Mrs. O'Malley

Today an old cowrker of Mom's stopped into the shop...just to see me. I hadn't seen her since the funeral and at first I didn't  even recognize her.

I greeted her as I do everyone, with a quick glance and hello. I saw another middle aged face, a woman looking for stocking stuffers. My eyes went back to the task I'd been working on and I heard her say lightly, "Nope, look again Lindsay." And then I knew who she was.

When I looked at her again I saw Mom and my elementary school days. I saw all the good and bad memories of K through 6. I smelled the school office. A mix of crayons, 1980s carpet and file cabinets. I saw Mrs. O'Malley smiling at me and hugging her felt like Mom.

In just moments, she helped me remember how Mom was always there, how she still was.
Mom used to volunteer at my school. Everyday she was right there if I needed her. As an adult I wonder if maybe I was there for her.

Mrs. O'Malley mentioned names I knew, friends that were my old teachers. Mom's friends.

She looked at me like the little girl I used to be and it made me remember I still was.

She felt like Mom.

Secret

Louise was standing in the bottom of the well, her shoes squishing in the mud beneath her feet. She looked up, shielded her eyes from the hole of light.

"It's kinda creepy down here." She called up, shifting her weight. Squish. She loved that sound.

Her friend stood 25 feet above her in a bright yellow rain slicker. It looked ridiculous on her but it was nothing compared to the matching hat and galoshes.

"No shit," Maryanne through down at her. "You're in a fucking well."

"Ooh double swear." Louise rolled her eyes and then shifted her gaze to the wall of the well. The stones were so dark and smooth. Her finger traced the edge of one slowly. She must have been terrified.

"Are you done yet?" Maryanne's tone dripped with impatience.

Louise sighed. "Fine. Drop down the ladder Hag."

She stood with her hands in her pockets, her fingers playing with 48 cents of change from that morning's coffee. 'It's so dark in here', she thought. And damp. The cold just seeps in....Louise shuddered and pulled her cell phone from her back pocket. The screen glowed in the shadows and she frowned. It had only been 3 minutes since her friend in yellow had walked away for the ladder.

It felt much longer.

Louise shifted uncomfortably. Where the hell was Maryanne?

Materialism Tangent

I hate those fucking jewelry commercials. There's always a sappy voiceover and a jingle that induces nausea, "Every kiss begins with Kay..." Close up of a vacant-eyed model with diamonds dripping down her throat. The whole commerical insinuates that if you give your woman jewelry, she'll shove her tongue down your throat.

Or a car. Chicks love a car. And if you get matching cutsie license plates, you're in like Flynn.

This is the time of year it begins. Not quite Thanksgiving and the commercials start.

I don't even know who to blame for this kind of stereotype. Is it the men that try to buy women with material things? Or is it the women that expect them?

I have never been the kind of woman that needs shiny things to make me happy. I'm  much more likely to put out if you tell me about the Lord of the Rings blu-ray set you wanted to get for me but couldn't quite afford. Because it would mean you knew I liked LOTR and you wanted me to have something that you knew I would enjoy.

Why is it that there is so much expectation to buy something of high monetary value? What happened to the handwritten card? When did I start to sound like my grandmother?

Getting older is interesting. It allows me to have this huge amount of experiences that no one else will ever have. One of the coolest things about meeting someone new is finding all the similarities you share. So you can swap experiences.

I kinda like getting older.

I remember listening to women that are my age now when I was barely 21 and thinking, "Jesus, they're so old."  I remember 35 being 'old'.  Well, not like walker with tennis balls old, but...old. But being 35 has allowed me to finally grow into me. I like what's on the inside of my skin and I'm starting to really be ok with the outside of it too.

Some kid today shuffled past me with his pants sagging past his kneecaps and a cigarette dangling from his barely pubed lip. "Damn girl, you beautiful," he leered and ok, yeah, I smiled a little.

That last little bit is a bit off of my point, but I think you can see how it works here. Ooo wait, can I use the term, "but I digress..." here?

Let's try it.

But I digress....

It is very much the thought that counts. It's about the fact that at some point, on your own, my likes and dislikes have been noted in your sexually soaked mind.

I'm an observant creature and I notice when you notice me. I don't need a new car or a diamond necklace. A kiss, for me, doesn't begin with 'Kay'. It begins with Orcs.

While I was here

Random thoughts while I play online bingo.

He's your ex for a reason. Stop thinking about him so much. Yes, you had a nice time with him the other night. Does that mean he's the one for you? NO. Fucking stop it.

Just what in the hell do they do at that church across the street anyway? More cars going in and out of the parking lot than a..well..a really crowded parking lot.

Remember when Garth Brooks was cool? Jeez that was a weird little phase.

How weird is it that the same guy makes Glee and American Horror Story? Both are scary.

My landlord is a flake. Almost 2 hours ago he said he would come by and fix the stupid outside light for me so I don't have to walk up a flight of stairs in the dark. Guess who hasn't done it yet. Ten bucks says he just forgot and has already left. Grrr  Three months after I moved in, the small handle on the spray thingy for the sink broke. "I'll be by next week to replace it." Going on 2 years later...

There are a lot of songs that remind me of mom. One of them is an emo gem-and every time it starts, I can hear her voice, " I can't stand to fly...."  Dammit I miss her so much.

Sometimes I wonder if people read too much into my Facebook statuses (statusi?)

Jesus online dating is lame. 

Just so you know

Jeez the last few entries on here have been depressing. My poor readers, if there are any, must think I'm on the edge of the bridge.

This is not the case.

Truth is, I'm pretty happy. I do have sad moments sometimes and when I do, the only thing I know to try and get through them is to write.

But work is good....and I was going to say other stuff was but as it turns out, work is still pretty much my main thing.

I did go see a movie last weekend with an ex boyfriend. We're trying the friend thing and so far, seems to be pretty good.

I dated someone for a couple months and he was nice. Just....not for me.

I feel more confident these days. Last night a guy even gave me his digits so you know, other people are noticing that I'm awesome.

But work, it IS consuming-Happy holiday season that started in September. Ugh.

But because of its consumption-I have to make this short.

For those of you that might read this regularly, I promise, I'm not downtrodden or sad all the time. Actually doin' pretty dang good.

Untitled

I can hear a couple arguing in the street outside my apartment. She's walking away from him, he's swearing. He says "Fuck you-I don't need you, " and then goes after her.

