Tuesday, July 23, 2013


I think one of the reasons kids are so happy is because they have no memories.

Who among your adult friends would be brave enough to keep trying something so difficult as WALKING if they fell 10,000 times trying? Most adults don't stray too far out of their comfort zone...for fear of failure, looking stupid, making some horrendous regrettable choices from which they can't recover.

But young children? Well they wake up each day like it is Christmas morning. They have forgotten the 9,999 times they fell attempting to let go of the coffee table and take those first few tentative steps towards the cheering parent.

I am sure the cheering helps.

We also rarely cheer our grown up friends on when we are sure they will fail. We try to keep our friends safe...we don't encourage them to quit the comfortable job, move to a strange city, or anything that would upset the status quo.

I remember setting up my little munchkin for success in his early endeavors. I would move the coffee table closer to the couch while he was learning to walk and make sure the edges of the table weren't sharp.

Once I learned that concept...of setting him up for success...I was amazed at how infrequently we do that as adults. Sure I wish I would eat more healthful choices, but when I go to the grocery store hungry I will certainly fill my cart with quick fix and empty calorie choices.

This past year has been tough for me. Up until my 45th year I honestly can say I had no regrets (well except for not having more children...).

Then...the past year? Uncharacteristically for me...  I have made some bad choices. this past year.

I have not been setting myself up for success, and my memories of the falls, the failures, are in the forefront of my mind.

Today I wondered what it would be like to wake up with those bad memories gone. Sure, I would still have the job that is crushing my soul, the out of shape body, the empty bank account...but the aching regret of the choices I made to get in this place would be gone - leaving me with a clean slate.

And what if God had secretly moved the coffee table a little bit closer to the couch for me in the night? Could I try for the 4000th time to take some wobbly steps towards freedom?

Well let's see :)

Sunday, June 23, 2013

some things I love...

This boy...texting his friend who happens to be a girl.
Claiming he was NOT sleepy...and more importantly was NOT interested in the girl he was texting and that he NEVER would be able to sleep in this "strange smelling beach house".
He was asleep within minutes...

My new (to me) camera which I don't understand AT ALL. I can't even see well enough anymore to figure out all the buttons and levers. And I am too lazy to read the manual/bible that came with it. But I think if I were rich enough to retire I would travel the world, collecting discarded items, snapping pictures and showing off the beauty in the ordinary.

Here's me trying to capture the "super moon". For some reason the flash was determined to fire...and though I was using a fancy remote-activated trigger - I still managed to wiggle the camera enough to make it appear more like a "super glow worm". Heehee.

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Monday, May 27, 2013

hot dogs and such...

I have this recurring dream in which I am driving an RV that is out of control and unweildy.

I have had this dream for going on ten years...and the dreams always have the same flavor:

there's me, sitting in an RV riding down the highway...there are dream friends and dream family riding with me...and we are all sitting around in uncomfortable silence. At some point I look up at the front of the vehicle and realize that NO ONE IS IN THE DRIVERS SEAT. This causes me to lurch into a standing position and scream at my companions "WHERE IS MY DAD?!?!?!" Because of course my father is the king of all RV drivers. Even in my dreams. But dream Dad is absent and no one seems to want to do anything other than flip out and run around inside the RV screaming.

So I take my place in the driver's seat and attempt to navigate this lurching monstrosity safely to our destination. It feels like I am driving 100 mph across icy roads with little control. The steering is unresponsive, the brakes don't work and there are always bridges on my path that seem to be 3 inches wide. I am convinced we are going to die around every turn. At some point in the journey I do loose control...and we either flip 100 times or careen off one of those bridges. Taking out more than a few innocent bystanders in the process. That's when everything goes into slow motion...

I wake myself up screaming.

More than one therapist has dissected the dream.  They seem to think that the RV symbolizes my soul...or my inner most self. I have processed through every traumatic RV experience I have had in hopes of eliminating the dream...even gone so far as to take a few RV trips and try to forcefully supplant  my subconscious RV fears with positive experiences.

So far nothing has worked. But maybe that's because dreams don't represent anything! Maybe it is just random neural firings after a long day of thinking too much about the wrong things and too little about the good stuff.

I have a friend recently home from Afghanistan. She has seen the stuff night mares are made of. I asked her today if she has nightmares...and she says nope, she sleeps like a baby. This is a woman who has seen combat, watched bombs explode, held her peers' wounds shut as she prayed medical evac arrived before that artery ran dry...

and she sleep like a baby.

Because she, my friends, is a rock star. Pure muscle and a smile that could charm anyone. She has shaken the hands of presidents, and been published for her eye-witness accounts of the cruelty the Taliban inflicts on the helpless. She doesn't send money to Save The Children, and she doesn't send emails to her congressman...she picks up a rifle and patrols the dirt roads of far away lands to make sure that any young girl that wants to go to school can make her way there.

