saying goodbye

I met a lovely lady a few years ago. She is the mother of my MIL. Her name is Idabelle and she is 92. We spent time together in Florida during Christmas time 4 years ago. We instantly connected. Years seemed to almost melt away. She is a great example that age is just a number. She smiles a lot. She enjoyed time with her friends. She is sharp and kind. And, we found out recently that she is dying of cancer. I went to say goodbye. She is good with God, so that was comforting to me. Seeing someone who knows that you are coming to say goodbye and you will no longer see one another again--I suppose I'm happy to say goodbye. Yet, it is heartbreaking as well. I held on to her hand and remembered the feel of my own grandma's. I told her many times how I loved her. I looked in her eyes and told her I would be thinking of her. She wants prayers of death. She is ready to go. She wanted to pray for me...I just told her that I needed the prayers all moms need. "Being a mom is hard." In more ways than one. And being a friend is hard. Being a human being is hard. Trying to be a good human being is even harder.

Her end of life circumstances are less than great. Her children are fighting around her...getting kicked out, yelling, being yelled at...feeling awful and she gets a front row seat. She is no saint, but I'd expect some to act better. I hope they will. I hope that this gets better. We all want to see our children getting along. And at the end of my life, I hope H and Z will be such wonderful friends.

Death brings out fear, I think. At least I am afraid of it. I gather Idabelle isn't because she is ready to see her heavenly father. She will also see her husband(s). (hope that doesn't get awkward.)

I've always had a strong feeling that I will see my loved ones again. But, I certainly want to stay here as long as possible in order to make sure the girls are going to be okay. That said, I have no faith in long life and am a mess in the passenger seat of the car. I fear accidents. I am a nervous wreck on long car trips. I don't want to be...but what are you going to do? Fear is fear. And I fear it.

Definition of crazy...

(...is doing the same things over and over again expecting a different response.)



So, the Aaron Sorkin Master Class is really good. In case you are thinking about it. I've learned so much.

Let the Seasonal Affective Disorder mania begin. Today I'm obsessing about how out of shape I am and practically got to self-loathing due to letting myself get this way. Let's see, just over a year ago I was in the best shape of my life. Then, boom...I plummeted. Awful. So, I am vowing to myself by May, I want to be in that shape again. Well, close to that shape.  Without a trainer, it will be extremely difficult for me to stay on task. I'm not a self-starter. I hate that about myself. I guess that is up to me to change and not accept about myself.

I've been listening to plays to "research" how plays sound. There is a rhythm about them. Just to focus on the dialogue and how it differs from the movies. Obviously, there is usually much less action. There are things that just don't work. Words that don't work. Starting sentences with certain words don't work. How to treat the audience. Making sure they can follow the action. A confused audience is not one that will appreciate anything.

Appreciating things...something I need to focus on right now. I am a broken record. At 42, I still struggle with many of the same things I did 15 years ago. I'm not doing something right here.

aaron sorkin and me

okay, i'm writing to write. and, obviously punctuation isn't important...just wanted to post something. decided to splurge and buy a master class--aaron sorkin. i'd been watching the west wing again in the evenings...and i see the ad for his class. i love his work. i love how he writes dialogue. i love dialogue...and that's why i always felt a play would work best for me. his class is really helpful...he is very human and he answers questions that i've had.  i keep trying to write this play that is the scary part of my life it seems. i shy away from it...i ignore it. i do anything but write it. i have to force myself...why? if writing is what i feel my gift is, i'm not sure why i don't do it more often. i am afraid of being bad. ha. how do you master the free throw? you shoot them over and over and over. i have to write every day.

but every writer knows that.

however...can I just say that this aaron sorkin master class is excellent??!! learning so much.

Fear is a BITCH

Z is 6 and seems to be struggling with anxiety. She has similar symptoms to me. She says her throat hurts and her chest hurts...and she's gone to the bathroom 3 times since we've been in Starbucks..20 mins. ??? Am I creating this in her? I'm not sure what is going on. I keep talking about when school starts. Maybe I'm freaking her out. She says she's worried about her reading...but she's doing great!! I feel awful for her.

