Category: Confessional

Snagged

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Southern end

I hate this murky underwater apathy. This floating through things on tired waves of discontent. Lately, all I want to do is give it up. Why am I exhausted and who should I blame? Maybe it’s the dreams. At night I have nightscares that frighten me so badly I wake disorientated and confused. I struggle to ask myself why do I repeatedly have visions of bombers flying over Monhegan, dropping weapons of mass destruction? Masked fighter pilots spewing hundreds of rounds of bullets into people and places. We run, we scatter, yet there is blood. There is death I can’t explain. The sad thing is this. In my dreams I see them coming from miles and miles away. The sky is crystal clear, glaring and brilliant blue. At first they are dots on the horizon, yet I know who they are and what will happen when they arrive. I am powerless to stop it. As they get closer details emerge until I can see their faces. My dreams make them human and cruel.
Another repeat offended is the dream of drowning. Monhegan is hit with a wave as big as Texas. Again, there is that sense of foreboding. I can see it coming from miles away but I’m powerless to stop it.

Some say I want to destroy home. Some say I am started to dread the return, but what part I always ask. It’s true that Colorado started out as a joke, but has become more of a deep wishful thinking as time goes on. I fantasize about being snagged by the Rockies. I dream about being trapped miles from New England with no direction (or desire) to go home. Is that what I really want?

Mums the Word

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Dear You,

I haven’t known how to write this letter. I haven’t known exactly what to say. It wouldn’t really matter because, knowing me, once it was all said and written I wouldn’t have sent it anyway. Excuse the grammar but it’s true. You wouldn’t have gotten whatever it was that I wanted to say, in more ways than one. Instead, I am tempted to be like a politician and say what you want to hear all the while not really saying anything at all. This is how we get along best, am I right? I don’t tell you what I really feel and you don’t spill anything worth a thing either way. Polite as polite can be except with a bite of caustic. That’s us.

You told a story over a meal and I wanted to throw up. What you didn’t say was so telling. What you meant was so obvious it made my stomach roll. I realize I have always been the stronger one. There was never a need to protect me. I acted like nothing could pierce my armor or hurt my pride. My heart was unbreakable and my soul, unreachable. Cold as an Ice Queen in the heart of January. I accept that image. I am comfortable with the chill of uncaring. But, here I am, waiting. I wait for glass half full comments; signs of compliment. They never come. Condescending, accusing, critical, not a single good thing to say. With each utterance I slide away. Closing myself off from wanting to be anywhere near your mouth. If you don’t have anything nice to say…. I played a game in my head. For every criticism it’s one less month here. When I got to three years I gave up knowing I could never stick to my story and stay away for that long. There are too many other things I would miss. Even you. Eventually. I don’t care that I’m not worth worrying about. I don’t care that I’ve never been a cause for real concern. Blame it on the drugs. Blame it on the maladjustment period (or whatever they call it these days). Blame it on the rain. I don’t care.

So, I didn’t say what I really wanted to say. Mums the word.

But I feel better.

Off the Run and All Over the Place

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newshoes2
On Tuesday I put in a quiet 3.7 mile run on the treadmill. No gerbil jokes, no blogging about it, no fanfare. Just a quiet run for quiet me. I was feeling good enough to almost put in another one on Wednesday but the presidential (and final) debate was on and I was feeling political. How could I not be after the last debaucle – errr, debate? Have you ever seen such one-sided moderating in your life? Sheesh!

Anyway, I ignored the run thinking Thursday would be better. I argued with me and myself saying, the body needs a day of rest in between runs; the mind needs a day of rest in between worries. A day of rest would do us all some good. What I didn’t count on was putting in a 12 hour day at my work and then hanging out at Kisa’s work for another four. We left home around 6am and didn’t see our doorstep until well after 11pm. I’m sure poor Indiana thought we were putting her up for adoption. She certainly could claim abandonment these days!
I think of my mother. “Can’t you find someone else to push the buttons?” she says through the phone to my husband who is miles away, and “Geeze, they must not be doing a very good job if things keep breaking!” she mutters to me, right next to her. She sounds 97, all piss and vingar without a good thing to say. It’s no use arguing, trying to defend the technology I don’t understand. With a sigh I admit, “I don’t know, Ma. It’s television.” But, what I want to say is this, “It’s what made me fall in love with him in the first place; that tireless get-it-done work ethic. That commitment to working his azz off when everyone else has given up and gone home.”

