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Peace from Beyond

8 Nov

Last night — well, all day yesterday, really — I was in a total funk. I felt on edge, like any little thing might (and some did) totally set me off. I have spent the last couple of months feeling like I am wandering through my life with little to no direction, almost as if — as one friend put it — I’m watching my life go on around me without any input or control on my part.

After my trip, which in and of itself was wonderful and fulfilling for a lot of reasons, my return to reality has served to further highlight just how shitty I am feeling lately. I’m stressed beyond belief about money, my impending divorce, work (and lack thereof), family, the fact that I get to start paying back my student loans this months and have to register my car and am about to lose my medical insurance and have zero room in my budget (and I use that term loosely) to cover any of this.

When I got home from work around 1 a.m., I avoided dealing with any of this in a mature, responsible manner by passing out on the couch after a little too much bonding time with my bottle of Grey Goose. I slept like crap, but I never worked up the gumption to relocate my drunk ass to my bed.

Upon waking this morning, I laid here on the couch in a post-sleep/hangover haze. I had a surreal feeling, like a dream I had was still with me. In a good way. As my mind wandered back to what had just transpired in my head, I realized I had been dreaming about my grandfather.

My mom’s dad — Grandpa to us kids — passed away when I was 12 years old. Explaining how much he meant to me, to our entire family, would take a whole blog post of its own.  He was a disabled WWII veteran and also talented, charismatic, and intelligent.  I miss him to this very day.

I don’t have dreams about him as often as I used to have. But the ones I have share some of the same characteristics. In them, he is always in good health, with no signs of the fused vertebrae that debilitated him here on earth.  In my dreams, I seem to be the only person who knows he has passed away. It’s like he shows back up and I’m surprised to see him but no one else is.  And I”m afraid to ask any questions about why he’s here or how he is healed, because it might somehow make him go away.

Despite this conundrum, dreaming about my grandpa makes me happy. His presence is so calming and peaceful. Even though it doesn’t make whatever problem I’m having go away, when I wake up I feel like he’s still with me surrounding me with love from somewhere else and letting me know it will all be okay.

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Sometimes

8 Sep

Sometimes I think I’d be better off relegating myself to a life of being single.  Oh, I’d still have intimate relationships.  But they’d be with the understanding that I’m beholden to no one, I don’t share a house with anyone, and you can take me as I am or see yourself out.

Sometimes the things I write in my head never make it to paper or blog.  They die a slow and painful death, expiring in snippets as I remember less and less of them throughout the day.  They’re like little daydreams that never survive past the world between awake and asleep.

Sometimes I question my sexuality.  I try to remember how long I’ve felt this way, and whether or not what I feel is what I really feel or just what I think I should feel.  And the older I get, the more lesbian-oriented I get.  By the time I’m 50, I’ll be the biggest dyke ever.  I’ll be the aunt at the family reunions who brings her “roommate.” My husband and I will just be really good (probably divorced) friends who happen to have a (really awesome) kid together.  Then I think about living a life without having heterosexual sex ever again, and it makes me a little sad. I guess I’m destined to a life in limbo.

“Sometimes is never quite enough,” according to Alanis Morrisette.  I couldn’t agree more.  People think I’m so demanding sometimes.  Ha.  Try living in my head.  I’m uber-demanding of myself every second of every day.  I guess I never got over the “if you’re flawless, then you’ll win my love” mindset that was so ingrained in me.

Sometimes I look at my blood relatives and I wonder how on earth it is I came from the same tidal basin of the gene pool. Maybe I’m adopted.  There are days when I don’t want to speak to my family again, unless I can tell them exactly what I think and how I feel for once without being called selfish for doing so.  I frequently can’t believe I made it out of my home/hometown/home state with my sanity in tact. Clearly, they did not.

Sometimes I wish I could be oblivious.  Stupid, even. What must it be like to live a life of contentment, of never wanting more? To just not know any better?  To never question, to just fall in to line and be happy with the status quo.

Sometimes I think about what it would be like to just be dead. I don’t mean that in a “Oh, look at me, my life sucks, someone hear my cries for help,” kind of way.  I just mean it in a very factual sense.  I think about how peaceful and quiet death is going to be, and I sorta look forward to it.  Then I feel like a major asshole for thinking things like that when I have so many amazing people and opportunities in my life.

Addict

20 May

Caffeine, nicotine, benzodiazepines. Wine with a bowl of green. Zolpidem for sleepy dreams. Calm down, sink low, bated breath. But hey, I’m not a druggie… I don’t do meth.

Thoughts on Why My Week Sucked

6 Jul

In my attempt to re-ignite my blogging habit, I’ve tried to refrain from using my blog(s) solely as means to vent. But it seems that, having done myself the great disservice of moving halfway across the country from the vast majority of my closest friends, this method will have to do. That is, until I can pick up the phone or text and be sitting on someone’s couch with a drink in a half hour or less.

This weekend really sucked.  To start, I’m not a fan of holidays. I wasn’t to begin with, and a year of being depressed and crying at pretty much every major celebration certainly didn’t help that cause.  One would think that having Tim back would make things just peachy.  But one would be wrong. I think it’s going to take about a year of adjustment to the year that was spent apart.

