I have decided that there are only two things that we can truly call our own. That is CHOICE and CONSEQUENCE; for every choice has its effect in our lives and in our world. I am thinking about this because I have been trying to untie the knots that the mad King Fred has made of the yarn bag [don't be lost, it is semi code for a workable string theory- ask Hawking]. The personal blow up last week involved a palpable sense of helplessness. I wrote about it earlier. And I have decided that I did not overexaggerate the effect of his behavior in my life. I felt like my choices were being taken from me, one by one. But not just the choices of the day. I felt like I was losing the right to chose ANYTHING. I felt like the future was being taken from me.
It is similar to having your home burglarized or your femininity assaulted. If you don't want something any more then you have the right as property owner to decide when to part with it and to whom it will go. When your home is broken into and your possessions are stolen you no longer have that choice. And you may not ever recover that choice. I haven't personal experience with the other. But I do know that no one will take from me what I will not share in that department without serious loss of limbs and member. Because I get to make choices in my life. That is what "free will" is all about.
I chose selfemployment over college; for my reasons.
I chose a marriage for my reasons.
I chose that divorce for my reasons.
I chose to live in MQT.
I chose to be the good child and come home to help dad care for mom.
I chose a career to settle my passions into.
I chose love over fear; forgivness and passion over hate and stagnation.
I chose to spend time with my dad in his last years.
I chose my art; fitting since it chose me.
Each of my choices were mine to make. Mom wanted me to be a graphic designer so she could be Sam to my Darren Stevens. I am smart enough to do that job on my own thanks. But I don't want to do that job and be the person everyone hates for the new SyFy name. Dad wanted to get me married off to make my life easier, because I am more philosophic than pragmatic. My sister wants me to be something "other". I'm not sure what her choice for me is, only that it isn't art. My brother wants what he can get from others that he is afraid of cultivating within himself. And sometimes my choices reflect my understanding and desire to placate others whims. They don't make me do it. I just feel really bad that I recognize my freedom and they don't recognize theirs. So I stay with them in their little boxes until I can't stand it anymore. That is my choice. And it too has consequence for which there may be untolled ramifications. My choices. And my consequences.
The consequence of self employment has been a wildly modulating wave of prosperity and poverty.
The consequences of my first marriage are legion: top three, relationships are scarrier now than they were before; most fundamental christians consider me irreparably damaged and not suitable for mating even if I weren't terrified to try again; and, I question my judgement everytime I am faced with a choice because I married based on bad intell.
The consequences of my divorce are much like the consequences of being married in the first place. But add to the divorce column my sister's conviction that I set a precedent within our family dynamic that is as unavoidable and powerful as the gravitational pull of a blackhole. WOW, what a superpower.!!! [Must remember to use it only for good]. The belief obviously is untrue but as it is a belief, and a persistant one, it is something that I have to live with in every conversation with her.
The consequence of having lived in MQT is painful homesickness on occassions and a host of wonderful friends... proving that not all consequences have to be painful. Remember rewards are consequences on the positive spectrum of scale.
The consequence of coming home to help Dad was some great time with him, some painful admissions following grief therapy and the realization that my Dad is a much stronger person than I had ever given him credit for. Yea dad!
In love over fear I left my self wide open to the kind of pain I thought I was determined to avoid. Broken heart, hard heart, deeper introversion, paranoia, and a profound distrust of anyone who tells me that I am pretty. Hella way to live huh?
In chosing art I have chosen deeper self awareness, fulfillment, gained some much appreciated and needed applause. And the starving artist lifestyle, I have also remembered why I chose art. Art isn't art til you give it away... sort of. I have found my voice again. And in that choice, in the finding, I have opened another menu with another set of choice and consequence.
A friend of mine is struggling with all the choices that have brought him to this place in his life. His latest comminuque was disturbing to say the least. But it brought home to me what I have been trying to sort out for this past week. So in trying to find words for him, I find words for me. And I share them with all of you because the truth of the matter is often obscured by the privations of fear and the immediacy of providing for ones needs and ones family. And the truth is this:
Life is a series choice and consequence sets. Each choice opens a flow chart [does anyone still use those?] of possibilities. Most of the time we make rash and blind choices because what we are feeling is the fear and immediacy of panic. Stop. In the moment in which you stop, should you find that you don't like the look of that moment, breathe, see what lies before and behind you, see what lies around you. Then look several options beyond your immediate choice. Choose. In otherwords, if you don't like what you see change the channel.