I thought coming here and writing...getting her mind off of things, would be nice. Maybe I'll write questions in her new journal for her to answer. We'll see how it goes.

The pressure of grade school. I've probably added to it because of all she has to accomplish. I want to make sure she feels good about it...that she feels prepared. She so far ahead the curve, but she doesn't seem to believe me or care. She is such a perfectionist. Man, I'm not...not in that way. I can't start my damn play because I'm scared it will not come across as I want it to. And that I've waited too long. I know I have. It knocked, but I didn't answer. Fear sucks. Fear creates so much anxiety. It keeps us from doing things we know we can do. It makes us feel we are not prepared. Even if we are. I need to do what I always say I'm going to do. Be the change.

Love is love...

Hi old friend. I've sort of been avoiding you. Writing can tend to stir up things I want to stay away from. The summer was quick and hard. It started out with my 9th anniversary...June 4th. The same day, my aunt and uncle were killed in a car accident. 2 of their granddaughters (recently graduated from HS) were in the back seat...they've had a really tough go, but are recovering. One is still in a lot of therapy. I feel for them. Their grandparents were their favorite people. I can relate.

I drove to KS with the girls--my mom and sister rode with me from ROC to CHI to KC to SJ. We visited Dustin. The trip didn't go as I'd planned. I wanted there to be more laughter. My mom was just so nervous and seemingly irritated the entire time, I felt it took away from the fun my sister and I could have had. It is so hard to see your parents get older and you miss the easy fun you used to have. Things are harder to understand...and our lives are so different. I moved away...so I have to expect some of that. But I see them at 40...though I am 41 myself. I always feel 13.

I saw Paul McCartney last Wednesday. Talk about feeling 13...or 15, rather...I was a giddy school girl and my face glowed in a smile. I thought to myself that not many have seen my face like that. My eyes were bright...my face alive and my smile was just huge. My heart filled and I just sung along or just watched him. I love him. He is my childhood...the and the "boys" took care of me. They kept me company in my quiet house. They played on my vcr (in my room) and I would just sit and watch their movies and Macca's specials. You can get them all on youtube now. I love that.

You have to have something you love--something that brings you to life...or back to life...something that reminds you of yourself and no one else.

Z will start 1st grade in 9 days. My god. She is ready...so bright and eager to learn. She struggles socially and wanting to fit in so much that she loses herself into bad behavior--thinking it is funny and cool. I did that. Geesh, even in Jr. High...it sucks to feel you can't be yourself. When I met Kortney...I finally felt I could be the real me. She was weird in all the ways I was. She listened to the same music. She introduced me to music that helped shape me. I'm not sure I returned the favor there. MaybeI showed her some movies...but we were at ease and it was fun. She was definitely my first love...that insane connection that you have for the first time. Not all have it. You finally feel that you are not alone anymore...I still feel that way. She is far away but there is a string that connects us. It seems we can tug at it and the other one knows to try to connect. If the string goes limp....I know she's struggling...she goes radio silent. After almost 30 years of friendship...you know these things.

Hopefully, you have someone like that in your life. Doesn't matter the age or the sex...but feeling "seen" is so important.