Tonight I light a candle for those soldiers who have be fortunate enough to come home from the horrors of war, and also for those soldiers who took their last breath on foreign soil...thinking about their moms, dads, lovers or children as their lives were extinguished.

Happy Memorial Day weekend y'all. I'll be at work - because hospitals don't close. But be sure to enjoy yourselves on my behalf ;)

Sunday, May 12, 2013


Last week I had to take my precious little man to yet another in his endless stream of doctor appointments. Poor guy has been poked and prodded until he doesn't even fight it anymore.

I knew he was stressed out though. He was silent the entire ride there. Which, if you knew my son, is incredibly abnormal.

So I signed him in and filled out paperwork while he sat in the lobby and played on his phone.

After I was done with the checking in process I joined him, by plopping myself on his lap.

Yes the waiting room was full, yes he was embarrassed.

He started giggling and asked me what I was doing..."I'm nervous" I told him. "All these doctor appointments are just too much". He laughed and knew I was teasing...but he played along. He told me that the doctor would probably be nice and that even if they needed to draw blood it only would hurt "for a second". And in his faux comforting I knew he was moving through all the grown up bullshit that he has to face.

The other people in the waiting room smiled and told him he was a good boy for "comforting" his mom.

I got off his lap and let him retreat back to his phone...but he put his head on my shoulder and whispered "you're the best".

I saw this video today and it made me think of that moment...

Happy mother's day to all the moms out there...

Friday, May 10, 2013

my girlfriend...

Oh how I always go back to her...my sweet brandi

she is always there for me - always understands my sadness, my grief, and doesn't even try to offer  hope. She knows that hope would burn up a truly broken heart. But to be understood - held with her words....ahhh it's enough. An under-girdle.

I will say, however, that I have lost some faith in Brandi.

Though her music has inspired me from WAY back when she was a soft butch playing in bars...but as I watched her climb into fame - I worried for her girlfriend. Brandi faithfully dated this older, police officer from Seattle. A woman who founded a non-profit. Back when it wasn't trendy.

I feared that fame would bring a new style to Ms. Carlile...and sure enough, it would seem a super model was more to her new taste. With a few grammys under her belt she dumped that cop and found herself not just a beautiful new girlfriend, but a wife.

These days, I picture her ex sitting at a bar, rambling on about how she dated Brandi...slurring through stories of those "good old days" where she patiently waited for the tours to end so Brandi would come home... even if just for a quick weekend visit. Maybe even no one even believes her stories (except the locals). Most likely everyone is tired of hearing about it.

If I were there, I would climb up on the barstool next to that cop and ask her to tell her story... then I would sympathetically hand her a hanky...and tell her I can relate.

And let's see if Brandi writes something this fucking amazing about her new "wife"....

Cause I doubt it.

Wednesday, May 01, 2013

you lost the bet...

I think of baby me...twenty years ago.

There I am singing my heart out at Finales...do you notice my guitar strap was made of strips of fabric?? Live Simply my friend. I was recycling before anyone else.

At my side was my little butch hippie girlfriend - making harmony and wishing I would just buy a real damn guitar strap.

We dated for a decade...but back when that picture was taken we had only been together a few years. She and I never talked about the future in those days...we were content to spend our time singing, laughing with friends and playing house in our single-wide trailer. No AC, no bank account, and no plans beyond trying to meet the Indigo Girls.

It wasn't cool to be a lesbian back then.

My parents wouldn't talk to me except to condemn me to an eternity of Hell...people keyed my car because of my dyke bumper stickers - and more than once our friendly neighbors redecorated our yard with garbage. Even being a college town didn't help...once after a show our band performed at Florida State, an upstanding group of frat boys chased us off campus...throwing beer bottles and shouting rape threats. I will never forget running as fast as I could and hiding in a stairwell for half an hour while those drunk college boys looked and looked so they could "teach the queers a lesson". Thankfully drunks have a short attention span and never got their hands on us.

It's hard to be brave when the world tries to hurt you.

If you had told me back then that in my lifetime domestic partnerships would be ratified by the city of Tallahassee I would have thought you were high. Sure, I could have predicted San Fran, NYC, Europe would come around...but not the deep South. I once heard a parody of that famous quote about the South: It's not the heat, it's the humidity........but they changed it to: It's not the ignorance, it's the stupidity.


But sure enough, my 25 year old self would have been wrong.

This week, the hee haw city of TallyHo just made it legal for my friends to run over to City Hall and make their partnerships legal. There are pictures all over facebook of the happy couples. And their stupid pieces of paper.

