Weary ramblings

It's been a rough week - Christmas is coming, my kid has been very sick, and I'm amazingly tired. Life is wearing me down; not such a surprise at this time of year. But I'm surrounded by really cool people and it's not so bad.

I've been growing my hair out again. It's not the best look for me but it's easy and functional. Officially, it's getting long so that I can make a lengthy donation out of it; the truth is that I'm kind of lazy and cheap so I've missed a bunch of hair cuts. Long hair is awfully familiar.

I got out of the shower this morning and dressed quickly in comfy jeans, tennis shoes, and an old flannel. Standing at the mirror, brushing my hair, I felt like I truly knew myself. The image looking back was one I've seen so often before it was a little like coming home again, and I sighed a bit in relief. It seems odd, I know, but many times I'm surprised by my own reflection. In my mind, I seem to remember myself differently. Today I felt and looked like someone I remembered fondly. It was both startling and peaceful. Startling because until this morning I didn't realize how very often I don't feel like I know myself. And such a wonderful sense of peace that came with knowing that person standing there.

Like so many moments that stick in my head, the underlying commentary is significant. I'm so stressed all the time about carrying these responsibilities around. I never realized how hard I would strive to be a good mother - it's harder to be a good mom than I thought, I try harder than I thought I could, and I see constant room for improvement. And it's such a monumental job. Seriously, these two little human beings look to me to be something.... almost superhero-like. I'm looked to make everything better, from favorite broken toys to heartbreaking loss. And while I'm trying to be a superhero, I'm trying to teach them that the world isn't always what we want it to be or what we think it should be. It's like walking an invisible line while following rules no one told you about. And no, I'm really not trying to reinvent the wheel here. Moms are universal, good ones and bad ones and mediocre ones.

But it felt good this morning to look in the mirror and see my old, flanneled self staring back. To remember that it's not all earth shattering, monumental decision making. Some days should just be comfy jeans and flannel shirts.

In a different vein (in the spirit of my sort of stream of consciousness mode), I had one of those moments the other day. When I missed all the things I can't ever have back. I wanted to hug Mom just one more time. Throw the ball for Simon again. Those moments don't happen often but it seems that it all hits at once and I'm driven to my knees. And I've learned to pray while I'm there. It's not coherent, it's a flinging of emotion too big to hold on to... There's poetry in that somewhere. But I'm not sure where. I hope to find it soon.

And I just churn in circles

I realize that too much of my energy goes into negativity; things like worry, fear, and stress seem to permanently occupy a portion of my heart. I work very hard at letting it go, turning it over, focusing on the positive, but my success varies wildly.

Right now I'm very worried about two things: my daughter and a friend. We've been working with our daughter on her behavior, but it seems that no matter what we do, her bad behavior just gets worse. She's recently started lashing out physically when she's angry. I've heard the phrase "It's just a phase" too many time. A phase is only a phase after it's past. I've also had people allude to the idea that if we weren't so strict we wouldn't be having so many problems. But somehow I don't think that lowering our standards is the best way to approach this problem. Then we circle the homeschool point: are we making the situation better or worse by staying at home? I just don't know. In my heart, I do think she's better here where we won't force her into mainstream behavior treatment (i.e. medication). But it's so hard to know what the right thing is.

On the other subject, a friend is having some serious medical problems. The doctors haven't given her a firm diagnosis yet, but it so far the tests indicate that she has MS. The situation is very challenging and will be difficult for her family. I worry about how they will cope with the situation.

I know that these are two subjects that I really just need to let go of and turn over. Some days that is much easier to do than others.

Weird life place

Do you ever look around and think: Wow. Where the heck is this? I'm in that place right now.

So there's a lot of weirdness in my life. I'm doing the say at home mom thing, and the home schooling thing, and the regular life thing. I don't have a career in the traditional sense, I never did quite finish that college degree, and I spend more time than I'd like doing things like laundry. In the sum of it all, I'm not unhappy. It's just unexpected. Truth be told, I've been in this place for awhile so it's starting to feel less weird and more comfortable. But then, enter the current mood.