The worst mom in the world

The world seems so much better than it actually is...right? I'm hoping other people feel as not together as I am. Are other children talking back to their parents? Do other parents hear the summer plans of other families and think "where in the hell are they getting the information for such awesome camps?"
I am constantly feeling less informed. I always feel that my struggles are mine alone. Which, I know is ridiculous. However, in the moments where my sweet-faced 6-year-old girl, Z, is screaming at me to "shut up" "I want you to move out" "JUST LEAVE!!!!" I feel rather alone. She kicks she screams, she punches...she cries. I try to look into her eyes so that she'll connect with me--but she is not there. Her eyes don't look like hers. She just loses it and inside I'm angry and horribly sad. Tears normally run down my cheeks...my thoughts always go to, "this is not what I thought my house would be like." I had a vision of happy children...if we were cool, they were cool. No. They are not programmed. They have their own emotions and I know that...now. I used to think...I made you, how are you malfunctioning so? Z is a deep thinker. She feels wronged a lot. She has interests that are way past her age. She listens to everything you say...even in a whisper. She notices your body language. She manipulates. "You are scary! You are scaring me!" "You are the worst!!" ugh...my therapist says that she's manipulating me with that...just move past it. I want to move past this entire "phase" that people seem to think it is. Well, if it's a phase fine, but when my little girl says, "I can't stop feeling these bad feelings. I feel like a bad person." I explain that we all get angry...over silly things and big things...but we have to learn how to manage it. I struggle with it, how can I expect her to be able to? Well, I'm not kicking anyone...yet.
Do other people have houses that are constantly messy? The laundry piles up and it makes me ill to know we have so much when some don't have any and then I'm thrown into an inventory and put aside for others. Donate or sell. Man, it would be nice to have the money back...but donate it...seems like the better thing to do. The people that REALLY need it aren't driving around looking for garage sales in Penfield, NY. When I was in SJ, it was different. My small town was walkable from one border to the other.
When I am doing the dishes and cleaning and catching up with my sister on the phone (who I can barely get on the phone)...I feel like I'm neglecting H. She is in watching Sophia the First...for hours. Yeah, I suck. I make the effort to stop and go in and play, or read or just sit with her. She likes to cuddle and likes to be touched...so laying her head on my shoulder and holding my hand is sufficient for her. She is a lover. She is happy. She is simple, for now. But she picks up on moods..."Mommy, smile!" reminding me that a smile on my face means that her world is ok. Ugh. I understand that.
I struggle with what I do with my "free time"--when both girls are at school...and I have uninterrupted time to...grocery shop, clean the house, fold the laundry--or write...or go to the gym. (All I want to do is write for the entire time...) Then I feel like I've been a bad mom. I am not organized--I was raised by two sides of the coin. My mom is a mess...clutter...just unorganized. My step-mom is organized to the hilt. She corrects the bank on her checking account. My god. Everything is labeled and put away. Everything is dusted...there are no dishes on the counter, never. It fucks with my head. I felt safe in the organization. I felt like things were under control. And I can't keep up with it. My house is too big. Nice, I'm complaining about this shit--yes, then I have a total freak out that I am worried about things that really DO NOT MATTER. People don't even have food to eat. They have nowhere to go. They don't know when they will get paid again. They are sick...or their child is sick...they are in waiting rooms praying...
I should just write, right? Do what I can...but I can't obsess.

Right.

Mother.

Mother's Day. Happy, I hope.

I know it is very hard for others.

People grieving their lost mothers

Grieving the fact that they did not have a relationship with their mother.

maybe they still don't...

maybe not the kind they wanted...

Women that want to be mothers...

Women who now act as one to their own mother...

Women who have lost a child.

Women who are constant warriors for their children...recognized or unrecognized.

Women who "mother" or teach or care or love...by any means they can.

And to all the mom's that might not hear a word today...a call, card or any type of appreciation...

And for all of us who never appreciated how hard it really was until we had to do it...

The entire human race was born from a woman...most before the age of modern medicine...

WOMEN ROCK.

I hope Mother Nature is being kind to you today. Celebrate Her, if anything.

Freak outs and Films

Today, I feel as if I SUCK at my job. I SUCK at being a mom. WTF. My sweet Kindergartner refused to go to school today. She is such a perfectionist that after her teacher made a comment about her "being off" and it sent her into another dimension. ugh. I took her to the school counselor finally. But this is after I went downstairs and the tears just flew down my face. I felt as if I'd failed her somehow. I'm always having that damn feeling. I'm responsible for everyone's self-worth.
And the other, my easy one, Harper, 3--refused to go into school with the shoes she was wearing. I'd had it by then so, yeah...I ran her over to Target and bought her $10 (on sale) golden high tops. She was happy...she went to school...I was free.

So, you know what, I also suck at sticking to a schedule. I set one up to follow and it's totally not working. Life doesn't work with a schedule...not if kids are involved.

Enough.
So, movies I've seen lately...

Regarding Henry--1991. Harrison Ford and Annette Benning.
I've seen this multiple times, but it was on Netflix, so I decided to be inspired once again. It's a perspective movie. What is important...and how life can change in an instant. Everyone watches movies with that message. We all know it...but how many really have it change their lives? Not many, but a great little movie.

