Category: Life

The Bottle Has Been

gr4c56 Comments

My worst enemyWe debate the alcohol thing. We go back and forth, forth and back again on what makes one the “ic” of the word. Al-co-hol-ic. Obsessed with the bottle. In love with the devil inside. Is it a drink a day without fail, failing to quit? or is it the excess? Can’t stop until can’t stand up? I wish I knew. I know both kinds.

There’s this woman. She has a drink a night. Like clockwork she opens the bottle. Tells anyone who will listen just how much she “deserves” it after a day like the one she’s had. Let her tell you. She’ll go on and on about the day she’s had. Suggest a night without a drink and she’ll accuse you of not hearing her. Didn’t she just tell you what kind of day she just had? Didn’t she just say she deserved it?
There’s this guy. He drinks once or twice a month. Unlike the steady drinker of just one a night he makes up for lost time and downs doubles until he can’t see straight. Can’t walk a fine line. Can’t remember his own name. Passes out while knocking on a stranger’s door. Six packs become thirty packs which in turn become the icebreaker for 151 and SoCo cold. Wakes up with blood bruised knuckles face down in his own vomit on an unfamiliar street. Doesn’t happen all the time. Just whenever he drinks.

I’ve been listening to Natalie quite a bit and one song that has been tearing me up is “The Living.” I don’t know how to describe it other than it’s about alcoholism – that relationship with the bottle. She took inspiration from knowing someone who had it all, someone who didn’t need anything until the drink came into his life. Then, the drink became his life. As Natalie says, “the bottle’s been to me my closest friend and my worst enemy.” She makes no secret that this person was someone great until he threw it all away for the devil inside.

We debate this thing. Back and forth. What puts the “ic” in alcoholic? When is enough enough?

Spread Too Thin

gr4c53 Comments

Sometimes I think I take on too much. As my husband says, I don’t know no. I cram to the point of gluttony. Once I invited everyone I could think of to hear my favorite music. On the surface it was the attitude of TheMoreTheMerrier, and thinking Exposure is Good. But, underneath it all I wanted to see each and every person. Here’s the problem: I couldn’t spread myself that thin and some people’s time fell short. I don’t know if they got mad at me, but myself did. I could only imagine getting an invitation to hang out only to be hung out and ignored.
I’m trying to learn from my mistakes. While I was in Florida I knew I was thisclose to two other friends. I was so tempted to look them up & book time with them. Just to see them and not have to say I can’t remember the last time I saw you. But, had I done that I would have squandered time with someone else. It’s a matter of becoming less greedy with someone else’s time. Soaking up the value of spending time.
But, what about family? When does it become okay to squeeze in time? To rush from one place to another just to replace Wish You Were Here with Thanks For Coming? I’m having a hard time deciding if less is even worth face value. Especially when they say “whatever you want to do” with a sigh of resignation and a barely contained eye roll.
What about work? When does it become okay to not take on that next big project? To not give something your all because it’s not worth your anything in the first place? I sat across from someone in my office yesterday and went over the same ole, same ole. Could she tell I was defeated? Tired of parroting the purpose? (If I have to explain your job to you what’s the point of you trying to do it?) I came close to putting my head on my desk and asking her to shut off the light and close the door on her way out. I was picturing that perfect reprieve with eyes closed and fight forgotten.
Kisa says I don’t know no so my mantra has become, “Never again, no, never, ever, not on your life…”

 

