Working...on many things.

 5/19/21

That is a tricky word. I've been a stay-at-home mom for 12 years and I need a change. Mostly because I have no identity or at least I feel that way. I am too involved in my children's lives. Meaning, I am too emotionally involved with their day to day challenges. I want to have some type of feeling of completing something creative. Like the plays I say I'm going to write and I don't. I need to write each day but I end up tending to other things. I start project that I need to finish around the house. I'm happy that I'm able to do. I'm happy taking care of animals. I am happy to clean at times. I don't like cleaning up after others who can clean after themselves all the time. There are 4 adults and 2 capable children here! That annoys me. That is what makes me feel like a maid instead of a PERSON. Everyone works, even the girls go to school. I am here and trying to do things that are important for the household, but what is important for me as a person? Writing. Getting the plays done just even so I can see Kendra and Kevin or Zoe act them out. Or sing! I'd have to work that in somehow. I want to bring things to light that others don't talk about. I'd like to get rid of stigmas. There are so many things that we get judged by each day. Even Jason, who works all the time is judged...how much time does he spend with his family? Aren't they are priority? I feel that I've missed the target on that for as long as we've had children. He's working so we DO have things like a house and we are able to pay our bills. He works so we are stable, most likely because he didn't feel stable when he was little. I think me being home can make me seem lazy or that I'm not smart enough to have a job? Even Kendra makes me feel like I'm not doing what I should be doing. Her life is what I was doing (sort of) what I was doing at her age. Taking a break from the workforce created an insecurity in me. Can I even do it?  

How can I change the way I view myself? Have a better grasp on who I am. Show others who I am. Be busy. Be productive in the my creative brain. Show that I have other talents. Or even talent, period. It's true. Working on the inside out is what my work should be. I need to be alive again and find the person I was. I shut down and assumed a role that I didn't have to. I created my own jail. I can create whatever world I want. But as they say, if you keep on doing the same things, you'll get the same results. 

I applied to jobs, got face to face (or screen to screen) interviews but was passed over--one didn't even contact me back and one was very kind and told me he had to rehire his old staff first but he would pass my resume on (and I actually believe him). Before, I pretty  much always nailed the interview and got the job. That does shock the ego a bit. 

I wrote a list, but I wrote.

I feel like a stranger on here. And have no idea where this will lead, but wanted to put some words on a page. I already feel anxiety--is this writer's block? Not sure. I'm not sure why I'd have it on here, especially. I've been away for 3+ weeks on a road trip...and trying to get back into the swing of ANYTHING is proving to be very difficult. I am out of touch with friends. I am behind in almost everything that deals with this house. I'm feeling a bit BIT overwhelmed and I know I need to write. That is my number one thought..."I should be writing."

My top ten thoughts as they come out right after the other.. (the easiest thing I could think of to get this done.)

1. Homeowning is overwhelming.

2. I shouldn't complain about owning a home when so many don't.

3. Though my friend sent me an article about it being okay to feel down even when compared to others who have much more to feel down about. That just leads to guilt feelings.

4. This needs to take a turn.

5. Ummm...beeen catching up with House of Cards.

6. I do believe they are commenting on Trump.

7. I didn't think he could get any worse. 

8. Sadly, he proves me wrong every day by doing so.

9. When your thoughts are mostly about getting your house in order, it may be time to get a job outside of it.

10. How does one go back to work after 8 years? What does that resume look like???

Okay, a couple more thrown in. But this is the gist of how my brain rolls around these days.

To His Mistress, from His Wife

You feel his sweat glide down,
his heart beating fast.
He loses his frets, his frowns,
his worries fade into the past.

He leaves while the sun still sleeps,
he could be gone one hour or four.
I wonder what time his watch keeps
when he finally walks through the door.

He returns smiling and wet.
He is tired but at ease,
challenged, but his goal was met.
There's not a chance you were a tease.

His shirt sticks to his chest,
dirt cakes his shoes,
he was at his best,
you continue to light his fuse.

You've caused him to stumble, to fall,
but inspired him to keep on track.
You've made his body tremble,
been the warmth on his back.

I want to be in the sunrise,
in the colors of the trees,
to see him as the crow flies,
to be his cooling breeze.

Others make plans to see you,
so he feels the pull to go.
Things he said he wouldn't do
again make me a widow.

I want to be the beat in his heart.
When he finally sees the crest,
to be with him at the start
and feel the heart in his chest.
My bed is empty,
he's gone to be with you.
Once again your worlds collide;
I don't know him the way you do.

I wear his ring,
and our girls are waiting.
So in case you are wondering
your pull isn't everlasting.

I'm not in the group he meets
I'm not there to see his feats,
or all the beauty that they see.
But here's the hope I have in me--

I'm in the sunrise,
in the colors of the trees,
in the crow's eyes as it flies.

I am his cooling breeze.

