Well, I had one slip-up, but really, it was sort-of like postign every day since I hadn't gone to sleep yet that night I was 20 minutes late. So yay! My own NaBloPoMo has been successful. And to reward myself (and as an early birthday present for me) I'm going to buy a new pair of sneakers and a cute nursing top today.
Edit: (6 hours later)
Been a busy day. No new shoes yet. No new shirt. And I'm still not finished with Tere's birthday present. I know, it was last weekend, but I requested an extension until Saturday. Hehe.
Just wanted to mention, I really like walking the dogs in the morning. I don't like getting up 15 minutes early to do it, but when it's all crispy-fresh out, and quiet it's just very nice and peaceful. A beautiful way to start the day. Unless they eat another dogs poop, or I see another giant fuzzy spider. But that doesn't happen often. At least less than it used to.
And tomorrow: Rabbit Rabbit!
May 31, 2007
May 30, 2007
'Nother Flashback
I saw an ex- at Safeway last night when T-Boog and I stopped to pick up some oatmeal (for cookies), shortening (for Tere's birthday) and yogurt (For T-Boog, ya'll knwo I dont have money for me!). I only mention this because this is one of the few times I went to Safeway with a list, and only bought what was on it. Yay me!
So anyway this guy was more of a non-sexual, friendship that turned into a quasi-dating situation until I realized he was entirely too young for me (the only guy I've ever "dated" who was younger) and we called it quits but stayed friends. I'd seen him over the years, but not for the past few, since P and I bought the condo. Which I always thought was odd, since it is right down the street from where he used to live. But evidently he shacked up with an older woman (14 years older, I think), bought a house, had a kid, then split up.
Now he's got full custody of his son who is just a bit older than T-Boog, and goes to bible study during the week. It's a trip how some things change, you know?
But I asked P if he would have a problem with me bringing T-Boog to go play with his kid, and he sort-of flipped out. And I guess as a woman, a wife, and a mother, I am very aware of how men react to all those labels, and honestly, most don't think that's hot. So I hadn't tripped off the fact that maybe he would feel threatened, but I guess he did because the first thing out of his mouth is some dumb-ass comment like, "Can I bring my ex over to play too?"
Okay, whatever.
Anyway, I don't see what the big deal is. Why shouldn't T-Boog have more friends? Maybe I'm just not the jealous type for not seeing the issue, or maybe I just trust him. Regardless, I'm sure this won't be the last time something like this comes up. T-Boog is bound to go to school with another person from my past eventually, seeing as we live in the town I grew up in, and so many people don't ever seem to leave this place.
It was kind of cool to see him. I'm happy he seems to be doing better than the last time we saw each other. I guess sometimes it just takes people a while to get their shit together.
So anyway this guy was more of a non-sexual, friendship that turned into a quasi-dating situation until I realized he was entirely too young for me (the only guy I've ever "dated" who was younger) and we called it quits but stayed friends. I'd seen him over the years, but not for the past few, since P and I bought the condo. Which I always thought was odd, since it is right down the street from where he used to live. But evidently he shacked up with an older woman (14 years older, I think), bought a house, had a kid, then split up.
Now he's got full custody of his son who is just a bit older than T-Boog, and goes to bible study during the week. It's a trip how some things change, you know?
But I asked P if he would have a problem with me bringing T-Boog to go play with his kid, and he sort-of flipped out. And I guess as a woman, a wife, and a mother, I am very aware of how men react to all those labels, and honestly, most don't think that's hot. So I hadn't tripped off the fact that maybe he would feel threatened, but I guess he did because the first thing out of his mouth is some dumb-ass comment like, "Can I bring my ex over to play too?"
Okay, whatever.
Anyway, I don't see what the big deal is. Why shouldn't T-Boog have more friends? Maybe I'm just not the jealous type for not seeing the issue, or maybe I just trust him. Regardless, I'm sure this won't be the last time something like this comes up. T-Boog is bound to go to school with another person from my past eventually, seeing as we live in the town I grew up in, and so many people don't ever seem to leave this place.
It was kind of cool to see him. I'm happy he seems to be doing better than the last time we saw each other. I guess sometimes it just takes people a while to get their shit together.
May 29, 2007
Late in the Day, and Brains all Mush
Not really sure why, but I love to bake. Not the results so much as the process, mixing ingredients, measuring out things, making a goopy mess which turns into a yummy creation.
Normal cooking just doesn't do it for me unles there's a process with it, a glass of wine, someone to talk to, or else I feel like I'm just slaving away for no cause. I do love cooking for T-Boog though, cutting up the veggies and blending them all, letting her taste while she sits in her highchair playing next to me and trying to guess what she thinks from her facial expression.
Maybe it's that people appreciate baked good more than dinner? Maybe dinner and lunch are just taken for granted as necessary, but dessert or fresh-baked bread are appreciated for being novel, in my home at least.
I'm so tired, yawning and I can't work right now because my brain is mushy. I don't want more mistakes, and since my eyes are blurring I think it's a better idea to blog than work on cases. I have been working hard all day, CalWORKs intake, couple of CMSP/FS apps, processing everything that accumulated over the long weekend.
Maybe I'll make cookies for dinner, or brownies. Johana eats cereal everyday anyway, I'm sure she wouldn't care. Maybe some eggs benedict again. You know what made me feel crazy? Watching Running with Scissors. Pretty damn depressing. And crazy. Lots of crazy.
I need to go to Safeway, but I have $7 in my checking account. I have money in savings but I need it for stuff, like T-Boogs birthday, and to get a new windshield.
I don't know when it will end, the hand to mouth. It's sure as shit getting old though, and P keeps looking into buying me an x5. I told him I don't want it, even if he's making the payments. I crash. And his non-moving objects. I don't need to stress off the cost to repair a BMW. I'd like the Volvo though, or the Rav4.
Maybe when the next kid comes.
Normal cooking just doesn't do it for me unles there's a process with it, a glass of wine, someone to talk to, or else I feel like I'm just slaving away for no cause. I do love cooking for T-Boog though, cutting up the veggies and blending them all, letting her taste while she sits in her highchair playing next to me and trying to guess what she thinks from her facial expression.
Maybe it's that people appreciate baked good more than dinner? Maybe dinner and lunch are just taken for granted as necessary, but dessert or fresh-baked bread are appreciated for being novel, in my home at least.
I'm so tired, yawning and I can't work right now because my brain is mushy. I don't want more mistakes, and since my eyes are blurring I think it's a better idea to blog than work on cases. I have been working hard all day, CalWORKs intake, couple of CMSP/FS apps, processing everything that accumulated over the long weekend.
Maybe I'll make cookies for dinner, or brownies. Johana eats cereal everyday anyway, I'm sure she wouldn't care. Maybe some eggs benedict again. You know what made me feel crazy? Watching Running with Scissors. Pretty damn depressing. And crazy. Lots of crazy.
I need to go to Safeway, but I have $7 in my checking account. I have money in savings but I need it for stuff, like T-Boogs birthday, and to get a new windshield.
I don't know when it will end, the hand to mouth. It's sure as shit getting old though, and P keeps looking into buying me an x5. I told him I don't want it, even if he's making the payments. I crash. And his non-moving objects. I don't need to stress off the cost to repair a BMW. I'd like the Volvo though, or the Rav4.
Maybe when the next kid comes.
May 28, 2007
Just a Thought
The beautiful thing about the truth is that even when it hurts, it can still teach you something.
May 27, 2007
Smokey Wasps
P just smoked out a hive of wasps, or hornets or something. Then he picked up the nest with his tongs and threw it on the BBQ.
A couple days ago, I noticed a wasp in the house. I thought it was a fluke thing, that we had just left the door open and it happened to get caught inside. P shoo'ed it out, and we didn't think much of it until yesterday there was another one, or maybe the same one, just posted up on the living room window. T-Boog loved it, she was pointing and making faces and I started to get a little worried. it was there for hours, and I remember some folks complaining of wasp nests in their eaves a few blocks away. I looked under ours, but didn't see a thing.
Until this morning. I went outside to water my tomatoes, and noticed a couple flying around. I ran back inside (because I'm a weenie) and just watched them cruise until I figured out where the nest was. Right smack across from the patio door, up in the corner under the computer chair mat that we've been meaning to give to Arturo and Elba. The nest was pretty small, maybe the size of a small potato, and there were maybe three of four wasps flying in and out.
So P, brave man he is, decides to get a long stick, ties a towel around the end, lights it on fire, and tries to smoke them out. The towel of course burns pretty quickly, and starts falling apart, one piece on the bag of charcoal under the nest, another piece onto the chair to the side which catches on fire and starts burning away. So I'm pounding on the glass door pointing to the burning chair, which he didn't see, so scrap that idea.
Then he pulls the BBQ right up under the nest and burns some dry cornhusks which works pretty well and they fly away long enough for him to grab the nest and throw it in the BBQ to burn.
Which we thought would be fine, but now there are like 10 wasps outside, flyign around looking for their nest.
Shit.
A couple days ago, I noticed a wasp in the house. I thought it was a fluke thing, that we had just left the door open and it happened to get caught inside. P shoo'ed it out, and we didn't think much of it until yesterday there was another one, or maybe the same one, just posted up on the living room window. T-Boog loved it, she was pointing and making faces and I started to get a little worried. it was there for hours, and I remember some folks complaining of wasp nests in their eaves a few blocks away. I looked under ours, but didn't see a thing.
Until this morning. I went outside to water my tomatoes, and noticed a couple flying around. I ran back inside (because I'm a weenie) and just watched them cruise until I figured out where the nest was. Right smack across from the patio door, up in the corner under the computer chair mat that we've been meaning to give to Arturo and Elba. The nest was pretty small, maybe the size of a small potato, and there were maybe three of four wasps flying in and out.
So P, brave man he is, decides to get a long stick, ties a towel around the end, lights it on fire, and tries to smoke them out. The towel of course burns pretty quickly, and starts falling apart, one piece on the bag of charcoal under the nest, another piece onto the chair to the side which catches on fire and starts burning away. So I'm pounding on the glass door pointing to the burning chair, which he didn't see, so scrap that idea.
Then he pulls the BBQ right up under the nest and burns some dry cornhusks which works pretty well and they fly away long enough for him to grab the nest and throw it in the BBQ to burn.
Which we thought would be fine, but now there are like 10 wasps outside, flyign around looking for their nest.
Shit.
Twenty Minutes Late
It's a good sign I'm just slipping in to bed now, and I completely forgot to post.
I had a good day, lots of time with friends, T-Boog, some tears with P but we're working on it.
I've been up since 6, and had gone to bet around 2am so I'm tired. Past tired. Exhausted. But satisfied.
It was a good day.
I had a good day, lots of time with friends, T-Boog, some tears with P but we're working on it.
I've been up since 6, and had gone to bet around 2am so I'm tired. Past tired. Exhausted. But satisfied.
It was a good day.
May 25, 2007
Two Quick Notes
Taryn got her ears pierced today! And she was a champ, cried for less than a minute on each side, and when the guy who did the piercing tried to give her a pink balloon when he finished, she refused to take it from her. Smart girl, and I'm glad she didn't hate me afterwards for it. So adorable, it's not even funny.
Second, I just saw her stand up by herself from sitting and take three steps. She may have gone further, but she was chewing on her shirt and pushed over the laundry basket with her free hand. Which she is now in the process of dragging down the hallway. Smart girl.
Second, I just saw her stand up by herself from sitting and take three steps. She may have gone further, but she was chewing on her shirt and pushed over the laundry basket with her free hand. Which she is now in the process of dragging down the hallway. Smart girl.
May 24, 2007
Snapshot
I think one of the problems with blogging is that it only captures you in a moment. It's like a polaroid of you smiling as you blow out the birthday candles, right before your face gets shoved into the cake.
I've said before, I blog to vent, I blog to process, I blog to just get all the *yeck* out so I can go on with my day. I know this month has been a downer. I haven't felt great for multiple reasons for most parts of most days, but it's notlike I don't have those redeeminf moments in my life, the instances where I am grateful to be alive and healthy and surrounded by people I care about.
Like this morning when I woke Taryn up to nurse, and before her eyes were even open, she was pointing, her little crooked finger sticking out towards the wall, towards whatever, just pointing, because that's what she does best right now.
Or after lunch, cracking up with Ally in the stairway about some dumb story or crazt sex-scapade, or making fun of people at work and clients, and generally just beign jolly as shit before we get back to the grind.
Or sitting on my porch having wine with Teresa, just catching up and appreciating being with someone to knows me so well and is so happy and doing wonderfully right now, even though she's really going through it.
Or emailing with my mom to get together this weekend to just spend time with the three of us, my daughter, my mom and I which always regenerizes my soul.
Or standing in the kitchen with P's arms wrapped around me, my face buried in his neck. The one place in the world I feel the safest when everything else feels so unsteady.
