"I want to be my own design" Clive Barker - Imajica

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

starting to panic but only a little bit (car update)

So the engine is here finally (YAY!) but I have to admit I am panicking a little bit. Uncle Shitty and I are going arrange the car tow here in a day or two to get the car to his house and then I have to rent the hoist and buy all the other ephemera in order to complete the repairs. We only have a week or two in which to do it because he will be going nuts with work soon.

Here is where the panic comes in.

Money.

It's always about fucking money isn't it?

I am frankly terrified that I have done all this and I still won't have enough money to pay for what I need to pay for and still try to get my bills paid. I am soooo  close to getting my car back after 3+ months and maybe I am just freaking myself out but, but, but...

I just feel like most of my resources are dried up. I don't know where else to go if I need more money especially if I need it fast (like in the next week or two) and I know that if I don't figure it out, it could be a month or more longer before I can get my car back and that REALLY freaks me out.

no, I will take deep breaths.

I will figure it out. .

I always do.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Old wounds never heal until you acknowledge them and move on

So Wednesday night I had a complete and total meltdown followed a bit later by an epiphany.

The meltdown was triggered by the fact that it was 9 PM on my birthday and my mother hadn't called me to say happy birthday. It sounds so silly and juvenile when i say it out loud but there it is. The woman who says that I'm all she has, despite the existence of two sisters and a niece and 2 nephews who live less than 10 minutes away for her. The woman who has told me more than once that the only reason she never moved out of CO like she wanted to, was because I didn't want to go too, despite the fact that I was in my 20's at the time and already living on my own. This is the same person who I felt couldn't be bothered or couldn't remember to call her daughter on her birthday. As Mr. S logically pointed out my mom might have figured that she said happy birthday on the 9th when she and Aunt T came up so we could all go to lunch for my birthday. At that point there was no seeing logic for me. I was hurt and sad and since I've already been hyper emotional lately it just set me off in a terrible way. (she did end up sending me a text message that basically said "Happy birthday, have you ordered the engine for your car yet and it's rained a lot down here. Love you Mom")

Later in the evening shortly before I went to bed Mr. S said to me "We will get the car fixed, just let the rest go" and I told him that I was working on it. After I had gone upstairs to go to bed, after yet another crying jag I started to think about what he said and I realized that I hadn't actually been working on letting go of the things that were bothering me. I had been circling all these things and occasionally poking at them or just reminding myself that I was upset about something.

Quelle surprise I was sabotaging myself and making myself miserable. Cause that's new and different!

That's when I started to look at the situation with a far more critical eye. Why had these things been bugging me so much? Why have I been such a freaking miserable bitch? And BAM! Epiphany time. Almost every single thing that has been nagging me and making me feel miserably unhappy is because I hate being ignored. I am afraid of being ignored, of being disregarded and being treated like I don't exist and I really, really hate feeling like I am being taken for granted or that I am just a piece of furniture to someone (or as Mr. S and Uncle Shitty said once or twice "gear with feet"). There was a time in my life that when my mom wanted to punish me or was really upset with me she would ignore me. Basically take away my support system by behaving as if I wasn't there. That feeling right there, being a stranger in my own home, feeling like I have nowhere to go to, no one to talk to and feeling like I don't matter was a potent lesson and one that I had thought I had moved beyond and yet...

Quite honestly I've been feeling ignored a lot lately. In 99% of the cases I know (now that I can look at this more objectively) that I haven't been ignored or at least not intentionally ignored. People get busy with work and school and their own business. People get focused on their own desires, needs and wants and lose sight of others sometimes. It's not that I expect people to think of me first all the time but it is nice to feel like you were at least considered, when it's appropriate. It is nice to feel important to others on occasion.It's good to feel like you matter. And I know which specific instances have bothered me the most. It's not necessary to share them here but it is good to sit and think about each one and realize that the real reason these particular things have been getting under my skin so very much is because each and every one triggers my feelings of being ignored. And in some cases my feelings are valid because I have been ignored. In other cases, not so much.