Lock & Key or Not Your Puppet

gr4c56 Comments

Lost

There is only so much you can do to protect your heart. I think of you and wonder how far you are willing to go. How much blame you are willing to balance? Take as your own, distribute to others. How fair will you be if you don’t have the facts?
A few weeks ago someone heard me wrong. Well, heard one side of a conversation and filled in the blanks with slightly off-kilter information. What’s worse is that the misconception went uncorrected for all that time because it wasn’t questioned. I would have hated to be in that head space with all that wrongness swirling around. It’s just not right.
Here’s why I say all this. I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what is wrong when it’s wrong and not three weeks later. I am really good at identifying my heart when I’m faced with feeling it at that moment. Not three weeks later when me, my heart, and moi have moved on. Or forgotten (which is worse).
But, it’s not all you. I’m walking away from some relationships and nudging closer to others. It’s something that I’ve been meaning to do for some time now. Certain people deserve more while others have overstayed their welcome. I am not a dullard strung on a wire, waiting for someone to play me. I am no Happy Puppet, waiting for your command. Occasionally, I need to change the locks and get a new key. Let’s just say it’s long overdue.
So, back to you. I’m glad Jessica Simpson isn’t joining us for dinner. Sorry I set a place for her. Thank you for speaking up and not lashing out. My only request is do it sooner, while the conversation is still breathing and has life. No one wants to rehash DOA unless they really have to.

Glad You Think It’s So Funny

gr4c54 Comments

pukeI had another one of those failed restaurant meet-ups a few weeks ago. I was supposed to meet someone for dinner. He thought 7:30pm. I thought 5:30pm. I sat there wondering if he was waiting outside while I was inside doing the exact same thing. Toying with my wine glass, fiddling with the silverware, smoothing the tablecloth with my fingertips, reading the menu until I had it memorized, staring at the artwork on the walls. I’m sure the waiters thought I either had a kidney problem or I was having an affair as they filled my water glass for the eighth time. My friend never came. Until 7:30pm

This week we were able to connect and I’m almost wishing we hadn’t. Before me sat a BBQ burger with BrianFries and crunchy pickles. I was ready to dig in. Before I could take a single bite my friend eyed me and asked the WhatsNewQ. I knew I should have started eating first. After I told him my latest he threw his head back and laughed. Laughed and laughed. Laughed so loud other diners turned with curious looks. Laughed and laughed until he was crying. When he was finally finished and had swallowed the last chuckle he managed to ask, “how in God’s name do you get yourself into these messes?” A tear hung in the corner of his eye and a giggle escaped. I could feel another bout of uncontrolable laughter coming my way. Through gritted teeth I admitted I had no idea. And added it wasn’t funny. Burger aside I had to explain. Or at least try to. My life is one big soap opera minus the orphaned surgeon who never knew he was sleeping with his sister and actually died 3 episodes ago but still managed to seduce the bull fighter’s CIA wife in Africa last week. When I said I was done with drama I should have said I’d like to be done with drama. I’m dreaming if I think I can ever fully escape it.
I never did finish the burger…or even touch the fries.

Boy Bomb

gr4c510 Comments

IMG_1002

I’ve got this guy close to my heart. I think he reads me but then again, I’m not really sure. Maybe not. He’s a road warrior. Hardcore. If he does read me, that’s cool because I want to thank him for being so freakin’ cool. Okay. That was cryptic. I DO mean “read me” on a couple of levels. One maybe more than another.
Yeah. I can hear some of you now. Yes, I’m a married woman. So be it. But, I have this friend. I’ll call him Joe. We’ve had 22 years of something. Friends, lovers, roommates, coworkers, enemies, siblings, classmates, partners, pen pals. I’ve read to him. He’s drawn me. Been there. Done that. I think we have been just about everything to each other at one time or another. I guess I could say we have ultimately ended up where we started. Full circle friends. Only this time he’s not hiding more than several cans of beer in a multi-pocketed jean jacket and I’m not climbing out back windows at 3am. Friends of another era. Kisa’s cool with that. I’m cool with that. It’s not that complicated. It’s cool because I’ve grown to hate complicated.

I go through stages where I miss the snot out of Joe. Then, he’ll call. As if he knows. He gets me laughing. Gets me crying. I want to tell him everything crazy, but his phone crackles and we lose connection. He’ll call back but only to say see ya. Next time. Later, baby. On the road again. And again. My favorite question is not Can you hear me now, but Where are you now? He just laughs. My brilliant boy bomb.

Here’s what I meant to say to him: Boompa: thanks for Arizona. If I could get the darn pic off my phone I’d post it here. I’ll think dream about Zion. I’ve always trusted your travel sense. Congrats on the camp. It’s where you belong. You’re good at everything Weld and you know it. I’ve got issues but we’ll talk about those another time….when you’re within calling range. You know you owe me, myself & moi lunch. 

