Little Darlin' It's Been A Long Cold Lonely Winter

THERE I was starting to write this:

 "The saddest songs, the ones that never should have been written...but were.

There are certain songs in the world that just bring those tears out.  They are the ones that say everything that a person can feel in a moment.

Cat Stevens wrote, Trouble while he was in the hospital near death at nineteen.  Nineteen. So friggin young to write something so moving.

"Let no one look down on your youthfulness, but rather in speech, conduct, love, faith and purity, show yourself an example of those who believe."

 James Taylor was only 21 when he wrote, Fire and Rain.  Now, I can NOT listen to that song without a tear in my eye.  But to think of these people so young, writing such incredibly moving lyrics AND music?"

~~~~~~~

 

...and I'm listening to Pandora(Joni Mitchell station of course) and it starts....

Richie Havens version of Here Comes the Sun.....

SUN SUN SUN Here it comes....

Raise your hand if you're sick of Winter!!!  Don't know 'bout you but this weather's gotta change soon. 

But hey, we've all got the Spring left to kill ourselves!  I read somewhere that more people do it in Spring when things don't get any better.

I'm thinking about those bulbs we plant in September and October, how they take root and by April there they are full of fragrant blooms.  I guess I've been thinking a whole bunch about fertility and gardens and getting the ground ready to plant.  As much as I can't stand the cold, the ice, the shoveling, the breaking and destruction of everything, I know that the ground needs a fallow time.  

Don't kill yourselves kids(unless that's your thing) and I feel that the warm weather is coming soon....then the floods...but then the flowers....and love.

"Leave 'em laughing when you go and if you care don't let them know...don't give yourself away, I've looked at love that way."

What happens when people fall in love?  I'm still wondering about all of it.  But I suppose that's a topic for another day.  

"It's Life's illusions I recall...I really don't know life at all."

Yes, I'm Jealous of Everyone Whose Mom Is Still Alive...

And I know that this is an immature emotion/sentiment to have
....but it is how I feel.

I'm jealous of:

every woman whose Mom will kiss her on her wedding day.

my Father, because his Mother is still here.

the people who get to introduce their children to "Grandma".

anyone who can get a hug and an "I love you" from their Mom.

every single person who gets to celebrate baby showers, bridal showers, weddings, Christmas, Mother's Days and birthdays with their Moms.

And the thing is, I'm happy for people, but it doesn't mean that I'm not sad for myself.  This strange dichotomy of emotion is draining and difficult to explain.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-How are you? They ask.

-I'm doing okay.   Because I'm too proud, too stubborn to say,

                I am not okay.  I will never be okay.  

The thing is, I want to be okay.

I want to wake up and not feel dread at another day full of reminders of what was and what will never be.

I want to know that someday I will be enjoying life again and not merely surviving.

I want to not take my boyfriend for granted, because I'm so depressed that all I want to do is sleep, even when we are together.


But, I've been hiding out.  Fooling myself that no one will notice how I am really doing, how I can't get through a day without crying or being sad.  How I lash out at the people I love the most and isolate myself from them. How I'm risking losing someone I truly love...

I've been lying to myself and everyone else, petrified that someone may know that I'm not strong and capable of getting through a shit ton of bad situations by myself, that maybe if they notice...they might not love me anymore since the one person I knew would love me unconditionally forever is gone...
And others might realize how broken I am inside, but
 I'm not fooling anyone.
                  not even me...

And I'm just so sick of this stigmata of pain that I've been carrying around for so long.   

~~~~~~~~~~

Someday, I hope that I won't be jealous anymore.  That I will be able to experience JOY in life, and stop waiting for everything to end badly.  I've been so used to fixating on others and their troubles, or replacing drama for what I really need help with and that is grieving.
 

There have been moments when I wished I could be even more depressed and could attempt suicide, not to kill myself but to be able to hit that rock-bottom place, like an alcoholic or any addict.  But I've been on maintenance, where I come up a bit then go back down.  Admitting this has not been an easy thing, I've been ignorant about my own needs.

I need professional help.

 And I am going to get it...if I don't, I may just disappear one day and never return.
You can't be twenty on Sugar Mountain...even though you're thinking that you're leaving there too soon... ain't it funny how it feels when you're finding out it's real?

My Karma, My Judgement, My Life

Going to the doctor tonight for this cold that just won't quit.  I think I've gone into bronchitis.  When I'm sick, I spend too much time musing over things and...


I've been thinking about something my father told me about a year or so ago.

I had been talking about how I was afraid that I would die, like my Mom at 60 and it meant that I've already lived half my life.  He told me that I was going to live to be very old because I had honored him and my mother.

Funny thing though, I don't really feel as though I have.  I mean we can only do our best right?  Most days I don't feel like a "good person".  I am just an inherently flawed person who is seeking change.

Strict rules dictated most of my years so far, and while some of them have been beneficial many have created a certain fear within me.  I have a strong sense about how life should be lived, and I know I write a whole bunch about my Mom(who was NOT a saint) but she showed me how to live a clean life, how to be a mother someday, how to do the right thing and not lie.

Losing her is the most tragic thing that has happened to me so far.  But I remember her with LOVE.  I remember the things she taught me about God. Even as I grew older and decided to make my own rules about life, those initial character building lessons have stuck with me and hopefully will stick with me forever.