Where was I? Oh, yes… the holiday.  To me, holidays are synonymous with: extra stress, everything being closed, traffic/travel sucking, and trying not to spend an entire weekend eating like crap. Add to this weekend’s past one that we’ve endured a week of feeling like we live in a war zone, thanks to the rednecks and their penchant for cheap explosives.  Last year, I was so far out in the boonies that I didn’t think about it.  This year, we had mini-Armageddon 25 feet from out backdoor every.single.night. Fireworks curfew is 10?  Oh, you won’t mind if we go until 10:30 or so, right?  I mean, even though we’ve been setting them off since 7:30 for the past four nights in a row. And last night?  I actually had to go over there and be the asshole neighbor who asked them to stop.  At 12:20 in the morning.  “Um, excuse me.  I know you probably don’t care because you’ve been drinking beer since 10 a.m., but I’ve got a toddler who’s trying to sleep and my husband and I both have PTSD and get a little twitchy after five straight hours of this shit.  So, if you could cut it out, I’d appreciate it.”

I guess my body’s way of starting off last week by sleeping for almost two days straight was supposed to offset the lack of sleep the rest of the week.  Somehow, I still ended up napping today from 2:30 to 7, further adding to my sense of discombobulation and grouchiness.  And speaking of grouchiness… if there is a pill to offset that homicidal feeling I get when I don’t get enough sleep, I would almost be willing to try it.  I spent most of yesterday and today snarking at Tim over stupid shit, and just generally being an insufferable bitch about things.  It seems ridiculous in hindsight, but at the time when he is asking me retarded male questions, not reading my mind, or even so much as breathing incorrectly, I feel like my eyeballs are going to pop out of my head from the rage. I think Valium would do just fine.  Maybe missing yoga class for two weeks straight has something to do with it, too.

Lest I forget another kick in the proverbial nut sack, today is the anniversary of my first wedding.  I guess that makes it an ex-iversary.  Which, normally I don’t really think about.  But thanks to my subscription to the extended family nationwide e-group for the sharing of birthdays, anniversaries, and all things pointless and inane (like what business we should boycott because they support gay rights, or the weather in some far corner of some state you’ll never visit), I was reminded by e-mail that today was (or would have been) my sixth year anniversary.  Brought to you by the group of people who most enjoy reminding you that you’re the only person from your generation of the family who has been divorced (out of about 70+ various layers of cousins). Let’s never mind the fact that I’ve been divorced for four years, or that this happens every year, and every year the moderators say the fixed the “glitch” that keeps causing the reminder of this joyous occasion to pop up.  Happy ex-iversary to me.

This is probably all delayed/compounded/subconscious stress over the month I’m about to undertake: another full-time school|house remodel|raising a toddler|Tim back in grad school full-time|long-distance managing a property that is a pain in the ass extravaganza.  But I’m ready. Even if I have to drink every night, I will make it. And maybe by the end of the summer, I’ll get to sleep for the first time in eight months without the use of Advil PM.  Until then, it’s fun and excitement at our casa! Buckle your safety belts, kids. This ride’s about to leave the station.

Warming Up… 25 Things About Me

13 May

As you can see, it has been quite some time since I last submitted my thoughts to the blogosphere.  Not for lack of good intentions, or being asked by friends and family, or for a loss of words accumulating in my brain.  Rather than attempt a full-blown return to putting it all out there, I thought I’d do a Facebook-style “25 things about me.” Part warm-up, part getting-to-know-me.  Part attempt to realize that not everything I blog has to be some perfectly crafted story or contain some life-altering revelation (and not that anything I’ve written to date has).  Just that I need to start writing more because it makes me happy, and that should be enough.

25 Things About Me

1. My guilty pleasures include: reality television, celebrity gossip, decadent espresso beverages, hot Krispy Kreme doughnuts, excessive pedicures, and the infrequent (or frequent, depending on my stress level) smoking of cigarettes.

2. I have this weird thing where words get stuck in my head for no apparent reason.  Words that I haven’t (consciously) heard anywhere.  Words I don’t know the meaning of, and thus have to look up so they will go away.  Today’s such word was “avuncular.” Other recent words include: vituperative, obfuscation, and megaloblastic.

3. I hate beer.  Hate it. I prefer vodka, or white wine.  Working on my appreciation of reds. But, the older I get, the less I enjoy drinking alcohol.  The benefit to next-day-repercussion ratio is too out of whack for me.

4. When I lived in California, I decided to learn how to ride a motorcycle.  That was 11 years and 4 bikes ago.  There is no feeling in the world as liberating and I will ride until I can’t hold a bike up anymore.  And then I’ll get a trike.

5. I’m a closet espresso snob.  I mean, just about anyone who knows me knows that I am a fan of Starbucks (I know, big evil corporate entity killing mom & pop shops… bite me, I’ve worked for them and I like them and if there’s a good mom & pop shop, they’ll be able to hold their own and if they suck, they won’t… but I digress). Here’s the big secret, people.  I don’t really care for coffee.  I mean, I’ll drink it.  But coffee does not equal espresso.  I blame my year in Spain drinking insanely addictive cafe con leche.  Once you’ve had coffee/espresso like that, the drip pot just doesn’t cut it for a real fix.