Oh, and one more thing, don’t pick on the girls too much. We bite. Really.

Forgive Me

gr4c513 Comments

Days End

I have been hiding behind book reviews and poetry for days on end. Two poems for every one book. Reading like a fiend seems to suit me. Sorry.
I’ve started to tell you about the weirdest things ~ Kisa murdering the ladybugs in the bathroom, the end of N&ZY, my heartbreak over a breakup, the amazing work I’ve done with MSR, the crap I’ve been handed at AIC, how homesick I am, how little I’ve run, the need to hear my music again (go where we haven’t I don’t dare), Natalie, Germany, Sin City, Taka Tak, being stood up, being letdown, sex in my city, Comic Book Tattoo, Darfur, Boston Celtics, wine, angry black man, gun to my heart, arthritis and friends too far away.

I’ve started to tell you about all these things. Yet, I can’t. Instead I tell you about what I’ve read and read and read.
Forgive me.

Kermit is My CoPilot

gr4c58 Comments

After the run with KermitSometimes I think I appreciate my friends more than I tell them. I love them more I let on. That I know. Today I went shopping with such a friend. She’s the one who loads my arms up with the “try this on” stuff because, as she puts it, “it just might work.” She’s right about most everything. I never did tell her that the fur coat pinched my pits, but she’s right – it was funky. I could have spent all afternoon trying on the suggestions of a friend. I didn’t have one fat moment.
I tell you this because she convinced me I needed Kermit. Kermit, Aerosmith and a sexy dress with sunset colors. But, the bigger news is later that day I ran with Kermit. 5.34 miles in an hour. Yup. One freaking hour. I ran to random and found myself laughing at the more ridiculous moments of the week. One hour is a long time to think about sh!t on a treadmill, especially when you settle in and run at the same pace. With Kermit’s help I came to several conclusions. The best being this: My friend is right. No one, I repeat, no one tells me how to conduct my marriage. No one tells me what is or isn’t appropriate. I’ll let my husband be the judge of what he would or wouldn’t appreciate. I was stupid to be upset. I was stupid to care what someone else thought. Especially that kind of someone.

So, to my friend. Thank you for kicking my mental butt.

14 days until Darfur.

Mr. Dillon

gr4c52 Comments

Getting The Shot

I don’t remember the commercial. It may be just in my head because I can’t even remember the product. All I remember is someone (in a really annoying voice) telling Mr Dillon to “loosen up” because he was on a cruise. I have that voice in my head, right now. Telling me to loosen up. Laugh a little. Let Go a little. Live a little more. But, this picture is the epitome of exciting for me.

Last night kisa was glued to the computer, a funny little smirk on his face as he enthusiastically typed away. “Listen to this,” he throws back over his shoulder to me, “we could take a five hour white water rafting trip followed by lunch in the canyon…only $350 per person.” “Oh.” His face fell. “A seven hour bus trip back…” No thanks. “Ooh!” He was at it again. His face all lit up. “Here’s one: a helicopter ride, followed by four-wheeling safari jeep ride, hike for lunch in the canyon.. (I guess lunch in the canyon is mandatory). Lemme guess. Next, we bungy down to a wild boar farm where we rope an emu for the ride home. Why doesn’t any of these adventure thingies sound exciting to me? Maybe it’s because I picture clumsy moi coming home in a body bag? Maybe it’s because I fear my husband will learn just how afraid of man-made heights I really am? “Uh-huh.” I grunted back, head buried in a book. I only looked like I was reading. Instead, I was trying not to picture a helicopter careening off canyon walls, an open jeep doing somersaults down a ravine. Our bodies looking like rag dolls being flung about. I’ve seen pictures of the Grand Canyon. It’s a long way down. Our screams will last forever and echo for eternity.
So, this is where I need to suck it up. I’m only scared because I’m silly with imagination. If I’ve never done something before I can’t think straight and I think the worst. But. But, But~! If I think about it long enough maybe flying in a bubble sounds like fun. Right? Riiight. I may not be Mr. Dillon and I may not be going on a cruise, but I do need to loosen up!