My mother never drank, smoked or did drugs.  She just wasn't into any of that.  She ate potato chips.  But my father was an alcoholic, weed and tobacco smoker.  Two extremes in life, and I've always feared of becoming one or the other.  My father was "more fun" at times than my Mom, but that was only because he didn't really care if other people picked up his slack.  He needed my Mom's straight edge ways to help keep his shit together.  He was more fun, but he had a problem.  And I've learned that life isn't just about having fun and laughs.

I also wonder if most addicts/alcoholics are just deeply wounded people who don't really like themselves or are just seriously depressed.

I've found that when people are living a deceptive way, they will do their best to over justify their actions.  They try to make it seem as though the person calling unsavory behavior to light is the one doing something wrong.   My father did this to my mother for years.  Told her that she didn't know how to have fun or let loose in life because she wasn't into drinking or smoking weed like he was.   He told her that she was judgmental too. 

I remember hearing these conversations(arguments) and thinking maybe they are both wrong.  Maybe she did need to let go and maybe he needed to accept that certain things bothered her conscience.

How often do we just assume someone is being judgmental when actually they just are afraid for us?

I know that I've experienced that with some people.   My father knew exactly how to deflect my Mom's concerns, and that is by turning it around and making it about her flaws. 

This weekend I realized how similar I am to my Mom.  For the past ten years, I've tried to NOT be similar to her.  To change my life in ways not to be alike...but I think I know why when she was dying she told people to talk to me, to ask Sarah because I knew what she wanted.

For a few years I felt as though I had failed my Mom, by not following in her footsteps.  She once said to me before I turned thirty, that she thought by now I would be married and have had a couple grandkids for her to enjoy.  When I was twenty-five she bought me a Norwegian sweater, she said that she pictured me drinking coffee in that sweater with two little ones.  Even though she knew that I probably can't have babies because of my PCOS, she always talked about it.  This broke my heart a bit.  When I found out that my brother and Pam were having Beatrix, I breathed a sigh of relief.  It took pressure off of me to give her a grandbaby.

And now I picture something that will never be.  My Mom wearing her Norwegian sweater with Beatrix or Crosby on her lap, reading a Jan Brett book to them.

Before she died, she told me that her saddest moment was knowing she wouldn't meet them and she said that she was sad knowing that she wasn't going to see what I would become.  She supported my dreams of being a writer.  But I hope that if someday, I do have babies(adopted or from my own body) that I will take all the things I learned by her mothering example and be that way for my own kids.

Sunday Morning Coming Down

Then I headed down the streets
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing
And it echoed through the canyons
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

On a Sunday morning sidewalk
Oh, I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That'll make a body feel alone

And there ain't nothin' short of dyin'
Thats half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleepin' city sidewalk
And Sunday mornin' comin' down

I was listening to some Kris Kristofferson this morning while making coffee.  It's on vinyl that my Grandmother gave to me.  There is something so wistful in a lazy Sunday morning.  

And 2015 is on its' way...coming with a force.  The changes of the past year in my own life have been so vast, so crazy in some ways I almost don't know what to think.  

I used to feel lonesome on Sunday mornings, but not anymore. 

 Warm warm bodies loving touch, fresh coffee, pancakes, purring cats, lazy pants and bathrobe, watching Breaking Bad(yeah I'm a newbie to it), hum of a dishwasher, cuddles, writing,Sunday supper of lentil soup later on.

I'm new to this relationship thing.  I feel like I don't always know what I'm doing, because I've made so many mistakes in the past.  This time is different though.

My heart is so full of so many things these days.  Dreams, hopes, love, joy...

I've learned so much about myself this year though, how I can survive emotional abuse, how I can manage to make ends meet with barely a dime, how to try to be comfortable in my own skin.   There are so many things in my life that haven't made sense in a long time.  

When you're in love with someone wonderful, you just want to tell everybody how great it is all the time.  And for me right now, it's great.  I didn't know what was missing, these emotions. (I'm an emotional creature) and I'm sitting here writing this watching as my cat is cuddled next to Jamie.  Now this cat is a Mama's girl.  She cuddles with me and pretty much only me.  Now she seeks him out to snuggle.  It makes me so happy to know that my precious little kitty-girl loves my man as much as I do.

And for all those out there who've experience bad past relationships, when you finally meet someone who is real and wants to be with you, who makes time for you, doesn't play games, and is man enough to take you on with all your own insecurities...well then you know you've hit the jackpot.  

Age means nothing.  There are 50 year olds less mature than some 24 year olds.  These are the things you learn in life.  

2015 is going to bring some incredible events and I can't wait...because there's just something in a Sunday.

Because I CAN.

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Not good, but not terrible considering I do absolutely nothing to advertise it.

So people are out there in the world reading what I've got to say.  I picture y'all on your Phablets or iPads...clicking at the drivel.

But honestly, c'mon  most of you read those awful Buzzfeed "articles" which I'm beginning to think are written by about twenty monkeys in a room somewhere with a massive server, hunkered down with trucks of bananas in some over-priced Brooklyn hovel.

I'm a writer. Or at least that seems to be my chosen hobby.  I write stuff.
Now, there are some really great things out there being written and posted by people, but there are also some self-serving blogs du jour.  I don't read them--on purpose.

But what really matters in this life ya know?  Importance in the grind, the running on the wheel, the great surrender to all things blah.

We are all supposed to grow up someday, right?

What if we chose not to grow up?  What if I choose to continue to think with the openness of my young brain(well maybe younger than it is now).   Well, I believe the world would be a better place.