Or joking with Johana abotu dying her hair too light and discussing when she'll get her tongue pierced and when her man-friend is going to come visit her. Re-telling the stories of funny and cute things T-Boog did today, and even the minute details like when she slept, if she pooped, what she ate, that I revel in daily.
All these simple pleasures today, and I thank God for each one. It's not all bad, and really, most things are great. I just use this space to get the evil out of me so that I can enjoy these everyday interactions that make me who I am, and help me to appreciate what I have in life.
I've said before, I blog to vent, I blog to process, I blog to just get all the *yeck* out so I can go on with my day. I know this month has been a downer. I haven't felt great for multiple reasons for most parts of most days, but it's notlike I don't have those redeeminf moments in my life, the instances where I am grateful to be alive and healthy and surrounded by people I care about.
Like this morning when I woke Taryn up to nurse, and before her eyes were even open, she was pointing, her little crooked finger sticking out towards the wall, towards whatever, just pointing, because that's what she does best right now.
Or after lunch, cracking up with Ally in the stairway about some dumb story or crazt sex-scapade, or making fun of people at work and clients, and generally just beign jolly as shit before we get back to the grind.
Or sitting on my porch having wine with Teresa, just catching up and appreciating being with someone to knows me so well and is so happy and doing wonderfully right now, even though she's really going through it.
Or emailing with my mom to get together this weekend to just spend time with the three of us, my daughter, my mom and I which always regenerizes my soul.
Or standing in the kitchen with P's arms wrapped around me, my face buried in his neck. The one place in the world I feel the safest when everything else feels so unsteady.
Or joking with Johana abotu dying her hair too light and discussing when she'll get her tongue pierced and when her man-friend is going to come visit her. Re-telling the stories of funny and cute things T-Boog did today, and even the minute details like when she slept, if she pooped, what she ate, that I revel in daily.
All these simple pleasures today, and I thank God for each one. It's not all bad, and really, most things are great. I just use this space to get the evil out of me so that I can enjoy these everyday interactions that make me who I am, and help me to appreciate what I have in life.
May 23, 2007
FUCK !
I keep fucking up. I'm going too fast, speeding through and keep making stupid-ass mistakes. Fuck.
I don't feel all here. I'd rather be home, I'm thinking of all the other things I need to do. I'm letting my personal life interfere with my work, and it's messing me up. Fuck.
I need to take a breath. Stop. Think. Re-think, before I take an action. Before I mail a letter. I'm putting myself on these deadlines, gotta finish before the end of the day, and the mistakes are piling up. Stupid, stupid, stupid shit.
Overwhelming fear of failure, and it is becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. I'm rushing myself to beat myself. I prove to myself I can do it, and "it" ends up so riddled with errors, would have been better if I hadn't done it at all.
I have to grant people I don't think are eligible, and I'm granting folks I shouldn't have done.
Slow down. Stop being so sloppy. There's no rush. I'm rushing myself. But there's no real rush. There's no one looking over my shoulder, watching my actions. No one but myself, and I'm making mistakes that I should have caught before they happened.
Fuck. It's okay to not be perfect.
It better be.
I don't feel all here. I'd rather be home, I'm thinking of all the other things I need to do. I'm letting my personal life interfere with my work, and it's messing me up. Fuck.
I need to take a breath. Stop. Think. Re-think, before I take an action. Before I mail a letter. I'm putting myself on these deadlines, gotta finish before the end of the day, and the mistakes are piling up. Stupid, stupid, stupid shit.
Overwhelming fear of failure, and it is becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. I'm rushing myself to beat myself. I prove to myself I can do it, and "it" ends up so riddled with errors, would have been better if I hadn't done it at all.
I have to grant people I don't think are eligible, and I'm granting folks I shouldn't have done.
Slow down. Stop being so sloppy. There's no rush. I'm rushing myself. But there's no real rush. There's no one looking over my shoulder, watching my actions. No one but myself, and I'm making mistakes that I should have caught before they happened.
Fuck. It's okay to not be perfect.
It better be.
Conflicted
Once again, it's the back and forth that's getting to me. Not in a bad way, I feel okay today, but I'm torn. Again.
In some moments, I want to go out and get the nice things. I'm not a splurger, but I'm sick of the shoddy-quality stuff that I have been filling my life up with. I feel like I deserve a quality pair of shoes once in a while instead of the Payless plastic shoes I've been wearing most my life. At the same time that I am about to buy an adorable, quality made, slightly more expensive than normal but Yay! On sale! pair of shoes, I second guess my reasons for buying them.
Is it because I want to compete with someone?
Am I shopping because I'm not happy with my life in that moment?
Or am I buying them, really, because my other black sneakers (that I bought at Payless) have a hole in them and anyway, I haven't gotten new black sneaks in close to 5 years?
I'd like to think I'm buying out of necessity, but a part of me does feel shitty about where I am financially. But like I've said, my debt seems manageable. My husband's does not, and that stresses me out. I don't want to be the poor-kid on the block, so maybe if I buy nice sneaks I can pretend that I'm not. Right?
And then it always pops up in my mind that, "Hey, if I get another pair of cheap kicks at Payless, then I can go buy that (toy, outfit, etc) for Taryn with the rest of the money." But I can't live like that. I love buying her stuff, but I don't want to spoil her, and I don't want to resent her down the line for having everything new and shiny and I've got my 5-year old plastic shoes still.
I have the same dilemma-mind-trip going on about going out. I want to go have fun. But the things that I want to do, I don't have people to do with me. I'm over the clubbing thing, I'd much prefer to go out to a park with the kids, or have coffee with a girlfriend, or go out to dinner with the ladies. But my friends aren't in the same place. So while I'm up at 6am to have coffee and blog and play with Taryn, they are just stumbling home from the bar. And if that's what makes them happy, I'm all for them having their nightlife. I guess I just prefer to hang out during the day and sleep at night.
I know, I'm old. But I don't want to pretend that the whole bar/club scene is my thing when its not. Once in a while is cool, but I'm just not into it anymore. I feel like I'm clubbed-out, and I guess it's my loss for getting it out of my system while I was in high school.
I think I'm hoping for too much, too soon, and with too little offort. I need to work on my anxiety in public, about getting to know new people, and maybe use T-Boog as a crutch. I mean, what better way to get to know more Mommies my age, than to bring T-Boog around with me?
Anyway, I'm just feeling conflicted today. Like pretty much every other day. But I'm stoked because I'm registering Taryn for gymnastics over the summer, and I know she's going to love it. Especially now that she's almost walking, I think it'll help with her balance and getting a feel for her own body. And I'm going to make it a personal goal this summer to bring her to the pool at least twice a month, so she can get used to water, and hopefully she'll love swimming as much as I do.
In some moments, I want to go out and get the nice things. I'm not a splurger, but I'm sick of the shoddy-quality stuff that I have been filling my life up with. I feel like I deserve a quality pair of shoes once in a while instead of the Payless plastic shoes I've been wearing most my life. At the same time that I am about to buy an adorable, quality made, slightly more expensive than normal but Yay! On sale! pair of shoes, I second guess my reasons for buying them.
Is it because I want to compete with someone?
Am I shopping because I'm not happy with my life in that moment?
Or am I buying them, really, because my other black sneakers (that I bought at Payless) have a hole in them and anyway, I haven't gotten new black sneaks in close to 5 years?
I'd like to think I'm buying out of necessity, but a part of me does feel shitty about where I am financially. But like I've said, my debt seems manageable. My husband's does not, and that stresses me out. I don't want to be the poor-kid on the block, so maybe if I buy nice sneaks I can pretend that I'm not. Right?
And then it always pops up in my mind that, "Hey, if I get another pair of cheap kicks at Payless, then I can go buy that (toy, outfit, etc) for Taryn with the rest of the money." But I can't live like that. I love buying her stuff, but I don't want to spoil her, and I don't want to resent her down the line for having everything new and shiny and I've got my 5-year old plastic shoes still.
I have the same dilemma-mind-trip going on about going out. I want to go have fun. But the things that I want to do, I don't have people to do with me. I'm over the clubbing thing, I'd much prefer to go out to a park with the kids, or have coffee with a girlfriend, or go out to dinner with the ladies. But my friends aren't in the same place. So while I'm up at 6am to have coffee and blog and play with Taryn, they are just stumbling home from the bar. And if that's what makes them happy, I'm all for them having their nightlife. I guess I just prefer to hang out during the day and sleep at night.
I know, I'm old. But I don't want to pretend that the whole bar/club scene is my thing when its not. Once in a while is cool, but I'm just not into it anymore. I feel like I'm clubbed-out, and I guess it's my loss for getting it out of my system while I was in high school.
I think I'm hoping for too much, too soon, and with too little offort. I need to work on my anxiety in public, about getting to know new people, and maybe use T-Boog as a crutch. I mean, what better way to get to know more Mommies my age, than to bring T-Boog around with me?
Anyway, I'm just feeling conflicted today. Like pretty much every other day. But I'm stoked because I'm registering Taryn for gymnastics over the summer, and I know she's going to love it. Especially now that she's almost walking, I think it'll help with her balance and getting a feel for her own body. And I'm going to make it a personal goal this summer to bring her to the pool at least twice a month, so she can get used to water, and hopefully she'll love swimming as much as I do.
May 22, 2007
A Letter to You
[As funny as I think this was, I can't leave it up. There's drama brewing and I can't afford to lose my job right now]
May 21, 2007
The Weeds
I started watching the Showtime comedy "The Weeds" over the weekend. It was reccommended by a couple people, and there wasn't much else at the video store that I wanted to see.
I guess it's okay, it's funny, but I really prefer hour-long shows over 30 minute ones. I think the premise of it is awesome, but the actual show I wasn't super-impressed by. And maybe I had assumed SHowtime does comedy like HBO does, but I guess not really?
I can't really pinpoint why I'm not blown away. Maybe it's so over-the-top that I have a hard time getting into it, I mean, really? The white chick selling weed to maintain her lifestyle after the hubby dies, okay. The pot-head CPA starting a cover business for her to make weed brownies? Um, yeah. Leaving her Range and her wedding ring to cover the cost until she makes some cash? Not really. Aside from the fact that her stuff is worth waaaay more and you'd have to be an idiot to leave that to cover the cost of a couple ounces (I'm guessing? :) it's just too far-fetched for me. And maybe it's just got a different humor than I like, I don't know. It all seems too boxed, too trying-so-hard-to-be-different-it's-kind-of-dumb, you know?
Don't get me wrong, I'm going to watch the whole season. I think it's funny-enough, just not as fab as I was expecting. Because it is funny. I just don't think it's very original. Maybe that's what it is. It's very cliche, thw whole outrageous-ness of it. Of course the maid finds out she's a dealer and asks for a raise. Of course she goes to an all-Black club and yadda, yadda, yadda.
The funniest person in the show? The little kid. The one who makes the crazy terrorist video, and shoots the mountain lion in the eye. Kid cracks me up, he's so weird. He's very original, in the crap they have him doing, you don't see that on normal shows.
I get bored very easily.
I guess it's okay, it's funny, but I really prefer hour-long shows over 30 minute ones. I think the premise of it is awesome, but the actual show I wasn't super-impressed by. And maybe I had assumed SHowtime does comedy like HBO does, but I guess not really?
I can't really pinpoint why I'm not blown away. Maybe it's so over-the-top that I have a hard time getting into it, I mean, really? The white chick selling weed to maintain her lifestyle after the hubby dies, okay. The pot-head CPA starting a cover business for her to make weed brownies? Um, yeah. Leaving her Range and her wedding ring to cover the cost until she makes some cash? Not really. Aside from the fact that her stuff is worth waaaay more and you'd have to be an idiot to leave that to cover the cost of a couple ounces (I'm guessing? :) it's just too far-fetched for me. And maybe it's just got a different humor than I like, I don't know. It all seems too boxed, too trying-so-hard-to-be-different-it's-kind-of-dumb, you know?
Don't get me wrong, I'm going to watch the whole season. I think it's funny-enough, just not as fab as I was expecting. Because it is funny. I just don't think it's very original. Maybe that's what it is. It's very cliche, thw whole outrageous-ness of it. Of course the maid finds out she's a dealer and asks for a raise. Of course she goes to an all-Black club and yadda, yadda, yadda.
The funniest person in the show? The little kid. The one who makes the crazy terrorist video, and shoots the mountain lion in the eye. Kid cracks me up, he's so weird. He's very original, in the crap they have him doing, you don't see that on normal shows.
I get bored very easily.
Almost Forgot!
P and I had a fabulous dinner at the Seafood Peddler on friday night. We were planning to go to Pings, then Chevy's, then Red Lobster, and in stead headed over to San Rafael since I had never eaten there before. I'd been to that little "club" off the side a few times for parties adn such, and we'd picked up oysters in the entrance part, but never a sit-down meal.
Incredible.
We had an oyster appetizer, something Rockefeller I think. They were over baked with cheese and spinach on them and super-expensive and absolutely delectable. If they weren't $3 each we would have had more, but the food came ver quickly after that, so it was gravy.