Post Traumatic

gr4c58 Comments

IMG_0951

I went through a little post trauma yesterday. Even though the tanker accident is long over and traffic moves on and I said my peace & prayers I wasn’t prepared for to pass the spot. See, usually everyday I pick up kisa from his work, and usually everyday I take that same exit where the accident happened. For all intents and purposes, I usually mimic the car that caused the accident; trying to get on the highway & blend with the rushing vehicles already going my way. Except for the past four days I had been avoiding that spot. Last night was my first time driving the route since the trucker died…and I couldn’t do it. Kisa took the wheel and took over. What surprised me was how I flinched when he smoothly merged between two cars. Am I scared of traffic? Will I be gunshy from now on? How I winced when we came upon the scene of the accident. Have I lost my aggressive nature? What exactly bothered me? The shiny new guard rail? The workers still trying to pick up pieces of debris & rake over the black scorched earth? The evidence was like a fresh wound, ugly and raw. To me, it was like driving through someone else’s hell and feeling the pain. It hurt and I don’t know why.

Solo Strength

gr4c58 Comments

Last night, when all the friend saving was said and done, I took a desperately long bath. Car accidents and drunkenness aside. The water is where I calm myself. I like to sink beneath the surface and listen to the world from underneath. Everything always sounds echoed and hollowed. Warped and wavy. The dripping spout sounds like a tuning fork. The African cd sounds more like muffled birds than joyous voices. I like the warmth of the water, cradling me. Steam rising from the surface. Last night I stayed silent and unmoving letting the water become as calm as can be. I wanted to become just as still, just as calm. With only my nose above water I willed myself to be slow and easy. A ladybug crawled over the spout and paused to investigate the drip before making its way along the rim of the tub. Every time it stopped I thought about its journey and wondered if it would join me in the water. A solo ladybug going somewhere. When it finally disappeared from view I thought about Aaron, about alcohol, about aborted engagements and mourned one and all. Not my lives, nothing to do with me, but I will miss them just the same.
While my muscles were still warm from the bath I practiced sun salutations for half an hour. There is something about moving from pose to pose as slowly and silently as possible that makes me feel whole. Strong. Centered. Solitude is my saving grace. My breath was just as quiet as in the bath. If I thought I could communicate with you through mental telepathy I would have said I’m finished with the anger. Silently I would have said I’m done being raving mad. Because while I didn’t want to talk to you at such a late hour I wanted you to know I’m fine. But, thanks for being there.

Here’s the thing. I’m finding I’m learning to let go of anger and hurt more easily. I have found my solo strength.
 

Are You Afraid?

gr4c58 Comments

IMG_0645
I can’t tell you how many times I have heard someone say the words “I hate change.” Why is that? Yes, to both: why am I hearing it so often and why do people hate change much? Here’s why I ask – I just took a pretty intensive course on leadership and how to direct “my people” through changes. Basically it was all about how to hold their hands during that “transition” phase. Please. Six weeks of Be Sensitive to their feelings. Six weeks of Be Gentle with the speed of change. Six weeks of Be Patient. I aced the course because I just regurgitated the touchy-feely statements but, I’ll say it again. Pahleeease! Give me a freakin’ break. I’m tempted to warm up some milk and make sure everyone has a blankie on hand for sleepy time. If everyone were allowed to resist avoid change we would still be tapping out our love letters in dots and dashes.
Here’s the thing. Change IS hard. I’ll admit that. Change can be intimidating, especially when you don’t see the need for it, or can’t imagine the future any differently. But, consider the alternative. Same is dull. Same is same old-same old. I couldn’t imagine having the same job, the same schedule, the same life year after year. You know you’re really in trouble when your ex from three years ago knows where you’ll be on Any Given Thursday. What’s worse is when that ex is right…ALL the time. I don’t want someone to expect me somewhere because I’ve always been there. To be that predictable is pitiful. Pitiful and seriously sad.
I don’t have the same job I had six months ago. Traded it in for something a little more stressful, yet a little more stimulating. I don’t have the same relationships I did a year ago. Traded them in for deeper, more meaningful exchanges. I don’t listen to the same music I did two years ago. I’ve opened my ears to bands with names like Dumpstaphunk and JuJu and Sonny Landreth. I changed my mind about movies. I found a new Indian restaurant and discovered I actually like bananas now. I am in a transitional phase with my family. I guess you could say I am changing all the time. While I’m not always comfortable with change, I’m always looking forward to the new me.
One more example: someone very dear to me is saying goodbye to a life she has known for years and years. No. In my opinion she was born to have this life and she’s letting it go. Like hearing about a divorce of two really, really good friends I was shocked. At first. Then she said it: I. need. a. change. She’s assures me it’s for the best. Suddenly I see. Suddenly, I get it. Change is good for her and she is not afraid. For everyone else, I’ll bring out the milk and cookies.