Truth- Robert Redford and Cate Blachett
It's the fall of Dan Rather...because he reported on info that was fake, though he didn't know it was fake...and everyone is mislead. It's very slanted toward Dan, which is fine. It was just okay. eh. I even forgot I saw it, it didn't stick.

Elsa and Fred (2014) Shirley Maclain and Christopher Plummer.
Cute, whacky, the end is never the end, there is a place for "crazy" people and there is someone who will love them and whom they will bring back to life.
A nice way to spend an evening...I was glad there was a movie that gave them parts. I watched for the actors.

Match (2014) Patrick Stewart.
Okay, I actually watched this one months ago, but it STUCK with me. I loved it.
It's another "it's never too late" films, but it works. He was magnificent. Worth the watch. I might buy it. He is so captivating. wow.

The Staircase (a doc--2004) 8 episodes. Did he kill his wife or not?
I was for some reason, captivated...not sure he did it.

Another sign.

"Why does one write?"

I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live.

I had to create a world of my own, like climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and re-create myself when destroyed by living.

...We also write to heighten our own awareness of life, we write to lure and enchant and console others, we write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment, and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth, we write to expand our world, when we feel strangled, constricted, lonely. We write as the birds sing. As the primitive dance their rituals. If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write. Because our culture has no use for any of that. When I don't write, I feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in prison. I feel I lose my fire, my color. It should be a necessity as the sea needs to heave, I call it breathing. 

--Anais

This is perfection. I just read this. It spoke to me. I love it when I read something that I connect with so intensely. It makes me feel less alone. I am not surrounded by writers. It is hard for me to find time to sit down and do it. My fear is becoming old. I am getting angry about it all. I want to get it done. I want to create. I want to show my girls that I am more than just at home with them. That I have my own thoughts and feelings...and that they can create something. I cry a lot. I am an emotional person. I'd love to show Zoe that there is a reason why I am the way I am. I feel and it is so intense. I FEEL the world. I feel moments. May Sarton also writes about how coming into contact with another person can feel like a crash...just crashing into their words and their feelings...it isn't easy. 

If it isn't writing...it's something for you, right. Fuck Fear. Get angry at it. We could be gone tomorrow and it would be all for not. No, that can't happen.

Control is an illusion and that sucks.

The longer I live, the less control I have. Or, at least if feels that way. I had complete control over my life until I got married. Then, I had to check before I booked a flight. Then with the babies...I got a little control back...because they depended on me and couldn't make their own decisions. Now, I have a 6-year-old and a 3-year-old. I have no control. There is more love in my life. There is more beauty. There is more light. But there are also many times when I have absolutely no idea how to deal with the push back of the 6-year-old, Zoe. Wow. We are close. Closer than I ever was with my parents already. I understand her brain and her emotions because they are so similar to my own. Which will make her life hard, but she will feel so many great things...and then there are the really tough times. To see your child act out their inner demon is scary. At times, I feel an exorcism is in order. When she is laughing at me...screaming horrible things, telling me she hates me and she wants me to move out of the house. Her anger becomes hotter and hotter. She kicks and hits and screams and talks back with as much disrespect as she can muster. All of this is probably brought on by her feeling as if she has no control. She wants to control situations as well. She wants to be perfect. She wants to know everything now. She wants the moments to roll out the way they are in her head. I get that. If something doesn't feel right or if it isn't as BIG of a moment as she wanted it to be, she's done. Life is going to be tough. I felt most of these things in my 20s. At 6, her thoughts and emotions far surpass her little body. Her brain hasn't developed enough to equal her out. During those times, I want to rewind and start again. I must have done something wrong. I wasn't sweet enough. I showed too much emotion. 

I cry. I cry at happy moments, touching moments, sad memories...even when writing them down. I cry more at movies than I ever did. My life continues to stuff me full of feelings. I think and feel about things much more than the average person. I know this. It drives me crazy. I love large. I want to be there for everyone and sometimes it leaves me feeling as if I can't reach out to anyone. Who first? And why haven't they called me? Are they sick? Are they upset with me? Are they depressed and can't reach out? Are they fine with me not being a part of their life anymore? 