Let me just say, we got there around 8:30, the place wasn't packed and there was a live band playing. We had a booth facing the canal, so we could see the stars and trees blowing in the wind and it was so romantic with a glass of wine and some cuddling.
Anyway, P had the mixed grill, a few different kids of fish and some potato thing, and I had the ahi tuna. They were both fab. Loved every bite, and we were full, but not super-stuffed, which was nice. Afterwards we hung out and talked a bit, picked up a couple movies and went home.
It was really nice to be out, just the two of us, and talk and all that jazz. Its odd how your life can feel so full, revolving around your child and you don't realize the important things that are missing until you do them again. We've had a rocky couple weeks, and this was just the refresher we needed.
Nice.
Incredible.
We had an oyster appetizer, something Rockefeller I think. They were over baked with cheese and spinach on them and super-expensive and absolutely delectable. If they weren't $3 each we would have had more, but the food came ver quickly after that, so it was gravy.
Let me just say, we got there around 8:30, the place wasn't packed and there was a live band playing. We had a booth facing the canal, so we could see the stars and trees blowing in the wind and it was so romantic with a glass of wine and some cuddling.
Anyway, P had the mixed grill, a few different kids of fish and some potato thing, and I had the ahi tuna. They were both fab. Loved every bite, and we were full, but not super-stuffed, which was nice. Afterwards we hung out and talked a bit, picked up a couple movies and went home.
It was really nice to be out, just the two of us, and talk and all that jazz. Its odd how your life can feel so full, revolving around your child and you don't realize the important things that are missing until you do them again. We've had a rocky couple weeks, and this was just the refresher we needed.
Nice.
May 20, 2007
Month Eleven
Duckie, I am in shock and awe that you are eleven months old today! Partly because I haven't really started planning your birthday yet, and last year at this time I was having your baby shower. I had no clue how much I would love being a Mommy, and how utterly amazing you would turn out to be. I love you so much.
I just put you down to sleep, we had a rough day with you throwing up three or four times all over yourself in the car. We were on our way to the Lawrence Hall of Science for a little gathering none of us wanted to go to, and once again, saved by the baby! You were kind of upset, and scared the bee-geebus out of your Papa and me, but it was cute on the way home after pulling over on the side of the road. You wouldn't touch yourself, wouldn't touch anything you had thrown up on, and refused to smile. I tried my hardest to make you crack a grin, and you sort-of smirked, but refused to smile until we got you in the bath. My wish for you this month is that you don't suffer from car- or boat- or any other type of sickness. I would hate for you to miss out on any moment of excitement in your life because of a weak stomach. But if you do, ginger is a life-saver when you don't have any medicine on you.
This month you also started to walk. Sort of. You are so super-steady when you stand up by yourself, and you can now go from sitting, to squatting to standing by yourself without pulling up on anything, but you do still prefer to hang on a wall or a leg instead of doing it yourself. And as of today, you have taken six steps by yourself. I'm just waiting for one day when I get home from work and you walk to me when I walk in the door. Maybe next week?
This month has been low-key in regards to getting out and going places. We've been spending a lot of time in the grass outside the house, and it seems like every time I put you down, you get this perplexed look on your face, eyebrows in a frown, mouth open, and on your hands and knees with one arm in the arm, just trying to figure out what this spiky green stuff is, and why you are in it. You've started crawling like a normal kid now, with both knees on the ground, but in the grass, you still crawl with one knee and one foot. But once you've been there for a while, you get crazy, crawling all around, picking up dirt, and leaves and bigs, sticking them all in your mouth .. just to check. I think you and me will take a trip to the beach this Friday (today is Sunday, if you are curious) and we'll both get into our swim suits and play in the water a bit. Mama needs a tan, and I'm sure you'll love it too.
The other place we've been a lot this month is Safeway. You are such a complete joy to take out in public. You interact with anyone and anything, smiling at old people, petting dogs, chewing on anything you can pull off the shelves. People still comment wherever we go how beautiful you are, how alert, and smart and you communicate very well.
Which reminds me, you do this finger thing now. Aside from the boogers, your milestone this month has been pointing. You point at things you want. You point at things you recognize. If I ask you where the kitty is, you'll crawl to within a foot of her and point. When you see something interesting, like a bird flying when we're taking a walk, you point at it. It's pretty obvious you get a lot more than you can explain to us, and you still aren't saying Mama, though you did the day after Mother's Day, but not again since, but when your Papa says "Where's Mama?" Most of the time you point at me. Sometimes you point at Rosco.
I should have more to write next month, we'll have your birthday, and my birthday, and maybe Father's Day. It'll be summer and maybe you'll even be walking by then. Joy. Because even now, you go to the laundry room and play in the dogs' water, you eat the crumbs form their food when they are eating in the living room. You scatter your Papa's CDs all over the living room floor and pull all the pots and pans out of the cabinets when I'm cooking. But I let you explore because you look so happy. I'm just glad I got the gate up at the top of the stairs today.
I love you.
Mommy.
I just put you down to sleep, we had a rough day with you throwing up three or four times all over yourself in the car. We were on our way to the Lawrence Hall of Science for a little gathering none of us wanted to go to, and once again, saved by the baby! You were kind of upset, and scared the bee-geebus out of your Papa and me, but it was cute on the way home after pulling over on the side of the road. You wouldn't touch yourself, wouldn't touch anything you had thrown up on, and refused to smile. I tried my hardest to make you crack a grin, and you sort-of smirked, but refused to smile until we got you in the bath. My wish for you this month is that you don't suffer from car- or boat- or any other type of sickness. I would hate for you to miss out on any moment of excitement in your life because of a weak stomach. But if you do, ginger is a life-saver when you don't have any medicine on you.
This month you also started to walk. Sort of. You are so super-steady when you stand up by yourself, and you can now go from sitting, to squatting to standing by yourself without pulling up on anything, but you do still prefer to hang on a wall or a leg instead of doing it yourself. And as of today, you have taken six steps by yourself. I'm just waiting for one day when I get home from work and you walk to me when I walk in the door. Maybe next week?
This month has been low-key in regards to getting out and going places. We've been spending a lot of time in the grass outside the house, and it seems like every time I put you down, you get this perplexed look on your face, eyebrows in a frown, mouth open, and on your hands and knees with one arm in the arm, just trying to figure out what this spiky green stuff is, and why you are in it. You've started crawling like a normal kid now, with both knees on the ground, but in the grass, you still crawl with one knee and one foot. But once you've been there for a while, you get crazy, crawling all around, picking up dirt, and leaves and bigs, sticking them all in your mouth .. just to check. I think you and me will take a trip to the beach this Friday (today is Sunday, if you are curious) and we'll both get into our swim suits and play in the water a bit. Mama needs a tan, and I'm sure you'll love it too.
The other place we've been a lot this month is Safeway. You are such a complete joy to take out in public. You interact with anyone and anything, smiling at old people, petting dogs, chewing on anything you can pull off the shelves. People still comment wherever we go how beautiful you are, how alert, and smart and you communicate very well.
Which reminds me, you do this finger thing now. Aside from the boogers, your milestone this month has been pointing. You point at things you want. You point at things you recognize. If I ask you where the kitty is, you'll crawl to within a foot of her and point. When you see something interesting, like a bird flying when we're taking a walk, you point at it. It's pretty obvious you get a lot more than you can explain to us, and you still aren't saying Mama, though you did the day after Mother's Day, but not again since, but when your Papa says "Where's Mama?" Most of the time you point at me. Sometimes you point at Rosco.
I should have more to write next month, we'll have your birthday, and my birthday, and maybe Father's Day. It'll be summer and maybe you'll even be walking by then. Joy. Because even now, you go to the laundry room and play in the dogs' water, you eat the crumbs form their food when they are eating in the living room. You scatter your Papa's CDs all over the living room floor and pull all the pots and pans out of the cabinets when I'm cooking. But I let you explore because you look so happy. I'm just glad I got the gate up at the top of the stairs today.
I love you.
Mommy.
May 19, 2007
Done Lost Ma Thunder
It is so freaking hard to change one tiny thing about myself, I don't know why I expect to be able to do an overhaul in a week. I'm tired and frustrated and I think I need some chocolate milk. How freaking depressing, eh? The month I chose to blog every day ends up being like this.
Oh well.
Taryn is going to be 11 months old tomorrow. That means in 31 days I can stop pumping, which comes out to be ... maybe 20 more days of pumping?
And we desperately need new dressers. Taryn pulls the drawers out on these ones and I'm freaked she's going to pull one all the way out and it'll squish her head.
Speaking of Taryn, I was showing her how to crawl up stairs yesterday, she's pretty good already. Only problem is, I was thinking stairs, she's thinking tox box, futon, all new level of stuff she can get to now. Ooops.
Oh well.
Taryn is going to be 11 months old tomorrow. That means in 31 days I can stop pumping, which comes out to be ... maybe 20 more days of pumping?
And we desperately need new dressers. Taryn pulls the drawers out on these ones and I'm freaked she's going to pull one all the way out and it'll squish her head.
Speaking of Taryn, I was showing her how to crawl up stairs yesterday, she's pretty good already. Only problem is, I was thinking stairs, she's thinking tox box, futon, all new level of stuff she can get to now. Ooops.
May 18, 2007
Four Steps!
Taryn just took her first, second, third and fourth steps this evening!!
Okay, maybe only three, because it was sort of a step, step, step, ste....fall. But still. I AM SO SUPER-STOKED TO HAVE BEEN HERE TO SEE THIS.
P was on the phone with Gabe, and Taryn was standing next to him holding onto his leg. I was down on the floor just messing around with her, barking and such, and I held out my hands. She hesitated for only a second, and started walking to me!
It was so incredible to see this little child that only a few short months ago couldn't even sit up by herslef, and then she was just walking.
But she can stop now. She's already getting into everything she can reach, I can't imagine the trouble she'll find when she can actually walk!
Okay, maybe only three, because it was sort of a step, step, step, ste....fall. But still. I AM SO SUPER-STOKED TO HAVE BEEN HERE TO SEE THIS.
P was on the phone with Gabe, and Taryn was standing next to him holding onto his leg. I was down on the floor just messing around with her, barking and such, and I held out my hands. She hesitated for only a second, and started walking to me!
It was so incredible to see this little child that only a few short months ago couldn't even sit up by herslef, and then she was just walking.
But she can stop now. She's already getting into everything she can reach, I can't imagine the trouble she'll find when she can actually walk!
Mind-Tripping
I am all about intention, and I know I'm being sensitive, but I'm getting super-irked lately with the flippant comments people are making. And I'm not trying to be passive-aggressive here, I'm really not, because I know I'm reading waaaay too much into them and getting hurt over nothing.
Like saying my baby is screaming like a banshee because she's "just learning she can do it" even though a conversation was just had in front of you about me imitiating her and possibly encouraging her to do it. And this pissed me off for two reasons, even though I know it wasn't said to be mean, because first, she was screaming in pain and any mother could see that she was in serious pain, the bright red face and tears and snot running down her face, her lips turning blue from not breathing enough, arching her back and generally being inconsolable to the point I was shaking I was so scared of what might be wrong with her and considering taking her to the ER and having P drive Ally back to work. She doesn't cry like that for fun. And second it's insinuating that it's my fault she was crying, which okay, if she was playing around that would be one thing, but skew it to my fucked up brain and it makes it sound like it's my fault she was screaming in pain.
Moving on.
Or commenting when I tell someone that I'm working overtime that you aren't so desperate for money that you would drive out here for OT and miss spending time with your child. (Finish reading before you come over here...you know who you are). I know it wasn't malicious, and I know you'd never say anything to hurt me and I know you're going to apologize once you read this, but I kept hearing that little phrase in my head and I started to get pissed. Not at you, but at the fact that yes, I'm broke. Financially, as a couple P and I are royally fucked right now, and I'm already frustrated that he's got so much debt that just gets higher and higher. And for some reason mine fells totally manageable, maybe because I make more, or maybe because I don't blow money on bullshit like he does. And I started to get embarassed and ashamed of myself for the situation that I'm stuck in: having to miss 1 day of my weekend to work overtime so that I can buy Taryn presents for her birthday. It's fucking lame, and I pissed at the damn situation.
And just to round it out, I'm frustrated why someone can be pissed that her partner doesn't defend her when she is called names by other people in front of his face, and in the next breath call my husband an idiot, and stupid and all types of shit. It doesn't make sense to me the double standard, that it's not okay to call you names, but it's okay for you to call him names? I know that person was going through a rough time, and I didn't want to detract from the point of the story, but damn. That's just fucked up.
*sigh*
So anyway. I've been hyper-sensitive lately, I know it. That's why I don't say anything. I know it's my mental fuck-ups that make me read so much more into things than a normal person but I had to vomit this all out before I drove myself crazy, running around and around the situations like a hamster on a freaking wheel.