My friend, if you read this, I want you to know that we are not bound by the past for the inevitable conclusions that people tell us must be there. Sure... rob a bank go to jail. I mean that if you truly have chased people away it is not a forgone conclusion that you will be forever alone. If you have thrown a life savings to the wind you do not have to end up impoverished. You've identified somethings in your life to make you question. You have consequences that reflect past choices. Make different KINDS of choices and you will get NEW results. There is nothing wrong with your profession or your age. I would suggest that there is only something wrong with perpetual guilt over succeeding where others are not (been there, still doing that), measuring yourself against others. I mean really, if you were supposed to be someone else you would be. You are you. I am not suggesting the ostritch manoeuver of pretending that the world's all wrong and you are flawless. I am only saying that believing your flaws (whatever you determine they are) are permanent and irreversible is self limiting and completely not part of the plan.
This is for you, my other friends in need and for me. But this is for everyone. You don't have to share the post. But do share the sentiment. There is nothing "wrong" with any of us that has to create such despair.
There is nothing so helpless to the human being, especially an American who has been spoonfed a history of freedom at all costs, as having the power of choice taken from us. It is a basic human right, the only right that God truly gave us. Even HE does not interfere with our choices. He just hides behind one hand while he points with the other to grant our wishes [think Genie in Aladdin]. The consequences, unforseen to us, can be painful, ugly, or painfully ugly. But he lets us make them because that is how we grow, learn, learn to make better choices. And if you don't like the term better, substitute with different. The painful part of living with our choices is often the people around us who think that they could have lived our lives better than we have and procede to take our power of choice. No one can take that from you. You can be coerced into signing over your power of choice to another. But they can't take it from you. If some one tries... run! At all cost, do not give your power away. Use it. Use it for good. Use it responsibly. Just use it.
I won't say damn the consequences. Lack of awareness of consequences often contributes to eventual powerlessness in such circumstances as we have been finding oursleves in lately. But don't be paralyzed by the what ifs. Don't allow the past to immobilize you. And if you have to, feel free to change components. Who ever is in your face telling you that nothing will ever change; get rid of them. People who tell you that you aren't worth bothering with; get rid of them. If you are telling yourself this, slap your own face with a bracing handful of ice water and get with a new program. And, friends, consider this: I for one, do not approve friend requests, or make them, on Facebook unless I really want that person in my life. So if you are one of my FB peeps, you know there is at least one person who genuinely has your back. And on days when the sight of my own face sickens me I keep in mind that the same is probably true of people who accepted/sent a friend requenst. I know that you people have my back.
And, while I was tempted earlier to quote Sting, I shall leave you with this word from the Beattles: "All you need is love. Love is all you need."
All levels. All frequencies. All networking sources.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
With the madness of King Fred chomping at my innards, I almost forgot about the anniversary coming up. I am still excited about it. I am very proud of myself for having had the discipline to write, even when I felt like my mad skillz were shite, when I would rather have been reading some well crafted Wheaton/Scalzi/Kenyon than my own schlock and drek. I am also proud of myself for having the forethought to set a boundary around this project by not telling the brother where to read. And I am proud of having the werewithall to enjoy this clandestine adventure.
As one could guess, whatever he knows about he belittles and denoues like a rainforest in Cambodia. But more than that, knowing that there isn't going to be a "schooling" from him, the only editor that I have to battle is my internal critic. With some sage words not only from the Wheaton, but also from Nick Mancuso, I feel my confidence returning. I am not yet to character construction and plotting, but I am writing. It is good practice to just be consistent. But also to be able to go back and pick up the threads of thoughts that seemed to get away from me.
One of the things about blogging, and this is for ACG and his blog habits as well as my own, is to remember that, moreso than with a journal, this is a relationship. An individual post isn't the sum of the whole, it is only a part. Much like first meeting an individual, no matter what type of relationship you will have with them in the future, the single post is like a first meeting. You get a feeling for their flavors and personality not the whole life story. The blog is a study in pictures. Each post is a photographic explaination of moments in commentary. Some of those glimpses reveal pain and heartache, some the pure joy of a moment. Some of them are going to be pure exposition. But put altogether, the blog is you. The frequency of your posts goes to quality of care. You can see how well I maintain my mental health care and hopefully extrapolate the rest of my life. You can see how I think; what makes my blood boil for good or for evil. You get to see how I feel about my heroes; why they are my heroes, and know a bit about me.