See. 

I love all the ups and downs for writing purposes. I tend to not write if things are going well. I tend not to write if my days are flat lined and I feel as if I'm in Groundhog's Day...each day is the same. Staying home can do that. Today, as I was vacuuming and wanting to get out of there to write...but I felt compelled to get the crumbs in the kitchen before I left. That is fucking annoying. Who have I become? I am getting somewhat better. I will step away from all the dishes (because they are always there) and cuddle on the couch. I will go and sit down next to Harper and she will turn to me and say, "Have you come to be with me? You are so cute! I love you so much." She will immediately hug me and start holding my hand. I adore this child. 

Those are the moments. Yes, they are going to have "Regan"* moments and I will have to endure the pea soup being spit into my face because I know it will pass. I never spit pea soup at my parents. It triggers me into thinking that she doesn't respect me and that I don't feel worthy. (These are feelings that are discovered in therapy...hour and hours of therapy.) I have to remember she is 6. She is only 6. This is only a short period of time. In an hour, she will be making you the sweetest card that contains observations of an adult--to show you how much she really loves you. She will thank you for helping her with her letters. She will clean her room and the house and say, "You shouldn't have to do it alone." She will write to you that she sees how hard you work and will acknowledge the effort. At 6. She'll also watch black and white movies and love them. She will show such kindness to her little sister that it blows you away. 

I never had control. Not over my life and how it unfolds. The anxiety I feel every day trying to control it needs to go away. 

When that will happen, I just don't know.

*Regan is Linda Blair's character in The Exorcist. 

athletic supporter

Therapy is a good thing. It seems to put my thoughts in order. Writing can get them flowing and then sometimes I'm lost  with what to do next.

I've been selfish. I've been insecure and let it rule my life. I haven't been supportive at ALL. It makes me sick really. I need to get on the ball here. He's been running for so long and developing relationships--that is a GOOD thing. I can't be defensive...I need to be welcoming. I need to change my entire attitude about it all. I need to open my heart up and see what happens. We've been together for 10 years...you'd think I'd trust him by now.

Push out the brainwashing. They don't always leave. They don't. Sometimes they stay...they leave when they feel unappreciated and unsupported...unloved. I've sucked at this wife things. I really have. He should feel like he is in my inner circle. I need to let him in!!!! I need to crawl out of my shell and see that the sun shines--I don't have to be in the dark and protected.

What kind of life is that?
Off to get supplies.

emotional vomit. Trust. Marriage. The struggle to be vulnerable.

I've started a couple of other blogs. This one is the mother ship, though. I'm at Starbucks trying to make some progress with my writing. I was with the girls all morning. I cleaned...then took them to lunch and the library. Zoe is eating up books and I love it. Jason ran a race this morning and is soaking his feet while watching Scooby Doo--a Dustin influence there. I'm so tired, but damn it, I have to keep it flowing. My class is over and so there is nothing pushing me out of the house. There are no more prompts. I sucked at them anyway. I felt as if I never had time, which is bullshit. I have the time, but don't feel inspired enough. I always feel that writing needs to be inspired.