Like saying my baby is screaming like a banshee because she's "just learning she can do it" even though a conversation was just had in front of you about me imitiating her and possibly encouraging her to do it. And this pissed me off for two reasons, even though I know it wasn't said to be mean, because first, she was screaming in pain and any mother could see that she was in serious pain, the bright red face and tears and snot running down her face, her lips turning blue from not breathing enough, arching her back and generally being inconsolable to the point I was shaking I was so scared of what might be wrong with her and considering taking her to the ER and having P drive Ally back to work. She doesn't cry like that for fun. And second it's insinuating that it's my fault she was crying, which okay, if she was playing around that would be one thing, but skew it to my fucked up brain and it makes it sound like it's my fault she was screaming in pain.
Moving on.
Or commenting when I tell someone that I'm working overtime that you aren't so desperate for money that you would drive out here for OT and miss spending time with your child. (Finish reading before you come over here...you know who you are). I know it wasn't malicious, and I know you'd never say anything to hurt me and I know you're going to apologize once you read this, but I kept hearing that little phrase in my head and I started to get pissed. Not at you, but at the fact that yes, I'm broke. Financially, as a couple P and I are royally fucked right now, and I'm already frustrated that he's got so much debt that just gets higher and higher. And for some reason mine fells totally manageable, maybe because I make more, or maybe because I don't blow money on bullshit like he does. And I started to get embarassed and ashamed of myself for the situation that I'm stuck in: having to miss 1 day of my weekend to work overtime so that I can buy Taryn presents for her birthday. It's fucking lame, and I pissed at the damn situation.
And just to round it out, I'm frustrated why someone can be pissed that her partner doesn't defend her when she is called names by other people in front of his face, and in the next breath call my husband an idiot, and stupid and all types of shit. It doesn't make sense to me the double standard, that it's not okay to call you names, but it's okay for you to call him names? I know that person was going through a rough time, and I didn't want to detract from the point of the story, but damn. That's just fucked up.
*sigh*
So anyway. I've been hyper-sensitive lately, I know it. That's why I don't say anything. I know it's my mental fuck-ups that make me read so much more into things than a normal person but I had to vomit this all out before I drove myself crazy, running around and around the situations like a hamster on a freaking wheel.
May 17, 2007
Even Worse
While pumping this morning, one of the clerks had the freaking audacity to knock on my door. I have a sign that I thought was obvious enough...
CAUTION: Do Not Enter
Mom Pumping for Baby.
But evidently it wasn't blatant enough that I don't want to be bothered when my door is closed and my sign is up. And what was it over? Someone in reception calling to see me. Which anyone else on the floor could have handled.
But no, she comes to my door, stops to read the sign, then knocks and calls my name.
Idiot.
CAUTION: Do Not Enter
Mom Pumping for Baby.
But evidently it wasn't blatant enough that I don't want to be bothered when my door is closed and my sign is up. And what was it over? Someone in reception calling to see me. Which anyone else on the floor could have handled.
But no, she comes to my door, stops to read the sign, then knocks and calls my name.
Idiot.
Not Your Mama
There has been something irking me about the Nanny. Some little thing tugging at the corner of my mind, and I haven't been able to place it until very recently. It's not a huge issues, more the way we interact. I try to invite her out places, try to get her to see more of Marin county but she's so resistant. I thought at first that maybe she just didn't know me and was shy, then I thought maybe she sees me as more of a boss than her cousin, maybe I'm just a bitch and she doesn't like me. But what I think now is ... she treats me like I'm her mother.
And ya'll know I only have one baby, and though I can be mother-ing, I sure as shit don't want any grown-ass children right now.
It hit me a couple nights ago when we were talking about my piercings, and the tattoo I have. She had told me she wants one and I'm like, "You're an adult. You want one, you should get one." But then she's telling me about how she pierced her own ear when she was younger, and can she get her tongue pireced?
"Hell No!"
I blurted it. I didn't mean to, but I misunderstood and thought she was saying she wanted to pierce her own tongue. And she can get whatever freaky shit (I know, I'm one to talk) she wants, but I'm morally opposed to sticking a needle in your own tongue. In my house.
But once we clarified that she wanted to go get it done and not do it herslef, I'm just like, "Hey, whatever." And then she actually asks my permission to do it! And I have to keep telling her she's an adult, and if she wants to get something pierced, she doesn't need my permission. And then of course I start tripping off the fact that the Nanny is asking my permission to do shit.
And it's happened more that I had realized in the past few months, pretty subtly, but she's been getting my okay before a lot of things, and I need to figure out how to take a step back and let her know that what she does when she's not watching Taryn has nothing to do with me. I mean, I've said that to her, but true to Caballero genes she doesn't get it. Or doesn't want to get it.
So whoa. I'm completely not ready for being the mother to a teen/adult. But maybe part of it is that I do have a very strong preference for how things are done in regards to Taryn, liek making sure she's eating enough, and not rocking her to sleep. Or taking her outside as much as possible and stepping aside when I get home so I can mother my child for a bit. Maybe I am an over-bearing bitch, and she feels like she needs my permission. Of course, you know tonight I'm going to call her out and see what she says. So I'll maybe blog about her response tomorrow.
And ya'll know I only have one baby, and though I can be mother-ing, I sure as shit don't want any grown-ass children right now.
It hit me a couple nights ago when we were talking about my piercings, and the tattoo I have. She had told me she wants one and I'm like, "You're an adult. You want one, you should get one." But then she's telling me about how she pierced her own ear when she was younger, and can she get her tongue pireced?
"Hell No!"
I blurted it. I didn't mean to, but I misunderstood and thought she was saying she wanted to pierce her own tongue. And she can get whatever freaky shit (I know, I'm one to talk) she wants, but I'm morally opposed to sticking a needle in your own tongue. In my house.
But once we clarified that she wanted to go get it done and not do it herslef, I'm just like, "Hey, whatever." And then she actually asks my permission to do it! And I have to keep telling her she's an adult, and if she wants to get something pierced, she doesn't need my permission. And then of course I start tripping off the fact that the Nanny is asking my permission to do shit.
And it's happened more that I had realized in the past few months, pretty subtly, but she's been getting my okay before a lot of things, and I need to figure out how to take a step back and let her know that what she does when she's not watching Taryn has nothing to do with me. I mean, I've said that to her, but true to Caballero genes she doesn't get it. Or doesn't want to get it.
So whoa. I'm completely not ready for being the mother to a teen/adult. But maybe part of it is that I do have a very strong preference for how things are done in regards to Taryn, liek making sure she's eating enough, and not rocking her to sleep. Or taking her outside as much as possible and stepping aside when I get home so I can mother my child for a bit. Maybe I am an over-bearing bitch, and she feels like she needs my permission. Of course, you know tonight I'm going to call her out and see what she says. So I'll maybe blog about her response tomorrow.
May 16, 2007
Oxymoron
Am I the only one that thinks the phrase "Constructive Criticism" is kind of stupid? I mean, if it's really constructive, why is is called criticism? Why not feedback, or analysis or something? It may very well be me, myself and I who have a negative connotation of the word criticism, but it just seems so ... critical.
So forgive me for not taking it well. I don't think I get all bristly-like, and jump down your throat instead of taking the finer points of the statement as advice and the rest with a grain of salt (another stupid-saying, if you ask me. But who's asking, right?). I do, however, feel the need to explain myself, and I think that comes off as being ungrateful and rude, even if my intention is a bit more mellow.
A lot of my problems in life come from that fact that I want to be understood, and simply am not. I can't get over the fact that people don't get me. I like to think it's because I have such a dynamic personality, it's hard to grasp that so many conflicting ideas and emotions and actions can be contained in one person. But let's be honest, maybe the truth is I've swayed a little further than I'd like to believe in the direction of Crazy than most folks, which makes my ramblings harder to follow. But crazy is a mindstate, no? I prefer eccentric, or unconventional personally, and therein lies another problem. I have a very hard time labelling myself independently. I tend to see myself through dark-grey glasses, the same ones I imagine other people see me through.
Back to crazy and criticisms in a minute, I just have to say I was royally pissed off when my mom told me a friend of hers was disappointed in me. For acting my age. What? Just because most of my life I have been more mature than other folks of a comparable age (like said friend's own daughter) does not mean that when I act my age I am a disappointment. It means I was a fucking kid.
Back to the topic of ... yes, criticism. I have the tendency to want to explain my actions, because I hate for people to be disappointed in me (thanks Catherine!) almost as much as I hate to be disappointed. But then I tend to get flustered when I feel the urge to explain myself which is, I can imagine, not a pretty sight. So between the mumbling and stutters (as least I have the sweaty pits under control...go me!), and I tend to speak how I write which is not exactly linear, though very logical if I can get it out, I think I not only freak people out, I also seem very defensive.
And I'm not, really. I just want you to know I'm not a dumbass. Though I may look like one trying to explain that I'm not, really, I promise, am quite intelligent. At least on paper. And I don't want people to think I'm making excuses for things that I could have handled but didn't, like if a client drops in with a contagious disease that is eating away his vision and his livelihood, since he's a cab-driver and he's supposed to take 5 pills per day and ran out and needs to get a re-fill like, now? And then when I let you know he dropped in and is downstairs waiting for his card because his GA worker told him that I had already granted benfits when I hadn't really, and then you tell me to leave the case on you desk next time, instead of your "grant pile" so you can get to it right away? See in that situation, I want to explain it all, and I end up looking like the freak. Which I'm okay with mostly, but this time? Not so much. I wasn't being irresponsible, it isn't my fault you have to do this RIGHT NOW, and it's vitally important to me that you know that. For no particular reason, really, just that I want to pretend that in at least one realm of my life, I have my shit together. And I was hoping it was this one, and on the inside I do, but maybe it doesn't look like that on the outside, ya dig?
And another thing. Crticism, no matter what kind it is, constructive or not, the shit hurts. And I've got a tough facade, but really, I'm a very tender person. So between the Hurt and the Fluster, the Explaining probably comes out a little hysterical. Which is not good for business.
That's all. Thanks for reading.
So forgive me for not taking it well. I don't think I get all bristly-like, and jump down your throat instead of taking the finer points of the statement as advice and the rest with a grain of salt (another stupid-saying, if you ask me. But who's asking, right?). I do, however, feel the need to explain myself, and I think that comes off as being ungrateful and rude, even if my intention is a bit more mellow.
A lot of my problems in life come from that fact that I want to be understood, and simply am not. I can't get over the fact that people don't get me. I like to think it's because I have such a dynamic personality, it's hard to grasp that so many conflicting ideas and emotions and actions can be contained in one person. But let's be honest, maybe the truth is I've swayed a little further than I'd like to believe in the direction of Crazy than most folks, which makes my ramblings harder to follow. But crazy is a mindstate, no? I prefer eccentric, or unconventional personally, and therein lies another problem. I have a very hard time labelling myself independently. I tend to see myself through dark-grey glasses, the same ones I imagine other people see me through.
Back to crazy and criticisms in a minute, I just have to say I was royally pissed off when my mom told me a friend of hers was disappointed in me. For acting my age. What? Just because most of my life I have been more mature than other folks of a comparable age (like said friend's own daughter) does not mean that when I act my age I am a disappointment. It means I was a fucking kid.
Back to the topic of ... yes, criticism. I have the tendency to want to explain my actions, because I hate for people to be disappointed in me (thanks Catherine!) almost as much as I hate to be disappointed. But then I tend to get flustered when I feel the urge to explain myself which is, I can imagine, not a pretty sight. So between the mumbling and stutters (as least I have the sweaty pits under control...go me!), and I tend to speak how I write which is not exactly linear, though very logical if I can get it out, I think I not only freak people out, I also seem very defensive.
And I'm not, really. I just want you to know I'm not a dumbass. Though I may look like one trying to explain that I'm not, really, I promise, am quite intelligent. At least on paper. And I don't want people to think I'm making excuses for things that I could have handled but didn't, like if a client drops in with a contagious disease that is eating away his vision and his livelihood, since he's a cab-driver and he's supposed to take 5 pills per day and ran out and needs to get a re-fill like, now? And then when I let you know he dropped in and is downstairs waiting for his card because his GA worker told him that I had already granted benfits when I hadn't really, and then you tell me to leave the case on you desk next time, instead of your "grant pile" so you can get to it right away? See in that situation, I want to explain it all, and I end up looking like the freak. Which I'm okay with mostly, but this time? Not so much. I wasn't being irresponsible, it isn't my fault you have to do this RIGHT NOW, and it's vitally important to me that you know that. For no particular reason, really, just that I want to pretend that in at least one realm of my life, I have my shit together. And I was hoping it was this one, and on the inside I do, but maybe it doesn't look like that on the outside, ya dig?
And another thing. Crticism, no matter what kind it is, constructive or not, the shit hurts. And I've got a tough facade, but really, I'm a very tender person. So between the Hurt and the Fluster, the Explaining probably comes out a little hysterical. Which is not good for business.