I feel apathetic. The kind of apathy that usually hits prior to depression. And I'm very... nervous. Yes, it's weird, feeling nervous about feeling apathetic. But there it is. I can't explain it other than that. If you can phrase it better, please do. I want someone to explain this to me. Life isn't bad. I just doesn't feel so good.

Lots of things are going on here. I'm tired. And I'm overeating. And I feel like I'm failing on multiple points. But frankly, these are things that are somewhat familiar to me. Here's a new one, or at least one I don't usually have to contend with: I feel sick at heart.

Some of the stuff that has gone on recently with my extended family has wounded me. I'm pretty sure that wound is still hemorrhaging. I feel I can barely acknowledge it, so I can't begin to treat it. There's this deep sadness in the center of my chest. I'm afraid to go near it. And I don't know who to talk about it with. And so at the center of my vortex is a power of destruction.

Loss, denial, pain, hope, fear, love - these things are all violently churning. I'm looking for a way to dislodge all of it without creating more chaos. So far, no path has been forthcoming. And that's why it is a power of destruction, not construction, because of the impending disaster.

Yeah, I know.

I only get over here randomly to make some whiny comment or generally talk without saying much of anything. But even that randomness may drop a bit, as I've gone and started two (yes, two) new blogs.

The new blogs are incredibly relevant to my life these days. Not that this one isn't. But we all must face the truth: I'm not writing any poetry these days, good or bad. So I'm going to spend some time sharing some things I actually am focused on.

I miss the poetry. There's no room in my brain and no inspiration in my soul for poetry right now. That will probably change sometime in the future. For now, I'm accepting and moving on.

So in fantastic 'net fashion, I've decided to clog the lines with even more typing of seriously micro-relevant proportions. I made that up.

I'm probably more active over here http://practicallyintelligent.blogspot.com/
or http://literatureresource.blogspot.com/

Hope to see you again soon....

And the wheel turns

Okay. In the spirit of honest communication I must admit that things aren't all that great right now. I'm chalking a lot of it up to a lack of regular uninterrupted sleep. There's a tiny voice in my brain that's laying the blame on the shorter days and impending freeze. Whispering, wondering if I'll somehow manage to make it through this winter without the interior darkness.

I think prayer is in order. Thanks.

Inopportune Timing

Two weeks ago, some fairly significant stuff went down concerning my siblings, father, and stepmother. We've reached a point where all parties are talking to each other in varying degrees (almost) so I guess it wasn't cataclysmic. It seemed cataclysmic at the time, but I suppose this is the nature of fairly significant things. Or my outlook upon them. Regardless of the label, the earth shook and the stars realigned and things are a little bit different now. I have hope that these differences will contribute to the greater good in the end.

But I try to err on the side of hope these days. Pessimism breeds ugliness. Wouldn't want me heart to freeze that way.

In the midst of these family issues, I made some resolutions. They haven't been tested so I won't waste my time here with them. Time will bear them out or wear them down.

I found out how... grown up, I guess, I've become in the middle of all this. And finding out how grown up I was had nothing to do with any of the family except in relation to time. And perhaps distraction.

I was fixing dinner and thinking about my resolutions. Fearing the cataclysm. Sick over the impending (I thought) chaos and tired of bearing the load of my family's craziness. I wasn't really focused on those onions I was chopping and as a result the knife slipped.

It was a big slip: I had to have 8 stitches to close the wound.

Immediately I went for the sink and paper towels to staunch the blood. The need for medical attention was pretty clear. And that's when my 'grown up' moment hit me: standing there watching my nice red blood drip into the white porcelain sink I thought: "I don't have time for this."

Hopefully, if it had been someone else's blood dripping down I would have found a wealth of patience, a deep well of compassion - or at least summed up a modicum of grace for that person. But for myself, I thought: "I don't have time for this." And I stood there lamenting the time it would take to be treated, to clean up the bloody mess, that I was now unable to finish fixing dinner, etc.

This train of thought is some kind of commentary on my life these days. As is the circumstances surrounding it. I'm sure it bears scrutiny but, alas, I don't have the time.