It is a relationship. This statement scares me. And that, only because if I had to really look at the way my life's scope has narrowed since I have been back in Traverse City, this is the most stable relationship I have had. Not the longest, just the most stable.
Good? Bad? Scarry? Or normal for an Aquarius? I tend to think that it is more normal for many people than we are lead to believe is acceptable. We live in a world where lives and circumstances change faster than a green light to red when you need to go through. We don't live in generational homes like we used to. We travel farther afield from our immediate families than some of our previous generations. And, if I have learned anything from what little I've discovered about my family history, those of us who have immagrant backgrounds are well adapted to transplant ourselves and thrive where we are planted. The only reason I have not in the last 13 years is because I have been untrue to myself and shrunk into a cocoon that was supposed to keep me safe. So much for that thought. And it wasn't my plan anyway so who cares if that shrunken life was FUBARed. My point was that I am uniquely designed to boldly explore new lives and new circumstances. This new kind of relationship is no different in principle than any other... it just looks strange. That doesn't mean it is bad... just different. Comtria! Maybe even better.
I can take all of my computer friends with me. Thanks to facebook, I can have an entire life in my suitcase and go anywhere I want to. No one is any further than a mouseclick away. Of course, there is the need for physical human contact. And no computer will replace a hug when a hug is required. But, it should prevent my world from shrinking any further and encourage me to actually expand it. I do not doubt that from my current world view point in King Fred's domain that the cyberworld is better and safer than the physical world, viruses, hackers and system errors be damned! But I have to remember that this is also a tool. A blog cannot be more tool than relationship or it becomes nothing. Rather like treating the people in your life like so much furniture and taking for granted that they are standing in the corner into which you put them... one must take great care to remember that the tool is the connection and the connection is the key to sustainability in relationships.
Of course it is much safer and more comfortable to write when one is under the delusion/illusion that there is only your brain and the keyboard involved.
And with that I am looking forward to this anniversary. I don't know where I will be or what I will be doing in a month let alone two. I don't even know that things will look significantly different on the outside of my life than they do now. I only know that there are great changes taking place within. I am looking forward to sharing them her with you.
As one could guess, whatever he knows about he belittles and denoues like a rainforest in Cambodia. But more than that, knowing that there isn't going to be a "schooling" from him, the only editor that I have to battle is my internal critic. With some sage words not only from the Wheaton, but also from Nick Mancuso, I feel my confidence returning. I am not yet to character construction and plotting, but I am writing. It is good practice to just be consistent. But also to be able to go back and pick up the threads of thoughts that seemed to get away from me.
One of the things about blogging, and this is for ACG and his blog habits as well as my own, is to remember that, moreso than with a journal, this is a relationship. An individual post isn't the sum of the whole, it is only a part. Much like first meeting an individual, no matter what type of relationship you will have with them in the future, the single post is like a first meeting. You get a feeling for their flavors and personality not the whole life story. The blog is a study in pictures. Each post is a photographic explaination of moments in commentary. Some of those glimpses reveal pain and heartache, some the pure joy of a moment. Some of them are going to be pure exposition. But put altogether, the blog is you. The frequency of your posts goes to quality of care. You can see how well I maintain my mental health care and hopefully extrapolate the rest of my life. You can see how I think; what makes my blood boil for good or for evil. You get to see how I feel about my heroes; why they are my heroes, and know a bit about me.
It is a relationship. This statement scares me. And that, only because if I had to really look at the way my life's scope has narrowed since I have been back in Traverse City, this is the most stable relationship I have had. Not the longest, just the most stable.
Good? Bad? Scarry? Or normal for an Aquarius? I tend to think that it is more normal for many people than we are lead to believe is acceptable. We live in a world where lives and circumstances change faster than a green light to red when you need to go through. We don't live in generational homes like we used to. We travel farther afield from our immediate families than some of our previous generations. And, if I have learned anything from what little I've discovered about my family history, those of us who have immagrant backgrounds are well adapted to transplant ourselves and thrive where we are planted. The only reason I have not in the last 13 years is because I have been untrue to myself and shrunk into a cocoon that was supposed to keep me safe. So much for that thought. And it wasn't my plan anyway so who cares if that shrunken life was FUBARed. My point was that I am uniquely designed to boldly explore new lives and new circumstances. This new kind of relationship is no different in principle than any other... it just looks strange. That doesn't mean it is bad... just different. Comtria! Maybe even better.