So, I am happy to give up the run for another night. I’ll call it another day of rest even though it was work that kept me off the run.

Destroying Stupid Part I

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I had saved all of my other ramblings from ThatSpace. Kept them in a book for some odd reason. Yesterday, I started rereading them. Today I started destroying them. Yesterday they meant something. Today they are stupid. In between the lines I found a few words worth saving, but for the most part I enjoyed destroying stupid.

  • It is not what was said that has cut into my self respect. It’s the justification that followed. I am walking anger. ~ March 13, 2006
  • There is no drama in my marriage, no Jezebel moments. ~March 28, 2006
  • I have faith in 11/06/06. ~ April 6th, 2006.
  • I am ten steps away from my black cloud. ~ April 26th, 2006
  • I make no apologies for choosing not to streak so naked through my rant with reckless, yet vulnerable abandon. ~ July 25, 2006

It’s funny. I think I hold onto all these statements because I remember the moments that prompted them. Isn’t that always the way? You hang onto a hurt because of the way it makes you hate. Well, hate’s a really strong word. I’ll take that one back. And…not all of these favorite quotes come from wanting to bash someone’s head in. April 6th was the day I decided to say something about my sister’s pregnancy. November 6th was the due date. I was hoping for Halloween, but spooky didn’t cooperate. April 26th quote was a bout of melancholy that had nothing to do with madness. *sigh*

These are the days I will remember. For the rest there’s destroying stupid.

You Are My Sunshine

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There comes a time when you have to let down your guard. Relax. You have to give up the devices that keep you from being your true self, such as you really are. Really. There comes a time when I can no longer understand you as you think you are. I cannot pretend. Yes, you with the ego so fragile you have to come across as bragging and boisterous. I really do not understand your lack of humility or modesty. Is it a game?Why do you have to let everyone know you think you are the greatest? Do you need to yell to drown out the doubting voices in your head? Always looking to make sure you were heard, you were noticed. Looking for the compliment, begging for the praise. What a good dog. Please don’t. I’m begging you. Don’t. Your constant jokes. Your constant need to be smart. Pathetic. Please relax. You are loved the way you are. Really.

From There You Are Not

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I take pieces of you home with me. Little by little, piece by piece. Do you feel yourself diminishing? Do you sense yourself growing smaller? Stealing from home to make a home away from home home. Scouring shorelines for colors of sea tossed glass, speckled, inexplicably beautiful rocks, broken buoys of red and gold. Like a song about romance I steal them all home with me. Vain attempt to bring me back to where I am not.

I cannot bottle the heavy salt air. I cannot take the earthy decay of fallen leaves. I have to leave the sunsets of gold behind. So, instead I take the glass, the rocks, the shells. Bottled and bowled I keep them, cherish them in my home away from home.

Generation Gap

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Me: I still can’t believe my blog has 77 hits today.

Much Older You: Hits? What does that mean?

Me: It means my blog was looked at 77 times.

You: Doesn’t that worry you, having 77 people look at your stuff?

Me: Well, it could also be one person going back 77 different times.

You: Oh. Well. That’s much better. That must mean they like you.

Me: ??? Um. Errr…If you say so…

Special thanks to the Love of my life for posting…

Same Old Song

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Funny. I wrote this on October 5th, 2006. Listen to it as October 10th 2008 and ask yourself – what, if anything, has changed?

