Saturday, February 25, 2012

Mitt Romney, Obama and Cheesecake

None of those three things have anything to do with what I'm going to write about---well, except perhaps the cheesecake. Oh cheesecake. Why? Why do you have to be so yummy...so creamy...so guilt inducing.

I have enough guilt and heartache in my life. I look for the joy I'm supposed to have and it often eludes me. Mostly due to the fact that I am unable to detach my life from those lives that surround me and the choices they make. There is a crater in my chest at times. Literally. It feels like an enormous empty hole.

No, it's not empty. It's full of pain and sorrow. I never knew pain had a heft and a weight and could fill something that wasn't supposed to be filled by pain, but by joy. Eyes brim over with tears and then I do what I do best.

I hide.

See this? These guys were in a television show called Prison Break.



I never watched it while it was on tv. I had more pressing things to do, I'm sure. However, with the arrival of Netfix in our home, I have discovered that they made 80 episodes of this series. 80. EIGHT OH. Oh yes. And so what have I been doing lately?

I think you can guess. Yep, 35 down, 45 to go. Mindless and entertaining. Hiding has never been so fun. Since we've been off work for the week I've made a fairly impressive dent into the 80 episodes of Prison Break. OOOH, I also discovered Downton Abbey. LOVE LOVE LOVE that show. However, it only went up to the first season and so now I am bereft and drowning my sorrows in swarthy men of action who want to triumph over evil.

I too wish to triumph over evil. There's not 80 episodes for me though. Mine is a long running battle between good and evil and tho I know the men in the white hats will win in the end... Oh how the story line weaves in and out of good news and bad. Good will always win, light will always over come darkness and love conquers all.

Now if you'll excuse me, episode 36 is calling my name.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Not sure if anyone reads this any more....

But it's all good. It's mostly for me. I used it for years as a cheap form of therapy and it was a lovely release of pent up emotions during the time when I had all four children in the throes of puberty, mendacity, diaper-changery, tantrumy, bellicosity, crashing our vehiculary, and many other assorted 'ertys'.

Now that I'm older, though I often doubt the 'wiser' part has distilled upon my gray matter as promised, I find I often have horrid incidences from my past pop up in my mind as if to torture me anew. As if the first time my stupidity wasn't enough to force me sobbing into the fetal position-noooooooo. It comes back again and again and again. It's often said that we are our own harshest critics, and I believe this to be true. I'd never treat someone else the way I treat myself.

And isn't that awful?

Trust me, Simon Cowel has NOTHING on me.

Once upon a time while in college, a young man that I thought I fancied, invited me to come over to his apartment. We'd worked together for a long time and I did have quite the crush on him. When I arrived at his place, his roommates were all there and he asked me if I could help him craft a Valentine's card and invitation for him for a girl he wanted to ask out to a dance. He knew I was a calligrapher and so needed my help in making her something gorgeous. I did. I was quite proud that I was able to keep up witty banter during my artsy-craftsy-calligraphy time while there. When I left his apartment, I fell down the outside concrete stairs. Not only was my heart bleeding, but so too were my knees. I sat there sobbing and hurting and viewing myself as an incredible fool. Such. A. Fool.

I have many other stories like this----that, to my Simon Cowel mind, reduce me to what I believe I am worthy of; scorn, ridicule, disdain.

Then I have a younger daughter who, in her effort to comfort her sister as she feels unworthy and listens to the voices that tell her she is ugly and icky and all things undesirable, plays this song for her. Here are the lyrics.

I am His daughter

The photos in the magazines
Don't dictate who I'm supposed to be
The world can't recognize, all that I am inside
But I know in His eyes, I am a part of, the bigger picture,

There's so much more to me
He helps me see that I have so much to offer
I am His daughter
He loves me the way I am,
He's my strength when I stand
He is my King, and my Father,
I am His daughter.

The people on the TV screen,
The leaders, rulers, and queens
I watch them shape the world,
And though I'm just a girl, I still know for sure,
That I am a part of, the bigger picture

There's so much more to me
He helps me see that I have so much to offer
I am His daughter
He loves me the way I am,
He's my strength when I stand
He is my King, and my Father,
I am His daughter

It's true. I AM HIS DAUGHTER. And we've all played the fool sometimes. (Don't worry, I won't link to that particular song) But even more than playing the fool---we listen to the voices that tell us we are unworthy, that our mistakes make us unredeemable and unlovable. Nothing could be further from the truth. Hopefully we can change the inner conversations we have and by doing so, reverse the damage that harmful self talk does to us.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Blogging on Medication

It's late...and I'm on some meds that make me loopy and uber relaxed. So...what could wrong by combining that with some blogging? Suuuuure. Nothing, right?

Been a couple of weeks since I blogged. Mostly been collecting stress and super gluing it to my neck and head and shoulders and eyes. This is why today, when the doctor put her hands on my neck and shoulders, she took a quick breath and said, "Oh honey. You are a mess."

Why yes, yes I am. Thanks for noticing. I'm not going 'round the bed mentally or anything, although I think a mental vacation of a sorts might be just the thing. No, I've just accumulated so much tension in my life recently, that it's collected in my back, shoulders, neck and eyeballs.

Did I mention that most of the time my eyes feel as though they are sitting inside of a cannon, about to be shot into the air at high velocity. They hurt so badly. Thankfully I am the happy recipient of a plethora of medicinal pallatives and an appointment for physical therapy and massage.

oooooh, massage. I can hardly wait.

I would tell you of the stress that has been settling upon me as a heavy, scratchy wool blanket on a hot summer night. You know, when you really wouldn't WANT it on you, but I'd be discussing private matters and that would never do. It would, in fact, cause greater stress to settle down upon me.

So here I sit, relaxed enough that I'm 'bout to fall right off this chair. It's wonderful that I can think about the various situations going on and not have that tight, hot ball of dread roiling around in my chest making it difficult to catch my breath. I know the problems will still be there in the morning---but for now, just for a tiny bit of time---I'm going to take a break from them and just...breathe.

Breathing is highly under valued.

As I close out this spectacularly boring blog post, I wish to you leave you with this:
There are so many moments in my life that I am unable to recall. I don't remember the first time I rode a bike, or have any memory of having chicken pox. So, so many things that are not accessible in my memory...but this one thing I will never forget. The soft feel of Stephanie's cheek when I felt it for the first time. Her tiny little head, hardly any hair....holding her iddy biddy body in my arms and gently running my finger back and forth over the softest thing I'd ever experienced in life. I can literally still feel that. If I close my eyes, I can bring back the scent memory of her---and I am awash in tender memories.

Many things have changed since that day, 23 years ago. My total love and devotion to this soft-cheeked child has not. She'll never hold the memory of me lightly grazing her cheeks with my finger to feel that velvet, but I'll never forget it. Ever. It was at that moment that I knew I would protect her with my life---and I don't mean figuratively. I hope one day she will know this feeling...and then she will understand.