That's all. Thanks for reading.
May 15, 2007
Proof We Need to Stop Swearing Soon
Taryn started picking her nose today. Not just playing with it in a cute baby way, but sticking her finger so far up that I could only see the knuckle connecting it to her hand. Then curling the tip around like she's really going for Gold.
She gets it from her Papa. Who got it honest from his grandparents. I've seen it firsthand.
She gets it from her Papa. Who got it honest from his grandparents. I've seen it firsthand.
Hey STUPID! Yeah, YOU.
That little box over by the copy machine, the one with my name on it? It's called a mailbox. Next time you have somethng to give me and my door is closed because I'm making lunch for my kid for tomorrow, put it OVER THERE.
Please don't stand in front of the closed door for 5 minutes debating what to do with it. Pretty Standard Operating Procedures to use the box. Really, I promise. I won't be mad. No reason to prop a case up on the door, I do check the box every once in a while. Because it's a little distracting to see feet under my door when Lil' Bit is in use and Ms. Perky is taking a breather too, and really? As a Mother, I would have hoped you could figure that out on your own.
Thanks.
(No, not really you, I'm being an ass right now)
Please don't stand in front of the closed door for 5 minutes debating what to do with it. Pretty Standard Operating Procedures to use the box. Really, I promise. I won't be mad. No reason to prop a case up on the door, I do check the box every once in a while. Because it's a little distracting to see feet under my door when Lil' Bit is in use and Ms. Perky is taking a breather too, and really? As a Mother, I would have hoped you could figure that out on your own.
Thanks.
(No, not really you, I'm being an ass right now)
May 14, 2007
All In My Head
Growing up, I had a very active imagination. I remember my summer spent in Okinawa, when it was so hot and humid outside that the minute you stepped out the door, you were drenched in sweat. The house was sandwiched between a hog-fat boiling company and a crematorium. You can imagine how lovely it smelled, especially on hot, humid evenings. So I spent a lot of time indoors, during the hottest parts of the day so my skin didn't melt off.
My mom had bought me a box of construction paper and scissors before I left, and I remember spending a good part of the summer making my own cut-out dolls, creating new clothes and homes, cars, dogs, trees, anything I could think of out of paper and markers. These dolls had miltiple personalities too, so sometimes they would need city clothes, and sometime overalls and a pitch-fork. I spent hours down on the cool wood floor playing with my dolls, enacting decade-long sagas all by myself.
As I got older, I got stuck more and more in my head. The summer I turned 13, we were living in a new house and I went to school in a city 15 minutes away, so I didn't have many friends my age around me. I remember lying on my bed for hours, daydreaming about going to the beach, or hiking up a dangerous mountain range with just a box or matches and a tent to help me survive. Sadly, I also fantasized about boys I liked, imagining how they might ask me on a date, or what i would wear to the movies with my friends when I "happened" to see them. I did get out a lot, but when it was too hot, or I was bored with whatever I was doing, I always knew I had my mental retreat to fall back on.
Up until a few years ago, I could still go to that place if I wanted to. Before going to sleep when I had an interview the next day I would rehearse in my mind how I would answer questions, how I would cross my legs, or fold my hands in my lap. It was like practice, but it was all in my head. I knew that it got worse when I was depressed, sometimes I would lay in bed for hours with my eyes closed, dreaming and imagining of a better palced. In the morning I would be exhausted because although I was physiclaly in bed for 10 hours, I may have slept only 5 or 6. Time flew by, and I was happy in my mind, but realized it was affeecting my social life. I didn't always have the option to go out when I wanted to because I wasn't spending enough time cultivating real relationships.
So I made a decision to get out of my head and start relating to people more. For a time, whenever I was invited somewhere, I went, regardless of how boring or stupid I thought it would be. Just to be out, and not in my own head.
I don't think it's so black and white for me anymore, real or imagined. I sometimes have trouble differentiating between dreams and reality. Just the other day I felt bad for not giving a friend a cup of coffee after she asked, and when I apologized, she had to let me know that it had never happened. Not that I'm delusional, but my dreams and fantasies are so real, I sometimes can't tell if something happened or not.
I think my imaginings are one reason I get so disappointed in life. Sometimes I'll imagine something, like P taking me to lunch for Mother's Day, and when it doesn't happen, I'm sorely disappointed. The worst feeling in the world for me is being disappointed. I'd rather not hope for anything than to be let down, and recently I've been believing the lies he tells me, and getting my hopes up that things will be different. But they aren't. And that breaks my heart.
My mom had bought me a box of construction paper and scissors before I left, and I remember spending a good part of the summer making my own cut-out dolls, creating new clothes and homes, cars, dogs, trees, anything I could think of out of paper and markers. These dolls had miltiple personalities too, so sometimes they would need city clothes, and sometime overalls and a pitch-fork. I spent hours down on the cool wood floor playing with my dolls, enacting decade-long sagas all by myself.
As I got older, I got stuck more and more in my head. The summer I turned 13, we were living in a new house and I went to school in a city 15 minutes away, so I didn't have many friends my age around me. I remember lying on my bed for hours, daydreaming about going to the beach, or hiking up a dangerous mountain range with just a box or matches and a tent to help me survive. Sadly, I also fantasized about boys I liked, imagining how they might ask me on a date, or what i would wear to the movies with my friends when I "happened" to see them. I did get out a lot, but when it was too hot, or I was bored with whatever I was doing, I always knew I had my mental retreat to fall back on.
Up until a few years ago, I could still go to that place if I wanted to. Before going to sleep when I had an interview the next day I would rehearse in my mind how I would answer questions, how I would cross my legs, or fold my hands in my lap. It was like practice, but it was all in my head. I knew that it got worse when I was depressed, sometimes I would lay in bed for hours with my eyes closed, dreaming and imagining of a better palced. In the morning I would be exhausted because although I was physiclaly in bed for 10 hours, I may have slept only 5 or 6. Time flew by, and I was happy in my mind, but realized it was affeecting my social life. I didn't always have the option to go out when I wanted to because I wasn't spending enough time cultivating real relationships.
So I made a decision to get out of my head and start relating to people more. For a time, whenever I was invited somewhere, I went, regardless of how boring or stupid I thought it would be. Just to be out, and not in my own head.
I don't think it's so black and white for me anymore, real or imagined. I sometimes have trouble differentiating between dreams and reality. Just the other day I felt bad for not giving a friend a cup of coffee after she asked, and when I apologized, she had to let me know that it had never happened. Not that I'm delusional, but my dreams and fantasies are so real, I sometimes can't tell if something happened or not.
I think my imaginings are one reason I get so disappointed in life. Sometimes I'll imagine something, like P taking me to lunch for Mother's Day, and when it doesn't happen, I'm sorely disappointed. The worst feeling in the world for me is being disappointed. I'd rather not hope for anything than to be let down, and recently I've been believing the lies he tells me, and getting my hopes up that things will be different. But they aren't. And that breaks my heart.
May 13, 2007
Safeway Flowers and a Card
On Tuesday, please nobody mention to me the fact that my husband is a worthless *bleep*ing loser.
For my first Mother's Day, I get Safeway flowers and a card. This *bleep* has the audacity to stay up until 3am drinking...by himself, then when Taryn starts crying in the morning, he bring her downstairs to write her name in a card for me, and *bleep*ing spells it wrong on the outside. What a monumental failure I have been at picking decent men.
So yay for me. Mother's Day sucks.
I don't even have enough money to go do something nice for myself today. All I can do it take Taryn on a walk, and if I don't calm down soon enough, I may go buy my $400 purse on HIS credit card.
What an *bleep*. He spends hundreds of dollars a month on bars, clubs, playing golf with his friends, and Mother's Day rolls around and he is all of a sudden too broke to get me anything? Too lazy to make me breakfast? Too much of a *blee*-*bleep*ing *bleep* to do anything at all for me?
"Oh but Baby, I made you dinner last night!"
Well *bleep*, I cooked every night this week. It was your turn. And since when are empanadas a special dinner for anything???????
Please, don't get me wrong. It's not the lack of a gift I'm pissed about. It's the lack of giving a *bleep* about my emotional well-being in general that has my panties in a bunch. I *bleep*ing deserve some appreciation for what I do, and the one day set aside for that ... zilch.
The baby starts fussing, and all of a sudden he's a *bleep*ing expert. "Maybe she's cold, whay don't you change her diaper, maybe she doesn't want yogurt for breakfast." SHUT THE *BLEEP* UP. When's the last time you changed her diaper, fed her, or put clothes on her? Don't tell me how to do my *bleep*ing job, Idiot.
I know more about Taryn right now than you will in you entire life, because you don't give a flying *bleep* about anyone but yourself. And for the record, I will be a vindictive *bleep* and return the golf clubs I got you for Father's Day.
Happy *Bleep*ing Mother's Day to me.
For my first Mother's Day, I get Safeway flowers and a card. This *bleep* has the audacity to stay up until 3am drinking...by himself, then when Taryn starts crying in the morning, he bring her downstairs to write her name in a card for me, and *bleep*ing spells it wrong on the outside. What a monumental failure I have been at picking decent men.
So yay for me. Mother's Day sucks.
I don't even have enough money to go do something nice for myself today. All I can do it take Taryn on a walk, and if I don't calm down soon enough, I may go buy my $400 purse on HIS credit card.
What an *bleep*. He spends hundreds of dollars a month on bars, clubs, playing golf with his friends, and Mother's Day rolls around and he is all of a sudden too broke to get me anything? Too lazy to make me breakfast? Too much of a *blee*-*bleep*ing *bleep* to do anything at all for me?
"Oh but Baby, I made you dinner last night!"
Well *bleep*, I cooked every night this week. It was your turn. And since when are empanadas a special dinner for anything???????
Please, don't get me wrong. It's not the lack of a gift I'm pissed about. It's the lack of giving a *bleep* about my emotional well-being in general that has my panties in a bunch. I *bleep*ing deserve some appreciation for what I do, and the one day set aside for that ... zilch.
The baby starts fussing, and all of a sudden he's a *bleep*ing expert. "Maybe she's cold, whay don't you change her diaper, maybe she doesn't want yogurt for breakfast." SHUT THE *BLEEP* UP. When's the last time you changed her diaper, fed her, or put clothes on her? Don't tell me how to do my *bleep*ing job, Idiot.
I know more about Taryn right now than you will in you entire life, because you don't give a flying *bleep* about anyone but yourself. And for the record, I will be a vindictive *bleep* and return the golf clubs I got you for Father's Day.
Happy *Bleep*ing Mother's Day to me.
May 12, 2007
I Changed My Mind
I think that maybe, just maybe, Taryn knows tomorrow is Mother's Day, and stayed up late tonight so that I could sleep in tomorrow.
I was crying when P brought her out of her room, moping how my daughter soesn't love me and that I don't deserve Mother's Day.
"Look Punkin, she's trying to sit with you."
"No Babe, she probably just wants to pull my hair."
She was reaching out to me, so I took her and she rested her little head against my shoulder and sucked on her binkie for a minute. Then went nuts trying to rip a piece of plastic-paper apart.
That was enough to soothe the soul. I just put her down about 10 minutes ago. Rocked her for a few minutes while we nursed, set her down in her crib with her glow worm, and she was knocked out.
I was crying when P brought her out of her room, moping how my daughter soesn't love me and that I don't deserve Mother's Day.
"Look Punkin, she's trying to sit with you."
"No Babe, she probably just wants to pull my hair."
She was reaching out to me, so I took her and she rested her little head against my shoulder and sucked on her binkie for a minute. Then went nuts trying to rip a piece of plastic-paper apart.
That was enough to soothe the soul. I just put her down about 10 minutes ago. Rocked her for a few minutes while we nursed, set her down in her crib with her glow worm, and she was knocked out.
No Control
Tonight was the first time in a long time I had to give Taryn to her father to be put to sleep. Normally, it's the other way around. Normally she'll cry with him, and fall asleep fairly easily with me. but not tonight.
I've been trying for an hour and a half to put her down. Every time I put her in the crib, she starts crying hysterically, snot dripping down her nose, tears streaming down her face. I left her to cry for 5 minutes, picked her up and settled her down, and immediately when I put her back in the crib, she started screaming. 10 minutes and I go back in, rock her a bit, sing to her some more, put her back in the crib and she's screaming again. 15 minutes later, still screaming.
I tried to nurse her, she's swinging her arms in circles, flailing and scratching, kicking me in the neck. I try not to take it personally, I know she's not intentionally hurting me, but I just got so damn frustrated. Neither one of us are in control. I can't get her to calm down enough to sleep, and she can't soothe herself either, so we're stuck in this awful struggle, both with the same goal, but neither of us able to accomplish it.
So before I get too angry, after an hour and a half of this back and forth crap, I call P to put her to bed. I know he's pissed, he just got back form the gym and was trying to make dinner. I feel like an utter fucking failure, and go figure it'd be on the eve of my first Mother's Day. Maybe I don't deserve to celebrate, it takes more than a cooch to be a mother and tonight is one of those nights I question my ability to do this. To raise an independent being.