I do have something to discuss however. I'll throw it out into the universe. So, I have a few close friends. Ones I have had for years and years and from the time I was 14 or so, I've told them everything. EVERYTHING. Well, I take that back. When I was going through my horrible times of depression, I didn't reach out. I didn't know who to call...and there are times when I am not sure what to say, so I don't. Otherwise, we talk about all aspects of our lives. This causes an issue for Jason who feels on the outside of things. He feels as if he's not in the inner circle. I can see what he is saying. The thing is, our relationship is a different one. It isn't exactly close. Close to me means, cuddling up at night and talking in dark. Our bodies touching, our minds unfolding...maybe I'm describing a teenage romance, but it's what I need. I need physical touch. I need to be held and whispered to and kissed and talked softly to. We raise our voices a lot. We are talking over kids a lot. We are tired and end up going separate ways many times in order to get things done. We are parents. We are roommates. We forget what got us here. Times where we laughed and laid in bed talking. We laughed a lot. I miss that. But I hold back my thoughts from him because he doesn't seem to really want to hear them. When we do talk, it's late and he gets tired and is sensitive to my feelings. He gets hurt. He doesn't want me to talk to my friends about everything. I do. I guess I understand where he is coming from, I guess. But, my comeback is that he has never had close friends like mine. He's never had such depth and history. So much has happened to connect me to these people...people that reached out to me in a time of need...or helped during an awful time in my life. The bonds are there. Jason and I didn't date very long before he proposed. It seemed like a lifetime, but it wasn't. I was so focused on the ring that I didn't let the relationship evolve. We needed more time and memories under out belt. We needed to bond more, trust each other more and feel comfortable sharing our feelings. I couldn't even share my feelings about the wedding. I say one thing and want another. I told him what I thought he wanted to hear. I just wanted him. I wanted it to work. I didn't want to screw it up. I guess I feel the same now. I don't feel safe letting him into all of my feelings and thoughts. I worry that he's not permanent. My mom made sure that was the feeling I would always have. They can always leave. You need to be guarded. Friends, well my friends, aren't going to leave me. If they haven't left me yet, they are in for life. I guess I'm not letting him in and that I do treat him differently than my friends. He wants to feel as if he's my main go to. He knows all. He wants to feel like we are a team...part of one another. I don't feel that way. A lot of loneliness occurs at night...going to bed alone...spending my evenings alone. I have developed a life that is just mine and is not shared. I don't want to share it. I want to keep it safe. But, I might just lose him if I don't let him in. Isn't that what marriage is?? He doesn't have to be everything, but he needs to be something. And it's true...right now he isn't in my inner circle. I see more walls than doors. He has his own friends. He has his running cult that I am not a part of. We have nothing together. Our life experiences are lacking. They are wrapped around the girls--but we don't have much on our own.

We're going to see To Kill A Mockingbird tonight at Geva. Maybe a play and discussion will be good for us. I'm not a runner...I'm a thinker, writer and movie watcher. I don't have anything in common with his friends...but J used to have all of those things in common with me.

hello pot.

I've been neglecting writing...any real writing...anything that I could produce into something. A play. A blog. I have a friend from HS who has a blog and I can't even look at it because it just reminds me of what a coward I am. But lately, there have been signs from the universe that are pushing me to just do it. I know that sounds goofy, but it is pretty weird. I keep receiving the same message over and over but from all different sources. I think I'll start with a film blog and see how that goes. The play will come in time. I'm afraid of it a bit...and am going to take a course first before I dive in. The film blog at least marries to of my loves.  I wrote one review over a year ago and stopped. ?? I just need to keep going, even if it sucks. I'm holding on the hope that I will ge t better over time. If I get get worse, I'll just keep it all to myself. But I'm just sitting around feeling awful about not starting...about what I could be doing and what I'd love to see happen--but if you don't start, that's sort of not possible. I want the girls to see you can do anything you want. And even if you are scared to the core, you just try and see how it goes. Why not? In this age of doing most anything without people knowing who you are...hell, it makes no sense. My life is very vanilla it seems. Although it is rich with sweetness and my girls are growing and learning and I know I have a great deal to do with that...I always feel a bit empty when they go to bed. That makes me feel guilty--you see where I'm going. It's a cycle of nonsense. I'm tired of being in awe of other people and wondering what my life could've been. I'm not talking about any type of fame. I'm just talking about living a creative life. CREATE-ive life. I am always so annoyed that my mom won't start writing. wth.

thoughts of the right now...

Overwhelmed. That was the feeling I had yesterday. Walking into my house that had a mess in almost every room. Messes made my the girls...Jason. Blankets all over the couch that they cuddled in. The dishes all over the kitchen that we all ate on and talked about our day. Clean clothes that I didn't get put away...how lucky they are to have so many. I thinned out the toys and the books. I need to thin out so much more. We have too much. It's embarrassing to me. At one time I could survive a week with 20 bucks. My car only needed 10 to get to my job and back and the rest went to bread and milk. I had pb and jelly at home. I dressed in the clothes that I had packed. I didn't buy new ones. I read the books I had. I wrote in whatever I had. Granted, it was a confusing time and I didn't have children...but it is horrible consumerism that took over my life. I sit here drinking Starbucks...the one I frequent to get out of my house and write. I enjoy the coffee and the people. I like that I know the baristas. Everyone one around me is either talking to someone very passionately...or two guys laid back and laughing. One man is like me...he is plugged into headphones and is banging away on his laptop with a very serious face. My face is more happy than anything. Curious. Wanting to take it all in. Life goes on no matter what you do at home. In the end, having everything just so doesn't matter.

