Bridges Out of Poverty

Yesterday, I went to the most amazing workshop I have attended in my life.

Not only was the presenter a down-to-earth, friendly, empathetic, knowledgeable and funny woman, the information she presented has answered so many questions that I have had in my life, and given me so much insight into my own situation that I am stunned. It’s like a light bulb has gone off in my head, and I am dying to learn more about myself and my clients.

There has been a disconnect between my husband and myself since we were married, and I honestly am in the wrong because I chalked up his “laziness” to being unmotivated. The reality that I have come to realize today is that I am operating in the frame of mind of the middle class, where hard work (see last post), achievement and material wealth are my guiding principals. I am working my ass off every day to give Boogie a better life than I had, and I am overwhelmed and frustrated with the prospect of doing that myself.

Pedro, however, has been operating on a basis of poverty, where his values are very different than mine. He is focused on entertainment as a mental stimulus that he is not receiving anywhere else, and rather than hard work, he counts on his relationships to bring him through hard times.

This is not so much an Aha! for me, because they are differences that I have observed and lamented in the past, but this workshop put it in a contextual framework that makes sense. She pulls together all these little pieces of information that I have gleaned from my life, and makes it a cohesive theory, while simultaneously providing insight in what we can do to improve our interactions with people who operate on a different level than we do.

I was also so grateful to have some validation to the pruning of my friendship tree (my lame phrase, not Dr. Payne’s) that I did after high school. She said that in order for us to operate on the next higher level, we sometimes have to leave behind those relationships that are no longer working for us. The people that I stopped interacting with were fine with being where they were, and maybe had lofty expectations of their lives, but were not making moves to induce any type of change. I always felt that there was a difference between me and them, and maybe that was part of it. I wasn’t satisfied with where I was, I wanted to do better, I had the motivation to make changes in my life, and I had to let them and my old ways go before I could do that.

And once again I was reminded how lucky I was to have such an amazing woman as a mother. I really don’t think that if she hadn’t instilled in me a sense that I could do better than what I was mostly exposed to, that if she hadn’t connected me with professional women as role models, if she hadn’t encouraged me to help other people, thereby helping myself in the process, I may never have made it as far as I have.

More later, I have to go home and see my angel, but this is definitely not the last you’ll hear of this..

Blurbs

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate being manipulated? No? Well, let me explain…

I don’t mind being asked for favors, really, I relish it because it makes me feel important, and needed, and useful, and I do like doing things for people. But I abhor when people try to get me to do things in a backhanded way, guilt-tripping, dropping hints, being wishy-washy…

Hate it.

Especially with my clients. It’s one thing to have a sad story and I’m going to feel bad regardless of what the outcome it, but when you try to use that sad story to get me to do favors for you, then my sympathy turns to anger, real-ass-quick. Because not only and I not willing to lose my job so you can get more faster, I’m not willing to sell my soul for a months’ worth of benefits.

Which makes me think of a conversation I had recently with my dear husband, (whom I love dearly and have to do something real nice for Valentine’s Day because he’s been living with a bitch-and-rant wife for the last week. Sorry Punkin) in which we tried to figure out if the end result really can justify the means.

If I do something bad, maybe illegal, or just grimy, is it balanced out by the fact that I’m doing it for a good reason? Which then begs the argument of if I do something good, but for a crappy reason, where do I stand karmically?

This sounds familiar… but I have it running through my head constantly, slapping my brain around like the little loose end of a movie in an old-school projector.

***

And I also wanted to ask, like, why do I still get my jollies seeing men oogle sometimes, even when they are a bit skeevy? One double take can get my mind out of a downward spiral as long as he isn’t too creepy, but if he’s with his lady-friend, it pisses me off.

***

I was talking to a coworker the other day, one who drives 2 Mercedes and is always coming to work with designer bags and such. She commented on my boots, and I started bragging that I had bought them years ago at Payless for like $12. She got this shocked look on her face and told me I shouldn’t talk so loud so people wouldn’t know they were so cheap. And I had to tell her, Girl, I am damn proud of my $12 boots that after 5 tears they still get compliments. But she just looked flabbergasted, like, how the hell can you be proud to be wearing such cheap shoes?. Hehe.