I can hear the people in the church across the street, praying for...?

I can hear people screaming from the carnival down the street.

I can smell the elephant ears from the carnival too. Cotton candy and popcorn mixed in.

I can smell the perfume I put on this morning and my shampoo from still wet hair when I take out my bun. I can smell sweat, trapped under my arms and mingling with Secret.

I can feel the tightness in my shoulders and back from a week of work catching up to me. I can feel my feet breathing, happy to finally be free of shoes and socks.

I can feel my stomach rumble slightly as I remember that lunch was several hours ago and I have steak in the fridge.

I can feel the words coming through my fingers and onto the screen but they don't mean anything.

I tell myself 'at least you're writing' but it doesn't really matter. I can't find my inspiration and haven't been able to for months. Seems like it should be easier by now. And I mean more than The Book I Haven't Written Yet. Capitalized because it's starting to feel like Voldemort.

I wonder how others feel about me, or if they do at all. I wonder about how I might succeed if I ever will. I wonder if any of it ever really matters, or if it ever did. I wonder if I'm too much sometimes, or if I'm not enough. I wonder if I'll ever know, or even if I should.


I wish I could turn my brain off to all the NOISE and then flip the switch to create what I envisioned so many months ago.

<twenty minutes later>

I guess this will have to do for now.

Whine

Do you ever just feel....sad all of a sudden? And then the sadness kind of tumbles into another sad thought and then another and then you're brow is furrowed with almost tears.

It usually starts with a thought of someone that isn't here anymore. Or of a life changing moment I haven't yet made.

Sometimes it's triggered from a song on the radio or a line from a movie.

It doesn't really matter-it just hurts.

I try to write then and all I can think about is how I'm not writing the book I promised myself I'd have written by winter.

Winter is coming and I promised myself I'd have more done by then. My Book isn't anywhere close to being complete. I've let work once more become my main focus on life and it's depressing, yet necessary.

I need to work to make money to write. I don't anticpate gaining any finances for My Book but just having it complete will mean more than money ever could.

I've lost touch with some of my friends-I haven't even talked to my friend that wants a baby in a long time and I can't think about how to tell him I don't know if that's what I want anymore. I don't even know for sure if that's what I don't want.

I guess I just don't know.

I work, I see a couple friends, I watch Netflix, I eat, I sleep....That's my life.

Fuck.

Blah blah blah

DAMMIT.

I've started three sentences and can't fucking focus on anything.

When I was walking home I had all these wonderful ideas form in my head and I couldn't wait to come home and ticka ticka out a blog. I walked in the door, fed the four leggeds and completely zoned out on online bingo.

I haven't done anything else for my book and the deadline I gave myself of winter is rapidly approaching and I can feel disappointment-fucking self inflicted disappointment-start to creep in because I am a master at procrastination.


Why is it so hard to be creative when things are going well? Am I destined to be one of those tortured writers that needs to be a raging alcoholic to succeed?

Can't do that...don't like the taste of the booze. Except cold beer on a hot day. Or margaritas with fajitas. Ooo or bloody marys for breakfast. Ok, so I like the taste of some booze. 

I yelled at someone today and hugged someone else. I wanted to eat chocolate for lunch and actually might have it for dinner. I feel a little more sarcastic than usual and that the general public are complete idiots.


DAMMIT.

The 65th Post

Wedding Day



Funeral

Wedding Day

He had loved him for so long and the day to share that love was here. His suit hung next to his, like monogramed towels they would never own. His jacket dark, his eyes light.

Funeral

He was never very good at saying goodbye but the day to try was here. His suit hung next to his for the last time. His jacket light, his eyes dark. 





Just A Dream

Mom was unresponsive. She was breathing but not responding to my voice. She lay on the bed diagonally, her face peaceful.

I called 911 and waited. Back and forth between her room and mine-waiting. Why did they take so long to get here?

The EMT was tired. He wanted to be at home with his family instead of trying to save mine.

Mom remained quiet and floppy like a doll. The EMT turned to me and there was kind sadness in his eyes. "Does she have a will to live?"

I couldn't answer.

I had lost count of late night 911 calls and EMT visits over the years. This was the first time someone had asked me that and the first time I really thought that maybe she didn't.

She stayed another year and a half before she was gone. She was so sad for so long. Later, I wondered if she'd stayed because she knew we weren't ready to let go. I wonder if she heard me when I told her it was ok. That dad and I were going to be ok and that she could rest. I wonder if it was for me to rest too.

I see the bed sometimes. It's usually bright with white sheets and a chrome frame-like one out of a haunted hospital wing. Sometimes it's the bed I accidentally saw her and dad 'watching tv' on once. Sometimes it's my own bed and that's when I tell myself to stop thinking about it.

I see myself standing outside their apartment and the ambulance pulling up. I hear the EMTs greet mom by name and I realize then, it's a lot worse than I knew. That was in the beginning, before the Facility.

I hear her voice, thickly calling my name because the coma was creeping closer and she needed insulin. I feel the needle in my hand and see her bare flesh as it sinks in to save her. I hear her words become incomprehensible and fear begin to crawl up my spine.  That was before, when I was still at home and sleeping down the hall.


I hear her crying like no one can hear her. I hear her calling out for her mother, for my father, for god, for anyone to make her pain stop. I hear her voice laced with loneliness and heartache and feel that I should be able to help her but I don't know how. I feel useless and in the way and broken.

"Does she have a will to live?"

I couldn't answer.

After Midnight

I wonder if anyone that isn't a writer would understand that sometimes I just need to write. My fingers get itchy. My mind starts whirling with amazing thoughts of all kinds of things and my pen can't move quickly enough. Or my fingers, if I'm typing.

It has to be quiet when I write. If the music is on I get distracted, start singing along. I can't sing and type. It's my chew bubble gum/walk.

I'm going to write a letter to Chrissy. She died just before Valentine's Day and I never got to say all the things I wanted to. I should have said them years ago and didn't because...I thought I'd always be able to. It will be one of the pieces in my book, next to a picture of the ocean.

I want a picture of my dad's hands. A million stories can come from one line in his skin. An untapped source.

The door of the barn half in shadows. That will be another inspiration.  The door looked as though it led to secrets and it was the first picture I took where I remember seeing more than just what the camera had caught.

It's late but my windows are still open and I just heard a homeless person push a shopping cart down the street. It echoed off the church walls and I heard it here, in my office and knew exactly what it was. 