I'm a writer because I write. I listened to a book about children yesterday--The Gift of Failure. Lisa recommeneded to me and it's blown my mind. But one point it made was if you over praise a child for a certain gift, say writing, the child will develope a fear or have anxiety about writing something that people will not like and that will make you average again. Once...you had a gift.  A gift that you need to just dive into and do-------------and I'm so afraid to fail.

This morning around 1, I was up because I went to bed around 9. Z was in my bed and I wanted to sleep next to her...plus I was exhausted--anyway, I found 2 playwriting seminar/ workshops that I was interested in.  If I complete something, I could get it to Geva and they could read it. I could have my work on stage. It is in me. I need to let it loose. I just need to know the basics. I think I'll dive in. At least I can say I tried...I will regret it if I don't.

Just me....writing in Starbucks...

So, it's just me now. No class prompt to help me write...just do it. If you are a writer, then you just do it. I'm a writer. A scared one. A hesitant one. An unpublished one. But a writer, indeed. It's because I have to write it all down...I can't wait to write down my thoughts. I see something happen and I think...damn, I need to write that down. Like the other day. Harper was at the table eating Pirate Booty as her snack. I was doing the dishes.
Hey Mom...
Yes?
Remember when I threw water at you...
Yes...but you said you were sorry.
It still wasn't nice...
It's okay.

I go back to the dishes.
Hey mom.
Yes Harper
You always make your daughters happy.

I melted a bit. I told her that that was a really nice thing to say and that I appreciate it. We have our moments when we aren't happy...when I get upset.

Yeah...but it's because we didn't listen.

I'm reading a book--The Gift of Failure. Listening to it rather....and it's great.
I'm doing so many things wrong...but I do a lot right according to the book.
Another parenting book.
I don't seem to feel my "gut"...I need to find it.

"She Thinks" is the prompt...Farewell Dillon's

10 minute writing prompt for class...we are not allowed to stop, correct or anything, just keep writing no matter where it takes. you.

"she thinks"

She thinks the world would be better without facebook...and twitter. I enjoy the internet, but no one really talks anymore. I'm a talker. More one on one, but if I'm comfortable,a group is fine. Letters are nice. I sent one last week. How many people still do that?  I want to get letters. I miss the paper in my hands and knowing their handwriting. I can still see the handwriting of my friends in my head. Does anyone take notice of it now? As a kid, I incorporated it with their personality somehow...it was a part of them...just as knowing what their voice sounded like. I miss phone calls. Texting is great at times, but a quick call...just to hear how the other person is...if I hear stress or if they sound down...you just can't tell in email. They may be struggling with so many things. With my old friends, I can tell by their voice when they are covering how they feel. But I have to hear it. I used to love to watch my dad and mom sign their names on checks. My dad was a judge for 30 years...I watched him sign a lot. I used to practice their signatures. I never thought of using it when I shouldn't, I just wanted to see if I could do it. I think it's great that we can all live where we want to live, but I do see how moving out of a community, especially in Kansas, can affect if the town will continue to thrive or not. My little town of St. John, Kansas, population 1100, just learned that their town grocery store, Dillon's, is closing within 2 weeks. There will no longer be a grocery store...I am so shocked and saddened by this, still. I have so many memories there. I used to sneak out of music class in 7th grade to buy cookie dough (you know, the ones in the tube) and go back so that my friend, Erica and I could eat it. The store clerks knew I shouldn't be there...but they never said a word. Everyone that worked there graduated from the same school. My mom taught there for 40 years. My friends parents were either teachers, farmers, lawyers (there were only 3 practices I think) or worked in the court house. Being the judges daughter had perks...I never got a speeding ticket. But I only got pulled over a couple of times...I didn't abuse it. I never used my parents' city stature to better my situation...I was just proud. They still live in St. John...not together, but still there. My older sister and her family are there. But a lot of my friends' parents moved to the area their children settled. There used to be more jobs...in the 50s and 60s, you stayed there after you graduated. You were part of the community. Only a couple of my classmates are there. I graduated with 23 others. And the town square, where all the businesses were...lining the streets with the town park in center...with a fountain...and enclosed by cement wall...a square. There was parking all along it...and at night we would cruise it...we would stop at Dillon's and get a pop and junk to eat. My dad went every day. He never over bought...he just got what they needed for a day or two. He and his wife are very concise. I would walk in with Dad and everyone would say, "Hi judge!" He didn't act like he was any better...he mostly liked to fish and talked about it with the people we ran into. My mom always sent me to the store with a check she'd signed. The store was a staple in my childhood. It's a staple for our community. The elderly will struggle to get groceries. The nearest grocery store is 25 miles in a much bigger town...with lined streets and stop lights. We don't have those things. It was great. But it seems this could cause it to be more like a ghost town. Slowly things are leaving. Most of the businesses are empty around the square. It's so depressing to go there. And now, to go home and not see Dillon's....my heart is broken.

