gave me were nothing new. More like strategies to address the symptoms, but nothing to seek to expose and address the root cause. I know exactly what sorts of things I should be doing to make myself feel better and more whole. Eat sensibly. Exercise regularly. Get enough sleep. And so on and so forth. I know these things. Doing, that is the problem. I want or need help bridging the chasm between knowing and doing. Sure, I could eat sensibly, as long as I felt like it and nothing came along to make me feel otherwise. Sure, I could exercise regularly, as long as I felt like it and nothing came along to make me feel otherwise. Yes, there’s a pattern. Sure, I could get more sleep, as long as I didn’t have a toddler who kicks his blankets off and gets cold and wakes up unhappy, with just enough consciousness to see me tucking him back in, after which he wails if I leave the room, so I’m left with the choice of letting him cry himself to sleep, holding him until he nods off again, or taking him to bed with me, and hoping he settles back to sleep. I’m too blessed exhausted to do anything but the latter. And how can I let him cry? What could he be thinking, other than that he wants his mama to snuggle him until he doesn’t feel alone anymore, and why is she walking away and leaving him all by himself? Some say they are just manipulating you, because they can get what they want when they cry, and to an extent I agree, but I can understand wanting someone to hold me until I don’t feel alone any more, so why is that not a valid interpretation of those tears he cries?
Tell me what you need so I can tell you what you need. This counseling relationship is off to a rocky start. Yes, I need to balance my life and take better care of myself. Yes, I even know how to do those things. But what I don’t know is why I don’t. Other than, because I don’t feel like it.