A boy from the dating site wants me to text him. Not call him, text him because he's playing a game on his xbox and it's easier than email. Wow.

I'm eating little red licorice scottie dogs and listening to the Cranberries. I should be in a kilt.

I get to break my fast with a friend tomorrow morning. I'm going to say more Game of Throne-y things like 'break my fast' and 'winter is coming' and calling people bastards. All in an English accent.

I sometimes wish I didn't care at all. Then my period starts and I like my compassion again.

'They' always say that you come to a time in your life when you just don't care what others think about you and that you feel more comfortable in your skin. I thought I had it before. I have it now.  I figured out how to be nice and not get shat upon. Turned out to be a little more difficult than just wanting to.

"Let it Be" reminds of a guy I thought I loved. If I can find the right picture, I think I'd like to write about him.

It was still yesterday when I started writing this. But I had to. You understand, don't you?

Oh My God, Online Dating

DISCLAIMER:
I haven't been doing the online dating thing very long and I recognize that these things take time.
I have a raging case of pms that has caused me to want to punch people in the throat off and on for about 3 days.
It's pretty much common knowledge that men are stupid and I came to terms with that years ago. I also accepted that I liked them anyway. 



 Online dating is proving to be sort of not awesome. I think its more my speed than actual one on one in person, face to face type dating though. At least this way I just have to deal with the rejection of my picture, a small self summary and my list of likes on food, movies, music and tv.


Question for you, male 'matches'. Why are you still on an online dating site, listed as single when you are 'seeing someone'? Are you really, or are you just trying to let me down easy? Fuck you. I don't need your sympathy. I'll meet someone that freaking LOVES that I like the Muppets and that I have to have tp come from the top.  And maybe I really DO like drinking pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. Who are you to judge me?

End (mostly sarcastic) rant.

I told you I had pms.

I think I'm disappointed because this has sort of always been my type of dating. I express myself well through my words. I'm witty and clever and funny and kind and understanding, all behind the safety of a computer screen. This is my Playboy mansion.

It's when I'm standing in front of someone that I get all stupid. I usually attach Retail Face (surprisingly effective in these types of situations) and wing it and noone is the wiser.  I haven't had many boyfriends and the ones I've had were more like superfriends instead of boyfriends so I'm actually pretty clueless.

When I'm click click clicking away through an IM screen, I'm much more likely to tell you how amazing I am.  I do it even though I hope the right person will be able to see it without me saying so because it's easier through typed words. And if we get to the point of coffee or drinks or some other evening activity, it's almost a given that I will freak out a little even though I'll still do it though. That's why this time it's different.

It's a new world out there. People don't even need to see each other in person anymore. I remember when I first started working in the shop I told my coworker that my future husband would own a Lab, drive a truck and have eyes that smiled.

He hasn't come in yet.

So I'm doing what all the other kids are doing. I'm doing the online dating thing-something I used to whisper when I told people and now am blogging about.  I figure I have way more control this way.  If I get to the point where its just pissing me off, or the rejection has gotten a little too real, I'll just stop checking the stupid little mailbox for awhile. I'll let them come to me. Who knows? Maybe they'll have a Lab.

Have You Seen This Girl?

What happened to me? I used to be someone else...someone different. Stronger. Where did I lose myself?

Where did I put me last? Where did I last see me?

In a relationship that was disastrous before it started.

He lives with his parents? He takes care of his mom.

He doesn't have a car? Neither do you.

He's a recovering addict? At least he's recovering. 

You're not that attracted to him. But he is to you, so it's ok.

 And that sealed it. He liked me so it didn't really matter that I liked him that much. Someone finally liked me. Someone was paying attention to me and telling me how pretty I was and how much they liked spending time with me and it was so....foreign to me. I drank it all up until I was intoxicated.

I ended up breaking up with him-the first time I'd ever done that- and it was so similar to firing someone that I almost asked for his key and badge when it was done.

And then I just decided I didn't need anyone. I was a fucking rock star and better off on my own. I'd meet the right guy when it was right. I was going to throw myself into work and then...

Work started to suck a little. I learned some things about myself and about others and it wasn't always good.

I went away then. With my friends and people that loved me no matter what and I felt my confidence start to creep back a little. I started walking taller. I started to believe that I really was ok on my own instead of just trying to make other people believe it.

And then the roller coaster dipped and I felt poorly about myself again.

What IS it? Is it pms? Is it just me? Am I fucking bi-polar? Am I just overly sensitive? WHY can't I just be?

Where did I lose myself? 

As I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Sometimes, just before I go to sleep my thoughts start whirling. I keep a notepad and pen right by my bed so that when my mind just doesn't stop, I can write it out.

I only went back a week or so, but this is what I'd written. The phrases in italics are exactly as they are scribbled in almost sleep.

~I fell in love with myself all over again. 

I remember when this happened. I had this blissful moment when I realized that people really do like me. They like being around me and talking to me and laughing with me and they know I make them feel good. I figured out that I was pretty neat and that if I just tried to remember that more often, I was going to be ok.

~Work
scissors for kit

Big End Cap -Summer-
cool beds, travel bowls
chuck-its, float coats
travel packs, bandannas 
with sale price BIG

*Look for dog/cat dummy things online

Clearly this was a brainstorm of work ideas, including a jam packed display. I never did look for the dog/cat things...completely forgot about it until I found the notepad.

~It's all about me. Not selfish, just want to know it all. 

Naive. 

I  often wrestle with the thought that I make things too much about me. How does this affect me now and in the long run? How will I deal with it?  I'm naive most of the time so I feel like if I knew 'everything' then I wouldn't be so....well, naive. It's ridiculous and I know that. I can never know everything but I love being able to say I tried.

~Look for a dresser (thrift) to replace the Ikea piece of shit

I tried to move my dresser with a giant relic of a television on it and now it looks all crooked and sad. I want a dresser that looks like it's been loved.

~Grow your hair out. You always get haircut remorse. 

It's true. Every time. And so I grow it out and then about an inch past my shoulders I'm over it and the cycle continues.

~Make an eye appointment. 

I don't need eyes per se. I need to get my eyes checked however, and probably get new glasses.   PS. I also heard this one in my mom's voice.

~Start the drive thing. No seriously. DO IT. 

I really want to. I really really do.

~Go to New Orleans alone. Be brave and have an adventure. 

This is something that I really feel like I have to do. And I will.