6. In my lifetime, I have had 20 piercings at various times.  I currently have four (lip, each ear once, nose) and I’m re-doing my venom piercing at the end of this month. It’s decoration and it makes me happy, that’s why.

7. Some day I see myself living (avec ma famille, bien sur) overseas for extended periods of time to work.  I’d really like to get back to the Middle East and use my experience in construction to help rebuild homes, schools, and community buildings.  Another reason to get my Arabic back up to par.

8. My uncorrected eyesight sucks and it gets worse every year.  I wear contacts that have to be special-ordered because optometry shops don’t keep the prescription in stock.  If my vision could not be corrected for some bizarre reason by contacts or glasses, I would be considered legally blind.  But I’m afraid to get something like LASIK done because the thought of lasers in my eyeballs freaks me out.

9. I was an Arabic linguist in the Navy.  I studied it (I use that term very loosely) for 63 weeks at the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, California. Yes, I could read, write and speak it. I still can but I’m extremely rusty and I abhor being put on the spot about my language skills. I hate it when people find out and then say, “Say something in Arabic!”  Um, no.  I’m not a circus monkey.  I don’t do tricks. But it’s my goal to be comfortable enough speaking it again someday that this doesn’t bother me so much.

10. I have always had a feeling that I will die before I’m 45.  The older I get, the more I hope that I’m wrong.

11. My next tattoo is going to be a line of Arabic script on the underside of my left forearm.  It will be my fourth tattoo, but not my last.

12. I don’t think I danced with either of my dates to junior or senior prom at my school.  One of them is now out of the closet, the other was my best guy friend who had a crush on someone else.  Then, post-graduation, I went to two proms in another town with my boyfriend at the time who, weeks after we broke up, knocked up and subsequently married a girl he had a one-night stand with at a bar in Norfolk.  Boy, did I know how to pick ’em.

13. I bought my first individual stock today. Ooh, maybe that should not be number 13.  *knock on wood*

14. My ever-growing list of food turn-offs includes: pointy french fries, seafood that isn’t from a seafood restaurant, the entrails or any non-muscle part of any animal, cinnamon rolls, and sushi. Blech.

15. When I build my Barbie Dream House one day, it will have a library with built in bookshelves and a fireplace because there are few things I find more relaxing than reading.

16. Baseball. I can’t stand it.  There, I said it.  The list of things I care as little about as baseball includes: Chia pets, MySpace, the actual price of tea in China, Heidi and Spencer, how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie pop, and why people wear those ridiculous looking Crocs. In other words, I really don’t care for baseball. Or hockey. Or college sports unless they’re in playoffs and even then… meh.

17. I’m a big fan of diversity and challenging stereotypes.  I hate intolerance and extremism.  There should be more of the former and less of the latter in this world.

18. 99% of the time, I sleep with a fan on to block out all the little noises that happen at night.  Otherwise I get zero sleep. And once I’m awake, I’m AWAKE.  I would also rather stay up until 2 a.m. and sleep until 10 a.m. than go to bed at 9 and wake up at 6.

19. Due to a combination of factors influencing the items in #17, I am decidedly NOT a morning person.  In fact, one should not risk speaking to me until I have spent at least 10 minutes vertical and ambulatory, brushed my teeth, and put in my contacts.  Until then, I am not human and cannot be held responsible for my actions.

20. I’m pretty sure I’m at least mildly OCD.  I’m also a part-time control freak, especially when it comes to driving.  And I occasionally consider the need for anger management classes (also especially when driving).

21. I’m a big fan of social Darwinism/survival of the fittest.  You’d think that having a kid would change that a little, but I still  really believe that our society has made it far too easy for stupid people to survive.  Thus, they procreate and make more stupid people because it’s a proven fact that smarter people have fewer children… so if we don’t start making it easier for them to kill themselves off (more lax gun laws, fewer pedestrian crosswalks, less safety features on power tools) then someday there won’t be enough McDonald’s drive-thrus in the world for them to work at, and things like G.W. Bush in the White House will happen WAY more often than we’d all like.

22. In 2012, we want to go back to Scotland with friends & family for a five-year anniversary celebration.  (Hint: save the date.)

23. I have lived in the states of Kansas, Washington, California, Texas, and Virginia (Northern, thnkuvrymch) and the country of Spain. Worked in the U.S., Spain, Iraq, Kuwait, and Germany. Visited 42 of the 50 United States, the Yucatan Peninsula, France, the Netherlands, and Scotland.  I like to travel.

24. I am a PC.  Although I find the Mac vs. PC commercials very entertaining (the marketing geniuses behind that series should be given an award), I’m not likely to be convinced in this lifetime that Macs are more user-friendly or so much better than PCs that they’re worth the switch.

25. It takes a long time to think of 25 things to write about myself.  And even longer to actually sit down and write them.  I started this blog last week.  That’s just silly, especially considering it’s probably more than anyone wanted to know about me in one sitting.  But thanks for reading this far. 🙂  Send me your address and I’ll mail you a cookie.