Organization?

So I went through some posts and added labels. I don't know who looks at this blog - besides myself and the people I pay to visit regularly - but for all of you, Here Are Some Labels!

No problem. It was a great time waster.

[Please take note that this post does not contain a label. That seemed... redundant.]

Pity the Fool

It's one of those days again. You know the kind... full of chocolate and self-pity. I'm looking around and trying to figure out what I've done and what I'm doing. My current responsibilities are so different from my list of "life dreams" that I don't even know what my goals are these days.

Yes, I've been to enough psychoanalysis to know that I don't know what my goals are because I don't have any. And the truth of that is more than a little frightening. I wake up in the morning and set the same goal: get through the day as successfully as possible. But this goal is meaningless because I don't have a definition of success and the daily goal is not related to a long term goal. Because (wait for it!) I don't have a long term goal.

In general terms, I can say that I want to raise my kids, be happy in my marriage, be satisfied personally. But those general things are entirely too vague to be considered goals. They are... intentions. It's very much like taking a test without a grading system - no way to judge the current standing and/or progress over time.

I did have goals, a long time ago. And the blunt end of truth is that I have avoided creating new goals. I have failed to achieve a lot of major goals and that failure hurts. Deeply. That hurt has discouraged me from seeking new goals.

Tonight is one of those nights that I look around and simply cannot believe that I did not graduate from college. But right now, pursuing that goal isn't terribly practical.

I could revise the past and say that my dreams were to be the "voice of reason" amid the chaos, that practicality feeds my soul. But that would be a lie. I'd like to think that at the very least I'm good at practicality, but I'm not so sure that's the truth.

Self-pity is an ugly thing so I try not to dip into it too often. Today is a weak day.

Garish, Loud

When I moved into my house I looked at the bare, white walls and cream colored carpet and felt garish. I was too loud for such a place;
I needed deep, dark, star-lit sky to cushion my being for the world.
At this house I can wander outside any time of day or night and be confronted with light chasing away the darkness:
The yellow cast of decorative street lamps take over for the fading sun and deceive the birds into believing that midnight is dawn.
I am often kept awake by the sound of early morning birds confused by human intervention. I toss seeds onto the sidewalk every now and again in reparation.
At this house I learned to live without grass growing under my bare feet; I hated every moment of it. I compromised with climbing vines reaching green leaves and colored blooms into the sky.
I have grass now in that small plot of dry dirt but I have to choose to remember to take off my shoes.
At this house I let go of my more flagrant choices and focused on the colors of the earth in deep season: forest green of summer, midnight blue, grey clouded days.
I feel more comfortable in this subtlety though the white starkness has given way to gentle colors and purposeful decor.
At this house I took time to grow with direct intention, following the graceful example of the house itself. Here I will learn to dance with time, lovingly and honestly. I have wrapped myself in the safety of a moonlit night.

Another installment in the saga of Simon

Nope, it's not over, these rants about Simon the four legged mutt. He meant too much for it to be over quickly. Every day is an adjustment, coming to grips with his absence.

Simon, black lab mongrel wonder dog extraordinaire, died July 3, 2008. He was a few months past celebrating 10 years with me. He was a good dog.

I could leave it at that but I find I have much more to say on the subject. Simon wasn't just good, he was awesome; I feel blessed and loved that he was a part of my life.

I've taken to telling people that "we lost Simon" rather than saying he died. I thought I was just taking a cop out, at first, but this evening I realized that this phrase rather accurately reflects my feelings. To say "Simon died" has this ring of finality in my ears. I concede that in many respects death is final. And while I do believe that in my perfect Heaven a young, arthritis and cancer free Simon will be there to offer his companionship again, that's not my point. I'm not done with Simon's death. I'm not done with his life. It's not over, not in a final way.