~Go see the drag queen!

A gentle reminder that I freaking love drag queens, especially the one that is coming to town soon. I need to gather up my fellow Rupaul fans and make this happen.

This is where my weird almost asleep mind stops and starts to drift into dreams. If I remember right, I had a sex dream that night.


 

Why Oprah is Wretched

I don't usually watch her. I'm one of the people that roots for her to get fat again. But I've watched her.

I haven't watched Oprah's show in years. The last time I did it was about a girl that had fallen down a well or something and when I hit the program info thingy, curiosity peaked.  The girl was Oprah's guest for the hour but in the front row sat the police officer that had 'rescued' her. Evidently, to make a ridiculously long story short, she had tried to seek help from the cops before for child abuse and they didn't believe her. Oprah had brought the cop on the show to make him feel bad. She didn't make him a guest, but a front row sitter so that it didn't look planned but you know she totally planned it.

"Well, don't you think you owe this girl an apology for not believing her? When she was being raped every day for 3 years? Don't you feel like you just dropped the ball?"

God Oprah loves a good rape story doesn't she?

Today I watched the show again. I couldn't help it. The morbid part of me was immediately drawn in to the heading of 'Girl That Lived in a Dog Cage'.  I work in a pet store. I had to see what size crate they had her in. What kind of crate? Was it as least a soft crate?

Alas, her parents were also wretched people and come to think of it, it surprises me a bit that Oprah didn't have a spot in the front row for them. All the better to berate you m'dear.

This young woman, now 21, had been treated  incredibly badly. After her brother was locked outside of the house, he walked barefoot in the snow to the police station and told them of the abuse. The police came, pulled her out of the cage, cue the swell of music and applause... But the shitty part of this story is that her parents were only jailed for 1 year.  Ten years probation, but only 1 year behind bars.

Now at this point, Oprah had me. I was completely invested in this girl. I got teary when she read a letter to her toddler son. I nearly did a 'you go girl' when she said you have to learn from your experiences, be strong and move forward. And then Oprah leaned in close to the girl... "We have some footage."

She took the girl to the basement she'd been caged in. As the cameras rolled, the viewer sees the fear come flooding back into her eyes. It's all incredibly dramatic and dammit, I was riveted. I felt like I'd gone through the tour of the basement with her. It was wrenching.

And then Oprah is back, perched on her chair with her legs crossed awkwardly in front of her. She shakes her head solemnly. She looks into the camera and whispers dramatically, "Seven. Years. Old."

There's a beat and then they show the audience, rows of women passing tissues to each other.

And then she turns back to the young woman. This poor woman who probably had no idea what she was getting into when she decided to go on the show. She probably had no idea that the nice Oprah lady would chastise her for not pursuing therapy immediately. She probably had no idea that Oprah would push her opinions so heavily on her that she'd have no choice but to nod and meekly say, 'yes Oprah'.

She says to her, "How did you feel? Being in that basement again. Seeing that place where you were kept. In. A. Cage.  A cage!  Walking down the stairs into the basement...what did that feel  like?"  Oprah's one giant snake away from being He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

I understand of course that people choose to go on the show. I realize that Oprah has done a lot of good things for people. I am aware that she has brought back the book, given away cars, interviewed crazy Scientologists...but...

"Terrible," the young woman replied. "It felt terrible."

I felt terrible. I saw the look on her face and saw that she was still scared and fragile and they kept showing the damn cage...Eventually Oprah thanked her for coming and they faded to commercial. She got half an hour and that was plenty for me too.

I guess she's trying to help. I can see her playing that card. But the way she talks to people there is NO way that woman thinks her shit stinks. She's got some money, ok. But so does Angelina Jolie and she would have at least offered to adopt the girl.

I used to want to be on her couch, I'll admit it. I wanted her to pat me on the head and tell me how amazing my book was-now that it was on her list of course-and maybe give me a car or two.

But I'm over it. I'm sending her some HoHos.

Thinker

 5/18/12

-Don't ask someone to be honest with you if you don't want them to.

-Thank you for reminding me I'd been through it before and made it out ok.  I could just kiss you. I probably will.

-I hope that saying something doesn't backfire

-"He's nice, he's smart, and he gets me."

-Book Idea: All my snippets about the store with cleverly titled sections including the "Things said in a pet store that sound dirtier than they are" series. Maybe little stories about customers or how many times I said 'debit or credit' in a day or the cute guy that brings the clean rugs every week. Firing someone. Hiring someone. Running into the girl you fired at the grocery store when you're wearing your work clothes and she's with her mother. That one could be interesting.

-Trying to explain that it's not that weird to pretend you're pregnant so you eat healthier. If I was creating life I'd eat healthy food. Might as well pretend I've got a bun in the oven since eventually I will. Might as well make it all healthy on the inside so when the little embryo begins he/she is off to a good start.

-If he marries her I hope he tells me and I don't find out on a social networking site.

-I'd like to own a St. Francis statue. I'm not Catholic, I'm not at all religious and I don't particularly like statues. But my grandma had a really neat, very simple wooden one and when I think about her, I think about that statue and I want one in my house. 

-Mother's Day wasn't as bad this year.

-I'm gonna get my hair cut. Short-ish and bob-ish and bring back the bangs and show my face a little bit more. It's time.

-Pretty sure my work balls have dropped. Told someone today that 'sometimes that's just how things were' and it felt good.

-Had a moment with a guy on the cereal aisle today. We both went for the Fruity Pebbles (I refrained in the end, he succumbed) and laughed at how delicious they still are, even in our 30s.

-Shaved my legs in the hope that my super comfy capris are weather appropriate tomorrow.

-Kind of forgot to eat lunch and dinner today. Probably not too good for that pretend fetus.

-My punctuation skills suck. I write how I talk, not how my high school English book told me to.

Moment

Feet stained black
from damp leather sandals

Cracked and worn
from roads walked down

Carry heart and soul
from across a dream

Into someone else's shoes.

Tears of a Clown

Crying doesn't really help. It just makes me feel weak and if that's why I started crying in the first place....well fuck.

I don't like disappointing people but I really hate it when I disappoint myself.

Why are some people really good at making others feel like shit? And how can you like yourself for having that kind of 'talent'?

I feel so lost most of the time. People are cruel, that's the way the world is, this too shall pass. Fuck all of that. I'm over it.