I'm not an overtly social being.  I don't claim to have mucho acquaintances.  But the people I choose to be a part of my life, while not many are the people that I would do anything for, go anywhere with and ultimately love the most.

Most of us have experienced failed relationships.  Romantic, friendships, co-workers...etc.

I used to focus a bunch on my own failings. WHAT WENT WRONG??? I would plague my thoughts with that question.

Now, I've decided to think, what went right?  Let me 'splain.

Every end of something, relation-wise has made me examine my own sense of self, who I am, what I want in these short years.  After this last ending, I know what went wrong, but I started thinking about what I did that was right, what felt good vs what felt bad.  Because the next guy I meet, I want to recognize that good stuff.  I'm on the lookout for those good thoughts/feelings. 

 I am NOT religious...anymore.  In fact, I sincerely believe that religion is what has put a wedge between people and God. But, in the my religious upbringing we were taught about how wrong we were.  How we fell so short of holiness, goodness and how nothing in us was good except for God.

The years it has taken me to overcome such early indoctrination of my own worthlessness has been many that's for sure.  The thing is, the kindest most accepting and honest friends I know and love are not the types I was raised with.  They best friends I have, don't have anything to prove.  And trust me they vary in religion and belief.  And THANK God, that they don't all think the same.

Just like when I realized that I was basically dating the same guy over and over again, at one point I realized my friends were the same.  They thought the same as me, wanted the same things, had the same goals...same political beliefs.
and look those are all natural good attributes in friendship, but when you surround  yourself with people of the same ilk. (and you know how you define yourself) then you are limiting so much in yourself.

If I only spent time with white, middleclass, christian females...what the heck?  My life would be so dismal and boring!!

Think outside the box.  Challenge yourself a bit.  Travel somewhere unknown.  Grow your brain. Be open.

Here's a story for ya.
When I was 13, I met some folks and we started to talk about music.  Now, these kids were a few years older than me, boys(who I thought were cute) and two girls my age.  I knew nothing about popular music.  I'd spent the past couple months listening to as much Bob Marley I could get my hands on.  And I didn't talk about it, I didn't know anyone else who liked Bob Marley except my parents. Plus I was afraid people would think I was a pot head.

So there we were sitting round a campfire...and when they asked me what music I liked this was my reply,
-Oh, well...I guess I like Celine Dion.

Okay, I was so afraid that they wouldn't know who Bob Marley was, or that they would laugh at me for being a total nerd with pink glasses and frizzy hair that I lied.  Yup.  I lied 100%.  I lied because I thought one of the guys was cute and I wanted to appear feminine.  It was the type of thing the other girls were saying and I didn't want to appear strange.  And since he kissed me, maybe it worked who the heck knows?
Sometimes, I wish that I could go back to that night and say, how much I love reggae.  He probably would've thought I was super odd.  I mean this was the early nineties.  It was many years before I openly talked about my reggae obsession.  (Check out this reggae roots 80 min of music!) And if it's your thing burn up da herbs.

So what the hell am I getting at??  I was embarrassed that I didn't fit in to my own demographic.  13 year old girl listening to Celine and whatever boy band du jour was around.  I learned to never lie about myself.  Sheesh, this was 21 years ago and I still feel bad about it.  But life is for learning no?

Here's my challenge:  Are you demographically closed?  Are all your friends clones?  Do you think outside your philosophical box...ever?  Try.  Just try to do it. 

Anyhoo those are my thoughts for today...

positively absolutely

Listening to The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, on vinyl, sipping from a glass full of vodka and seltzer, folding laundry, baking a pumpkin cheesecake, gorging on green curry with shrimp take-out, my mind on exes and where we all went wrong, wanting a chocolate milkshake, watching some shadow float across the ceiling, communing with the ghost of death in my house, slipping into sweet sleep to dream about the dead and wake to still be living.

Five years, Mr. Bowie  

And I thought of Ma, And I wanted to get back there, your face, your race, the way that you talk, I kiss you, you're beautiful, I want you to walk, 

Seems I'm always in a mood to jot things down on Sunday nights.  Yeeeeaaaah.  Sunday nights are when I categorize my upcoming week into things to be accomplished, things to bunk off, time to waste, time to not waste....bills to pay, bills to not pay

stuck to my eyes, five years

what a surprise

we've got five years, my brain hurts a lot

five years, that's all we've got, we've got five years

one month has disappeared into a new season.

Seasons affect me differently, time marked, denigrated in a whole new way.  I don't enjoy this "new way" that I've developed.
I get into this periods where I just want to be that saxophone scream, to be my voice out there, the metallic screech so un-decipherable, so understandable.  
SCREAM into nothingness and hope that some echo returns to me that means something, anything.


All I have is my love of love...
and love is not loving

But really, I'm just waiting for a new person to thrill me to my fingertips, make things not boring, and all the men I know are B-O-R-I-N-G.  With their jobs and their fake little suburban lives, be different do something...just change your life.  I am also boring, but at least I own it.

freak out, far out, in out

Watched a soccer game today, and it's just pointless running around on a field, kicking a ball into what???  some goal??  to win?  Like football what the...?  But it's this euphemism for life, right?  The game.  Oh well, I guess I just don't want to be bothered by the bull shit.

Let all the children boogie

So rip open my heart again, do it. Make me think for once, why, don't I just do whatever the hell I want.  But I'm going too...I am.  


Well all the people have got their problems, that ain't nothing new with the help of the good Lord we can all pull through

Please, have my abortion.