It got me thinking though of my pipe-dreams to drive a nice car and carry a Prada purse. I really don’t know what I would do if I was rich. I joke around that I would buy an x5, but really? I don’t know if I could live with myself paying so much for a freaking car. I mean, I drive 20 minutes to and from work every day. And that includes going home at lunch to eat. I’d be juiced to get a Highlander Hybrid and a pair of real leather boots, and then I’d have probably $40k left over, instead of buying a luxury car. Yes, it would be nice, but I don’t give a damn what the Joneses think of me, they’ve seem by POS Mazda every day for the last 3 years, and I don’t think a nice car will change the bargain lover that I am at heart.

Laaa-deee-deee-daaaa….

I’m waiting to go to an all-day training, so excuse the blurbs. No time to get into the nitty-gritty details of something. Except!

In my mind: hard work + sacrifice = rewards.

Except in my life: hard work + sacrifice – fun = debt

Whatever happened to being rewarded for your hard work? Doesn’t it sometimes feel like we work, and work, and work, and we don’t ever go anywhere? I work 160 hours per month, and all I’ve been able to do with that is pay down my debt. Credit card, mortgage, school loans… I feel like I’m working for nothing, but then if I wasn’t working, I’d be screwed. I wanted to wait to have another baby until the credit cards were halved, and my school loans were paid off, but DAMN GINA. I don’t want my kids to be 10 years apart!

*sigh*

No one ever told me being an adult would be so hard. But I do have to be appreciative for what we have, because every night in Marin, there are 1600 people who don’t have a home. And that doesn’t include people who share a room between themselves and their kids, paying $500 per month to have ONE ROOM. They work, and they have nothing to show for it. They can’t go to school to better themselves, because they have to work to feed their kids.

I’m going to find a volunteer venture. I’m not sure what yet, but I have too much to not give back. I feel better now.

Boring Blahbity Blah

I don't know about the rest of the world, but when my brain is full and I need to remember something new, I'm pretty sure some obsolete fact that I haven't reviewed in years is pushed out to make room for the next new tid-bit.

I sort of feel the same way about my friends. I have a lot of acquaintances, but only a few close friends. And I never seem to have more than a few at a time, no matter my intentions. I was checking out the profile of someone I used to be friends with on myspace (because I'm creepy like that) but really I miss her boys and I got to thinking about how right after we stopped talking, a new friend sort of took her place.

Not intentionally, but I think I'm one of those people who likes to be involved with people, and I get overwhelmed with the obligations that can come along with too many close friends. That, and I don't want to expend the effort if it isn't going to be beneficial to both of us to maintain the friendship. I'm a busy woman, see.

God, this blog sucks. I need to stop with the rambling and write something funny, and interesting, eh? I'm just really having trouble processing things without writing lately, my world seems to have lost some of it's order, I feel hyper-sensitive and I need to get it out before it drives me batty, so.. to my three loyal readers, sorry.

I'll try to find some pictures to put up soon.

(But back to the friend thing) It seems like some people have endless supplies of friends, and I just don't. Or maybe I do, but I don't consider them friends? And realy, what distinguishes a friend, a good friend, and an acquaintance?

(Answer: my mood, and whether I've had my coffee yet, right?)

I think if I tell you intimate details of my life, you're a good friend. It I just tell you details, you're probably just a friend. Everyone else that I speak to is an acquaintance. Maybe? But for me intimate is ... well, you know who you are and what I say without censoring myself. Maybe a bit more TMI than most, but I'm over pretending to be without flaws. Too much energy wasted.

I forgot what my point here was, just to say I guess that I have a limited number of spaces open, a limited amount of time, energy, and self-disclosure that I'm willing to invest when you really never know how long a friendship will last. I value my time alone, so maybe that limits it too.

Eh, who knows. Tomorrow morning I may have something amusing to write. Maybe not though.

Anything Else I Can BItch About?