I don't want to be around people that are unkind or be in a world where that kind of behavior is rewarded and it doesn't matter if it will pass if I'm in it right now.

I felt two inches tall today. I felt like I sucked at everything and that everyone else was way better. It was a nasty feeling.

Crying doesn't help though. It just makes it worse.

Maybe I'm too sensitive. Or too naive. Or just not....enough.

Can't Sleep

I can't sleep and it's irritating me.

I keep thinking about everything.

Sex and death and having babies and work. My friends and my dad and maybe sometimes an ex boyfriend or two. Vacation and getting my carpets steam cleaned and who will feed the cats and the plants and Henry the betta fish when I'm away? How will I ever afford this vacation? How can I not?

Does it really matter that I haven't had sex in five years? A little.  I've almost forgotten what it's like to share that intimate a space with someone. In fact, I don't know if I ever have.

Dad will die because we all do. And my cats will and all my friends and the little old lady with the poodle named Monet will die and sometimes even just knowing that is...too much. Who would feed my cats and the plants and Henry the betta fish when I'm gone?

I'm scared shitless about being a mom someday. I'm scared to be pregnant. I'm scared I won't be able to  prepare for a potential emotional roller coaster ride when I hate roller coasters.

Work is what my world is and I can't decide how I feel about that. I like my job but it's so much of what I do that I'm afraid it will become who I am.

I feel like the Goldilocks of dating. This one is too mean, this one is too nice... It's so corny, but I'm looking forward to finding the one that's just right. Not too hot, not too cold. Not too soft, not too hard. He's gotta be out there. Or you know, maybe he isn't. How the hell do I know? Does it even really matter? Not really. I'm good with me.

 I love the way it feels when I type. I love watching the words form from my fingertips and the soft clacking of the keys. The thump of the space bar and the click click click of the backspace. It's a sound I focus on when it feels like I can't stop thinking about everything. A sound I need to get the thoughts out so I can sleep.

His Voice

His voice.

That's what most people think of when they think of my dad.

It's full of the salt from years on the sea and too many cigarettes for too many years. He kind of growls instead of talks to people, even when he's saying something kind.

He likes to sing Chantilly Lace because of that line, "Oh Baby you knoooow that's what I like" and he does a pretty good job with it.

His voice is absolutely recognizable. He uses his voice to bark commands when standing at the helm of his ship and to tell me that I'm his everything when we're both missing mom.

It's a strong voice. One I thought was harsh and mean for several years-before I really knew him. It's a voice that tells dirty jokes and bad puns. It's the voice I learned sarcasm from and the voice I tried very hard to ignore when I was a teenager. His voice has intimidated boyfriends and his voice has told me things I didn't want to hear.

It's his voice I hear every morning when I call on my way to work. It's the voice that says "I love you" and "have a good day" and empathizes with my shitty feelings about...anything.

I hear his voice sometimes when I'm just trying to figure it all out. 

Dad's voice.

It's my voice sometimes.

Pajamas

Every time I wear my frog slippers and my smurf pajama bottoms I think about the night I begged you to leave.

You had just told me how beautiful I was-no makeup and in silly bedtime clothes. And all I thought was...

Why?

Why did you think so? What did you see that I simply couldn't?  Why would you say something like that to me? It scared me. It immediately told me that someone saw something in me and I'd wanted that for so long it didn't seem real.

I started to cry.

You went to hold me and your kindness felt like razors on my skin. I moved away and told you that I didn't want you to stay the night anymore and your eyes changed.

I'd hurt you.

I couldn't possibly explain that inside I felt that you were too good to be true and I didn't want to get hurt again. I couldn't say that both of those feelings were swirling around inside me and I just didn't know what I wanted anymore but I didn't think it was you.

You had to wait for your ride and it was such a long and uncomfortable ten minutes. You left with barely a goodbye and I sobbed against the door. What was wrong with me? Why would I just throw out a guy that had shown a real interest in me? Why would I run away from the one thing I'd been hoping for?

My heart hurt.

I broke. My wall fell away and I saw inside to the secret feeling I'd been hiding for a really long time. I didn't think I was good enough. For me.

I realized I wasn't over some things. I realized that even though you tried to hold me and your eyes grew sad when I asked you to go, it wasn't fair to you to wait for me to be over them.  I tried to be subtle, I tried to be kind. I ended up being blunt and colder than I would have liked. I didn't know what to say, I'd never had to say the words before.

But I did.

And I cried a little more. I saw the anger in you and felt sad that I'd made you feel it. I felt sad because I recognized that this life lesson didn't just affect me. That I hurt someone besides myself. I felt sad because you forced me to get to know myself more and I've never really gotten along with myself. I felt sad because I did what I knew I had to do and not what was easier.

I got over it.

Sort of. I think about you sometimes. I wonder how you are. I wonder if you found a girl that was ready for you. I wanted to call you tonight when I chose the smurf pants. When I slid my feet into comfortably worn slippers I picked up the phone. And then I remembered.

They were just clothes.

Tangent

A comment left under a picture of Richard Hayne (http://www.snopes.com/politics/business/hayne.asp) reads:

 "Fuck him! ALL LOVE NOH8".

 So....saying 'fuck him' might sort of cancel out the attempt at moral propaganda. Just sayin'.


Dad always said opinions are like assholes-everyone's got one.

And here's mine. 

First of all, the wording of the comment is just ridiculous. 'NOH8'? Is this what we're coming to? Doesn't anyone just use words anymore?  For crying out loud, the word 'hate' is only 4 letters-do we really have to shorten it to 'H8'? I hate that I know that 'H8' is the word 'hate'. Text speak is not cool yo.


Now don't get me wrong, I love the F word. But I also respect the fact that not everyone else does. I can be a lady, even if I have a sailor's mouth.  The total lack of respect that people seem to have for one another is appalling.  I'm not saying we need to wear daisies in our hair and hug trees but for god sakes have some compassion for one another. We're all on this planet together.

Ok. Deep breath.
Step off the soap box.

I am so often disappointed in humanity. It's because I work retail. And before that, I waited tables. I get to see a lot of people every day and every day I see things I wish I didn't.

But today, the good outweighed the bad.

We were crazy busy in the shop. I saw an elderly woman struggling with a heavy bag. My coworker is about to burst with child so she couldn't help and I was in the middle of a conversation with another customer. I was about to excuse myself politely when I saw a young boy, probably about 10, walk up to the woman and offer to carry the bag to her car. The woman was grateful and the boy did it so....naturally....that I had to say something.