I struggle with the running at times. Mostly with the time he spends with others...sharing that experience...knowing that I won't have those same amazing moments. They are bonds. Ones that I need to make for myself. I'm working on it.

KJ

You weren't born to me

but I made you my own

Your small beating heart

band aided my own.

You focused

the blurred love

of myself.

You weren't born to me

but I made you my own

Running to me

jumping in my arms

created my self worth

I was a planet in orbit

You, the sun.

You warmed me

connected me

gave me direction.

You weren't born to me

but I made you my own

I was a ghost

no one could see

a cold, empty space

then you sat next to me 

proved me real.

My questioned existence

had meaning.

My abandoned self

newly discovered.

You weren't born to me

but you made me your own. 

Z 2.2.17

Z

Seeing her baby pictures
my heart hurts
my throat lumps.

I miss her breath in my ear
her eyes brightening
as I peered into her crib.

I miss being her entire world.
Not having to let anyone else in.
Not her teachers
or her friends
who teach things
I don't want taught.

Time slips through
the strands of her hair
that grows too long
covering her eyes.

Time slips through
her tears
that I can cause
when my skin is too thin.

Time slips through
my hand
when she pulls away
wanting to steady herself.

I have to fight the fears
that keep her from dreaming
that cause her to doubt
making her say stinging words.

On the days I fail her,
I wish for the clean slate.
To take back all the times
I caused a scratch.

Bring back the baby
that I don't annoy.

Bring back the baby
that I don't disappoint.

The pictures don't reveal
when I couldn't wait
for her to dress herself
feed herself
play on her own
and not need me for everything.

Tired and faded
I became part of the wallpaper.
I lost my name.
forgot who I was before.

I share her with a world
That will see her grow
In ways I will not.

I share her with a world
That will cause pains
I cannot mend.

I share her with a world
And will now and forever
outstretch my hand.

Bring back the baby
that I don't scar.

Character Arc

Am I Allison in The Breakfast Club? The Observer, but hiding behind my bangs?

Am I Ally McBeal with an over active imagination and high expectations that can't be met?

Am I the boy that sees Beauty in a plastic bag blowing in the wind? 

I'm not a Heather...or a Veronica. I am more Martha Dump Truck.

I go between feeling like Sarah crying in the shower to Sarah dancing in the kitchen. 

But I always liked Nick and would've been attracted to him--minus the drugs.

I wanted to be Lelaina Pierce...maybe I just wanted Troy Dyer...

or maybe I just wanted Ethan Hawk and maybe I just wanted to be Winona Ryder.

I wanted to be Carrie in SATC. Or maybe I just wanted to look that way in clothes and live in NYC...and write.

I just wanted to be surrounded my my friends who loved me, who I could laugh with, who I could experience life with and 

then meet for breakfast and talk about it all. I'd binge watch the episodes and revel in the girl talk to feel less alone.

Of course, I always wanted to have the temperament of Felicity. I loved her voice, so calming and quiet. Her fingers so delicate.

I wanted the New York experience (there's NYC again) I wanted that college experience.

She was confused a lot, but she seemed to always hold it together. However, I would chosen Noel.

Especially after the summer before Senior year...

I'm not Susan Sarandon in any movie. Her big eyes full of fury and confidence.

I've always looked like Martha Plimpton in The Goonies...though I always wanted to look like Kerry Green.

But, as an adult, I'd rather be Martha. Fearless, talented, a force.

I don't want to be Meryl in Prada...or Meryl in Kramer. I couldn't make Sophie's Choice. 

I'd want to be Karen in Africa. Or maybe I just wanted to have a love affair in Africa with Robert Redford.

Or, did I just want to be able to have the ability to tell a story that intrigued and captivated.

Story telling also caught my attention of Katherine Clifton...as she told her story around the campfire...

Her love affair with Almásy would begin only a few cuts later. The English Patient is my favorite movie.

I love the language in it and I love the strong women. Both love, fall prey to it, but never lose who they are.

I want to be Sigourney as Ripley. She was the first woman on film who kicked ass. 

I studied the Alien movies as having the first action heroine. 

I want to be Sally in Places in the Heart.

I saw Places in the movie theatre and was in awe of it. She was scared, but came out fighting.

It was watching how strength could come from fear and loss. 

Sadly, I wallowed in fear and loss for years before my strength finally came. 

I should've been under a 2 hour time constraint.

I identified with Jane Fonda wanting to show her (film/real life) dad she COULD do a backflip

in On Golden Pond...always wanting him to like her. 

Wanting him to be proud of her.  

She confronted him in the movie, which she was never able to do in real life.

I get it. I want to be liked. Too much.

It's that feeling that I wanted to change. I wanted to be tougher and less vulnerable.

I wanted to create a self that was interesting and couldn't be hurt as easily.

I wanted to not care...and just be who I am with no excuses.

I sat in front of a screen and tried to put myself together as a puzzle.

Forcing pieces that seemed to fit only to find out, they didn't line up.

I always ended up with me.