I can take all of my computer friends with me. Thanks to facebook, I can have an entire life in my suitcase and go anywhere I want to. No one is any further than a mouseclick away. Of course, there is the need for physical human contact. And no computer will replace a hug when a hug is required. But, it should prevent my world from shrinking any further and encourage me to actually expand it. I do not doubt that from my current world view point in King Fred's domain that the cyberworld is better and safer than the physical world, viruses, hackers and system errors be damned! But I have to remember that this is also a tool. A blog cannot be more tool than relationship or it becomes nothing. Rather like treating the people in your life like so much furniture and taking for granted that they are standing in the corner into which you put them... one must take great care to remember that the tool is the connection and the connection is the key to sustainability in relationships.
Of course it is much safer and more comfortable to write when one is under the delusion/illusion that there is only your brain and the keyboard involved.
And with that I am looking forward to this anniversary. I don't know where I will be or what I will be doing in a month let alone two. I don't even know that things will look significantly different on the outside of my life than they do now. I only know that there are great changes taking place within. I am looking forward to sharing them her with you.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Crowing again
I really like these new digs. So now when I go looking for a place, if I stay here, I know what side of town to look on. Beaners might reopen with new owners, but this is a good place. I don't have to worry about the ambiance changing. The peeps are friendly and the coffee is good. I can not ask for anything more.
Now if only I could order my mind well enough to find answers to other persisstant questions.
Now if only I could order my mind well enough to find answers to other persisstant questions.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Geek Gets a New Home.
Okay, it isn't anywhere I can live. But it is somewhere that I can go and feel good about life. I can think here. Here is Crow About It Espresso. Since Beaners is gone, I need somewhere to be. And this is it. I heard about it through an article in the Northern Express. I wasn't sure if it was a preopening release so I gave it a while before looking for it. I've also been unsure about driving to the other side of town. But if you think about it, I work about 1.5 miles from here. So it isn't a big drive from work. Just a big drive from home... for however long it will be my home.
So let me tell you about the Crow.
It is in a strip mall that doesn't really inspire a person to think "home" since the mall is at the intersection of our main east/west artery and a busy n/s bound commuter route. Dollar wise it is a great location. But personality? Well, here's hoping. When you first walk into Crow you are greeted with warm earthy tones and a semi industrial light and magic lighting scheme at the ceiling. In other words it would be like walking into Cafe Nervosa on the Frasier set instead of being there from your cozy armchair at home.
The walls are a nice pumpkiny color and there are crows everywhere. For all the Somerset folks who are bust deep into crows this is the place to hang. Each table has vintage literature and a candle at the center. A set of identically bound classics lines the window ledge. Even though the setting is very autumnal, it feels like a place for all seasons. It turns out that my table held a tome of Poe's collected works. How cool is that? A little stove in the corner takes the chill out of the air while the owners friendly greeting takes the chill out of the soul. And the staff will actually bring your food and beverages to the table unlike those other coffee shops.
And the menu is awesome. The items have literary motifs and, yes, there is a Poe drink. I started my patronage with the O Captain My Captain, coincidentally on ITLWS (International Talk Like William Shatner Day, see earlier post) Day. Of course I was thinking back to how much I had enjoyed Dead Poets Society and that this would have been the kind of place those geeks might have enjoyed (even if a bit on the nose) not about Captain Kirk. Though I had always thought pulling a Captain My Captain on Picard while writing fan fiction was hilarious, I wasn't really going there either. This drink comes with coconut and that will get me every time. The coffee was fabulous and understated, no gut burning presses here. And it was served in an enormous Central Perk styled mug. yum! [Keep in mind, if you are getting all of these references you've watched as much tv as I have. So shut up, Data.] Crow is more than a conglomeration of TV cafes. It definately has its own personality in the details that couldn't be done at Nervosa or the Perk.
My sandwhich came with a side of salsa and chips which I wasn't expecting. And it came with a dessert sampler served in a silver footed bowl. I was definately not expecting that! Everything is made from scratch at the shop. And my key lime sample was so Haaaaaawe-some! It was creamy, light and absolutely satisfying. I also had an Italian black raspberry soda made for them by the Northwoods guys. Which reminds me, everything that can be done locally is. Northwoods bottles all of their drink flavors. Keep it Local. Keep it real. It's good for everybody. And Crow is no exception.