We died down a bit and I stepped out from behind the counter to go talk to him. He held eye contact and smiled politely as I complimented his extreme awesomeness.  I told him it was just so great to see that someone his age was willing to help and so very polite. I complimented his grandma too who smiled and said, "He was trained right."

Yes ma'am he was.

That youngster renewed my belief that the world isn't entirely filled with text speaking shitbags. Maybe there's hope for the future after all.

Breaking Up with Food

I have an unhealthy relationship with food. Ben and Jerry have been friends with benefits for years and the only 'benefit' I can see is that my ass is getting bigger.

I can't let it keep growing. My ass I mean. Or this unhealthy relationship with food. I need to break up with Ben and Jerry for good

I mean, we might still see each other but just until I find something else. You know, like fruit.

Seriously?

How the hell does fruit substitute for something that's named after the most beloved sweets of all time? Red Velvet Cake ice cream? Boston Cream Pie? Oatmeal Cookie Chunk? Chocolate Therapy?

That's what it is actually. Therapy. I'm gonna have to hear that differently in my head when using it to describe sweet treats from now on. Gonna pronounce it 'the rapy'.  As in the fat cells are raping the logical part of my brain that says 'no, you don't need that'.


Since I've started working in retail I'm much more aware of product placement. I get why they put the gum and candy bars right by the register. Those goodies are placed there so that you see them while you're waiting for the old lady in front of  you to finish writing her check. They are there to softly call to you while you scan the tabloid headlines. The candy bars especially try to woo from their little cardboard homes.  Fuckers.

Product placement works way more than I'm willing to admit.  They don't stock the Halloween candy in August to help you get a jump start on the holiday. They do it so you get a jump start on diabetes.

I'm not really blaming 'them'. I should have better will power and stop being all Ado Annie (she's just a girl that "cain't say no" fellow Oklahoma musical fans) about it. I've been getting better about walking right past the bakery with all it's yummy bread things. I've used the stationary bike a couple times for something other than a coat rack.

Ok I haven't really tried. Mostly because I hate exercise and love pastries. And ice cream.  I can't even go halfway with it and switch to B&J's FroYo. I mean, it's not like I haven't tried. It's damn tasty. Too tasty. But  my unhealthy relationship includes binging.  Christ, I'm half bulimic.

I eat when I'm bored, I eat when I'm feeling sad, happy, angry or frustrated. I eat instead of having a relationship. I eat because I'm not having sex. At least when I eat I can get instant gratification.  Not that 'instant' is really what I'm looking for...

All of this has sort of hit me over the last few days. It's weird, it's not like I suddenly blew up to parade float size-I've always been a big girl. But now it doesn't feel like it's about losing weight so I can stop describing myself that way. It's about getting healthy so I can live a long time. I want to be around my friends for a really long time. I want to watch  the Child of Corn grow up. I want to make a family of my own someday. I fear the day that dad isn't here anymore, but I don't want to go before he does either.  I wanna LIVE. I wanna see things and go places and meet people and be freaking awesome for years.

It starts with knowing I have this unhealthy relationship. Now I gotta work on letting go so I can move forward.

Sigh.

I hate break-ups.

So Tired, Couldn't Even Sleep

I handed a tissue to a woman crying over her cat's recent death.

 I politely smiled and nodded appropriately when politics were being discussed.

I interpreted some very broken English and tried to help a woman that didn't even know we sold pet food.

I told a drunk woman I wasn't going to help her anymore and I asked a homeless person to stop asking for change outside my store.

I judged a barista for her customer service skills.

I told a food rep that I would love to set up a meeting.

I went out into the cold rain to get mail that didn't have my name spelled correctly on it.

I had a migraine. Again.

I left late.

At the end of the day, what is it?

It's just kibble.

 

Today I Heard...

"You seem less happy."

"What about hypnosis?"

"I miss you."

"I'm proud of you."

"I love you too sweetheart."

"Are you ok?"

"Did you do something different to your hair?"

"You type fast."

"Thank you for your help today."

"Sounds like some irrational self deprecation if you ask me."

"Remember me? Yeah, I'm 20 now."

"Don't worry, it's melting."

"You're paranoid for other people!"

"Good morning!"

"Did you hear that?"

"Do you like stroganoff?"


*giggle*
 
"Must be your lucky day!"

"Oh! I'm so sorry. He peed."

"Feeling a little sub-par today."

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Travel safely!"

"You need a vacation."

"We need to watch some drag queens."

From Next Door

The people upstairs don't argue in English.

They have a little girl that talks to my cat through the window. She goes to school everyday at 8:30. When I'm about to step into the shower, I hear her go down the stairs with her dad. He sometimes parks in my space and it pisses off my friend.

His wife isn't a very nice lady. She has a look on her face like she's just smelled something awful and she has bags under her eyes. She doesn't smile.

She argues.

She yells in her native tongue fiercely. It is her conversation and he has no choice but to listen.  He shouts back but only to be heard.  There is a sadness to his tone. A subtle plead of 'please stop' but she is relentless.

I wish I didn't understand them.

Pep Blog

I have some pretty ridiculous self esteem issues. I can step away from myself and realize they're ridiculous so why can't I just let them go?

I have to give myself little pep blogs to remind myself that I'm not as fucked up as my mind wants me to think I am.

First off, your nostrils aren't that big. They might have once been described as a coke lover's dream. They might have been the first thing a friend said she noticed of you, but they aren't that much out of proportion that you should be in a sideshow or anything.

You are not as big as Jabba the Hutt.  You were smaller 20 years ago, that's true. Just accept who you are. Someday someone will find you attractive in just the right way.  But not until you let yourself believe it first. You can try exercising-even though you loathe it, do you loathe the idea that you could add some years to your life more?

Most people aren't going to see that hair on your chin. The people that might see it are your friends and they would rip it out for you if you asked because they are amazing friends. So what if one guy one time said something about the hair above your lip? You're nowhere near a Chaplin-stache so breathe a little.

 You deserve to want to live a long time. Things remind you all the time how short life is. Why would you spend any of it being angry with yourself?  Try to accept things more for the way they are and embrace the moment instead of fearing it. If you're happy, let yourself be. If you're not, find out why and try like hell to fix it. Continue to take joy in the little things this life gives everyday. Listen to yourself more and probably a million other things that could be embroidered on a sampler.