I don’t feel hormonal, just sensitive.

Boogie hasn’t been on her Mommy trip lately, the little Booger keeps yelling for her Papa, and when he picks her up, she waves bye-bye to me. It’s hard. When she’s clingy, sometimes I ache to get 5 minutes of peace, even if I have to lock myself in the bathroom. But then when she doesn’t want me around, I get butt-hurt.

I’ve had shit luck with doctor’s appointments this week. Evidently when Kaiser cancels an appointment for you, they don’t let you know. So I was at work stressing Monday because I thought my intake schedule was switched to a paper-day, and I found out at 8:07 that I had 3 intakes scheduled, and had to leave by 10:30 to get her there on time. Then I called Kaiser at 8:30, sat on hold for 10 minutes only to find out that they had canceled the appointment since she got her shot at her 18 month check-up in December. So I, being a rational and time-crunched individual asked if the next time they cancelled an appointment of mine, could they let me know?

No.

Evidently there is no where in their system to make a notation of that. Obviously no where to make a note not to call with an appointment reminder two days before, when it’s already been cancelled either.

After that, I’m just fucked-off, I can’t fix two of my Cash Aid cases because it’s blackout and the craptastic old computer system we use is dumb for the next two days.

P is having issues with his employment history due to his sort-of-shady past. Actually, I just called him (hello reporter! See this fact-checking I do?) He said that the credit check they ran says he still works at NorthFork, Greenpoint and CapitalOne. Which are all the same company. Doh.

I have 2 birthdays this weekend, and a shot-gun wedding in a couple weeks to attend, help plan a bachelorette party for, and get my family gussied up in time to attend.

And this nausea is starting to irk me. It’s like being pregnant without the big boobs and still having Aunt Flo come to visit. Sucky.

Jump, Tumble, Roll

Ugh.

Look, I compare my kid to others around the same age, mostly for height and weigh purposes, but in observing them I often notice that Boogie is more advanced (mostly verbal and expressive) and sometimes hasn't caught up yet (physically, like jumping).

But I absolutely cannot stand those mothers who want to constantly compare their kids to mine, constantly brag about what their kid can do because they think Boogie can't. Just because you haven't seen her do it, or because I haven't been gushing over every minute detail of what she does in a day, doesn't mean she isn't as smart, or funny, or loving as yours is.

Boogie is cautious. She's not as smiley and outgoing with strangers as a lot of other kids her age, and she got it honest, because after 24 years of learning about life, I'm still the same way. But it irritates me that people make assumptions about her mood based on her reserve. She's not angry because she's not smiling, she's observant. I know it pushes my buttons, because people have said the same things about me all my life and I want to protect her from the hurt I still feel when people label me a certain way.

And it all seems magnified by this toddler-comparison crap that is always happening. I know Boogie can't be the best at everything, but she's damn good at a lot of things, and no matter how much you brag about how cool your kid is, I'm always going to think mine is cooler. I think if people spent more time with her, they'd realize too how absolutely amazing she is, but mommy-acquaintances are so focused on their own kids that they can't for a second see my baby, and it hurts my feelings because it seems like the kids that get all the attention are the ones who are smiling all the time, and she gets pushed on the fringes of activities because she doesn't crave attention like them.

Sorry...rant. I just get so frustrated sometimes. I want the best for her, I know how smart she is, but the only thing people say about her is she's beautiful. And I appreciate that, but there is so much more to her that I want people to see, and I get talked over. I feel like I'm the perpetual listener, it's always the other person's kid who is in center stage, but I know how annoyed I get when I'm bombarded with bragging, so I really try not to do it. It's just nice when people truly want to hear about her milestones, and how well she communicates, how she does imaginary play, and is so generous with kisses and food... but maybe gymnastics is not the place to find those people, eh?

I think the only people who really appreciate what an incredible kid she is, are the ones who already know her.

Helplessly Individual

I did a home visit with a client yesterday afternoon, and on it, I met an educated, strong Black woman who should have been in her prime, but was instead a disabled single mother, raising two kids on less than $800 per month. She was alone. I couldn't do anything to help her.