I feel my chest tightening up, and I'm trying my damnest not to let the tears flow, but this is not what I was expecting. I knew it would be hard, but why do I get the shit jobs? Why does P just get to play with her, and her eyes light up when she see's him, but me? I'm just food. No excitement to see me anymore, but I get the struggle whenever I try to pick her up. I know the transition is hard, to have Mama back when I've been at work all day, but can I get an ounce of appreciation for what I'm doing? I know she can't control her emotions, but it breaks my brittle fucking heart that she doesn't give a shit when I walk in the door.
I've been trying for an hour and a half to put her down. Every time I put her in the crib, she starts crying hysterically, snot dripping down her nose, tears streaming down her face. I left her to cry for 5 minutes, picked her up and settled her down, and immediately when I put her back in the crib, she started screaming. 10 minutes and I go back in, rock her a bit, sing to her some more, put her back in the crib and she's screaming again. 15 minutes later, still screaming.
I tried to nurse her, she's swinging her arms in circles, flailing and scratching, kicking me in the neck. I try not to take it personally, I know she's not intentionally hurting me, but I just got so damn frustrated. Neither one of us are in control. I can't get her to calm down enough to sleep, and she can't soothe herself either, so we're stuck in this awful struggle, both with the same goal, but neither of us able to accomplish it.
So before I get too angry, after an hour and a half of this back and forth crap, I call P to put her to bed. I know he's pissed, he just got back form the gym and was trying to make dinner. I feel like an utter fucking failure, and go figure it'd be on the eve of my first Mother's Day. Maybe I don't deserve to celebrate, it takes more than a cooch to be a mother and tonight is one of those nights I question my ability to do this. To raise an independent being.
I feel my chest tightening up, and I'm trying my damnest not to let the tears flow, but this is not what I was expecting. I knew it would be hard, but why do I get the shit jobs? Why does P just get to play with her, and her eyes light up when she see's him, but me? I'm just food. No excitement to see me anymore, but I get the struggle whenever I try to pick her up. I know the transition is hard, to have Mama back when I've been at work all day, but can I get an ounce of appreciation for what I'm doing? I know she can't control her emotions, but it breaks my brittle fucking heart that she doesn't give a shit when I walk in the door.
May 11, 2007
Chocolate Milk and a Good Book
I'm so tired. Physically worn out and physchically exhausted.
My plans for tonight are to lotion up (I just got out of the shower), get some comfy PJs on, go downstairs and get a glass of chocolate milk, then come back upstairs and paint my toenails while I read my book.
It always amazes me that so many women don't paint their toenails. Such a simple thing that makes a world of difference, because I for one have some funky toes, the middle one is longer than the big one, and I can't move the pinkie one at all. But they look half-way cute with some nice polish on them.
I needed some ME time tonight, because I have so much to do this weekend, planting my tomatoes and re-potting my tree-thing. I have to clean my car, and sort through the piles of crap that have accummulated in the back seat to amuse Taryn while I'm driving. I was planning on bringing her to the Discovery Museum tomorrow during their "free hours" and I need to pick up a few items to work on the "Mother's Day Surprise." Laundry is piling up, I was hoping to get another hike in, we need to spend some quality time with T&B, and I want to download some more music for my PDA.
Sunday, I don't know how much is getting done since it's Mother's Day, but thank goodness I have Monday off too, probably to recouperate from the weekend and spend some time with my mom.
And of course, I have to blog every day so I can reward myself at the end of this month. You noticed, right?
My plans for tonight are to lotion up (I just got out of the shower), get some comfy PJs on, go downstairs and get a glass of chocolate milk, then come back upstairs and paint my toenails while I read my book.
It always amazes me that so many women don't paint their toenails. Such a simple thing that makes a world of difference, because I for one have some funky toes, the middle one is longer than the big one, and I can't move the pinkie one at all. But they look half-way cute with some nice polish on them.
I needed some ME time tonight, because I have so much to do this weekend, planting my tomatoes and re-potting my tree-thing. I have to clean my car, and sort through the piles of crap that have accummulated in the back seat to amuse Taryn while I'm driving. I was planning on bringing her to the Discovery Museum tomorrow during their "free hours" and I need to pick up a few items to work on the "Mother's Day Surprise." Laundry is piling up, I was hoping to get another hike in, we need to spend some quality time with T&B, and I want to download some more music for my PDA.
Sunday, I don't know how much is getting done since it's Mother's Day, but thank goodness I have Monday off too, probably to recouperate from the weekend and spend some time with my mom.
And of course, I have to blog every day so I can reward myself at the end of this month. You noticed, right?
May 10, 2007
23 More Days
I've got 23 more days of pumping to go. I just can't do this anymore, it sucks (literally) to sit here for 45 minutes every day just to eke out 3 ounces of milk.
So I counted, 23 more days of actual pumping before Taryn's birthday. June 19th will be my last day to do this, and then I'll just nurse her at lunch, during the week and on demand when I'm home with her.
I'm tempted to quit now, but I set me goal, and I'll hope to reach it. And even after that, we'll be using up the freezer stash, which should last a month or so until she starts in on cow's milk during the day while I'm at work.
Feels liberating just thinking of not having this PIS staring at me all day long!
So I counted, 23 more days of actual pumping before Taryn's birthday. June 19th will be my last day to do this, and then I'll just nurse her at lunch, during the week and on demand when I'm home with her.
I'm tempted to quit now, but I set me goal, and I'll hope to reach it. And even after that, we'll be using up the freezer stash, which should last a month or so until she starts in on cow's milk during the day while I'm at work.
Feels liberating just thinking of not having this PIS staring at me all day long!
Ah, Mother's Day
Am I the only one who thinks Mother's Day is a big deal?
I talked to my mom about it yesterday, and she is working 2 jobs and we won't be able to spend time together so we're delaying our celebration until Monday since I'm off work.
Earlier yesterday, P called me to tell me he just realized that I was a mom. He told me that least year I wasn't since I was still pregnant (I think I was, but, whatever) and good thing he remembered early so he has time to get me a present.
But I have an idea for a present for my mom, which should be awesome. I've been thinking about it for a while, I just hadn't followed through since it is a huge time commmittment, the one thing I wasn't able to give up. But this year, I'm going to do it.
I can't say what it is, because she reads this blog, but I'm going for tears. Yeah, you heard me. Nonny doens't need stuff anymore, no more perfume or earrings, or whatever, so I go for the heart. To let her know hom much I really do love and appreciate her.
I talked to my mom about it yesterday, and she is working 2 jobs and we won't be able to spend time together so we're delaying our celebration until Monday since I'm off work.
Earlier yesterday, P called me to tell me he just realized that I was a mom. He told me that least year I wasn't since I was still pregnant (I think I was, but, whatever) and good thing he remembered early so he has time to get me a present.
But I have an idea for a present for my mom, which should be awesome. I've been thinking about it for a while, I just hadn't followed through since it is a huge time commmittment, the one thing I wasn't able to give up. But this year, I'm going to do it.
I can't say what it is, because she reads this blog, but I'm going for tears. Yeah, you heard me. Nonny doens't need stuff anymore, no more perfume or earrings, or whatever, so I go for the heart. To let her know hom much I really do love and appreciate her.
May 9, 2007
Fear of Failure
Damn, you know when you read something, and it's just a bit too close for comfort? Like studying psychology and you get convinced that you have half the diagnosis in the book, except this time you really know for sure that shit, that's something to work on....
I read a blog earlier today, and it hit pretty close to home, a little closer than I'd like to admit, and I mind-blocked it, but instead of going away I started to mind-trip off it and whoa... I'm embarassed to say that I am horribly afraid of failure.
Now some people are like, "Duh Woman," and maybe it's one of those things that is super-evident to an outsider, but not so obvious when you're stuck in the middle of it. I used to pride myself that I was hired at every job I applied to, until today I started thinking that I've only applied to a handful of places, so really, that's no major feat. I mean, yes, I take pride in the fact that I was on Student Government and I was chosen for a NASA internship, and I was hired as one of five out of more than 100 applicants for my current position, but I think in most of those situations, I could have taken it a step further, but I didn't because I was scared to fail.
I could have run for Governemnt after Freshman year, I really enjoyed it, but although I've always been well-know, I haven't really been in the "popular" group at school and I didn't want to embarass myself by making an effort for something I really wanted, and not succeeding. So I chose instead to just not run. To not put myself out there, to not take that risk. I wish now I had, but I can't go back and change that.
When I was at the NASA internship, I can't say I consciously sabotoged myself. I genuinely had issues with some of the people there, but I wonder if those issues were an excuse for me to leave early so that I didn't end up not being the best, the smartest intern there? I was definitely the cutest, but not quite as sharp as some of the other people.
And with this job, I wanted to apply for a different one, but I didn't think I had enough experience and I knew I would have a better chance of getting into this one so I didn't even apply for the other one. I figured that if I was an EW for long enough that maybe I'd have a better chance of doing what I really want to do.
I think this fear of failure has some positives too, though. P and I are still together because I didn't want to disappoint my family and friends by being a divorcee afer a year.
But it's easier to say "I didn't even try," than "I tired and I failed." For me at least. It's easier for me to be dependent on P than to put myself out in public to make new friends and develop new interests. It's just easier to avoid life than to face it head on and have the disappointments that are bound to happen.
But I'm working on it. When I'm feeling depressed, I'm getting better at getting out of the house for a hike instead of sitting in my room alone. And I'm looking for new jobs that I really want to do, not just what I'm qualified to do. I'm trying to push past my limits and develop new hobbies and just experience more that is out of my comfort zone. I'm trying to get past my faer of failure, even before I recognized what it was.
I read a blog earlier today, and it hit pretty close to home, a little closer than I'd like to admit, and I mind-blocked it, but instead of going away I started to mind-trip off it and whoa... I'm embarassed to say that I am horribly afraid of failure.
Now some people are like, "Duh Woman," and maybe it's one of those things that is super-evident to an outsider, but not so obvious when you're stuck in the middle of it. I used to pride myself that I was hired at every job I applied to, until today I started thinking that I've only applied to a handful of places, so really, that's no major feat. I mean, yes, I take pride in the fact that I was on Student Government and I was chosen for a NASA internship, and I was hired as one of five out of more than 100 applicants for my current position, but I think in most of those situations, I could have taken it a step further, but I didn't because I was scared to fail.
I could have run for Governemnt after Freshman year, I really enjoyed it, but although I've always been well-know, I haven't really been in the "popular" group at school and I didn't want to embarass myself by making an effort for something I really wanted, and not succeeding. So I chose instead to just not run. To not put myself out there, to not take that risk. I wish now I had, but I can't go back and change that.
When I was at the NASA internship, I can't say I consciously sabotoged myself. I genuinely had issues with some of the people there, but I wonder if those issues were an excuse for me to leave early so that I didn't end up not being the best, the smartest intern there? I was definitely the cutest, but not quite as sharp as some of the other people.
And with this job, I wanted to apply for a different one, but I didn't think I had enough experience and I knew I would have a better chance of getting into this one so I didn't even apply for the other one. I figured that if I was an EW for long enough that maybe I'd have a better chance of doing what I really want to do.
I think this fear of failure has some positives too, though. P and I are still together because I didn't want to disappoint my family and friends by being a divorcee afer a year.
But it's easier to say "I didn't even try," than "I tired and I failed." For me at least. It's easier for me to be dependent on P than to put myself out in public to make new friends and develop new interests. It's just easier to avoid life than to face it head on and have the disappointments that are bound to happen.
But I'm working on it. When I'm feeling depressed, I'm getting better at getting out of the house for a hike instead of sitting in my room alone. And I'm looking for new jobs that I really want to do, not just what I'm qualified to do. I'm trying to push past my limits and develop new hobbies and just experience more that is out of my comfort zone. I'm trying to get past my faer of failure, even before I recognized what it was.
May 8, 2007
At home with with P, I'm lovey-dovey, mostly accommodating, but also very quick to point out error and proposed solutions.
When I am interacting with Taryn, I am also very loving, but much less critical, and very thoughtful in my praise.
Conversing with some friends, I am more outgoing, sharing my ideas and stream-of-consciousness freely, but with others I am reserved, more apt to listen than offer my own opinions.
In the work environment, I am super-quiet, very hesitant to call attention to myself, reluctant to offer any insight in a situation, and generally stick to myself, my office, and my business.
The more I've thought about it today, I think these are all genuine facets of my personality. I can't say that one is more "me" than another, although I do feel more comfotable in some situations than others and am more likely to be open with some people, as opposed to others, depending on the context of our relationship.
I think I am generally a reserved person. I prefer to observe a situation and get a feel for the ideas and beliefs of those in it before I make myself known, and I feel like I've almost always carried that guardedness with me. But people who know me know I'm a dork, a loud-mouthed goof when I feel comfortable, though I feel like I always try to stay conscious of my affect on others.