I'm trying so hard to find the balance between letting myself just be who I am and totally hating who that person is. I like who I am on the inside and even some of the outside bits but I can't seem to believe it completely when I'm complimented. I've gotten a lot better but I ride the roller coaster of 'Do I Suck, am I Awesome' too often.

Maybe it's not as black and white as that.

I already know that being awesome with suck moments is better than the other way around so maybe I could start there.

Put that on your grandma's sampler.


 

Sounds Like...

When I remember to check the mail, it's usually my favorite part of the day. The sky is a faint shade of lavender in the summer, dark purple in the winter. It's a small mailbox, simple. The ground in front of it is decorated with ivy and sometimes puddles. I noticed when getting the mail at this time I could hear a faint song of crickets. It always made me smile and think of camping in the summer.

This morning I left and the sky was painted light gray, only traces of violet.  The sun was peeking over Mt. Rainier, trying to take the chill from the air. I was walking taller, straighter and smiling already when I stopped at the bottom of my hill to listen. The crickets were greeting me and I drank it in, thought this time of laying in the high grass on Grandma's farm.

After a few moments, it occurred to me that it wasn't really the right time for crickets. I crossed the street to the mailbox. I stood there listening when it finally hit me. The lovely sound I'd been enjoying wasn't from crickets. It was the fan on top of the building behind my mailbox. Made me laugh at myself a little and I needed to.  I called my dad to make him laugh too.

 I told him all about the "crickets" and I heard him smile. He started to laugh as he told me a story about mom. They were driving one evening when mom commented on how beautiful the moon was. My dad had to inform her it was actually a street light. And then he told me a story about himself.

One day out hunting he described  the intensity of the hunt. He talked about how long he waited for the perfect shot, never believing his luck in how the deer seemingly didn't sense him at all.  When he finally pulled the trigger and the deer didn't move he started toward it, bewildered. He was positive he'd hit it his target.  Finally, he saw that not only was it only a tree with the branches just so-he was not the first to think so. "Riddled with holes," he told me.

We laughed together, admitting to have mistaken planes for bright stars.  Maybe even wished on a few.

"You see Honey? You come by it naturally."

Out of the Mouths of Babes

"Greetings Child of Corn."

"Hi Auntie Lindsay."

I ask him about school and he tells me his favorite subject is weight lifting. I tell him I liked the picture he texted me but to ask for extra credit instead of drawing pictures of dinosaurs in math class. I ask him if he's been giving his mom a hard time and if his stepdad is being cool.  I ask all the grown up things I'm supposed to before I can't stand it anymore.

"So...tell me all about the new chickie!"

"Her name's Angelina and she goes to the college. She loves to play video games. She's a very upbeat person but it doesn't look like it cause all she wears is black or purple but that's just because she isn't very girly. She's very smart. She's a lot shorter than me and she's pretty awesome."

A grin spreads across my face as I read his instant message. He's happy. He's so excited at the newness and it makes the ugly little black spot that had been hanging out on my heart just melt.

"I think you'd like her."

He tells me he's taking her to the movies for Valentine's Day. A scary movie that's rated R because she can get them in legally. That makes me smile, remember what it was like to be young.

My phone pings as I instant message and I get another taste of youth. On the phone is a picture of him with his new chickie, smiling in winter's first snow. The black spot on my heart falls away.

"You just gave me a warm fuzzy and I really needed one today."

A brief pause before I see he's responding. I imagine him on the other end of the computer, rolling his eyes at his silly Auntie Lindsay's mush. But he surprises me.

"Well, I'm glad." Though he's miles away, I can see the shy and genuine little smile I first saw fifteen years ago and my heart swells.

He's really kind of a neat Child of Corn.

Not That Much

I don't need to win the lottery. I mean, I wouldn't turn it away if a crap ton of money fell in my lap, but I don't need it.

I've often let myself wonder what it would be like to have a ridiculous amount of money. I think about the places I'd visit, the things I'd do for my family and friends, the people I could help.


The bill collectors call every day-today it was twelve times. The phone starts at 8:30 in the morning, just before my alarm goes off. It rings in my office while I'm working,and it rings when I get home and am eating dinner. At least I have a pleasant ring tone.

I finally sat down today and added up how much I am in debt.

$7200.

I'm kind of ok with it.

I thought it was so much more than that. Of course....that number doesn't include rent, food, quarters for laundry-each roll is a ten spot you know. Now we're up to....

$8220.

Still not as high as I thought it was. The numbers seem so much bigger in my head. I feel  like I owe a kidney, my first born, an arm AND a leg-not a dollar amount that equals under ten grand.

Strangely this number brings me comfort. Now I know how much I owe. I don't even have one hundredth of it, but I might someday. It seems feasible today.

Caregiver

My therapist said I was a caregiver. He said I'd taken care of my parents and everyone else in my life that I never learned how to take care of myself.

When I hang out with my friends, I always tell them to drive safe when they leave. I tell them to take care in our goodbyes.  If something happens to them, if they die in some sort of freak accident-I'll have closure. I will have gotten to say goodbye. My friends would know I love them.

When I talk to my dad, we always end the phone call the same way. We say we love each other at the same time and then we laugh at it, take a moment to remember we only have each other. We wish each other a good day and say we love each other again, this time without the jinx. If something happens to him, if he dies in some sort of freak accident or because his heart is just...done-I'll have closure. I will have gotten to say goodbye. My dad would know I love him.


When I am alone with myself, I feel like I'm not always worthy. I feel ugly sometimes. I've felt sad, angry and small. I don't tell myself to take care or to ride safely when I get in a car. I eat badly most nights and ignore the things I don't want to deal with about myself. If something happened to me, if I died in some sort of freak accident-I wouldn't have closure. I wouldn't be able to tell myself that I'm gonna be ok. I wouldn't know I loved myself.

Take care Lindsay.

Walk home safely.

I love you.

It's time to start taking care of me.

The 45th Blog-A Ramble

My little cousin just posted about "Moves Like Jagger" and now that song is in my head.

I feel like I could put a bakery out of business today. Cream cheese danish? Yes, thank you. A doughnut? That depends, is there some sort of unidentifiable filling? Cookie? I'll have 2 please. Red velvet cupcake? Well, if you insist.

Goddammit.

Something's not right. I feel like there is something off with me and I can't figure it out. I don't want to psychoanalyze myself either.