Ever day at work I see people like me, my classmates, my peers, who come in downtrodden, beaten up by the world, disheartened, depressed, wasting their lives at low paying jobs, neglecting their children, then escaping it all through drugs and alcohol. And I can't help thinking why not me? Why didn't I turn out like them? We came form the same neighborhood, we both were raised by single mothers, we went to the same schools, we made similar mistakes, and we ended up so differently in such a short time.

One thing I noticed is that I never fit in. Feeling like a part of something has always eluded me. I can't wrap my head around how other people think sometimes, how they spend money frivolously not thinking of the future, or want to spend all their time getting wasted. I'm an outdoors girl, hiking or at a park with Taryn, or taking her someplace to explore something new. I want to do something when I have time, I need to be busy or I feel lost. And those people who had all the friends, not all of them, but many of the ones I see at work were more interested in fitting in than discovering who they really were.

The other thing I noticed is that I've always been surrounded by good, strong people. My mom is the most amazing woman I have ever met, I am so blessed to have her as a guide in my life, and she has struggled to show me that I can succeed at anything I put my mind to. She has shown me other examples of strong women, not Oprah-rich or well-to-do, but those women who have overcome obstacles most people could never imagine living through and they learned to love life at the end of it all.

Right now I am surrounded by mentors, people who I learn from everyday, even when they don't know they are teaching me a lesson. One is helping me to learn how to face conflict in an open and honest way right now, something I never learned to do. She is helping me learn to resolve problems I have while maintaining the relationship, just by not letting me push her away while being bitchy. Another is showing me that no matter what your circumstances, you can always go higher, do better, reach for more. It doesn't matter your educational background, if you fight for something, you're going to achieve it.

And I feel like I need to do something with this knowledge that I have. I feel like I've been given the gift of being an outsider, and by flitting from place to place, never being able to get comfortable enough to stop growing and learning, but I haven't helped anyone. I want to do something. I want to help people. I don't have enough money to feed the hungry people I see, or buy all the kids new sneakers, but I feel like I could help someone do better than where they are now, but I don't know how.

The client that I saw last night told me an inspirational story of her dying on the way to the hospital, and being ripped away from the peace and love of people she loved, back to a world of pain and heartache. I know she's here for a reason, she doesn't know why yet, and I'm not so self-centered to think she was brought back just to inspire me, but she has. I need to do something, to spread my good fortune and faith to other people, but I feel so helpless as an individual.

So there it is. I'm asking the Universe for a sign. I've asked before, and God showed me He was real, more than once to be honest, and call me crazy, I'm pretty sure that one day soon, I'll have an outlet to help people. I don't believe God has given me all these lessons and knowledge to keep all for myself.

Month Nineteen

This month has been full of milestones and just damn cute things that you've started doing, and I postponed writing this hoping that I'd remember them all, but I suppose the reality is, the longer I wait, the more I'll forget.

You have become amazingly adept at using a fork and spoon. The other day, I came downstairs while your Papa was feeding you and found you eating dry cereal with a fork. Not one of those plastic baby forks, but a real metal one, which is what you prefer, assumably (is that a word?) for the extra poking power. You've gotten in the habit of saying "aca" and slapping your hand against your highchair tray, indicating where you want your food so you can eat it yourself. Sometime I still get to feed you your oatmeal, but for the most part you eat independently, and don't miss too often unless it's something slippery, like corn out of a spoon.

You are eating better, but still mostly the basics: oatmeal, pasta, cereal, cheese and crackers. You do seem to eat more when we are out at other people's houses, like devouring the pozole at Tere's mom's place, and you're back in the habit of licking the dipping sauces, ranch dressing and ketchup, off of whatever we try to trick you into eating.

We went to your cousin's 5th birthday a couple weeks ago, and ever since you have been enthralled with the Happy Birthday song, you want Papa to sing it as you fall back asleep at 2am, when I nurse you after lunch, and you sang it to Jojo today after dinner. If your version, it's "Happy, happy, happy, happy....happy, happy" but so dang cute. And when it's over, you clap, like a gratified audience member, and say "mas" over and over until we are too sick of the song to sing anymore.