Beatles Sex or Celine?

gr4c58 Comments

Las VegasI can’t decide. My choices are, but are not limited to: The Beatles, Zoomanity, Celine Dion, Wayne Brady, tigers…and some burlesque thing. At least that’s what I’ve found so far while researching things to do…other than gamble…in Vegas. Here’s the thing. We’re planning our Nevada/Utah,/Arizona/California trip and I want to make the most of everything everywhere. We’re giving Vegas only two days. So, that means cramming a lot into a little time. Definitely a show in Vegas, maybe 10 minutes of gambling (just to say I did it), and who knows what else. I am a virgin when it comes to Vegas. Sooo “skies the limit” as they say. To say that I want to experience it all doesn’t mean I want to find a prostitute…and I was only kidding about Celine Dion. She is not an option. Neither is Wayne Brady. But, I do know there is a wealth of fun in Vegas. After all, someone had to have coined the phrase “what happens in Vegas…” for a reason. Right?
This is what I know I want to do in Vegas: skinny dip in the pool, find a turtle in the wilderness sanctuary, have a cheeseburger in paradise, do that 10 minutes of gambling I mentioned, have a dirty martini, see a CirqueDuSoleil show (sex or Beatles? I can’t decide!), find evidence of Bugsy’s vision (at the Flamingo), maybe get a new tat, and finally, last but not least, find a diner that serves huevos rancheros at 3am. That’s pretty tame for what I could want. I know I know! But, it’s a start. Right?

Pivotal Moments

gr4c57 Comments

It’s not often that I notice a turning point, a change of definite direction, one of those important pivotal moments in life. It’s striking when something strikes me as “pivotal” – such as what happened today.

I came across a resume of a friend. One of those drowned relationships that sank without apparent good reason. I admit, I let it sink. I have this habit of moving away from something if it no longer feels right. Such is the case with this friend.

I met her at one of the most out-on-a-limb times of my life. I was creating a new existence like never before. Everyday was a struggle to not fall. I clung to anything supportive. While I wasn’t paying attention she easily fit herself into the newness of it all. Somehow she became someone with the label of friend. It was all without fanfare and I thought nothing of it. It just happened and I didn’t notice. Until I started thinking too much about it. Something about the friendship made me worry. Made me nervous. Made me more than a bit uncomfortable. Made me want to move away – just a little. I started to decline invitations. Started to invite her out in groups of people. Strength in numbers. It was more than just having nothing in common or disagreeing about just about everything.

When she finally went away for good it took me months to really notice. It took another month to really care. Another month to be surprised by how much I did care. I made feeble attempts to fish around for the friendship. Murky and muddled I wasn’t sure I really wanted to find her. I sound horrible, but really I was more than confused. I wasn’t sure what I really wanted. Looking just to look? What would I say if and when I found her?

I found her resume today. Full name, address, phone number. Email. All things I had lost along the way, suddenly now in my way. Everything I needed to start all over again. Information in my hands. The search I didn’t really know if I wanted to make. Then came the turning point. The change of direction. That pivotal moment I mentioned earlier. I don’t know what made me do it, but letting by-gones be by-gones I let  her resume slide into the trash. The moment the paper left my hand I knew it was one of those moments. If it were a scene in a movie it would have been slowed down and dramatized. The symbolism of such a shot is not lost on me. I let go.