It's feeling a little psycho and analytical. I think I've just accepted myself a little more. I feel a bit...subdued. That's how a coworker described me today and that's a perfect description. Subdued and a little cranky. My temper seems a bit short lately too.

And I feel a little sad. Like I might cry any second. I feel sad at the stupidest things. I cried at a Toddlers & Tiaras episode the other night. And while it's devastating that some mothers are doing that to their children, I can usually see the humor in their behavior.

I feel like I could sleep forever too.

All of the above are very common symptoms (and now I can hear myself slip into Retail Voice) of PMS (dog food allergy)

PMS? Ok, yeah.... I'll buy that. But it's not the right time for such a thing.

And they are also common symptoms of depression. No stranger to me. It is a vile enemy. I am constantly making sure it's not behind me, waiting to pounce and engulf me with sadness. I watch myself and I know myself. I know when it's  nature is taking it's course and if it is my mental state, altered with self induced anxiety. I call it a 'chemical imbalance spill.'

How does a woman  tell the difference between depression and PMS symptoms?


I'm sitting in a chair, my back and neck killing me when I remember, this chair has roll-y things in the back that massage at the flick of a switch. So I do and it starts purring, kneading my shoulders. I remember when I got this-a present for my birthday from the ex-boyfriend.     

That's twice I've thought of him today.     

I almost picked up the phone and texted. Texting is so helpful when you want to communicate but not really communicate. We didn't communicate very well anyway. A friend at lunch one day suggested that maybe he never really liked me to begin with. He was affectionate to his new girlfriend, she said. And now I wonder if maybe he bought me this massage chair thing just so he wouldn't have to touch me because he really never did.


Three times.

I don't want to text him anymore.

I want to eat the cinnamon roll that is calling to me from the kitchen counter. I want to eat the fuck out of that cinnamon roll.

So I'm gonna.

$76,000

"The hospital called me a week or so after your mom was dead."

Dead. Sounds like a book hitting the floor of an empty room. He never says it like that-its' always, 'when Vickie died'. He uses mom's name always. Except this time.

"...a week or so after your mom was dead...and they told me I owed them $76,000."

Instant rage. Seventy-six thousand dollars? A week or so? He owed them?

"I-you know what I did? I fuckin' I said, 'I owe you? You killed my wife! I don't owe you shit! You can all go fuck yourselves!' And then I hung up on 'em. Never heard from 'em again."   

His voices changes as he tells the story. He goes from dad to widower and the sadness, hurt and still present anger is so strong over the phone, I feel it. I instantly regret calling, bringing this up.

"Dad, I-"

"That's why I had to do what I did. That's when all the shit started. Couldn't finish the house.....now I can't go fishing....got it all fucked up."

His voice belongs to someone else now. A vulnerable man that has tried so hard to do right by everyone. He blames himself when things aren't perfect and suddenly he sounds like someone I know.



I remember the day in the courthouse.  He's in a suit-I'd never seen him in one until mom's funeral. I watch him stand as they read his story, his head slightly bent and naked from his trademark fisherman's cap. They asked him if had anything he wished to say.

"I know I made some mistakes. I just...I'm glad my wife ain't here to see it."

Mom laying in a bed that wasn't hers, hospital gray blankets covering her to the chin, nothing is bright in here. Her reaching out to me, leaning up for a kiss goodbye, smiling sadly. She hated it there. She wanted to come home they kept saying she couldn't and it pissed her off. It made her feisty and proud for a little while. Then she got worse and she was in the hospital. Why is everything so gray? She doesn't know I'm there for a few days, but when she does, I know. I'm the last to say goodbye and later when walking to the car, I know I'm never going back in there again.

Dad handles everything else. The urn, the service, the day, time, place to go after, all of it. 

I slept.

The Facility calls him to demand her things be picked up and then later to tell him there is a bill outstanding of $1200 and they expect immediate payment. The creditors from bills long past due sue d when mom's catalog orders catch up. 

"....a week or so after your mom was dead and they told me I owed them $76,000."

"That's when all the shit started."

A vulnerable man that has tried so hard to do right by everyone....

Go fuck yourselves. 

Perspective

I'm cranky. I don't want to be but there it is and yeah, pretty sure it has something to do with what time of the month it is but fuck you for thinking it.

Ok, no. I don't mean that.

Sigh.

I am extremely blessed that I am loved and have good friends, a job, a roof over my head and food in my fridge. I'm not sick with disease or crippled from injury. I know I'm going to be ok.

But tonight I'm cranky and the whole damn apartment smells like cat piss. I can't find all the places that are soiled and I'll be honest, sometimes I don't even care. I have stains on my carpet from cat puke, shit and the aforementioned piss. I should have the carpets cleaned but I can't afford a cleaner, either to rent or buy and truthfully when I actually find myself with a little extra cash I wanna buy a book or movie for myself not rent a fucking steam cleaner.

I got a Kindle Fire for Christmas. Awesome right? Except I can't use it because I don't have a router (wi-fi) and you know what? I don't even know what that means. I only know I need one to make the neat new gadget work.

A coworker gave me an aquarium that he didn't need anymore. Just a little one, big enough for a betta fish. It's got a lid so it's cat proof, comes with rocks and even a little castle. The only thing lacking is the fish.

I met this really nice guy. He was sweet and kind to me, told me he liked me and showed me he liked me too. I freaked out  and then second guessed myself. Despite assurance from friends that I did the right thing by saying I didn't want a relationship, I feel like crap that I might have hurt him.

Jesus, isn't that what I always bitch about? Being lonely and not having anyone to share my time with? I meet someone and it's still not right?  How the hell is that fair?

I know, I know. Life isn't fair. I get it. No one ever said it was. No one said it was going to be easy.

But why couldn't it be? Why couldn't I actually make enough money to support myself and still have the things I'd like to have without bill collectors calling more than my friends? Why couldn't I meet a guy that has baggage that goes with mine? Why couldn't I just admit that things like happy endings don't exist?

It feels like all these....things, these pieces of my life, are incomplete. 

Dad says I have high standards and that there's nothing wrong with that. True. Unless they're not met and then you spend a lot of time being disappointed.


So how do you change that without compromising what you actually want? I feel that I'm mostly realistic-with a good healthy dollop of optimism. I like to believe there is good in everyone, that the world is not ugly.  But it really kind of is.

I guess that's not bad, it's just....real.

And sometimes it really fucking reeks of cat piss.