I smiled sadly for a love I could not obey

I'm thinking about your tight pants life, how I make them tighter.  Walk, tightrope walking, carnivals, circus, open eyes, massive elephants hitting the ceiling...representatives.

I could fall asleep at night as a rock and roll star, I could fall in love all right as a rock and roll star

Right, so who's going to understand this BS?  I certainly do NOT.  Royalties, jokes, writing about sex, not getting sex, creepy old men, watching young girls without a clue.  They called out to me once, thank god I'm smarter than that. 


Well, she's a tongue twisting storm

 I enjoy the storm, causing a twist with my tongue, people don't know what to think.  Offend me.  Tell me how awful I have become.  Because I don't give a damn.  

Ziggy played guitar

Doesn't everybody?


 Ohh, wham bam thank you ma'm

Oh boy, do I need to say that to be a real non-pinocchio man? Make sense though of what others think each day, holy shit have I become redundant?  I meant to offend. Be honest.  Truth is all that matters.  Pull away that band-aid on the trophy kids and white fenced manicured lawns, be naked and unafraid.  



Oh no love! you're not alone
You're watching yourself but you're too unfair
You got your head all tangled up but if I could only make you care
Oh no love! you're not alone
No matter what or who you've been
No matter when or where you've seen
All the knives seem to lacerate your brain
I've had my share, I'll help you with the pain

You're not alone 

Just turn on with me and you're not alone 
Let's turn on with me and you're not alone
Let's turn on and be not alone



I have given up on love and I don't know if that just makes me sad or what.

K. West does not equal Quest.  

Gimme your hands cause you're wonderful 
Oh gimme your hands.

Alright

Thought I'd give you my...life.
To take and hold til death, we go wrong, but You're the posion that runs, the sting, creeping insecto bite the web of, sink those rotten teeth in until the pleasure pulses through my thighs.

So, here. we. be. 

Wanting. Hiding from a piece of peace?
a lover of all we, don't you know
you tore me apart, tearing me still. this shit, this fuck
this fucked. 
        Up. 
                    Shit.

Taunt me, haunt me, oh spectre
erected ghost, come and
fuck me in the night half sleeping 'til we are
good, spent apes for each other. Those other
bites. Grand ole home, in the hole other place brighten
the blight of this be-speckled soul.

When you're in it, you don't know you are, until you're not. If you think you
are then no, I say.

You stalking vicious prowler, our

love is just fucked.

Homeward Bound

Where is home?

Is it the house next door where I lived for fifteen years?  My first home of memory in West Orange, on that tree lined street, next door to the mayor?  Or is it where I have lived for the past five years.  I often try to think where I "feel" home may be in the future.

In a few months, when the house is finally sold and the rooms are empty, I will walk through and say goodbye. Then I will always wonder where my "home" will be.

 But since Kate died, I'm not sure where I belong once this place is sold.

At times I long for a  husband who would tell say, "Honey, my job is moving and so are we blah blah blah." Then my choice would be made.  I would know my place in this world, country, state, town...universe?  Or I think, hopefully I will get accepted to certain MFA programs which will dictate  where I end up.

There is no comfort in uncertainty.  But, hell I haven't felt comfortable in a few years at least.  It has been dread, then stress after stress.  Uncertainty.  And I suppose that NOTHING is certain.

IN the folly of my youth, I believe that I would meet a guy, get married, pop out some kids, you know do all those things that I was brainwashed into believing gave my life value.  I thought that I would have my own home by now, that home was defined by a person.  You know that thing, Home=where your heart is.

Well, I'm learning where my true home is and it's not quite what I thought.

 I never remember being told about women who chose to have a career.  Those women who were single and supported themselves seemed to be looked at with a wry sense of pity.  This is a religious thing, no doubt.  How many times did I hear preaching about the "place of women" in the world.  I watched my own mother try to be a good wife, homemaker as suited a good woman of the Lord.  I watched it and swore that would NEVER be my life.

My Mom and I used to have long discussions when I was in high school about women choosing to be SAHM versus using their college degree and working.  I think she thought I didn't value what she had done to raise me, this is the same woman who when I said I wanted to go to college and I wanted to have four kids, told me I was too selfish to ever have more than two children.

But, I always felt that being tied down that way was akin to a prison sentence.  I never could do it.  My Mom went back to work when I was in seventh grade.  She later told me that she wished that she had gone back to work earlier.

Now, here's the thing choosing like my Mom did is perfectly fine.  But so is NOT choosing that.  I told a friend the other day, have men ever wondered if they could be a father AND have a career??  I doubt it.  They just assume that they can do both.

The church I was raised in did not allow women to pray in public.  I never understood that.  I consider my religious upbringing to be akin to those raised in a cultish atmosphere.  Rarely was I allowed to have friends outside of the church circle.  My family didn't have friends outside of the church circle, why would I?  And when I say "My family" I really mean my Mom, brother and sister because my Father checked out of that church by the time I was eleven.

He was considered to be a "non-believer" or "apostate" because he chose not to attend those services.  And because of this, I was an outsider.  Oh, there were several outsiders in my group.  I used to strive for a time to be like everyone else, but eventually I accepted my role as a non-functioning part in that strange organism.

 I was instructed in the way of absolutes.  God is real, powerful, omniscient.  The Bible is His Word, the Roman Catholic church is the whore of Babylon, God  chooses who will go to Heaven, woman should remain silent and wear long skirts, children need to be spanked often, in order to build their character...it was a Neo-Puritan upbringing.