I am trying so so so hard to be happy for my people. Heck, I have marched and petitioned for this moment for half my life! But (as I was very recently abandoned by my heart's love) I am instead using it for fodder to fuel my self loathing.

I keep picturing hopping in a time machine and finding my hopeful young self singing on stage. I would walk up to her and put my arms around that sweet 25 year old me...and tell her "Hey, enjoy it while you can, because you will spend most of your lifetime alone as you watch alllllllllll your friends get married. Yes, even the queers."

Then I would probably buy her a drink or two...and tell her to invest in a little thing called Google. My last piece of advice would be to maybe consider an exciting career as the foremost gay and lesbian divorce attorney  ;)

For those of you who found this blog post by googling "foremost gay and lesbian divorce attorney"...my advice is to immediately adopt a cat (or three).

Saturday, April 27, 2013


All afternoon my little man was right by my side. He didn't want to play with friends...didn't want to submerge into the depths of the electronic world, didn't want to read.

I knew he was luring me into interaction because he was playing Taylor Swift ;)

But I had an agenda for the day. I had bills to pay, dishes to wash, laundry, etc, etc

The easy thing about parenting is that your kid doesn't always want you to entertain him with a puppet show...they just want you. 

So we washed the dishes together, singing silly pop songs and making bubbles with the dish soap. We changed the sheets and I even taught him how to balance a checkbook.

We had a blast together, just doing the routine things grown ups do on a mildly hung over Friday. Giggling through the mundane. If you can enjoy washing up the dinner dishes and folding a week's worth of laundry - then you can consider your day just about perfect. Anyone can have fun at Disney...but a family that can have fun paying the power bill?? Well that may just be the secret to have a pretty fucking awesome "now".

My mind did wander of course......and negativity pounced on me every few minutes. Clouding my brain with thoughts like "why in the ever loving hell would a creeper read my blog if they don't even want to talk to me?!?!?!"  or "holymotherofgod why is the doctor making me repeat my blood work without telling me why?!?" Speaking of which, I also realized that my hand wound has oozed so much over the last month that my mattress pad is LITERALLY stained. How gross is that?!?!?!?! Man I need some of these stressors to go away.

And so I practiced over and over pushing those yucky bits aside with a love list.

Things I Love:   oBvIoUsLy NOT in any order
-time with my kid
-warm breezes
-clean sheet day
-whoops.....she sneaks in there...but on a good day the best I can do is pretend her cell phone exploded but she still totally loves me...so let's just leave her on this list
-the feeling of hardwood floors under my bare feet
-mr waffles cuddle time
-chaco weather
-frozen margaritas
-my new haircut

Tomorrow my son wants to wash my car and build his own whistle from a piece of wood. He is an interesting little man.

Happy Friday y'all. And be careful...you get better at anything you practice...so choose carefully.

Friday, April 26, 2013

best of everything....

It is incredible to me that I have the same friends that I have had since I was in my teens.

That is staggering to think about.

Not saying it is easy...you have to forgive, hold on, adjust...

But holy shit I've got a great circle of love :)

And I have new friends too. Equally as amazing to me, that as a cranky, overly dramatic forty-something I can still find souls that I connect with in an instant. I have the predictable liberals, but also republican friends, even a few libertarians, straight, gay, young and old. Hell's bells - I gave my heart to a creationist.

I am grateful every day for my village. To be loved when you are fun is easy...but to be circled and held when you are sad, scared and wounded...well that is real. True Blue. And I know that stressful times bring the real love out. True Blue isn't scared by bumps.

Tonight I sat surrounded by a great group of women...laughing and drinking and sharing tales of woe. Best medicine evah, lemme tell ya.

Being driven home (like a good mom) I remembered a time way before my little man was born....

Back then I was in a relationship with "A". She and I were out with some friends, sharing drinks and signing at an open mike night. She had been in a horrible car accident the year before and was a touch off from that...used a wheelchair most of the time, but was still able to drive. She drove everywhere...and being the most sober of the group...was going to drive us home.

The owner of the bar had parked (illegally) very very close to her truck - which was in a handicapped space. It was a tight squeeze getting into her truck, especially with the wheelchair. As she started to back out of the space we all heard a god awful sound...SCREEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!

But "A"s truck was older than me and made all kinds of horrible noises...so we paid no mind. But the more she backed up....the louder it got.  SCREEEEEECCCCH!!!!!!!!

"It's just your damn 30 year old brakes!!!" I yelled. "I've got to pee so let's get MOVING" GO SCREECH GO SCREEEEECH GOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEECCCCCCCCH.