Once I realized all this and I started to seriously think about and analyze the situation I felt immensely better. I have been actively trying to stop and think about each situation as it arises to figure out why I am upset and if it is actually something that I should be upset about or that really needs to be addressed. It's been helping me and I have managed to maintain a good attitude and mood for the most part.

I will say that I think that it is important for people to take a minute or two once in awhile to remind the people in their lives that they matter to them, that they care, that they think of you. It really doesn't take much to acknowledge the people you care about. From a random text message about something that reminded them of you, a phone call, an email, going to lunch, giving them a hug and/or kiss. All of these things don't require a huge amount of energy from the giver but they can mean the world to the receiver.

Self awareness sure is a lot of damned work. 

Saturday, September 17, 2011

You Should Date an Illiterate Girl by Charles Warnke

 
Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.

Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi, and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale, or the evenings get long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.

Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same.

Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail, frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return, or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.

Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent as a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, god damnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.

Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.

Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.

Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the cafĂ©, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.

fate

“Some people meet the way the sky meets the earth, inevitably, and there is no stopping or holding back their love. It exists in a finished world, beyond the reach of common sense.”
- Louise Erdrich

Thursday, September 15, 2011

wanting

So the Zen Archer and I have discussed several times about how desire is suffering and today as I was listening to this song I realized how much it sums everything up in a nice catchy song that I absolutely love. I don't think I ever quite appreciated the lyrics until this morning.



Agony is born of desire
What do you want for nothing?
Agony is born is desire
That's what you get for wanting

I'm sick of futile lessons
And empty information
My teachers ask me questions
I need some consolation
That's what you get for wanting
That's what you get for wanting

Agony is born of desire
What do you want for nothing?
Agony is born is desire
That's what you get for wanting

I've spend my whole life yearning
Living and learning
Living and learning
Living and learning
Saving and spending
Spending and earning
Anticipating
Eternity burning

What do you want for nothing?
Agony is born is desire
That's what you get for wanting

Agony is born of desire
What do you want for nothing?
Agony is born is desire
That's what you get for wanting

i'm sick of vain compassion
And saying "liberation"
The angels ask me questions
I can't find consolation

That's what you get for wanting
That's what you get for wanting

Agony is born of desire
What do you want for nothing?
Agony is born is desire
That's what you get for wanting

I've spend my whole life yearning
Living and learning
Living and learning
Living and learning
Saving and spending
Spending and earning
Anticipating
Eternity burning

Agony is born of desire
What do you want for nothing?
Agony is born is desire

Agony is born of desire
What do you want for nothing?
Agony is born is desire
That's what you get for wanting

Agony is born of desire
What do you want for nothing?
Agony is born is desire
That's what you get for wanting

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Perspective

I've been doing a lot of thinking today about how mopey and irritating and depressed I've been lately. It has gotten to the point when I don't even want to be around me so I don't really know how people like Mr. S have been putting up with me. I took a deep breath this morning and am trying really, really hard to just fucking stop it because this is old. I need to pull myself together and get over this shit before I end up making it so people don't want to be around me anymore.

time to put on my big girl britches.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

the cake is a lie

every year my family has always done a family birthday dinner for every member of the family on or very near their birthday. this has been a tradition for as long as I can remember. Probably since before I was born. It was always a special thing where my grandma would make whatever we wanted for our dinner and usually my aunt T would make the birthday cake and we would get together as a family and have dinner and sing Happy Birthday horribly out of tune. When my grandparents died both of my aunts held the tradition up, holding the annual birthday dinners at their houses and trying to accommodate our special requests for the items my grandma always used to make. London broil, my grandma's spaghetti sauce and occasionally chicken marsala.

We aren't a terribly large family. Well we are a big family but most everyone is spread out in my extended family and for the most part we don't see each other as much since my grandparents died. My mom, her two sisters, one brother (who is a truck driver so his attendance has always been sporadic), a brother in law and 3 kids and that is usually it. Occasionally close friends are invited along but usually the core group is my immediate family and my significant other. It has always been the one Sunday every month or two that I drive down to the Springs and actually get to see all of them at one time.