In short... I am home. My pen and ink geek is happy to have resonance with the drink names and the books scattered through out. My foodie is happy to have coffee, ice cream and homemade baked goods in one place. And with her taste in artistic expression, its kinda like having Michelle back home. I can just hear her squee How Cool Is That! Now.... to find some gaming adults to meet me here. Hmmm....
edited to add:
During the course of my visit several locals came in. While chatting with the counter staff I heard the following things that made me certain I found kindred peeps: Neill Gaiman fans, Pandora users, gamers and another Captain drinker. Who hoo!
So let me tell you about the Crow.
It is in a strip mall that doesn't really inspire a person to think "home" since the mall is at the intersection of our main east/west artery and a busy n/s bound commuter route. Dollar wise it is a great location. But personality? Well, here's hoping. When you first walk into Crow you are greeted with warm earthy tones and a semi industrial light and magic lighting scheme at the ceiling. In other words it would be like walking into Cafe Nervosa on the Frasier set instead of being there from your cozy armchair at home.
The walls are a nice pumpkiny color and there are crows everywhere. For all the Somerset folks who are bust deep into crows this is the place to hang. Each table has vintage literature and a candle at the center. A set of identically bound classics lines the window ledge. Even though the setting is very autumnal, it feels like a place for all seasons. It turns out that my table held a tome of Poe's collected works. How cool is that? A little stove in the corner takes the chill out of the air while the owners friendly greeting takes the chill out of the soul. And the staff will actually bring your food and beverages to the table unlike those other coffee shops.
And the menu is awesome. The items have literary motifs and, yes, there is a Poe drink. I started my patronage with the O Captain My Captain, coincidentally on ITLWS (International Talk Like William Shatner Day, see earlier post) Day. Of course I was thinking back to how much I had enjoyed Dead Poets Society and that this would have been the kind of place those geeks might have enjoyed (even if a bit on the nose) not about Captain Kirk. Though I had always thought pulling a Captain My Captain on Picard while writing fan fiction was hilarious, I wasn't really going there either. This drink comes with coconut and that will get me every time. The coffee was fabulous and understated, no gut burning presses here. And it was served in an enormous Central Perk styled mug. yum! [Keep in mind, if you are getting all of these references you've watched as much tv as I have. So shut up, Data.] Crow is more than a conglomeration of TV cafes. It definately has its own personality in the details that couldn't be done at Nervosa or the Perk.
My sandwhich came with a side of salsa and chips which I wasn't expecting. And it came with a dessert sampler served in a silver footed bowl. I was definately not expecting that! Everything is made from scratch at the shop. And my key lime sample was so Haaaaaawe-some! It was creamy, light and absolutely satisfying. I also had an Italian black raspberry soda made for them by the Northwoods guys. Which reminds me, everything that can be done locally is. Northwoods bottles all of their drink flavors. Keep it Local. Keep it real. It's good for everybody. And Crow is no exception.
In short... I am home. My pen and ink geek is happy to have resonance with the drink names and the books scattered through out. My foodie is happy to have coffee, ice cream and homemade baked goods in one place. And with her taste in artistic expression, its kinda like having Michelle back home. I can just hear her squee How Cool Is That! Now.... to find some gaming adults to meet me here. Hmmm....
edited to add:
During the course of my visit several locals came in. While chatting with the counter staff I heard the following things that made me certain I found kindred peeps: Neill Gaiman fans, Pandora users, gamers and another Captain drinker. Who hoo!
Yikes Jinkies Zoinks
I am resisting the urge to disappear into Facebook and Twitter to escape from the debilitating effects of a recent life issue. It is hard. I want to be there where everything is okay. Where I know there are people who care. I knew that they were there. And when I posted my planned disappearance, the people that I expected to be there were. This reassures me that everything that I felt wasn't right.
I felt like I was dead. Dead or of as little significance to an uneaducated gardener as a pile of compost next to the toolshed. The tipping point came as my brother launched an impromptu garage sale. Since dad died I have been living at the house because we can't insure it if it is empty. I have also been nagged to downsize my possessions since I will only be an apartment dweller and I don't need it. That is the polite version. Read that as "you don't deserve it". Nevermind that I worked hard for it. That part of what I paid for those things was enduring a humiliating work experience for two years. But, a girl can not live like a frat boy. I see you pointing at my irony. Quit it out. I am a girl. I am an artist. I might have preferred to be a boy at one time but I'm not so I deal. I am creative and I need a home that feels like a nest, not a warehouse... and one filled with nothing. So enough back story.