Maybe the difference in comfort level has more to do with the extremes in emotion that I am willing to show, which I always feel but possibly hide better from people that I don't want to know me too well. If you've never seen me pissed, that's a huge part of my personality that I haven't.. for whatever reason... shown to you.
I don't know. I almost feel like there is so much to me, it's hard to find anyone who has seen most, or all, of me. Even those people who are closest to me don't know a lot about one part of me or another, and maybe it's normal? I think it's kind of cool to have a special relationship with someone, to share inside jokes and stories, but to have some things that are only between you and someone else. I don't know if I'd be comfortable if someone knew everything about me. What if they decided they weren't impressed after all? Or they got bored with the lack of mystery?
And I don't feel like I normally intentionally withhold parts of myself, but I think in a way it's fun to be able to be that different person sometimes. If I feel like I need to vent, I can slip into the wife-role and have a glass of wine with a girlfriend and bitch about how much it sucks to be married sometimes. Or if I want to escape the wifey-ness I can dress up in a hot little outfit and go clubbing with some of my single girlfriends.
I do wish that some of my friendships could involve more than one facet of my personality, but sometimes it just doesn't work out like that, maybe because I hate using the phone, or because they already have enough people filling that role for them. Anyway, I appreciate my friends for what each brings, and I love them, and shit, my breath hella smells like garlic from lunch.
Yech....
When I am interacting with Taryn, I am also very loving, but much less critical, and very thoughtful in my praise.
Conversing with some friends, I am more outgoing, sharing my ideas and stream-of-consciousness freely, but with others I am reserved, more apt to listen than offer my own opinions.
In the work environment, I am super-quiet, very hesitant to call attention to myself, reluctant to offer any insight in a situation, and generally stick to myself, my office, and my business.
The more I've thought about it today, I think these are all genuine facets of my personality. I can't say that one is more "me" than another, although I do feel more comfotable in some situations than others and am more likely to be open with some people, as opposed to others, depending on the context of our relationship.
I think I am generally a reserved person. I prefer to observe a situation and get a feel for the ideas and beliefs of those in it before I make myself known, and I feel like I've almost always carried that guardedness with me. But people who know me know I'm a dork, a loud-mouthed goof when I feel comfortable, though I feel like I always try to stay conscious of my affect on others.
Maybe the difference in comfort level has more to do with the extremes in emotion that I am willing to show, which I always feel but possibly hide better from people that I don't want to know me too well. If you've never seen me pissed, that's a huge part of my personality that I haven't.. for whatever reason... shown to you.
I don't know. I almost feel like there is so much to me, it's hard to find anyone who has seen most, or all, of me. Even those people who are closest to me don't know a lot about one part of me or another, and maybe it's normal? I think it's kind of cool to have a special relationship with someone, to share inside jokes and stories, but to have some things that are only between you and someone else. I don't know if I'd be comfortable if someone knew everything about me. What if they decided they weren't impressed after all? Or they got bored with the lack of mystery?
And I don't feel like I normally intentionally withhold parts of myself, but I think in a way it's fun to be able to be that different person sometimes. If I feel like I need to vent, I can slip into the wife-role and have a glass of wine with a girlfriend and bitch about how much it sucks to be married sometimes. Or if I want to escape the wifey-ness I can dress up in a hot little outfit and go clubbing with some of my single girlfriends.
I do wish that some of my friendships could involve more than one facet of my personality, but sometimes it just doesn't work out like that, maybe because I hate using the phone, or because they already have enough people filling that role for them. Anyway, I appreciate my friends for what each brings, and I love them, and shit, my breath hella smells like garlic from lunch.
Yech....
May 7, 2007
Actors All the Time
I know we all do it, I see it in myself more often than I'd like to admit, but isn't it interesting how differenly people act, depending on who the audience is?
So how do we tell who is the real us, and who is merely a facade?
So how do we tell who is the real us, and who is merely a facade?
May 6, 2007
Ms. Independent
Time and again I've teetered on the brink of despair. Time and again, I've been violently flung over the edge, falling blindly and helplessly into this never-ending pit of despair. A hard, black, soul-crushing journey, my body beaten up on the way down, hitting every last regret, every sorrow, every unfulfilled wish, and time and again I've managed to eventually find one thing to cling to. One tiny thread of hope that I can dig my nails into and climb back out again, never fully reaching the top, but always so close I can breathe in the sweet scent of happiness, before I am ruthlessly tossed again to face the impending death of my psyche that has yet to occur.
And each time, I realize that I have to make my own happiness. I need to re-discover myself. I started this blog to do just that a couple years ago when I was sure it was the last time. Curled up in the fetal position in bed, the blankets covering my head, my mind drifting away from inhaling too much of my own carbon dioxide, wishing for a quick end to the misery but knowing all along I have so much left to do. My body wracked by alternating shivers and body-drenching sweats from a psychologically induced physical illness I knew that I was creating the madness in my life that I longed to get rid of, but clung desperately to.
Every time I am disappointed to tears, every time I know, and write, that I need to get out. I need to un-stick myself from this shoddy excuse for being miserable, grab life by the balls and BE ME! But I feel so helpless in the face of what I've envisioned, because as lofty as my goals for personal exploration and re-invention are, I don't know how.
I despise the fact that I have become so dependant on him. I always prided myself on being self-sufficuent, on putting myself through college by working full-time, and appreciating the help and support I received from friends and family, but still able to claim these accomplishments as my own. And at some point I took being married too far. I love P madly, but about 3 years ago, I stopped loving myself so that I could love him more.
And where has it gotten me? I'm fucking miserable half the time. I'm almost always depressed and anxious. My joy is my daughter, but I'm scared shitless to put that burden on her, for fear it will influence her way of being and maybe she'll turn out like me. She is my life, and even now, this morning, when I'm normally happy to be up with her at 5am, to have a little cuddle time while she nurses, feed her some cereal, then sit on the floor for a hour drinking my coffee while we play with her toys before her next nap. Today, I couldn't do it. I nursed her in bed, then handed her to her father, turned my back to them both and cried myself back to sleep.
So. Screw all those other resolutions. If I can't get my mind right, I can't do anything else. Five months into the year, and I don't feel any better about myself. There is a trainer a my job who posts a question at each sesison, "What is the most important thing to your life?" Not what is most important in your life, but what one thing could you filter all your decisions through to make the best ones for yourself. I always said happiness, but I'm realizing that I don't exactly know what makes me happy. I don't know myself, and I can't decide what is going to make me happy and content until I figure out who in the fuck I am, what I like, what makes me happy.
I'm going for SELF-SUFFICIENCY. I don't know how to be independent anymore, I don't know how to be happy, but I think that if I can be self-sufficient, if I can develop myself outside of being a wife and a mother, figure out who I am, what I enjoy, and do it them maybe I can be happy and independent, and mentally healthy.
And anyone who wants to join me, please, I can use all the support I can find. If I'm being co-dependent, call me on it. If I'm hiding out because I'm depressed, point it out. I'll probably be pissed off to get called out, but I'll appreciate it in a few years when I am able to get my shit together and look back and see how far I've come.
And now, I'm off to hike with Taryn. These walls are closing in on me, and I need to take some initiative to get the fuck outta here.
And each time, I realize that I have to make my own happiness. I need to re-discover myself. I started this blog to do just that a couple years ago when I was sure it was the last time. Curled up in the fetal position in bed, the blankets covering my head, my mind drifting away from inhaling too much of my own carbon dioxide, wishing for a quick end to the misery but knowing all along I have so much left to do. My body wracked by alternating shivers and body-drenching sweats from a psychologically induced physical illness I knew that I was creating the madness in my life that I longed to get rid of, but clung desperately to.
Every time I am disappointed to tears, every time I know, and write, that I need to get out. I need to un-stick myself from this shoddy excuse for being miserable, grab life by the balls and BE ME! But I feel so helpless in the face of what I've envisioned, because as lofty as my goals for personal exploration and re-invention are, I don't know how.
I despise the fact that I have become so dependant on him. I always prided myself on being self-sufficuent, on putting myself through college by working full-time, and appreciating the help and support I received from friends and family, but still able to claim these accomplishments as my own. And at some point I took being married too far. I love P madly, but about 3 years ago, I stopped loving myself so that I could love him more.
And where has it gotten me? I'm fucking miserable half the time. I'm almost always depressed and anxious. My joy is my daughter, but I'm scared shitless to put that burden on her, for fear it will influence her way of being and maybe she'll turn out like me. She is my life, and even now, this morning, when I'm normally happy to be up with her at 5am, to have a little cuddle time while she nurses, feed her some cereal, then sit on the floor for a hour drinking my coffee while we play with her toys before her next nap. Today, I couldn't do it. I nursed her in bed, then handed her to her father, turned my back to them both and cried myself back to sleep.
So. Screw all those other resolutions. If I can't get my mind right, I can't do anything else. Five months into the year, and I don't feel any better about myself. There is a trainer a my job who posts a question at each sesison, "What is the most important thing to your life?" Not what is most important in your life, but what one thing could you filter all your decisions through to make the best ones for yourself. I always said happiness, but I'm realizing that I don't exactly know what makes me happy. I don't know myself, and I can't decide what is going to make me happy and content until I figure out who in the fuck I am, what I like, what makes me happy.
I'm going for SELF-SUFFICIENCY. I don't know how to be independent anymore, I don't know how to be happy, but I think that if I can be self-sufficient, if I can develop myself outside of being a wife and a mother, figure out who I am, what I enjoy, and do it them maybe I can be happy and independent, and mentally healthy.
And anyone who wants to join me, please, I can use all the support I can find. If I'm being co-dependent, call me on it. If I'm hiding out because I'm depressed, point it out. I'll probably be pissed off to get called out, but I'll appreciate it in a few years when I am able to get my shit together and look back and see how far I've come.
And now, I'm off to hike with Taryn. These walls are closing in on me, and I need to take some initiative to get the fuck outta here.
May 5, 2007
Waste of a Day
It would be so easy to blame it on Taryn that I'm home right now. It would be easy to say that if she would sleep somewhere besides her crib, I'd be out partying. But she doesn't. And I'm not.
I'm not angry about her. I'm angry that P made us leave late, so I literally got 10 minutes to sit and relax, when I could have had an hour and a half. But he refused to help me with anything, and decided at the last minute to take a shower. And to work on a mix CD I'd been asking about for a week.
And we could have taken 2 cars, but he didn't want to waste gas. So instead of him bringing her home and me finally! getting a night out to relax with friends, I have to go home with him.
And his only response: "I didn't want to go anyway. You should have just left me at the house with the baby."
Funny, I seem to remember similar words before, and when I actually go out without him, he gets so petty and vindictive. Like "falling asleep and not hearing his phone" when he agreed to pick me up so I wouldn't drive drunk. Or "accidentally taking my keys" so that I can't leave unless someone picks me up. He doesn't want to go out with me, and he doesn't want me to go out without him. So what the fuck am I supposed to do? Stay home every night, by myself?
Frustrated and angry don't explain how hopelessly depressed I am.
I'm not angry about her. I'm angry that P made us leave late, so I literally got 10 minutes to sit and relax, when I could have had an hour and a half. But he refused to help me with anything, and decided at the last minute to take a shower. And to work on a mix CD I'd been asking about for a week.
And we could have taken 2 cars, but he didn't want to waste gas. So instead of him bringing her home and me finally! getting a night out to relax with friends, I have to go home with him.
And his only response: "I didn't want to go anyway. You should have just left me at the house with the baby."
Funny, I seem to remember similar words before, and when I actually go out without him, he gets so petty and vindictive. Like "falling asleep and not hearing his phone" when he agreed to pick me up so I wouldn't drive drunk. Or "accidentally taking my keys" so that I can't leave unless someone picks me up. He doesn't want to go out with me, and he doesn't want me to go out without him. So what the fuck am I supposed to do? Stay home every night, by myself?
Frustrated and angry don't explain how hopelessly depressed I am.
May 4, 2007
First Birthday
Fridays with nothing to do suck.
I was thinking about Taryn's birthday party, and I relaly don't know if I want to go all out for the first one. I think having a smaller party at the house would be fine, as long as all the kids are entertained.
I'm just thinking that Taryn is awake for all of two hours at a time, and I don't want to have to go home to let her sleep while everyone else is out at the BBQ. And I don't want to have to pay to rent the space because really? It's for the adults right? I doubt they'll care if the party is at my house or at the Lagoon. And if it's planned for a Saturdy afternoon, who will be working, who will be off, who has prior engagements...
I don't want to skimp, since it is her first and everything but... I don't want to resent throwing a party (without alcohol) at a cool location just for everyone else.
Crappers, I just don't know.
I was thinking about Taryn's birthday party, and I relaly don't know if I want to go all out for the first one. I think having a smaller party at the house would be fine, as long as all the kids are entertained.