"A", being the dutiful girlfriend, exited the parking space, only to find she had torn UP the side of the bar owner's Lexus SUV. Apparently her truck had these hooks that stuck out from the bed for cinching rope or some hee haw type function. And now the bar owner had ripped metal along the side of his fancy car. Whoopsie.

"Oh I guess it wasn't your brakes" I said "but fuck him. He now has learned not to park illegally".

We laughed ourselves all the way home.

Nowadays, as more of a mature woman, that story isn't quite so funny. Though as someone who has gotten a person with a wheelchair in and out of cars 3000 times, I can promise you that I don't feel remorse. It is NOT COOL to park in those blue lines next to handicap spaces. They are there for a REASON! And a drunk handicapped person? Well maybe they should close the streets down for that one.

I called "A" tonight and retold that story. We laughed and laughed and then simmered down and acted like grown-ups again....all the while praying the our own kids will make better choices than we ever did

Monday, April 15, 2013


From my google feed this morning:


Not funny guys.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Help. Thanks. Wow.

I suck at praying.

It's hard to find God in this world when you are raised in rural Georgia by stereotypical disingenuous Christians.

We were taught to go to church...and we did. Every Sunday the sermon preached the virtues of Jesus, forgiveness, love, helping those in need...and then we wouldn't even make it out of the parking lot before my mother would be bad mouthing the people at church "putting on airs" or "flashing their gawdy jewelry". My mother considers herself a devout woman - but she is an old testament kind of gal...she prefers the wrathful God who smites the rich, the outcasts, the heathens.

Once I told my mother the the Jewish faith doesn't scare it's people with talk of Hell and punishments and eternal damnation....she cut me off mid-sentence and said "That's because they are all going to Hell". Catholics? Hell. And don't even get her started on that cult called Unitarians.

From an early age I prayed to God to help me be more like Jesus. The find love and peace and forgiveness in my heart. I could lay in my bed at night and feel like Jesus was in the room with me, smiling and holding my hand. But my family's lessons were contrary to that path...they preached hate, judgement, and fear. By middle school my faith was eroding. And once I knew I was a lesbian??? Well that cinched it. For sure God didn't love me. I was a sinner. Condemned. The faith flame had been doused.

In my early adulthood I tried lots of different religions...Buddhism, Judaism, Native American teachings...though at best it was much like trying to keep myself warm in an Alaskan winter with just a small fire made of twigs. Sure my hands stayed warm...but not much else.

I ordered a few books last week...my goal is to instill in my son the sense of faith I had when I was his age...back then I was sure Jesus loved me. My faith was strong, even as confusing as a Southern sermon was to a 12 year old's mind I felt the words ring true and knew that the Holy Spirit was the greatest bestest friend a girl could ever have.

As a parent your job is to teach your child to function without you. To raise them to become independent, happy, young adults. So though I have failed and failed over the past twenty years in my attempt to reignite my faith and reattach my heart to my higher power, I know that I have to try again. And I can do the impossible for my son. I can move mountains. Even mountains built from self doubt and organized hatred. I can do for my son what I can't do for myself...I can reconnect with God.

Sometimes I think the hardest part of being an adult is just remembering how simple things used to be. My child's soul was completely connected to my faith. It was only once the words of the flawed adults permeated that perfection that it started to fall apart.

My first prayer will start simply: "Help". One word says it all.

Help me be a better mom. Help me learn to feel whole without my lover's sweet touch. Help me endure the stresses of life. Help me find friends that will stay. Help me learn to eat vegetables or at least for gods sake take my damn vitamins. God forgives cussing ;) God just wants honesty. Truth.


Maybe I'll add "please"

Thursday, April 11, 2013

assassin snail...

Imagine that your enemy hired an assassin to hunt you down and kill you.

This evil predator would stalk you endlessly, and when he found you, he would end your life with a laser gun. A teeny tiny high powered laser gun. Why teeny?

Well what if that assassin was a snail? A regular sized gastropod who had spent 12 years in the mountains of Tibet learning how to use a laser gun with pinpoint accuracy.

After talking with my doctor today that is how I picture my hand problem.

Sure, I have an assassin on my trail, but he is in Colorado right now...and I am pretty sure I can see him coming way before he reaches me.

Some cancerous assassins are lions, or sharks or tsunamis. From that perspective,  I am pretty damn lucky to have gotten a mollusk. 

So they dug it out, gave me some cream to use, and sent me home. You KNOW I would grace you with a photo if it weren't all kinds of covered up.

It hurts like a royal mofo. And in all my hysteria to keep picturing a squished snail I didn't ask for owie medicine. But I do have a small pharmacy of anxiolytics for emergencies. Which I think can be used off-label to treat snail attacks.

Next item on the agenda: allergy testing for the little man.