Move to the end of Friday night. When I got out of work I found out about teh sale that he was hosting at the place I live, a sale that he posted on Craig's list... without a final day. It is an open invitation to for a ton of strangers to invade my home. Again... Nazi's crawling over Tannis looking for the Well of Souls come to mind but I've done that imagery to death since revisiting Raiders. I came home to find that he'd left his dogs at the house for me to sit until he got back. And when he did get back he started in on the whole get rid of your stuff thing. The final note for me was the following exchange.
HIM:Are you married to all that white furniture?
ME: Yes
HIM: Too bad, I was thinking we could use that (points to three pieces) at home. What about that little table?
He pointed to a set of nesting tables that I picked up in Frankfort. They are Victorian in design with glass insets. I bought them because my gramma would have liked them, because I don't always eat at the table and I was tired of balancing food on my lap. I paid dearly for that set. After I finished the emotional attachments review, I realized a swelling desperation in my chest.
I couldn't breathe right. I felt like my vision was blurring. In other words, I had a mild episode. And when they left shortly after that, I started shaking uncontrollably.
I know I've mentioned this. I am an Aquarius. Part of that is the intense need for privacy as a matter of human decency and right. But beyond that is my personality, gifts and past experience that helped to intensify that moment. My whole life I have guarded my inner most thoughts, protected myself from prying eyes because I take a long time to sort out my feelings before I speak. It tends to reduce the need for creative and impassioned apologies later. But it is a messy process. It is painful. And not just for me. Journals take the punishment for others, the slings and arrows that I don't throw until I know for certain that I am entitled as defense or offense to throw them. And I have been punished for those thoughts because people break into them and don't have context for what they read. Again, ironic since I have a public blog. I get it. And you get the distilled version... most of the time. So I felt violated again. I felt future violations in anticipation of strangers trapsing through my house for an undetermined time period. And I heard those words from a few hours before: "Oh! I never considered you." He saw dollar signs and never thought once what the effect on me would be. And he knows what I am like. I've been like this since we were kids. My space. My thoughts... I thought that they were the only things that were ever really mine and it turns out that they are not.
So then add the last feelings before they walked out the door: DEAD
In order for him to ask about my possessions, to say that he thought of a use for my things, he and his wife would have had to have stood in the living room, inspecting my stuff and talking about the what, where and for what purpose. Does anyone remember the scene in Xmas Carol where Scrooge and the GoCFuture were watching the three at the pawn shop describing his death room and what good his discontinued existence would do for them? That he was worth more dead than alive? I felt like that. I felt like I was screaming at the top of my lungs that I exist and that I am worth more than my stuff. But they only wanted my stuff. I have good taste. I have good design sense. But I have no value as his sister. As a person. I felt like I was waiting around to be composted. And I went to bed feeling as though I were buried alive and people were dancing on my grave.
I don't meet strangers well. I can handle it at work because my coworkers provide a safe environment. I expect to meet the general public at work. But when I go home I am in my castel, my keep. No one comes in that I do not invite. It is my refuge. It is where I can let go of the crap, embrace the light and be renewed for the next day. I don't know how to do this any other way. I've been like this since I was a kid. I feel everything that the people around me feel, even when I can't identify the emotion. If it weren't for a human resource test I wouldn't have known that it is more than a Trek thing to be THAT empathic. I need the time alone. I need to be able to release what I pick up. Empathy is a job that God gave me to do; I can help others in their distress just because I really can say that I feel what they feel. Hell, sometimes I feel it for them... especially for those who don't know they are being picked on. So I don't like the concept of yard sales. And my brother, Mr. Gregarious/Mr. Personality/ the Showboater, thinks that I should cohost this little shindig. He's promised some dealers that they would neet me. And he doesn't tell me that I am supposed to meet them until he's made the promise. As long as I am awake I am supposed to be doing anything he tells me to do when we are in close proximity.
In this situation there is no time to rest. No time to think. Its always on on on on on on on. I am off balance and teetering at the top of his plate spinning pole. It makes me nuts.
I know I sound nuts. I know some of you would say I have over reacted. But really, aren't our lives about the choices we make? I will meet my creator and be judged on my choices and their consequences. I am not being given choices. They are being taken away from me left and right. I feel like I have been burglarized, assaulted and left for dead.