Until now. I missed my Aunt T's birthday in August due to car issues and had to cancel my own birthday dinner until I get my car back. My Aunt T and mom came up to Denver and we went to lunch together with Mr. S this past Sunday for my birthday. It was good to show my mom and my Aunt the house we live in and to go and eat and go to Tattered Cover and Twist and Shout. It was a good day but it just didn't feel right.

But it was... nice. For what it was.

And yet I feel incredibly depressed and distant right now. The fact that I didn't even get my annual chocolate cake made by Aunt T and the crayon covered card from my cousin Alyssa is really upsetting. Although I always liked to remind people incessantly about my birthday they've never really meant much to me other than a reason to celebrate with my family (blood family or the family I choose to surround myself with)

I don't have birthday parties with my friends. I usually will celebrate my birthday at Deathwish since it falls right around my birthday and I will occasionally have a birthday dinner with my friends who don't care to go to Deathwish. I gave up on birthday parties for the most part on my 11th birthday when I attempted to have a slumber party and the only girl who actually bothered to show up spent the entire night crying about how she would rather be at her grandmothers house. I learned to plan my "party" around events that most of my friends were already going to because it was just easier than trying to do something special. I always have a good time. I had a great time this past weekend at Deathwish. I even got a super special surprise guest that was totally unexpected. I got to spend it with people I love very much. And it was fantastic.

And as much fun as that was I still feel... far away, sad and incredibly weary. I know that a lot of that has to do with the ongoing car situation and the many other difficulties that I have had going on lately. I also know that my life is still good. I have so many wonderful things in my life. I keep telling myself that all this difficulty will be over soon and I can move on to a new challenge. I keep reminding myself that a birthday is just another day, that it isn't a big deal and that I'm letting my emotions guide me when I know better than that. I know all this logically and yet emotions are a bitch and stress is a killer.

I'll feel better soon. I always do.


Monday, September 12, 2011

hanging on, barely

I feel as if I am barely hanging on. Like I am dangling over the edge of a precipice and only a few frayed pieces of rope are holding me up. Or am I just spinning my wheels endlessly like that truck stuck in mud up to the hood? i don't know which description fits better but quite honestly I feel as if I am going to lose my shit here completely.

Life isn't that bad I know. I have a roof over my head, I have a job, I have food, I have clothes and I have friends and family who love me. these things I know and yet...

and yet...

Sunday, September 11, 2011

ism's - VII

no one knows how to hurt you better than those you love the most. It's up to you to control your reactions to their knowing or unknowing jabs.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

ism's - VI

Don't foist yourself upon others, it will only make people resent you

Friday, September 9, 2011

ism's - V

Words are meaningless without the actions behind them. Be true to your word and let your actions define you.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

ism's - IV

Doing something once doesn’t make you experienced

Sunday, September 4, 2011

here comes the bride

I went to a wedding yesterday for two friends of mine and it was lovely. Both bride and groom looked wonderful and you could tell just by watching them interact that they truly and deeply love each other. I am so happy and grateful that I was able to be there for them both to share in their expression of love and happiness.

Weddings tend to make a bit melancholy anymore. It isn't the actual wedding that makes me a little bit sad, it's the inevitable father-daughter and grandfather-granddaughter dances that make me feel a little misty eyed. It makes me miss my dad, grandfather and grandmother a lot. I don't want to get married, it's just not important to me at all. But it's the knowing that my dad won't get to see how happy I am right now. Knowing my grandparent's aren't ever going to see how happy I am right now. I miss going thrift store shopping with my grandma and having her find the most fantastic things in some dusty, dark corner of the stores. I miss going to the Colorado Springs Balloon Classic with my grandpa and getting up at O Dark Thirty to go stand in the field at Memorial Park to watch the balloons take off. I miss going to see silly movies with my dad.

As Mr. S and I were leaving the wedding reception last night I admit it, I was a little teary eyed. I was so happy to see Frog and Mara get married after 7 years of being together. It was wonderful to see them and the way they look at each other and knowing just how much they love each other. But there was a tinge of melancholy because all of a sudden I realized just how much I miss these people that have been gone from my life. I love my family. I love my friends. I just hope that they know that.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

ism's - III

Quit looking at the past with rose colored glasses. It wasn't any better than the present is, distance just makes it seem like it was better.