I can only handle one giant ass stress ball at a time...

The one good thing is that the little man has offered to do the dishes until I can get my hand wet! And that, my friends, is what unconditional love looks like. Even a 12 year old knows how to pick up the slack when the slime trail is found outside your house!

Please note that none of my anthropomorphizing intends to offend the noble snail/lion/shark. I am sure they turned to evil vocations in order to better fund such wonderful endeavors as the Sierra Club and WWF  ;)

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Mandatory evacuation

I used the "cartoon" filter to snap a pic of my pre-surgical hand... Check out that giant cartoon boo boo!!!!

Partly I wanted to spare you want it looks like in person. You can tell it isn't normal. But I wanted to take a going away picture that didn't turn anyone's stomach. But even a cartoon version of a neoplasm isn't cute. Unless maybe I added some little bug eyes and a smile. But it's too too late in the evening (or early in the morning) for all that nonsense. 

It's crazy to have watched what I thought was a little scab, or a wart, or whatever it was slowly turning into this freakish thing that doesn't even look like human tissue...it is continually weeping and super painful and the sterotype of "a sore that never heals".

As you can see I have a few lucky bracelets working for me...and am ready to get this thing over with and start moving into spring! 

Here's wishing all of y'all a bountiful season filled with growth and...wait a minute...let me be more specific...how about "non malignant" growth...HAHAHAHAHA. HA. Ha.   ha.    h  a   h     a

Today was a day it was hard to find find gratitude. 

But four hours from now I'll have a big chunk of my hand...and a huge source of worry...out of my life! So I am grateful to be a few hours away from making this yuckiness part of my history.

And I am grateful eternally for those precious souls who hold on tight and stay. I would rather have one true blue sitting by my side tomorrow than 100 nights of amazing sex. Truth.

At this point I probably should even try to sleep!!!! BRING ON THE DAWN!

Saturday, April 06, 2013


You can practice anything...

Basketball, chess, cooking, being mean, Spanish, being generous, the guitar...

Whatever you practice you will get better at :)

I am trying my goddammedest to practice gratitude.

I am grateful for my kiddo. Every day with him is a gift. He can make me smile, enjoy a trip to the grocery store, and remember to take a walk to the park :)

I am grateful for my friends, too many to even keep in regular touch with, surrounding me with love and prayer and positive thoughts. True blue.

I am grateful for today. Today I am OK. Today I am healthy. Today I have enough money, enough time, enough food, and a car that runs.

(last week I was without a car...but I am trying not to be so negative, so I'll save that story for later)

I am grateful for my chosen family, they have cinched me to their hearts and won't let go no matter how far I wander.

Practicing gratitude is not easy. As your mind steers towards sadness, loss, fear, mistrust...you have to take the reins and forcibly pull back. I am using what I am calling my "saviour memories" to guide me back to positive thoughts, to get just the hint of a smile on my face - and I am using them over and over these days.

I remember being in college...my little sister was pregnant with her first child, she herself still a baby. She had married the baby-daddy, and was doing her best at setting up house in a single-wide that sat squarely in the middle of a drug dealing part of town. No high school diploma, no role models, and a pot head sister who would call and "check in" as if that did ANY GOOD. But still.

She seemed so together to me at the time. I didn't see the single-wide trailer, I saw a home-owner. I didn't see the redneck, ill-tempered baby-daddy, I saw a husband. I didn't see a path heading for failure...I saw her beginning. Grace was easier for me as a young pup.

So I called each week and checked in.

One day she shared a dream she had the night before. She was ready to pop out that baby and filled with hormones. In the dream she had gone into labor. She pushed and pushed and pushed. The dream room was filled was screams and cheers as she labored hard. The baby was born and the room fell quiet. The doctor solemnly looked at my sister, and with tears in his eyes he said three simple words:

"I'm so sorry".

My dream sister was filled with terror - why had the doctor apologized?! What had happened to her precious newborn?! Then the doctor handed her the newly born, tightly swaddled baby goat that she had just delivered.

She woke up screaming and inconsolable.

The story was...and still is...fucking HILARIOUS. I laughed until I cried when she told me. And she found laughter too.

Her daughter was born the next week. And I am sure I stopped on the way to the hospital to smoke a bowl before I met my niece. Because I was special like that.

So rather than blog about how sad I am, how heartbroken I feel, and how I will never ever sleep next to my true love again...I am going to share my saviour stories :)

Stay tuned! Stay safe! Stay Grateful!


Sunday, March 24, 2013

C word

What we have here folks can officially go on record as the worst month of my adult life.

March is usually the BEST! MONTH! EVER! After all, I love the heck outta spring...with the flowers and the warmth and the hinting of summer! Then it is capped off with my BiRtHdAy :)

This March? This March... was awful.