It is no exaggeration. And I know of only one person who I could credit with agreement. That would be the counselor who diagnosed me with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I was diagnosed ten years ago. He told me that I may not have had one huge trauma, but like men in the service, lots of little and medium traumas build up and create the same effect in our psyches. I didn't believe him. So I quit seeing him. I believe him now.
I have choices to make and little time in which to implement any plan. And I have to retreat for a while. I love you all. But I don't have the entertainment hours to spend on FB or Twitter. I have to settle my mind so I can think. I can't think right now. With every keystroke I am fighting the urge to metaphorically throw furniture up against doors to barracade myself from the invasion force on the horizon. I love you all. And I know you would do for me everything that I would do for you. But I only know that in my head. The rest of me doesn't know yous guys from a swarm of Klingons or Stormtroopers. Once I get the internal battle under control I will report back. I may also ask yous for some help.
ps. I do see the irony in such a vulnerable post after complaining that I am disected at every turn. Part of dealing with the emotions is seeing how much of it is in my head. And to determine if my habitual retreating contributes to the intensity behind feeling so attacked and alone. But then again... oh bother. I don't have a clue.
I felt like I was dead. Dead or of as little significance to an uneaducated gardener as a pile of compost next to the toolshed. The tipping point came as my brother launched an impromptu garage sale. Since dad died I have been living at the house because we can't insure it if it is empty. I have also been nagged to downsize my possessions since I will only be an apartment dweller and I don't need it. That is the polite version. Read that as "you don't deserve it". Nevermind that I worked hard for it. That part of what I paid for those things was enduring a humiliating work experience for two years. But, a girl can not live like a frat boy. I see you pointing at my irony. Quit it out. I am a girl. I am an artist. I might have preferred to be a boy at one time but I'm not so I deal. I am creative and I need a home that feels like a nest, not a warehouse... and one filled with nothing. So enough back story.
Move to the end of Friday night. When I got out of work I found out about teh sale that he was hosting at the place I live, a sale that he posted on Craig's list... without a final day. It is an open invitation to for a ton of strangers to invade my home. Again... Nazi's crawling over Tannis looking for the Well of Souls come to mind but I've done that imagery to death since revisiting Raiders. I came home to find that he'd left his dogs at the house for me to sit until he got back. And when he did get back he started in on the whole get rid of your stuff thing. The final note for me was the following exchange.
HIM:Are you married to all that white furniture?
ME: Yes
HIM: Too bad, I was thinking we could use that (points to three pieces) at home. What about that little table?
He pointed to a set of nesting tables that I picked up in Frankfort. They are Victorian in design with glass insets. I bought them because my gramma would have liked them, because I don't always eat at the table and I was tired of balancing food on my lap. I paid dearly for that set. After I finished the emotional attachments review, I realized a swelling desperation in my chest.
I couldn't breathe right. I felt like my vision was blurring. In other words, I had a mild episode. And when they left shortly after that, I started shaking uncontrollably.
I know I've mentioned this. I am an Aquarius. Part of that is the intense need for privacy as a matter of human decency and right. But beyond that is my personality, gifts and past experience that helped to intensify that moment. My whole life I have guarded my inner most thoughts, protected myself from prying eyes because I take a long time to sort out my feelings before I speak. It tends to reduce the need for creative and impassioned apologies later. But it is a messy process. It is painful. And not just for me. Journals take the punishment for others, the slings and arrows that I don't throw until I know for certain that I am entitled as defense or offense to throw them. And I have been punished for those thoughts because people break into them and don't have context for what they read. Again, ironic since I have a public blog. I get it. And you get the distilled version... most of the time. So I felt violated again. I felt future violations in anticipation of strangers trapsing through my house for an undetermined time period. And I heard those words from a few hours before: "Oh! I never considered you." He saw dollar signs and never thought once what the effect on me would be. And he knows what I am like. I've been like this since we were kids. My space. My thoughts... I thought that they were the only things that were ever really mine and it turns out that they are not.
So then add the last feelings before they walked out the door: DEAD
In order for him to ask about my possessions, to say that he thought of a use for my things, he and his wife would have had to have stood in the living room, inspecting my stuff and talking about the what, where and for what purpose. Does anyone remember the scene in Xmas Carol where Scrooge and the GoCFuture were watching the three at the pawn shop describing his death room and what good his discontinued existence would do for them? That he was worth more dead than alive? I felt like that. I felt like I was screaming at the top of my lungs that I exist and that I am worth more than my stuff. But they only wanted my stuff. I have good taste. I have good design sense. But I have no value as his sister. As a person. I felt like I was waiting around to be composted. And I went to bed feeling as though I were buried alive and people were dancing on my grave.