There seemed to be a pervading understanding that the things we believed elevated us religiously, we had the truth unlike some of those other less doctrinally sound apostate churches.  I've been bellowed at, cajoled, manipulated and made to feel terrible from preachers of The Word of God.  The odd thing is I'm like a person with Stockholm Syndrome.  I still feel at home amongst some of the those teachings and I believe that there are good people still attending that church.  But would I ever go back?  No.  I don't want to be like Proverbs dog and return to vomit.  So, I choose to follow my own path.  I choose to go with my heart into the uncertainty of belief, the mystery that is faith.

Now, just as there are many oppressive beliefs in this world, there are many empty beliefs.  Where does this uncertainty thing come into play?  I mean have you ever been 100% positive about anything?

I haven't.  So, I have turned this discomfort into a game of sorts.  I keep holding on like a card shark, I'm playing the person not the hand I'm dealt.  I'm psyching out myself to keep going.  And I may never hit a point of peace, or pure bliss.  And I'm OKAY with that.

I long for happiness, but know that happiness like it's friend sadness is only a feeling and a feeling doesn't last. And someday all my words and thoughts will be gone into the ether of the otherworld.

Hah, I'd planned to write about relationships.

Note to everyone...do not give single people advice such as: Why don't you try online dating?  or If you just enjoy life you will meet someone or It always happens when you least expect it.

No, no and NO.    Here comes that uncertainty again.  I don't know if I will always be "single".  Heck most of those married people won't always be married.  Some will be divorced and then single again, then possibly re-married.   I guess I'm just tired of others beliefs internally dictating my life.

 All my past relationships have ended by my own hand, well except maybe one.

That's right. Men, you think that you choose us women?  Nope, here's a clue: we women make the choice every time.  We choose not to be with you or to be with you.  Some women don't realize that they are the choice makers. Some just self-sabotage things,  I have done this.  I have also consciously chosen to end things.

A friend told me once that he knew that his girlfriend was the one, he was ready to buy a ring...then she broke up with him.
And I said,"You knew, but she knew too and it didn't happen, so you can never REALLY know."  How can you NOT have even a little lingering of doubts?

  Because, damnit I have doubts about the things I throw into my grocery cart!!
  Shouldn't you have just a small bit of uncertainty in a relationship?  If not only to keep it moving and thriving?  People think I am a massive failure at romance, hell, I think it too sometimes.

I just cannot seem to find a balance between being too needy and not wanting anyone around me at all.  Try living with THAT schizo type of personality.  The thing is I've dated a few guys who I know I could have taken things to another level, maybe even married them, but each time I knew in the back of my mind that maybe there was something better.

Okay, better isn't the right word.

I knew I wasn't ready to give up my own desires and ambitions, not that I've accomplished what I want yet.

I know when I'm dating someone if it is going to work out long-term or not.  But how much uncertainty is too much?

 I just haven't met someone who can be there and give me space when I need it.  Those things don't seem to be that difficult right?    And the thing is the last guy in my life just had too many red flags for me to compromise, but I tried.  I really tried.

Which brings me to an interesting point, I've been told that I'm afraid of commitment.  This is not true.  I'm just afraid of what comes after that commitment.

And that is why I'm not married, it is my own choosing. I'm no-less suitable than any other woman.  I know so many other women who like me have questioned their own desirability, attractiveness, etc.  But I'm throwing it out there ladies, if you aren't in a relationship or married or dating, guess what...it isn't because men are bad or terrible.  It is because you've chosen not to be. I'm learning to change the way I think.

I used to beat myself up all the time thinking that I had some type of intrinsic flaw keeping me from happiness(because God-forbid that you can be alone and be happy!)  How many lonely coupled folks have I met?  Far too many.

   I don't believe that there is one "soul mate" out there or perfect person or anything like that.

 I still believe in love. I'm just not sure what that means, yet.



SO I continue in my own uncertainty...

Reasons To Keep It Real

I know that I've written about a bunch of personal topics on her over the past few months, but I've never really felt comfortable speaking about my own health.

I am not sure why.

Since Robin William's death, I've seen a ton of posts about depression.  As a sufferer of depression I find these posts both annoying and sort of informative.  Annoying because I hate to think that depression is the new disease fad, and informative to know that so many others suffer from it.

Now, there are all different types of depression.  Clinical depression, situational depression...low-grade depression...

I've been wondering is there EVER a good reason to kill yourself?

  Here is where I'm going to get personal.

When I was nineteen, I was first diagnosed with an auto-immune disease called Hashimoto's Thyroiditis, I was also diagnosed with something called Poly-cystic Ovarian Syndrome.  These two tend to go hand in hand, and I won't get into the causes of them but I will say that folks may take a quick glance and think, "She's fat/overweight/chubby...etc".  Now for most of the population, extra weight is accumulated through poor eating habits and a sedentary lifestyle.  But for me, while some of my extra pounds may come through an ice cream now and again, my body seems to be programmed to hold onto fat.

Let me shed some light on Hashimoto's.  The body is a complex system of hormones.  My body decided that my thyroid doesn't belong so it started producing something called anti-thyro-globulins which attack my thyroid.  Now, the treatment for this disease when I was first diagnosed was, just wait until you fall into subclinical hypothyroid state.  My TS levels have always been right around the low normal levels.  But the problem here is, when your body is constantly attacking itself there are all other symptoms that develop.  And it is a roller coaster disease, where sometimes my body over-produces the hormones needed in order to get my thyroid to work.  Then it underproduces the same hormones to give my thyroid a break.  So I vacillate between heart palpitations, over heating to exhaustion and freezing.