We will rise before the sun and face the day with the thought that today will be different from the day before. Much different. We will look towards coffee as the great motivator but really, in our heart of hearts, it will be the open road. We will stop for alcohol and then when we can drive no more, stop for the sea. When we reach the ocean we will know we can go no further. We will ride the waves and smell the salt. I can’t speak for her but I will breathe. Breathe in and out. Breathe like I haven’t in days. We will spot my mother and gossip all the way up the hill. We will finally drop our bags in sighing relief and a great sense of freedom. We will call our husbands while drinking wine and staring out over the ocean. Distracted. What we won’t do is talk about work because we promised. We will (try to) keep that promise. For love and sanity, we will.

I came across this…as I was packing. How perfect is that? Nothing has changed. I could have written this yesterday. Or next year. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Talking to Myself Again

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I am very used to talking to myself while driving; having full conversations while cooking alone; debating the issues with me and moi in the shower. It’s all been said before – to myself. What I’m not used to is talking to myself when I *think* someone else is supposed to be listening; getting the message, and responding. It’s been happening a lot and I think it’s driving me crazy.

The first time was when I was on the phone with mum. Blah blah blah. We can talk for hours. That’s my fault. I call once a month or less. We have a lot of catching up to do. The last time I was going on and on about something – not important because even I can’t remember what it was – when all of a sudden my mother is asking hello? hello? like I had hung up on her. How long had I been blathering? More importantly, how long had I been talking to myself? How much did she didn’t get? Sighing and ignoring my husband’s bemused look with raised eyebrow, I started from the beginning.

Then there’s the small incident with texting. I was deep in conversation when all of a sudden I noticed my last three texts had gone unanswered. Was I texting to myself? Was I a disconnected dork? Feeling a little put out I shut off my phone and buried it under a bag.

Most recently there was FaceBook. I have to admit I think there is a conspiracy afoot. FB and Google have me good. My problem is I am too rushed to notice if my email is a Facebook message or a real, honest-to-goodness email. Lately, I am assuming the latter and write back these big long, dramatic, here’s everything that has been going on with me emails. I pour out my trials and tribulations leaving no detail untyped. With great satisfaction and a feeling of connectedness I click send on my communication….only to have message delivery failure message pop up because the message I thought I was responding to wasn’t actually an email.

I don’t think there is a moral to the story. I don’t think there is a cure for what ails me. I will always talk to myself in some fashion. Waiting for someone to respond is just part of the game, I guess. In the meantime, I guess I should log onto FaceBook and answer some messages or walls or whatever!

Something From Yesterday

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Advantage for the Taking

Someone unexpected lifted me out of my self-imposed anger today. I had been walking about with this you done me Wrong attitude and she turned it into a Right. Not only unexpected but downright heart stopping shocking. I had written her off a long time ago. Suddenly, I am seeing the faint lines of forgiveness coming through the hate. Am I mad?
I hate being lied to and this lie was self-indulgent and stupid. I could have handled the truth but something chose to make it worse by putting my heart in the mix. The smokescreen was as ridiculous as the lie. Could I not see through it? I couldn’t help but vent. After all, I am allergic to smoke. A sort of blood letting for the hurt, so to speak. The kicker is that I chose to spew my frustration to someone who used to produce just as much irritation as I was trying to release. I couldn’t help it and to make matters worse, there was no stopping me once I got going…you know how it is.
Surprise of all surprises, my rant was met with calm. Understanding. Even a solution of sorts. I couldn’t help but laugh, feel a litte silly. Just how old am I anyway? So, there we are: the barnacle, the newbee, the about face and me. Go figure.

October Is…

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October is Halloween! For anyone who knows me, Halloween starts on October 1st and runs for 31 days. This is the way it should be. I have a whole big box of Halloween stuff and every October 1st out it comes. Okay, so this year it was a little early. I bought a tiny skull completely off timeline, too! The skeltons, black cats, bats, witches, goblins, and of course, my fave – jack-o-laterns!
October is also another chance to slip away to Monhegan for a handful of days. Home Sweet Autumn Home. For music it’s Sean, of course. There are other trips, I’m sure. Just ask Joe.