I thought we were rid of your binkie today, but I fear it's going to take a bit more effort on our part to get you to give it up. You don't ask for it unless you are going to sleep, but you will keep fussing in the middle of the night if you wake up and can't find one, so I've been sticking one in with you every night. I don't quite get the allure, you've chewed holes in all of them, so there is no suction going on, but maybe it's just a comfort issue now. We'll see... I don't see a whole lot of harm in letting you keep it a bit longer, as long as it's confined to sleep times.

Your Nonny bought you an easel for Christmas, and you have become quite the little artist in the last few weeks. When anyone comes to the house, you immediately want to show them how you can draw a picture, but if we try to draw with you, you grab the easel by one leg and pull it away. Or swat at our hands so we can't draw a picture, and color over our words with your scribbles. I can't wait until this summer when it is warm enough to get you outside finger painting. I can see the mess already, but I know you'll love it.

You're also down to one nap per day, every day. It's interesting, seeing your schedule change without any input from your Papa and I, but it's good too because we have a lot more time to go out tp shop, or go to the park, or visit with family and friends. And you love so much playing with other kids that even when you've been up for 6 hours, and we're way past your bedtime, you are still a joy to be around. We're hoping to bring you to the snow this year, though with Papa's new job it's iffy when that might happen.

The one complaint I have, is that you are super slow to warm up to certain people that you know, and I think people get a bit offended when you won't let them play with you. I don't fault you for it, I'm the same way, but my wish for you this month is that you develop a strong bond with your extended family, one that I never had, and that you learn that these people will be there for you whenever you need anything. You are so blessed to be loved by so many people.

This month has been rough for all of us, from the illnesses, to the scare with the kitty, Papa not having a job and the stresses of death and an unknown future, but you've been the glue holding us together, and I am so grateful every day when I see your beautiful face, you offer to share your cookie and you give me a big hug and a kiss. You are the most amazing, intelligent (I'm not the only one who says so!), loving, sweet girl I could ever imagine having. And every day I am reminded that I am so lucky to have you.

I love you,
Mommy

$104 per Year

I play the Super Lotto often. Not every week, though in the past couple months I have been doing it more and more consistently. I ask myself why, the chances of winning are so slim, but there is still a chance.

I'm going to let you in on a secret. Not a deep, dark one, but it is the thing that is driving my life right now, so it is very important in my life. I have this dream, that one day soon, P and I will win some money. We don't need the $43 million jackpot, just enough to buy a house free and clear. Not a huge house, but enough space for the kids, and an office, and a backyard. Not a brand-new one, but a solid shell that I can remodel with eco-friendly floors, paint, maybe solar panels if we won a decent amount.

If we didn't have to pay the mortgage, we could invest our salaries in retirement funds, college funds, and maybe a hobby for each of us. And then later in life, if anything happened and we couldn't work, we'd have the equity in the house to live on until things got straightened out.

It's a fanciful dream, and it will probably never happen, but that's what I wish for. I wish we could have the freedom to take a shell of a house, and turn it into our dream home. I wish we could work for more than that weeks' food, and the bills that have piled up. If we hit a big jackpot, I would want to buy an apartment building, fix it up ego-style, and make a living doing something I love, with the building as a side-job. I don't want to be rich, I want to be comfortable. I'm okay living on less, but I worry about the future. And I wish with all my soul that Boogie could grow up with a back yard.

One day, I'm going to get her one. I promised her.

Sunday Brunch

Is it sacrelidge to choose a faith based on the beauty of its church? How about to blindly follow a faith you don't wholly agree in, because its the same as your family's? And can you call yourself a Christian, Catholic, Muslim or Buddhist if you don't beleive in every aspect of that religion?