And sometimes, just sometimes I feel OKAY.

Right now I'm in an under active state.  I'm achy, my hair is falling out, I'm tired all the time...it goes on and on.  And you would think I could just take a pill or something and God, I wish that it were that easy but it's not.

Another symptom?  DEPRESSION.

And here's the thing telling a depressed person to "snap out of it" or other trite terms is just the worst thing ever.  SO, I've been thinking about Robin Williams offing himself.  How does someone who has such accolades, money, fame, family make that decision?

Over the past year I have felt many different emotions
Grief, , uncertainty of my future, worry if I will ever have a long-lasting relationship, worry if I will be able to have a child, stress over careers, fear about lack of money, sadness...

I have lost two parents in the span of eight months.  One to cancer, one to prison.

My life is not full of successes, money, awards...hell I can't even seem to find a healthy functional man. And I'm pushing thirty-five, seeing my friends all move on with their lives...weddings, having babies, moving, buying homes, taking vacations...and I am here.  Stuck in a dead woman's house, trying to get it ready so someone(anyone) will buy it.

It's been hard not to compare my lack to others and I do it, but I try to be happy for other people.  But I know what it's like to have demons, I know what it's like to have silent struggles and suffering.  And I have come to the conclusion that even if it is a person's choice to commit suicide--it is never the RIGHT choice.  And this is coming from me.  As a small insignificant blip in the world, my struggles however personal, are mine.

And here's the rub, we focus too much on ourselves.  We think it is wrong to suffer.  We've been taught that people need to be positive, cause who wants to be around a downer?  But the truth is life is CRUEL at times.

And maybe it's when we focus too much on the cruelty, we fail to see the beauty and the kindness there too.  I'm not a positive person.  I'm not a negative person.  I like to think that I'm a realist.

IN my exhaustion(because I am in a down-swing Hashimoto's phase right now) I'm choosing to push beyond myself.  Beyond my depression, because I've found the best way to help myself get out of that is to help other people.  To stop focusing on my own "situation" and try not to judge(I feel like I judge too much) and enjoy the little things.

And accept the fact that, I may never have a baby, or make a million dollars, or get married, or travel, or etc etc...my list continues.  Because all that doesn't even matter, all that matters is survival.   Which is the opposite of suicide....I am alive.  That's good enough for me.

Gettin A Education(it should be AN)

Most of you who read my musings know that I love to cook...
Well I've learned a lot about food the past week...but not in a good way!

(and no, I'm not talking about the beer and omelette I ate...but that was a fun combo)

So, Pan told me about this hilarious Instagram called cookingforbae.  Now, these are not for the weak of stomach.  These photos are some of the most disgusting vomit-like food products I've ever seen...but the comments make me laugh so hard, I cried.

But as I laughed I couldn't help but wonder, what is a bae???  I had to look it up.  Bae.  Is  a shortened form of Babe, cause, you know that extra B is just too much to say.


Here's a less disgusting photo from cookingforbae.

Oh, so much to learn from this site.  I have now added #struggleplate and #struggleslice to my dictionary.  You know, a struggle slice is one of those wrapped-up processed cheese products.

In fact, I think in a past-life that stuff was called Government Cheese.

 This gov't cheese was mentioned in my new favorite realty TV show-Wahlburgers, and it just began its' second season tonight on A&E.  I had caught a couple episodes a few months ago, but thanks to OnDemand TV, I watched the whole series...in two nights.  What can I say I was a big fan of NKOTB.

  

Watching the siblings interact, reminds me so much of my own family.  Sure , we didn't have nine kids, but Kate told each of us that we were her favorite child... just like Mama Wahlberg.  And my Mom cooked food the same way too.  From the sauce, to the chopped suey with noodles and ground beef. the mentioning of English Muffin Pizzas...I couldn't stop thinking about my Mom and her cooking.  I was also moved by the competitive nature of the siblings, and the talk of the government cheese.

And this is s a shout out to my family.  Over the years I've found that no matter how much we have bickered, fought, competed with each other, when someone tries to mess with any of us, they don't have a chance.  I've learned that not every family is like this.  In sharing in the grief, I am bonded to my brother and sister in a way I never thought possible.   And I love them more than anyone else in the world.  I don't know if they realize the extent of that love either.  But watching this stupid TV show about a family running a burger place in the Boston area, just reminds me how important family is.  

And of course we all know who Kate's favorite was....

Summer Nights Are Sort of Alright

Eight months into it, another year almost past.  
Time is a cruel mistress, not sure who said that...maybe it was Yeats.  Christmas is getting closer...

I like to keep Christmas in my heart.  Recently, I watched The Muppet's Christmas Carol .

I'm listening to the trees rustle, the cool air is wafting through this house, Agnes is sitting at my feet.  I feel "grim around the mouth" and so you know Ishmael went to the sea...I listen to Christmas music and watch Christmas movies.

Many of you know, I've been dealing with a great amount of discouragement in my life.  The irony of that statement is that I am even making it.

Here goes an interesting jaunt down a strange rabbit hole:  

Kate always told me this story of when she met Corrie Ten Boom, how large her hands were, and how Corrie gave her and the guy my Mom was with at the time a blessing on their marriage(even though they weren't engaged, but Kate didn't have the heart to tell her.)