I'm just thinking that Taryn is awake for all of two hours at a time, and I don't want to have to go home to let her sleep while everyone else is out at the BBQ. And I don't want to have to pay to rent the space because really? It's for the adults right? I doubt they'll care if the party is at my house or at the Lagoon. And if it's planned for a Saturdy afternoon, who will be working, who will be off, who has prior engagements...
I don't want to skimp, since it is her first and everything but... I don't want to resent throwing a party (without alcohol) at a cool location just for everyone else.
Crappers, I just don't know.
May 3, 2007
I'll Stop Nursing When She Grows Her OWN Boobs!
Someone at work today commented that nursing a baby past 9 months to a year is incestual.
WHAT?
I was so shocked shitless at how utterly American she sounded in that moment, that the only reply that I could think of was, "I guess I won't tell you when I'm nursing Taryn past a year."
Regardless of the fact that the AAP reccommends nursing to at least a year, and the WHO suggests two years, really? Nursing your own child, a child not mature enough to go without a diaper, or to sleep in a real bed is suddenly too old to drink the perfect food for her?
What's the difference between a mom who exclusively pumps and feeds her child that milk for two years, and a woman who nurses her child for the same amount of time. How can a woman say it's disgusting to see older infant nursing?
It's so sad to me that women have become so out-of-touch with their own bodies. It's these women who are so afraid of the pain of childbirth that they don't ever have children. I wonder if the thought crosses ther minds that women have been birthing children and nursing them into todlerhood for thousands of years? It's so upsetting that childbirth has become a disgusting thing, something to hide and medicate and that women no longer trust their bodies to do what they were designed to do perfectly.
And this is not to rag on women who have medication during labor, or who choose not to nurse their child for whatever reason. I just don't get the criticism of what has naturally and historically been the only way to birth and nurture young children.
I personally love nursing Taryn. I love the closeness, and the feeling that I can provide for her something that no one else in the world can give. I treasure the nights we sat in the glider, nursing and looking out the wondow at the stars, or stroking her downy hair. I feel privelidged to be able to comfort her when nothing else will. I appreciate the benefits I've seen in my own body from nursing, the weight it has helped me to lose, and the motivation to keep eating healthy foods and drinking lots of water, and taking my vitamins to keep my milk as healthy as possible for her. I value the immunological benefits to her, that even when she gets sick it's over relatively fast, and I'm sure she's been sick far less than many other formula-fed babies.
The excuse to hold her close for those precious minutes throughout the day would have been enough to keep me nursing her as long as I have, and all that other stuff is what keeps my mind open to nursing her through early toddler-hood. I can't see myself nursing her when she starts pre-school, but I don't see a problem with letting her nurse as long as she wants, or until the second trimester of my next pregnancy, whichever comes first. I may have a problem with her being out of diapers and still nursing, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.
It just makes me sad that some women will never be able to experience what I have with Taryn, simply because society tells them it is disgusting and that a man-made formula is better than breastmilk. I don't judge these women, it's not their fault they were raised like that, but I do resent the scientists who propogated the lie that breastmilk and nursing wasn't a beautiful bonding experience, and the best possible start for babies.
I can't judge folks who decide not to nurse their children past a certain age, because when I see a 4 year old asking his mom for titty, I might look at them both a little crazy. But now that I've been there, she'll always be my baby. And if she wants to nurse until she's two, I'm cool with it. I probably won't be doing it in public, bit a nip in the morning, or a nightcap before bed doesn't seem horribly disgusting and incestous to me.
WHAT?
I was so shocked shitless at how utterly American she sounded in that moment, that the only reply that I could think of was, "I guess I won't tell you when I'm nursing Taryn past a year."
Regardless of the fact that the AAP reccommends nursing to at least a year, and the WHO suggests two years, really? Nursing your own child, a child not mature enough to go without a diaper, or to sleep in a real bed is suddenly too old to drink the perfect food for her?
What's the difference between a mom who exclusively pumps and feeds her child that milk for two years, and a woman who nurses her child for the same amount of time. How can a woman say it's disgusting to see older infant nursing?
It's so sad to me that women have become so out-of-touch with their own bodies. It's these women who are so afraid of the pain of childbirth that they don't ever have children. I wonder if the thought crosses ther minds that women have been birthing children and nursing them into todlerhood for thousands of years? It's so upsetting that childbirth has become a disgusting thing, something to hide and medicate and that women no longer trust their bodies to do what they were designed to do perfectly.
And this is not to rag on women who have medication during labor, or who choose not to nurse their child for whatever reason. I just don't get the criticism of what has naturally and historically been the only way to birth and nurture young children.
I personally love nursing Taryn. I love the closeness, and the feeling that I can provide for her something that no one else in the world can give. I treasure the nights we sat in the glider, nursing and looking out the wondow at the stars, or stroking her downy hair. I feel privelidged to be able to comfort her when nothing else will. I appreciate the benefits I've seen in my own body from nursing, the weight it has helped me to lose, and the motivation to keep eating healthy foods and drinking lots of water, and taking my vitamins to keep my milk as healthy as possible for her. I value the immunological benefits to her, that even when she gets sick it's over relatively fast, and I'm sure she's been sick far less than many other formula-fed babies.
The excuse to hold her close for those precious minutes throughout the day would have been enough to keep me nursing her as long as I have, and all that other stuff is what keeps my mind open to nursing her through early toddler-hood. I can't see myself nursing her when she starts pre-school, but I don't see a problem with letting her nurse as long as she wants, or until the second trimester of my next pregnancy, whichever comes first. I may have a problem with her being out of diapers and still nursing, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.
It just makes me sad that some women will never be able to experience what I have with Taryn, simply because society tells them it is disgusting and that a man-made formula is better than breastmilk. I don't judge these women, it's not their fault they were raised like that, but I do resent the scientists who propogated the lie that breastmilk and nursing wasn't a beautiful bonding experience, and the best possible start for babies.
I can't judge folks who decide not to nurse their children past a certain age, because when I see a 4 year old asking his mom for titty, I might look at them both a little crazy. But now that I've been there, she'll always be my baby. And if she wants to nurse until she's two, I'm cool with it. I probably won't be doing it in public, bit a nip in the morning, or a nightcap before bed doesn't seem horribly disgusting and incestous to me.
May 2, 2007
Nothing Sweeter in the World
My favorite part of the day is right between 4:28 and 4:42. Just before I leave work, I am so excited to go home to see Taryn. My heart starts beating a little faster, jokes are a bit more funny, my steps just that much quicker.
As soon as I open the door and see her face, all the stress of the day melts away. As soon as her eyes and mine meet, and she gets a huge toothy grin on her face, raises her arms up to me and I swoop her up in a soul-soothing hug, I can't imagine anywhere else in the world I'd rather be, or any other person that I could possibly love that much.
I love snuggling in her wrinkly old-man neck, that smells like lavender from her bath the night before, and dried veggies from lunch, sometimes spit-up or dog... but on her it's this magical mix of scents that clear my mind of distractions and focus me on the intense loveliness of the moment.
And holding her cold toes in my hand while she tries to rip out my earrings or nose ring, pulls my baby hairs, or yanks my shirt up to my forehead like, "Mama, hurry up and get this crap off so I can eat!" Really. I can't think of a more pleasant, calming, restorative few minutes than right when I get home.
I see why kids have to break their parents' hearts. If Taryn agreed, I'd probably nurse her until she was married, have her sleep with me at night until she had her own kids, and stop by daily for snuggles and hugs until I was laid in my grave.
The most intense feeling of my life is this right here. The love for my child. This is what I've been searching for my entire life, through drugs, alcohol, partying... Nothing can compare to the pure bliss I feel when I see my T-Boogie.
As soon as I open the door and see her face, all the stress of the day melts away. As soon as her eyes and mine meet, and she gets a huge toothy grin on her face, raises her arms up to me and I swoop her up in a soul-soothing hug, I can't imagine anywhere else in the world I'd rather be, or any other person that I could possibly love that much.
I love snuggling in her wrinkly old-man neck, that smells like lavender from her bath the night before, and dried veggies from lunch, sometimes spit-up or dog... but on her it's this magical mix of scents that clear my mind of distractions and focus me on the intense loveliness of the moment.
And holding her cold toes in my hand while she tries to rip out my earrings or nose ring, pulls my baby hairs, or yanks my shirt up to my forehead like, "Mama, hurry up and get this crap off so I can eat!" Really. I can't think of a more pleasant, calming, restorative few minutes than right when I get home.
I see why kids have to break their parents' hearts. If Taryn agreed, I'd probably nurse her until she was married, have her sleep with me at night until she had her own kids, and stop by daily for snuggles and hugs until I was laid in my grave.
The most intense feeling of my life is this right here. The love for my child. This is what I've been searching for my entire life, through drugs, alcohol, partying... Nothing can compare to the pure bliss I feel when I see my T-Boogie.
May 1, 2007
Problems.
In my family growing up, it was perfectly fine and normal to show anger. So posting two opposite blogs back-to-back wasn't really a problem for me.
I'm sick of feeling like the only place I can really talk and explain myself is on this blog. And not that I want to stop blogging, but it irritates me that I have to take so much time to think things through before I respond.
Someone commented to me today that it was "funny" the two blogs I posted about P, and I didn't really say anything in response because I didn't understand the comment. Just because I'm pissed at him doesn't mean I love him any less, and just because one day I blog about loving him madly with all my heart, doesn't mean his faults are any less annoying. I guess I can see where it came from, but for me it's normal. Maybe being able to hold extreme opposites at the same time is a quality more easiely possessed by Geminis, I don't know.
Maybe the "funny" part is that I am able to express both emotions? I know for a lot of people, it's not acceptable to be angry. Maybe I'm just tired and hungry and irritable right now, and the feeling of being misunderstood it more than I want to deal with at the moment.
I think I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed with other people's "stuff" lately. I feel like I want to hide out for a while, sit in my office with the door closed and not see anyone for the rest of the day. Maybe I'm depressed that my life is so much plainer than everyone else's. People want to gush about all their exciting plans for the weekend, and me? I have nothing to do. I take Taryn to the park. Or on a walk with the dogs.
I feel like I should be doing more, but I don't want to. I don't want to be tired and hungover at work. I don't want to spend an hour getting ready to go to a club. I want to have coffee with my friends and watch the babies play, but I haven't cultivated friendships like that.
I just feel super-overwhelmed and super-misunderstood today. I have clients calling for updates on cases, I have people wanting to tell me about their lives, their friends, their pregnancies, and I just need to recoup alone for a little while.
Sorry.
I feel like a sponge today, already full of other people's water, and I need to dry out a bit to make room for myself. I need some quiet time. It's not that I don't care, really, I think I might care too much, and carry too much, and I don't have much time to talk about myself and my baby, my marriage ... except on here. Sad, eh? And I know it's not healthy, so I'm trying to change it, but today, I just don't have the energy. I don't have the energy to focus on myself and definitely not to focus on anyone else.
I'm sick of feeling like the only place I can really talk and explain myself is on this blog. And not that I want to stop blogging, but it irritates me that I have to take so much time to think things through before I respond.
Someone commented to me today that it was "funny" the two blogs I posted about P, and I didn't really say anything in response because I didn't understand the comment. Just because I'm pissed at him doesn't mean I love him any less, and just because one day I blog about loving him madly with all my heart, doesn't mean his faults are any less annoying. I guess I can see where it came from, but for me it's normal. Maybe being able to hold extreme opposites at the same time is a quality more easiely possessed by Geminis, I don't know.
Maybe the "funny" part is that I am able to express both emotions? I know for a lot of people, it's not acceptable to be angry. Maybe I'm just tired and hungry and irritable right now, and the feeling of being misunderstood it more than I want to deal with at the moment.
I think I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed with other people's "stuff" lately. I feel like I want to hide out for a while, sit in my office with the door closed and not see anyone for the rest of the day. Maybe I'm depressed that my life is so much plainer than everyone else's. People want to gush about all their exciting plans for the weekend, and me? I have nothing to do. I take Taryn to the park. Or on a walk with the dogs.
I feel like I should be doing more, but I don't want to. I don't want to be tired and hungover at work. I don't want to spend an hour getting ready to go to a club. I want to have coffee with my friends and watch the babies play, but I haven't cultivated friendships like that.
I just feel super-overwhelmed and super-misunderstood today. I have clients calling for updates on cases, I have people wanting to tell me about their lives, their friends, their pregnancies, and I just need to recoup alone for a little while.
Sorry.
I feel like a sponge today, already full of other people's water, and I need to dry out a bit to make room for myself. I need some quiet time. It's not that I don't care, really, I think I might care too much, and carry too much, and I don't have much time to talk about myself and my baby, my marriage ... except on here. Sad, eh? And I know it's not healthy, so I'm trying to change it, but today, I just don't have the energy. I don't have the energy to focus on myself and definitely not to focus on anyone else.
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