For reading, here’s how it stacks up. For the Book Lust Challenge:

  • Accidental Tourist by Anne Tyler ~ in honor of Anne’s birth month
  • Artimis Fowl by Eoin Colfer ~ in honor of National Fantasy Month
  • Big If by Mark Costello ~ October is the best time to visit New England
  • Carry On Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse ~ in honor of Wodehouse’s birth month
  • Crime Novels: American Noir of the 30’s and 40’s by Horace ~ in honor of Crime Novel month

That’s about it. Pumpkin Fest later. Big charity walk for breast cancer on the 26th. Natalie’s birthday…

September Was…

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September started with a heat wave and the ache of leaving home. School is back in session and I feel like I am trying to rein in wild horses. Here’s what I managed to read in this crazy, crazy month.

  • World’s Fair by E.L. Doctorow ~ yeah, yeah. Not on the original September list. So sue me.
  • The Code Book: The Science of Secrecy from Ancient Egypt to Quantum Cryptography by Simon Singh ~ really wild book. I discovered tow movies I want to see thanks to this book.
  • A Good Enough Parent by Bruno Bettelheim ~ indepth psychobabble (good for all those parents who realllly want to analyze their kids).
  • Far Side of Paradise: a Biography of F. Scott Fitzgerald by Arthur Mizner ~ fascinating and funny.
  • The Diaries of Jane Somers by Doris Lessing ~ this one tricked me because when I first picked it up I thought it was going to be biographical nonfiction!
  • The Nowhere City by Alison Lurie ~ this should be a movie!
  • Pictures from an Institution by Randall Jarrell ~ technically I didn’t finish this one in time so it will be on the list again!

For LibraryThing’s Early Review program:

  • Emily Post by Laura Claridge ~ I have to admit, I wasn’t into this as much as I thought I would be.
  • Any Given Doomsday by Lori Handeland ~ I’m still struggling with the review for this one!
  • The Dangerous Joy of Dr. Sex and Other True Stories by Pagan Kennedy ~ Having forgot my last September challenge book, I tore through this one. My original plan was to save it for October but I couldn’t…it was that good.

For the hell of it:

  •  What I Talk About When I Talk About Running: a memoir by Haruki Murakami ~ totally off my Challenge radar, but I had to read it. It came highly, highly recommended so I jumped off the Challenge train and read about running. Totally worth it.
  • Under the Neon ~ a crazy book about the homeless who live in the storm drains underneath Vegas.
  • The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch ~ another book that came highly recommended. Sad, though!

Other than the books, it was a month for seeing good, good friends. Two friends from Colorado (haven’t seen them in four years!), a Rebecca Correia show (and 4.8 mi run with her!), the Big E with Jypsie and traffic, a good long conversation with one of my oldest and bestest friends in the whole wide world, and, and, and, a visit from my elusive, always on the go, friend SPB. I even got to have dinner with him! How lucky am I?
**personal note: thanks to everyone who helped me through this month. I’m out of the woods.

Pushing September Out

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I decided to push September out the door a little earlier than any calendar would suggest. Yeah, yeah. I have three more days, but who’s counting? Certainly not me. It’s been a hard month.

Truth be known I am always itching for October 1st. My Halloween has 31 days. My thrill time lasts all month. Better than Christmas. Don’t ask me why. I think it started when I was a kid. Mom would make these outrageous costumes (extremely elaborate, creative, funky…but on a frayed shoestring budget – we’re talking tinfoil and spray paint). My all-time favorite was a gigantic pumpkin made out of coat hangers, a bed sheet and lots of paint. I barely fit through doors, couldn’t sit down all that well and my face itched for days on end, but man! it was a cool costume. Another time sis and I were Miss Piggy and Kermit the frog. I remember being embarrassed by the ginormous breasts and blue eye shadow. We were a sight to see! Us kids would pile into the back of a pickup truck and bounce all over the island looking for treats while the older boys played tricks. Scary all the time they were worse on Halloween. Dusk brought eerie shadows to our faces as we tried to peer into plastic bags for goodies. Whoopie pies spilled from my mother’s kitchen as big as your fist. Apple cider simmering on the wood stove.