It began with a topsy turvy work schedule - finding myself working the over night shift for a few days, then a day shift or two, then back to nights.

What an injustice that type of variation is to my hormones!!! I was tired all the time, weeping for no reason, starving/nauseous...and wrecked with insomnia. But it's only for a month, I told myself.

Then, my precious baby's grandma gave him a PEANUT BAR! YES SHE DID! Which, and maybe this isn't immediately intuitive to the world, contained PEANUTS (of which he is allergic).  So after about 2 hours of sleep I awoke to the frantic calls of a boy whose throat was swelling shut :(

The ER folks were awesome - and shot him full of epinephrine, steroids, antihistamines and a few breathing treatments...and eventually I could once again see his epiglottis.

This round of anaphylaxis was accompanied by a self-awareness in my son that has never occurred before. I think he has always been too young to understand the dire nature of his allergies...but this time? As a 12 year old young man? Well he understood.

He knew his throat was swollen shut. He knew he was on his way out of this world, and he was scared beyond anything that anyone should have to feel. Of course I began to research how to help him navigate his way out of the emotional damage he suffered...but mostly he just needed time, hugs, facts and unconditional love. The type of love that stands strong even though he was saying horrible things, and thinking horrible thoughts. A selfless love. Even though at my core I was destroyed thinking about what *could* have happened...I put him first. He said things out loud a mother never ever ever can stomach hearing...but he needed to have his time to freak out - and I was determined to hold on through the storm and hold him steady.

But life...(and March) pressed on.

During this catastrophe I noticed my significant other becoming more and more distant...I didn't know if it was because she felt sad for being so far away, or if maybe she was unaware as to how much I needed her...but she seemed busier than usual. So in the quiet moments after my little man was in bed, I ached for even an email,  reaching across the miles to let me know she was in my corner. I wondered if she maybe was repulsed by me since I was needy and sad. I am sure I wasn't easy to approach. Each day it got harder for me to be feel her loving me...and I had no idea how to pierce her defenses. I felt like she was losing interest in me and my insecurities were louder than her phone calls. I don't know if it was a fair conclusion or if my brain was playing tricks on me...but I decided out of self-preservation to let her be quiet. I figured I would bounce back to my normal self soon enough and she would once again sparkle when she thought of me....because at the time it felt like she was dreading to hear from me.

I was still working crazy mixed up hours, and got a few phone messages from my doctor. She had been treating a wart on my hand. Why on earth would a doctor call a patient about a stupid (albeit stubbornly-refusing-to-diet) wart?  Keep in mind that I was emotionally reeling from the day/night flip and the anaphylaxis, not to mention the acutely felt absence of my sigO...so I didn't return the call.

It occurred to me that perhaps the doctor had some bad news...since I can't recall a doctor ever calling me before..it seemed logical to my dark mind that OBVIOUSLY I had cancer. Hand cancer. Not that I had ever heard of such a thing...but leave it to me to get a rare and unique deadly thing.

And you wanna know what my first thought was? Not "oh shit I might die" or "please Lord not now when my son needs me most"...nooooooooo, my first thought was wondering what my sigO would do if I collapsed even further...I was sure that if she was turned off by how weak I was post-anaphylaxis then she would flat out leave my ass if I actually had fucking cancer. So I didn't return the doctor's calls. It seems crazy to admit...but it's true. I even had a dream that I had cancer...and that my lover broke up with me when I told her. For three days I was crazy after that dream. I tried not to let my over arching fear get on my girlfriend...but every time I did  connect with her I ended up sounding mean. Even though all I wanted was her by my side....I guess fear and hurt can sound mean :(

Then I got the stomach flu....oh and also my sig O did in fact end our relationship. See kids??? Some dreams DO come true. Ha. ha. ha. Not funny.

All the care I was taking to NOT appear like a needy, overly sensitive loser had been in vain..she hated me anyway. How it is that I cherish taking care of her so so so much....and she is completely turned off when I'm the one who is hysterical and ugly?????

The good thing about the stomach flu is that it allowed me to skip a few nights of the graveyard shift...and when I felt physically strong enough I returned to work. And a few days after that...I  called the doctor back.

They found cancerous cells in my biopsy (I hadn't even realized they had taken a biopsy the last time they treated my alleged wart). The doctor needed me to make as appointment as soon as possible. She wanted to cut out a chunk of my hand. I didn't ask too many questions...I was in shock. I don't even remember the name of what she said was growing in place of my skin and muscle.