All of this is terribly reminiscent of my mother's death. Sure, some will think that I am wrong for considering the death of a human and a dog on similar levels. Those people don't get how much Simon meant to me. Grief is a deep emotional journey. And the loss of Simon is just as deep as the loss of my mother. This journey is proving to be radically different, though. The undeniable fact is that the loss of my mother has shaped me as significantly our time together shaped me. So far, the same is proving true with Simon. This time around, though, I am able to be shockingly more honest with myself.

Have you seen those 1 800 petmeds commercials? Last week, one came on the TV and it made me cry. The other day, I laid myself down on the floor at the end of the couch where Simon used to hang out. I was too empty to cry, then. Now, tears are streaming as I think of him and try to feel my way through it all.

And all of that is ok. I am, at varying points, empty, angry, lonely, shocked, accepting, and much more. I am not "ok." I am not "just fine." But these are good things to feel. I'm taking that grief caged in my lungs and I'm letting it out in long exhales of emotion.

I believe that you never really "get over" a significant loss. You just learn to cope with it, to put it in a place that you can live with and function and sometimes be happy. I believe that grief teaches us about joy and vice versa. This all means that no matter how much time goes by sometimes that loss leaps out of your soul and brings you to your knees. I'm beginning to believe that what matters even more is what you choose to do while your there.

I choose to be honest. I've lost a loving companion. I miss him every day. I ache for him and myself and all the other people who lost him too. And I will learn to live with it, it will just take me awhile.

Breathing

Some time ago a friend passed on the thought that we hold grief in our lungs. At the time, this seemed like a right and interesting idea. This week, I've begun to agree even more thoroughly.

People keep asking me how Simon is doing.... A childish part of me wants to say: "How do you think?" but I stick with the grown up truth. As I said to a friend yesterday, "He gets a little farther away from us every day."

And I can feel it in my lungs; I can't breathe deeply or let it all out. It's all clenched up inside like a sickness. I keep coughing, hoping it will let go of me - it hasn't helped.

Simon, the Fantastic Four Legged Mutt; cheers to you, my friend.

It has come again, a beginning to an end, and I must say goodbye. I do not know how.

I've left many things and people behind in my quest for growth and maturity. Looking around, I am forced to realize how much I've carried forward with me. Some things have been so constant in this mixed up world. One of those constant forces is Simon the dog.

Not just a dog, but a companion. He who is happy to see me when I come home, who misses me when I am gone, who settles for a good ear rub late at night. Simon, who wants nothing much more, who doesn't judge or hold a grudge.

And he is dieing.

Stupid cancer, again, reaching in and taking a constant force in my life and morphing it into a source of pain. He's not just a dog, and he hasn't had a "long" life at 10 years, and I'm not ready to move forward without him. But once again, I don't seem to have much choice.

Now, most days I come home, heart in my throat as I unlock the door, afraid that he has left me while I was away.

He's a good dog. He was fearfully ill as a puppy, got hit by a car on a sunny afternoon, and late one night stayed in the woods for nearly 30 frantic minutes looking for his ball.

He loved me when I hated myself.

My soul despairs for this loss.

Trying, trying

I'm not happy with much of anything I write these days but I'm throwing it out there anyway to try to work through to something decent. Bear with me through this slump, and let us all hope it ends soon.

I'm frustrated with myself right now and too much of that feeling is getting in the way of everything else, including any writing I'm doing. Life is pretty good these days, but I can't seem to help but feel depressed. Or melancholy, perhaps.

I'm tired of such weighty responsibility and I wish I could hand it off for awhile. I need a rest. Such earth-shattering decisions to be made with such constant demand. It's more than needing a few more hours of sleep. It's needing time to walk away from all of this. Where's vacation when you need it?

With all this frustration and chaos going on around me, I so desperately want to wrest control of something. I want to see the cause and effect. It's been years since the image of cutting/bleeding has been so prominent in my brain. I'm both ashamed and dismayed by this state, but shame and dismay won't make it go away. Quite the opposite, actually. They are driving me closer.

But I will not succumb. I will not give up on this grasp - tenuous that it may be - on reasonable, acceptable coping mechanisms.