These days I don’t run around wearing orange and green paint pretending to be a vegetable from the patch. If I’m lucky I will get my kisa to take a walk among the trick or treaters so I can count the goblins. Every year someone on my block plays Nightmare Before Christmas on the side of his house. Candles glow from jack-o-lanterns on every stoop. Leaves crunch beneath our feet. There is some sort of magic in the air. I can’t really explain it. The sugar shacks start up their boils and put on breakfast feasts.
What I need to do now is find my way to the basement, locate the big box marked “Halloween”, drag it up to the living room, and unpack my spooky friends. Who cares if it’s still September? Who cares if I’m in the wrong month. It’s time to get back to the right state of mind.

The Bug and the Butt

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I have a bug up my azz. I will admit it. I won’t sugarcoat it. I won’t play nice. If you read my “about me” page you know you have been forewarned, I won’t shirk from the truth as I see it. This truth is about work ethic and being an adult and having a little consideration. Bottom line: the fact that some people do not understand the word “responsibility” is the current bug making a beeline up my behind.

To the people who consistently refuse to go above and beyond: Your work ethic sux. You do the bare minimum of work and then have the gaul to ask, “what’s in it for me?” You watch the clock like it owes you something. Like it would kill you to work two minutes over your eight hour shift. I have a strong desire to put you on a time clock to see just how many hours a week you do work. For real.

To the people who don’t understand the word busy. You spend all day on the computer. You write 100 emails and get mad at me when I can’t answer every single one directed at me. Chill out. Despite the fact I don’t have children, I do consider myself in a family. I have two jobs. I love my friends but I’m a loner by nature. I don’t need your “Are You Dead?” emails to remind me that I haven’t answer the last 50 messages you sent.

I could go on, but I won’t. Obviously I am having some issues with people wanting too much from me right now. No. I take that back. They don’t understand what it means to negotiate life. Someone calls out sick – someone else has to cover the shift. Plans change. I can’t stop cancer from taking the people I love so I’m not going to bitch about their “bad timing” of a relapse. Remission is just another word for wait. Life is one big swirling mess and I just pray to the powers that be that people chill out. Give me a break.

Last Lecture

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Pausch, Randy. The Last Lecture. New York: Hyperion, 2008

This was not on any Book Lust or More Book Lust list. That isn’t to say that it shouldn’t be. Indeed, if Nancy Pearl ever sets up to write a third volume of Lust, I would hope she would include The Last Lecture. When I first heard of it I was reminded of Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom To crudely sum up Tuesdays, Mitch’s college professor, Morrie Schwartz was dying of Lou Gerhig’s disease. Upon hearing this, Mitch set out to rekindle his Tuesday meetings with Morrie. What came of those meetings was a great book and a heart warming movie.

Imagine Morrie writing his own book. He knows he is dying and is desperate to leave the world with a gift; the gift of inspiration. This is how I think Randy Pausch saw The Last Lecture. Dying of terminal cancer and given only months to live, Randy saw an opportunity to leave his words of wisdom on the minds of former students and colleagues at Carnegie Mellon. His message “Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams” went beyond academia – it went much deeper than that. It was his meaning of life and he wanted to share these thoughts with family and friends as well. The lecture, delivered in September 2007 was peppered with outrageous stories, touching photographs and a wry sense of humor about his illness. It was a huge success. It led to the book The Last Lecture (which became a national best seller). 

Favorite quotes: “There’s a formality on academia that can’t be ignored, even if a man is busy with other things, like trying not to die” (p 4). So, right off the bat you know Randy Pausch views his cancer as something “to deal with” and not get bogged down by. This, to me, set the tone for the entire book.
“Open the encyclopedia. Open the dictionary. Open your mind” (p 22). While the previous quote may have set the tone for the book, this quote summed up who Randy Pausch was from the time he was a child until he last breath. He was a man who never wanted to stop learning. That comes across very clearly throughout The Last Lecture.

I strongly urge you to pick up the book, check out the website, even watch the dvd of the actual lecture. It may change how you view your world around you…it may even change your life.