I have always pictured Maslow's hierarchy of need to be a bar stool. Each of the three legs represents a pillar of *need*. If you have all your needs met, your soul can comfortably sit for eternity. Sure - one leg will become loose from time to time - but not to worry! You have two strong legs ready to take some of the weight! Well, I don't remember exactly what Maslow said about it (though I am pretty sure I am right about the barstool image), but let's say my needs have always been: health, love, and career. Using the bar stool analogy, you could say that mine has turned to silly putty. Or maybe jello. Or protoplasm. Pick a goo, any goo - You get the idea.

In one month I can honestly say the following: job=despise, health=unchecked worry of not only my only child but also myself, and as for love? Well my one special person has turned away from me.

So I am left sitting on the floor, trying to fashion at least a cushion from the goo left over from March's destruction.

Part of me thinks I should call my love, and tell her about the c-word. She doesn't know...

I think about calling her 100 times a day.

But if she is capable of hating me after my son's near death experience...then I figure she probably would still hate me with a cancerous limb. And the chance she would continue to ignore me, hate me, be repulsed by my weakness seems fairly high...I can't even put words to how low it would take me. But part of me thinks that if she realized what I was going through...if she could just see my perspective...her heart would remember me. Remember us.

One day not too long ago....after seeing my love in the middle of Georgia...we got separated accidentally. When we reconnected she was so so so super upset. She was crying and shouting and saying hurtful things she didn't mean because she had been so frightened. None of her words stuck to me...all I saw was my sweetest girl - upset by circumstances beyond her control...my heart wrapped around hers and I held on.

I love remembering those moments with her. Obviously not the fact that she was upset...but knowing with all of me that I loved her so completely that she was beautiful even when she cried, and her words couldn't hurt me because I knew she was frantic and not herself.

There are 500 of those moments in my mind...

and here in my bed alone I wonder what it is about frantic and upset me that becomes the enemy of my true love.

Whatever that part of me is, I hate it.

But even though I am trainable...and I could learn to change my fear response...I suppose the definition of "the end" is when one person stops being wiling to try. And she has stopped.

So me and my gelatinous goo will get to work...trying to mold the best damn bar stool I can with the tools I have.

Literally. As I finished that last sentence a giant tree limb just smashed my roof. Lit. Er. Al. Ly.

At this point I don't even stop typing...I just sit here and wait for the rain to stop. I know it will. 

Thursday, January 24, 2013


I am a superstitious gal...

Embarrassing to admit (maybe) but it's true.

I have a silver angel trinket that I carried to work with me every single day I was a floor nurse...and each morning I would say a prayer, kiss the angel, and hide it in my pocket. That angel was with me for each chest compression of a patient struggling to stay in this world, each swipe of the time clock, and every drive home.

Somehow I have created another ritualized superstition...perhaps even more embarrassing...because this superstition involves a video game.

Star Craft. If you haven't heard of it then you obviously aren't a uber geek.

I'll wait while you make fun of me...

All done? Any questions? Good. Then let's get back to the story...there's an epiphany coming!

Back more than a year ago...when my heart's love had put some distance between us...I would try my best to give her the space she had asked for. This was impossible but I tried my very best. Thinking of her constantly, I would naturally wonder if she were thinking of me. I didn't even know where she was (traveling abroad? Staying with family?) and it nearly drove me crazy. To distract me I would create a Star Craft scenario that was difficult to beat...nearly impossible in fact, and say in my mind "If I can beat this level, that woman is out there thinking of me, missing me, and loving me".

And I would lose. And try again. And lose. And try again...until I won.

Sometimes I would say things like "If I win this time - I will call that woman and she will answer!!"

And I would lose. And try again. And lose. And try again...until I won.

Somehow that silly ritual eased my mind, helped the time pass and managed to distract my broken heart.

The games can last for hours...and I would save my progress from time to time...calling the games things like "shewillcall" or "dontgiveup"...my nomenclature might seem pathetic when viewed through the lens of a more rational person, but to me it was more like a mantra for the evening.

Of course I felt silly...but as I have mentioned before, I was raised by feral wolves and don't always behave like the so-called "mature adults".

These days my mind is weary with struggles at work. I am so accustomed to being well-liked and successful in my work environs that I don't even have a frame of reference for my new job. I seemed to have either stepped into a looney bin masquerading as an "office", or my inter-personal skills have deteriorated  by an exponential degree since the last time I was an 8 to 5'er.

In either case I find myself unglued when I think about going to sleep, waking up, and returning to my desk.

So I stay awake way way way past my bed time, playing my games.

The game begins by me saying things like "If I win this game I will have a good day at work tomorrow" or "If I win no one will yell at me tomorrow". And for the hour or so it takes me to play the game my mind is empty of stress. Gone are the feelings of gloom and panic. Electronic meditation?