I don't meet strangers well. I can handle it at work because my coworkers provide a safe environment. I expect to meet the general public at work. But when I go home I am in my castel, my keep. No one comes in that I do not invite. It is my refuge. It is where I can let go of the crap, embrace the light and be renewed for the next day. I don't know how to do this any other way. I've been like this since I was a kid. I feel everything that the people around me feel, even when I can't identify the emotion. If it weren't for a human resource test I wouldn't have known that it is more than a Trek thing to be THAT empathic. I need the time alone. I need to be able to release what I pick up. Empathy is a job that God gave me to do; I can help others in their distress just because I really can say that I feel what they feel. Hell, sometimes I feel it for them... especially for those who don't know they are being picked on. So I don't like the concept of yard sales. And my brother, Mr. Gregarious/Mr. Personality/ the Showboater, thinks that I should cohost this little shindig. He's promised some dealers that they would neet me. And he doesn't tell me that I am supposed to meet them until he's made the promise. As long as I am awake I am supposed to be doing anything he tells me to do when we are in close proximity.
In this situation there is no time to rest. No time to think. Its always on on on on on on on. I am off balance and teetering at the top of his plate spinning pole. It makes me nuts.
I know I sound nuts. I know some of you would say I have over reacted. But really, aren't our lives about the choices we make? I will meet my creator and be judged on my choices and their consequences. I am not being given choices. They are being taken away from me left and right. I feel like I have been burglarized, assaulted and left for dead.
It is no exaggeration. And I know of only one person who I could credit with agreement. That would be the counselor who diagnosed me with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I was diagnosed ten years ago. He told me that I may not have had one huge trauma, but like men in the service, lots of little and medium traumas build up and create the same effect in our psyches. I didn't believe him. So I quit seeing him. I believe him now.
I have choices to make and little time in which to implement any plan. And I have to retreat for a while. I love you all. But I don't have the entertainment hours to spend on FB or Twitter. I have to settle my mind so I can think. I can't think right now. With every keystroke I am fighting the urge to metaphorically throw furniture up against doors to barracade myself from the invasion force on the horizon. I love you all. And I know you would do for me everything that I would do for you. But I only know that in my head. The rest of me doesn't know yous guys from a swarm of Klingons or Stormtroopers. Once I get the internal battle under control I will report back. I may also ask yous for some help.
ps. I do see the irony in such a vulnerable post after complaining that I am disected at every turn. Part of dealing with the emotions is seeing how much of it is in my head. And to determine if my habitual retreating contributes to the intensity behind feeling so attacked and alone. But then again... oh bother. I don't have a clue.
WFS Day
Today, 3/22/09 is declared International Talk Like William Shatner Day. So says Maurice LaMarche. So say I. So say we all!!
I know. You've all heard me say it before. Every Trek fan has heard captain Koloth's second say it. Kirk (and Shatner by extension) is an "arrogant, swaggering, ovrbearing tin-plated dictator with delusions of godhood." So why on Earth would I want to celebrate ITLWS Day?
Watch Maurice LeMarche's you tube on it. And do what Brain tells you to do. I mean... its all about spoofing the guy. Besides that, its still pretty grey even though we are into Spring officially. What else is going to cheer up your day? Talk Like A Pirate Day isn't til later in the year. What else do you have to do?
Here's the link. Now... DO WHAT BRAIN DEMANDS! zort. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fJOaqsBXAc
I know. You've all heard me say it before. Every Trek fan has heard captain Koloth's second say it. Kirk (and Shatner by extension) is an "arrogant, swaggering, ovrbearing tin-plated dictator with delusions of godhood." So why on Earth would I want to celebrate ITLWS Day?
Watch Maurice LeMarche's you tube on it. And do what Brain tells you to do. I mean... its all about spoofing the guy. Besides that, its still pretty grey even though we are into Spring officially. What else is going to cheer up your day? Talk Like A Pirate Day isn't til later in the year. What else do you have to do?
Here's the link. Now... DO WHAT BRAIN DEMANDS! zort. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fJOaqsBXAc
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