The Dying Know Their Time

gr4c5Leave a comment

image00011.jpg

“Dearest Dalva,
I am putting my affairs in order, and that is why you have this short letter from a dead man. I don’t intend to tip over tomorrow but I sense this will be my last summer. Unless we are insensitive we know our own weather” (Dalva, Jim Harrison; Dutton, 1988. pg 287).

My good friend Leo started to say things like this six months before he committed suicide. He saw himself as not a weather pattern, or a change in temperature, but rather a leaf on a tree. He admitted that he could see himself dropping from the limb “any day” and that he wasn’t meant for this world. Over and over, leaves were his symbol of life and death was the act of disconnecting from the branches. Falling gracefully.
I had no idea he was planning his own end. No idea that his suffering was something no doctor could cure. There was no medicine that could soothe him. Despite a daily raw onion eaten like an apple (!) his pain was the very act of aging itself. Failing eyesight, faulty plumbing, noisy hearing aids. Shaking fingers. Uncontrollable, unstoppable aging. Repeatedly he kept telling me it’s time. “Not today,” he would gently assure me, “but it’s time. It is time” Over the phone his breath sounded raspy and his voice mean. I swear I could smell onion juice. 
One time he was taking me to the Bronx to look at plants. As a member of the Botanical Gardens he had all sorts of access to all sorts of green things. He wanted to buy me a huge tree. Remembering his analogy of death I refused. Plus, I had nowhere to put it. ‘Just walk with me and tell me the names of plants’ I begged. He smelled of onions and vodka like always. He walked with hands clasped behind his back asking “does this make me look Jewish? No? Too bad! Because I am.” And laughing loudly, scaring away pigeons in the brush. It was hard to believe he wanted to fall with a laugh like that. I ended up allowing him to buy me a small fern which dried up and whithered away the following fall, despite my diligence to watering and worrying.
On the day I learned of his death, confused and angry, I threw up at the first sight of an onion. I couldn’t understand the meaning behind “I Quit” written on a calendar. Leaves weren’t supposed to pluck themselves from the limb. Whatever happened to falling off gracefully?
In the end Leo taught me that you don’t have to be sick to be dying. It was years before I really accepted it. Even still I don’t think I understand it. The dying know their time.

Compassionate Hate

gr4c5Leave a comment

“I try to incorporate compassion into my everyday life because without trying, nothing in this world will ever change.” ~ Now & Zen Yoga

 Some of you might recognize this quote as a comment from one on my blogs, but as I said before, it’s worth repeating. I lose my compassion about 50 times a day. Drop it somewhere. Forget about it. Impatience, intolerance, insensitivity – all these things find and take control of compassion’s lonely place. Like the impossibility of holding water in my hands I find it difficult to hold onto good thoughts, deeds and gestures throughout an entire day. They slip away undetected as bad moods settle in; goodness is chased away by anger, frustration, irritation. Where does this come from and why is it easier to be this way?

I was at a family function not long ago when my table companion leaned over to me and whispered ” —‘s put on weight.” I found myself taking furtive glances. I couldn’t really tell. Suddenly angry I snarled, “her dress is beautiful!” knowing my companion hated her own. Was I trying to defend the weight-gainer or hurt the observer? Maybe both. I couldn’t tell. I do know I was caught between two kinds of cruelty.

This morning I was on my way to pick up bagels. I could have gotten the supermarket variety – six of one kind, half dozen of the same. Instead I went gourmet and bought flavors like apple cinnamon, garlic and herb, honey walnut, and blueberry. Fancy cream cheeses on the side. It was good to be generous. On the sidewalk sat a crumpled, bearded man. More blue than blueblue eyes stared up at me. I dropped a five in his can and wordlessly walked away. I couldn’t help wondering how he would spend it. Wine? Cigarettes? Or something stronger? Something only a syringe could deliver? Was it callous of me to think that way? Why did I think I just donated to his uselessness? Why couldn’t I think something better of his begging? 

Oddly enough, I have gotten help through someone else’s blog. If you are really interested, click on February 15th’s post titled “Happy Day.”

oh. and have a nice day.