Craft

I've begun to consider film-making as a hobby. Words don't seem to flow into pictures the way they once did for me:
I've neglected them too long.
Like an insecure lover they have taken my inattention to heart and hidden away their mystery and seduction.
In film-making I could recreate the images behind my eyes in some vain attempt to explain the words trapped in my head.

I went for ice cream, late, in the rain and stiff, cold breeze.
Stopped at a red light I blinked - it took seconds to close and then reopen my eyes.
The words are inadequate; I sat, staring blankly at the windshield, waiting patiently for the light to change, until my eyes closed in slow motion and had a nice long rest before finding the will to open again.
As if the long blink were not enough, the nearly constant stop action video played against my eyelids;
Addiction comes to me again and I yearn to watch blood flow up from the pale, soft flesh, until I can feel it burning away the chaos and unease.
Trapped in some poorly crafted script I reached for my ever present phone to reach out, but no one was available to take my call.

I am not unhappy but out of control. Or at least on the edge of letting go.
Again, the words seem benign -
The carefully balanced demands are skewing slightly and it seems a mere matter of time until balance is lost.
In the meantime, I've decided to try to lure the words back again. Film-making seems to distant a goal.

Long time, etc...

Dear One,

I know what you're thinking; even at this distance I can see
The accusatory, frustrated, angry look in your eyes.
I've been away.
Yes, for all this time, I've been away.
I can't say where; it isn't a secret. Or it is a secret I am keeping from myself.

Yesterday morning I woke to the enthused sound of birds - the spring is here announcement.
Winter passed by. Someone was busy snapping photographs all those dark months;
I am glad.
My memories are clouded by darkness and bitter winds.
I was hiding.
Yes, I know I've left you before like this and
Yes, again it truly was necessary.
But I've come around close enough to feel the aching loneliness.
I am full of sadness and remorse.

Around and around we move, following these steps we know so well;
A dance echoing through the years.
We move because we must: to stop is to die.
Yet, each fluttering carries the tinge of betrayal, the hint of hopelessness.
I make all the same promises I have made before, choosing to ignore the hollow ring in my voice.

Spring is here, the birds sing, and I choose to believe in the hope filled cry.
Hold my hand gently while we learn to live again,
Let us go for walks in the magic twilight hour and forgive.

Trying to get back to the swing of things.

Old Friends

When I was a child, my dad drove an old tan and white pickup truck.
I don't really remember it, but snapshots capture my dad standing next to it in a matching leisure suit.
Eventually the pictures change over to a brand new blue and white pickup.
Standard cab, bench seat, with air conditioning. A complimentary blue camper shell was quickly added.
We would drive to the farm for the free firewood, me, Dad and Grandma.
On the way there, I would sit in a lounging fold up lawn chair, legs still bent under, and read a book to pass the time.
For the return trip I would be squished between Dad and Grandma, the three of us sweaty of being outside all day in the sun, and my book remained hidden in the pocket of the door.
In it's old age, that pickup truck tolerated me as I learned to parallel park and then chugged me gracelessly to my part time job.
My suit never matched it, and by the time I had my licence the air conditioning had stopped working,
But we had a lot of miles together, that old truck and I.
When it stopped starting every day and started stranding me on the way to work, the pickup was replaced by a nice, reliable Buick. I was happy to see it go.
Now, I'm a little sorry for being ungrateful for all those quiet moments in the lounge chair, reading a book, covering the miles.

State of Mind

There is a lot of negativity building inside riding a way of despair and doubt.
When I lay in bed at night, trying to sleep, I can see it all building and I'm afraid it will blow the top of my head off, neatly,
In a way that will only be apparent to me.
As if I will be able to style my hair over the fracture marks and hide the evidence from the world.

Sleep is a gift that cannot be squandered, yet a horror full of chaotic dreams and insufficient rest.
When I close my eyes I can feel blood pulsing through my ears.
It is a side effect; the one-two punch of congestion and exhaustion turns my hearing towards the internal.
The pulse in oddly comforting in it's regularity, a gentle whoosh, whoosh, whoosh I can almost see against my eyelids.
As if the sound releases some of the pressure and I'll be spared the indignity of this blackness.