Who is Corrie Ten Boom people will say.  She was a Dutch woman who hid Jews during the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands.  Corrie and her family were sent to various concentration camps, her sister Betsy died in one.  She wrote a book about her experience called, The Hiding Place.   
Kate had a copy of this book which I read at a very young age.  We owned the movie version of The Hiding Place also.  This past week I was thinking about Corrie Ten Boom, because I remember the part in her story where she is in the pit of death and human cruelty, and she envisions killing one of the guards.  In her book she describes how even in the worst of situations she was learning how to become a better person.  How her own heart was full of pride.  

“Oh, this was the great ploy of Satan in that kingdom of his: to display such blatant evil one could almost believe one's own secret sin didn't matter.” 

― Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place

So, tonight especially I put together a dresser. I'm ranting and raving. Trying to get this house to a point that it WILL sell.  I'm angry at everyone and everything.

  Realtors, my siblings, my mother, my father, mortgage companies, the state, the country, the world, the universe.


I'm so good at trying to be positive, hoping that everything will work out that when I keep trying and do not see any fruit to my labors, well, I get really discouraged by life. 

First thought, Don't Judge.

And I wondered what is keeping me from reaching out and asking for help?  Well, I know the answer.  I'm afraid of being judged.

Judged for whatever it is that I have or haven't done in my life, in this house, for my dying mother.  Judged for any action and choice that I've made. Trust me over the past few months many people have given me their judgement.  In various aspects of my existence.  My house is not clean, I'm never going to get a good job, I'm too emotional, I need to let go, I need to care more, I need to pray more, I need to move on with things....trust me the list is endless.  And you know those of you who've thrown those things at me.  I'm pretty sure that I've taken it.  I know you meant well, even if you don't really understand me as a person.

 Now here is the kicker.  

I am the merciless judge of myself.  Whatever this inner realm of self that says, "You aren't doing this right." etc is, I've got it in spades.  Tonight, I was just ready to give up and I felt Kate.  I say that because I know what she would've said.  She would've said, "You're almost there, you can't give up."  

So, here I am writing out into the ether of the internet to nobody in particular because I am alone with my own thoughts most of the time.  What I want to tell others is, DON'T JUDGE.

From a spiritual point of view, I've seen Christians judge other Christians and non-Christians, but I've seen others judge Christians too.  I've seen Christians judge Catholics, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists...on and on.

Well, God is teaching me that judging anyone is wrong, even through my own dire situation that I'm in at the moment.  I am not entitled to anything, I'm not even truly guaranteed anything in this life.  I mean life, liberty, pursuit of happiness??? Those are ideals that most people have no chance of actualizing.  

We can't know another's heart or actions.  I don't know why most of us are here, if we all have some higher divine purpose or if we are all just ants working at small hills that get destroyed.  I wish that I knew.  I really do wish.  

Second thought, We waste A LOT.

I keep hearing about weddings.  How much they cost.  How in New Jersey a couple could easily spend $25K on one day of festivities.  I mean if their friends are plunking it down why not?  And in my heart, I think what a waste of money!  50% of couples divorce anyway, why not feed starving children with that?! But, in my thinking I don't want to judge people, (here is that constant right?) I guess for some it's what they need to do to feel important.  I just keep thinking how that could help others.

Also waste, I live in a large house.  Why do so few people live in such large spaces???  I mean is this necessary?  I hear a lot of jabber about becoming wealthy as though having lots of money in the end is the measure of a successful and happy life.  

Well, I think money is not the measure of a successful and happy life.  I guess it's the same thing as the insecure men that think they need to be with super model type women, when really they are just average themselves.  

So I am challenging myself, how to stop wasting so much!  Wasting my time, my life, my emotions, my money...this is not easy.

Third thought, Can I encourage others, even when I am discouraged?

I agree that this is a strange thought.  But in my persistent pursuit of joy I keep thinking that there must be something I can do to help others.  I feel so helpless myself.  But maybe that's my strength. I feel closer to other people who are down on their luck.  I mean when you've hit rock bottom, you can only go up right??

This always CHEERS me up...how 'bout a little Christmas in July?  Waltz of the Snowflakes...

Can't Buy Me...Love? Happiness? Long Life?

We aren’t really supposed to talk about money.  It’s not proper or fitting or socially acceptable in some circles.  Folks like to whisper about who’s got it or who doesn’t.  At least that was what I experienced in my “church circle” of friends.  Those who were on the fringes of poverty and required assistance from the church community were viewed as being a bit of an underclass.  Heck, I experienced it firsthand at times when my Mom required financial assistance.  But, I believe that giving to others in need is paramount of this thing we label as “Christianity”. 

The news was reporting the past couple days about a woman who left her baby on a subway.  She was homeless and said that she couldn’t take care of her baby anymore.  I don’t know the whole story, but it got me thinking.  She could be me, she could be any of us. I could be homeless.

From the outside looking in, I appear to have plenty.  In fact someone once told me I was privileged.  Why was I privileged?  Because last year when my Mother died I inherited a house worth over half a million dollars.  

This doesn’t mean that I have that money in hand.  In fact, I have less than when I inherited it last year. The small amount of money she left barely paid for her funeral expenses, some utility bills and I still have outstanding health bills coming in the mail.

After taking care of a terminally ill parent for almost a year(try finding gainful employment while someone is at home dying) I accepted the first job I was offered. 

And most of my paychecks went into maintaining my  inheritance. 

I inherited mortgage payments, a high tax load, expensive oil heating, a dog and various other maintenance costs on a house.  Between these costs, the cost of gas to commute,  I barely had enough to pay any other bills. 