And when I lose, I try again. Feeling silly for attaching the outcome of my game to a wish for better things...

But I then I realized something. Electronic epiphany ;)

It isn't that my strategic efforts in the game have any real impact on whether or not my girlfriend calls, or how successful my upcoming workday will be...it's the fact that I don't give up when I lose.

I don't really believe the game has anything to do with finding a solution to a problem, but my dogged determination to win definitely does.

I don't give up. At games...in love...or in anything. When I lose, I try again.

This evening I called my game "icandothis"...and I won on the first try :)

And somehow, silly as it sounds, I am ready for work tomorrow!

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

a world of work

I was listening to some interesting ideas this evening...

My sister dragged me kicking and screaming to the kind of thing I would have mocked ten years ago...or maybe even ten days ago

This group of people who get together to try to get better. They might find it offensive for me to put it so simply. Or they may think I am missing the point...but it's my blog :)

Get better at life, at love, at letting go. Get better at enjoying sunsets and jokes, get better at riding out the storms and listening to the ones you love.

So I sat with these people, fully expecting to make fun of them the entire time...

Because I am kind of an asshole like that.

The discussion was on letting go. Let go and let God. Finding the faith to trust that a higher power has your back. Turning away from negativity and obsessions. Trusting that all is well.


As a gal with a touch of OCD I can fully and whole-heartedly admit that I am absolutely in charge. I have learned not to just survive, but thrive, in a world that was stacked against me. Poor, uneducated parents with no apparent social skills raised me. I was kicked out of church for who I loved, forced to leave college because my parents wouldn't co-sign a loan...etc....etc....I was on my own completely by aged 20.

Everything I have I made for myself. Navigating the way with no role models. But I fear that my obsessive struggles to maintain even keel are keeping me from enjoying my life. I have fought so hard to get where I am that I may have forgotten how to enjoy my successes.

So tonight I will try to begin to let go....and try to believe that everything is just as it is supposed to be.

I am currently in a job that I dread to go to, hundreds of miles away from my missing piece, and days go by without a call from my circle of friends. So even writing "everything is just as it is supposed to be" makes me sad. It doesn't make any sense that my destiny on this earth was to parent alone, in a 2 bedroom rental, working along-side peers who openly contempt me.

But I suppose this is exactly why I need to re-evaluate my life. I want to love and feel loved every day. I want to believe with every piece of who I am that I am on the right path. There are real problems in the world.... I don't want to let self-pity and self doubt distract me from being the best version of myself I could be.

I ran across this tonight in some reading....and it makes me feel like maybe I can do this. Maybe I can get better :) And for my heathen friends, try to read past the heavy handed verbiage and just hear the message.....

Isn't this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed  free  and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry  and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter — when you see the naked, to clothe  them,  and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn,  and your healing   will quickly appear; then your righteousness  will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.  Then you will call,  and the Lord will answer;   you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
If you do away with the yoke of oppression,  with the pointing finger  and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry  and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light   will rise in the darkness,  and your night will become like the noonday. The Lord will guide   you always; he will satisfy your needs   in a sun-scorched land  and will strengthen your frame.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

so hard and so easy...

Beginning sixth grade was a big deal for my little big man.

He has had to adjust just about everything he knew about school. He has studied harder, pushed himself beyond what he though he was capable of learning. And he is succeeding :)

The social game, however, is tougher to navigate. Girls want to get his attention, and he is clueless absolutely lost trying to find his way. That perceived indifference makes him a target to the girls...the girls, being smarter about the social game, find him easy prey. No one has ever teased my son...no one has torn away at his self esteem in his 12 years on this earth.

I can't honestly tell him that it gets simpler as an adult. I find in my daily wanderings that my fellow grown ups can behave just as cruel as the middle schoolers. Very few people are striking out with the intention of being mean...but the result is the same. 

One would think, at such as advanced age as myself, I would be accustomed to this...but the days when my son comes home upset, fighting back tears, I can always relate. It's my job to be his parent though, so I resist the urge to commiserate. I don't make him soothe my wounds.

But there isn't much difference in his school world than there is in my office...which is pretty damn sad if you ask me. So as best as I can tell, my purpose in parenting is to give my son better tools to handle the barbs. Hoping that I am building a well-adjusted adult.

But as an adult who was raised by feral wolves....with very few working tools in my own toolbelt...I do wish for a rock of my own. Someone who was waiting at the end of my day to hear my stories of a psychotic office mate throwing her stapler in a rage, or another bursting into tears and wishing for the failure of my project because apparently that would "SHOW US ALLLLLLLL".

This is why people drink ;)

Because we really are still in middle school, aren't we? And there is no recess in sight!