I tried to find someone to identify with--

If someone wrote it, then they at least understood it, or had seen it.

To be authentic. How do you do that? To not play a part? 

I am empathetic, to a fault, my therapist says.

I am kind. I am an over-sharer, which makes many uncomfortable. (I've worked on that one)

I get anxiety when I'm not on the aisle...on a plane or in a movie theatre.

I get anxiety when I'm not in control...in a car, of my life, of my emotions.

I get anxiety if my house is a mess

I feel it reflects upon me.

And I know everyone in it needs order.

And I know I'm the one who mostly has to clean it up.

And that's not what I want to be doing.

I get anxiety when I am not writing.

Especially if I'm spending my time cleaning the house.

I get anxiety about having anxiety.

Because it's hard to explain to anyone who doesn't have it.

And those people don't wear signs, so you keep it inside.

The love I have for people over takes me.

For friends, for lovers (past), for my girls...

It terrifies me and clogs my brain with what ifs.

I think about my friends more than they think about me.

Rather, I worry they don't think I'm thinking about them if I'm 

not in constant contact. And if I'm not...then we will lose touch,

grow further apart and I will lose them. 

It's as if they are babies and if I go behind the couch, they think I am really gone.

I think about the deaths of my friends and my loved ones...all the time.

Because they die and have died and they have loved ones that die and have died.

And I know how difficult it is...and I never want them to feel alone.

I don't heal and I don't expect others to heal, either. Not completely.

I want to be loved and I don't want have others afraid of how I love.

I want to connect...to hold on and not float away. 

Because I've become a satellite to my family. 

In space, far away from them, orbiting, but not really connected.

And when I feel disconnected, alone, misunderstood, insecure, scared or my anxiety secret is too much for me...

I return to film and try to find strength in a character that I can adopt or find comfort in.

A world I can escape to. A place that doesn't exist, but one that I can almost make real. 

Finding a good person that is a complete mess. Not a doormat, not a wilting flower, but is able to collapse

after the exhausting collisions of the day. Colliding with people. Colliding with expectations. Colliding with disappointments.

But they learn, they change, they grow, they get stronger and it reminds me that I can, too.

Because that is how the character arc works. 

1.23.17 on being vulerable

I am only vulnerable to very few. Afraid I will be turned away.

My insides are confusing and my non-stop nervous chatter gives me away.

I am 41 and filled with the insecurities of a 13 year old. 

Will they like me? 

Will they understand my ramblings?

Are they lost? Did I jump from one subject to the next too quickly?

Are they wondering if I'm too much to be around?

I have days where I still want to cry and rock in a chair with someone safe.

These days, it's my girls. They love me. No matter what. 

I have to feel loved. I have to feel accepted and understood.

I have to feel as if I can say anything that comes to my mind.

And most can't follow my jumps--the explaining makes me feel awkward.

Not talking makes me feel awkward.

Talking too much does, too.

I leave most conversations analyzing them.

Did I ask them about them enough?

Did I seem to over-share?

Did I come across as too uncomfortable in my skin?

Did I come across as jumpy? Weird? Too hyper?

I want to crawl into a hole. I want to disappear. 

I want to be someone else. 

I started that long ago...

But, even finding that person was a struggle.

Aging Daily...hourly...damn.

So, I haven't written a poem in a very long time. So, I'm nervous and critical...feeling insecure...and yeah, basically everything I normally feel every day. So I thought I'd write this to address it. Of course, I still don't tell people...because of the way I felt when the doctor told me I have it. Ashamed. 



Anger destroyed her day.

It makes her agitated and frustrated.

Anxiety doesn't have deadlines...

It comes and goes. It can stay for days

Absolutely deny having difficulties!

They will look at you differently.

All days have darkness.

-Life is hard, just deal!"

Always dealing...hours, days!

Temper flares, the tears roll

Acquire meds, Hide meds.  (changed that from drugs...it didn't sound right.)

Because they will think you are faking.

-It's not real.

-You didn't have it as a kid.

-It's over-diagnosed.
-Too much t.v., huh?

Anxiety, dear....HURRY DEPART!

-It'll go away, just meditate.

Anger, darling... happy dance!

It's not working.

Absolute despair happens daily.

-Oh come on, really? It can't be that bad.

Argue. Defend. Help debunk...

But I am tired of keeping it a secret...

and taking meds in secret, so no one can see me.

-Why do you need so many?

-How can you have anxiety ALL day?

-Why can't you remember your coffee?

-Why are you taking everything so personally?

Act. Deceive. 

Heartbroken. Defeated.

Actively detaching...hourly, daily.

Aimless, directionless, helpless, delirious.

Thoughts darting here and there. 

The mind multi-tasking without pause.

We can doubt and over-share

Feeling anxious without cause.

Attention. Deficit. Hyper-activity. Disorder.

Educate yourself. Give us a safe place to land.

The only things we make up...

are excuses as to why you don't understand.

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.