I was also in a deep state of grief, but I was pretending that I was OKAY.

So, I kept going, doing…striving.  I was not going to allow myself to fall into any type of depression or sadness.  I knew that I must be positive.  I focused on other people’s problems or things to distract me from feeling the real sadness.

Then my father got arrested. 

In under eight months time, both of my parents were gone.  And I do not have family who live near me.  I am by myself. 

I nearly lost my mind.  Bad thoughts crept in, thoughts such as, maybe I should just die.  Not that I would kill myself, but maybe just maybe a truck might hit me on the highway.  I only told a couple people about these thoughts.

Each day was a struggle to pull myself out of my bed and drive to a job full of banality and lack of purpose.  I would sit at a desk staring at two screens, barely able to remember my own name at times.  I would start crying and have to spend twenty minutes in a bathroom stall trying to compose myself.  It was as if I had been through an intense battle, come out on the other side feeling relieved, yet sad to have witnessed such horrific suffering.  I guess it was a type of PTSD. 

Counseling may have been an option, checking myself into a facility was another possibility. The only thing that kept me going and gave me purpose was writing.  However, the grief I felt just kept slamming me.  

I hated not being able to function.  Each day dragging myself to an office, stressful commute, I was losing my mind.

 So I quit my job.  I simply couldn’t do it anymore.  And I don’t feel guilty.  I needed time to grieve, to realize that my Mom is gone and there is nothing I can do to change that fact.  All that I can do is my best.  Of course, money is a problem.  However, I always have a way of getting money, making money when I need it.  It's kind of my special power.

Right now,  I have 3.58$ in my bank account.  I’m working a part-time job that has yet to pay me.  I’m still going.  I haven’t “bought” food in three weeks, I’m eating what I’ve got in my cupboards.  I’m not worried about the carbs, the GMO’s, the wheat, the sugar…I’m just worried that I have food to put into my body.  I won’t starve.

I calculate how much gas it will take me to get to work.  That’s what I’ve done this summer.  I haven’t gone to the beach or on a nice vacation or a hike. I am surviving, in a half a million dollar house.

My story is NOT unique.  I have a college degree that took my thirteen years to accomplish.  I am $30K in debt. How many of my peers still live in their parent’s homes because the cost of rent is astronomically?  I bet I could name four people…and they’re married.  My generation was brought up in this bubble of middle classdom, a privilege that not many will have ever again.  We were conditioned to go into debt in order to “get an education”, unless you were lucky enough to have your parents pay for part or the whole.

The sad thing is, I’m not afraid to work hard.  I’m not lazy.  I’ve had jobs since I was twelve years old.  I’ve been self-reliant.  This isn’t a complaint, its more of an understanding that life is hard.   

Six years ago without a college degree, I made almost double what I was making this past year.  Then in 2008 the work just dried up, I got laid off. 

Now, why am I writing about any of this?  I will tell you.  Because I’m tired of pretending.  I want to scream out, LOOK I’m poor and it is OKAY. 

But, what I’m saying is look around.  There are some major problems with our governmental system.  Apparently, jobs are on the rise, but what jobs.  Full-time, with decent living wage, health benefits??? No.  

And I’ve been thinking about all of this for a long while…and it hit me.  Over 600,000 people in our country are homeless . We live in one of the wealthiest countries in the world. Tell me, how the fuck do we have people with nowhere to live???  There is this idea that the homeless are lazy people who don’t want to work.  This is not true.  Many people who are homeless have jobs, but cannot afford a place to live.  How is this possible?  In 2014, in the United States of America, we  fund all kinds of strange things, but we cannot fund a place for those Americans down on their luck.  Ask someone homeless where do they want to be in five years...probably will say ALIVE.

I’ve always hated when people ask you where you’d like to be in five years.  It makes me think of something John Lennon said when he was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up and he said something like, “Can’t I just be happy?”  Which is funny because apparently those who make between $50-75K a year are the happiest so says Forbes.  

While I don’t believe in entitlement of the poor or the wealthy, I do believe that everyone should have a place to sleep, food in their bellies and happiness.  But the religious side in me says, we live in a fallen world.  There is real evil out there, but how many of us support that evil by doing nothing to stop it?  We do nothing to stop it. 

I have only 3.58$ in my bank account.  My statement denotes two things, one that I actually have a bank account, that I have a social security number, that I did have a way to put money in there…so many people on the fringes of society do not even have bank accounts.  They are not eligible for them.   In some ways not having a bank account, or credit cards, or student loans would be an amazing, freeing feeling for me. 

Kate grew up very poor.  She would tell me stories of living in housing projects, roaches, sharing bedrooms with many siblings.  A man she was in love even decided not to marry her because his parents didn’t approve of her background.  (this was a “Christian” man of course.)  She was always afraid of lack, even though she was a hardworker, with a college degree, my Mom never really thought much of herself.  I think it was because she spent so many years ashamed of where she came from.

People are so often ashamed to be poor, but I believe that those who are wealthy and do nothing to help others are the ones who should be ashamed.  And for the record, I put myself in the “wealthy” category.  I wish that I could give more.

But, I guess in some ways I am privileged.  I am privileged enough to care about other people.  While I've been told that I am too nice, I've come to realize that maybe what I've been made to think of as a flaw is actually my secret strength.  Each day is precious, every life is precious, poor or rich, white, black, brown or yellow, we all deserve to treat each other with respect.