I'm afraid

I'm taking a writing class and my prompt is:
 I'm afraid.

10 mins of writing...starting

I am afraid of being afraid of so many things. I have anxiety every single day. It used to be chest crushing, but it eased with medication. I've been a victim of my emotions for a long time. I hate the word victim, but I strive not to be that in almost every way. In order to not fall victim to my anger and irritability that seems to have made a permanent home inside...I take meds. I've been on some type of meds for 20 years. Even that makes me sound a little nutty...or that I'm seeking happiness through pills instead of doing the work myself. I've been in therapy for longer. Therapy helps. But it seems I come by it naturally--the anxiety, depression and the adult ADHD. STIGMA word!!! Yep...that's the one I normally don't come out with. It sounds made up. It sounds like I have a doc that just wants to sell me something. After being off all medication for 4 years to have my children...I thought I'd beaten it. I thought I had somehow been tricked the entire time and that nothing was really wrong with me. But even in the first year of my oldest, I felt the darkness slip in. Anger came with it at times...well, more aggravation. I would be frustrated with her...a baby. I would take her and put her in her crib to be safe and then go take a bath and calm down. She was never in danger with me...but I was then questioning my skills...or whether I could do this. Some days were great. Other days, I was just overwhelmed...by everything. We head another baby. Thank goodness for her. Zoe needed a sister and she is the best older sister to her. When I yelled too loud at Z one day, I sought help the next. My doc met with me 3 separate times for an hour each time. She didn't want any background information on my medications or diagnosis. She told me she thought I had ADHD and that I'd probably had it my entire life. I'd been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and had been taking those meds--I lost my twenties pretty much. The coctail I took made me a zombie and I had no short term memory. This cost me a job and made me feel as if I was pretty useless. I thought about high school and then college...it all fit. I sat in her office and cried about the life I'd lost. I felt robbed. I could never understand why other people seemed to have their life together and I didn't. I knew I was bright enough to get it together...but I couldn't figure it out. I always had a job...I paid my bills...but my emotions were whacky and it made me an interesting friend at times.

But now, when I take my meds, the anxiety starts to taper. The overwhelming feeling goes away. Life looks completely doable and I am zen. I have patience with my girls. I'm not climbing the walls anymore. Now, I have my days. Like this one. I'm overwhelmed at all there is to do in this damn house. I'm doing a purge project in order to have less stuff and less stress. So far, so good--but there is much to do. And I wish I had someone who could sit across from me and hold my hands and tell me that it's all going to be okay. Everything will get done. They will help me and we will have fun doing it. It's not exactly my husband, but he'd do. It's more of a female feel...a nurturing soul...someone maternal...or just one of my dear friends. I chose to move away from all of them. I worry that I'll be sucked into their lives and won't have my own...I love feeling needed. I crave it. It makes me feel worthy. Wow...I have so many therapy sessions to go.