There is something intensely magnetic about the Catholic Church to me. I can't go past a church without feeling a draw to walk inside and savor the cool, soothing escape from the madness of the world. Of course I don't, not normally, because I feel out of place. I'm not Catholic. I haven't been baptized, though I've feigned a conversion so that Boogie could be baptized, but I want to be. I am soothed by the ritual, the chants and responses, the idols and candles, and the blind faith of the sick and elderly. I'm mesmerized by the grandeur of it all, by the feeling of peace I get when I walk into a church, any church, but especially Catholic ones.

All my life I've felt spiritual, some times it's been harder than others to maintain my faith, but mostly I feel a presence with me throughout my day, not intruding on my life, but giving me guidance in my decisions. I send up a silent prayer of thanks for a row of green lights, averting an accident, or a client who reminds me of why I wanted this job in the first place. I am thankful throughout the day for good news, and take a moment to stop and consult my inner guide when I have a decision to make.

But I'm torn, because I don't believe everything I'm supposed to. I don't believe that women shouldn't have the right to an abortion, and I don't think marriage is between a man and woman only. I'm brokenhearted that priests used their power and influence to kill millions of innocent people, to molest young children, to hoard money from the poor. But when I walk into a church that I believe in what they stand for, I don't feel the same reverence.

I love the sermons of Rev. E at EBCRS, but I'm not keen on the church. I love the formality and history that seeps out of a Catholic service, and singing Rick James with a gospel beat is not my idea of what to do on a Sunday morning. And although the people there are a fascinating mix, I just don't ever feel like I fit in there. My flippant response is that they are weird, they get in my personal space, they sing to loud and dance too wildly in the aisles.

But on deeper reflection, I think I don't like that church because it feels to me like there is a lack of respect for religion. I don't know where I got the idea that there should be structure to spirituality, but there it is, and it bothers me that EBCRS doesn't have that. It's like a mish-mash of whatever you want it to be, and to me its chaotic. I feel overwhelmed, like everyone is pressing in on me and I can't escape. If I could have Rev E in a Catholic church, I'd be in hog heaven. So I choose not to go so that I'm not torn by the dichotomy of what I have, anf what I want.

Cop-out, I know.

Anyway, I've just been feeling torn lately regarding what to do right now. I want Boogie to grow up with religion, to have a leg-up on faith, and to make spirituality an ingrained part of her being, but I don't know where or how to do that. I want her to be awed by Jesus and soothed by prayer, and to know that there is a reason for everything, that nothing will ever be too much to bear, and I want her to learn the lessons that have been passed down for thousands of years. Because although the stories may be exaggerted a bit (just slightly) I think everyone can learn something from them and I don't want Boogie to feel lost as a teen like I did, to not have a single place where she feels like she truly belongs.

Even if she decides later not to attend church, I want her to have that foundation, and to know it isand discuss the sermon, and have a tradition to pass down to my grandchildren. I want Boogie to have the choice, to be presented with all the 'facts' of creation and evolution, and to decide what she believes and how she will cultivate that faith in whatever she choooses.

And I want to belong to a community.

Oatmeal It Is

Well... damn.

I keep saying how I'd do anything to get Boogie to eat more, and I think I need to add a little caveat to that prayer, noting that normal eating hours are between 8am and 7pm.

She has been eating more the past few days. I pretty much gave up on getting her to eat a variety of foods after I spoke to my supervisor who told me her son was, and still is, a very picky eater. Picky like he eats dry cereal with a cup of milk. So I can't complain, Boogie will eat pasta with butter, cheese, rice, canned corn and oatmeal. And cheerios and blueberries. And clementines, mandarin oranges, wheat bread, cookies, and Ritz crackers, but not Wheat Thins.

Obviously Atkins is not every going to work for this kid.

So I've started making 2 cups of oatmeal every day, and she eats it all. I've been feeding her normal food, then topping her off with the oatmeal after every meal. And I thought we were doing good, because she hadn't gotten up at night, or refused to go to sleep because she was still hungry, until 4am this morning.

Yeah, who eats at 4am? I know the donut shops are open that early, but she's not a cop, and doesn't work in construction, so I don't see any logical reason for it. But she was up at 4 saying she was hungry, so I nursed her and put her back to sleep. I didn't believe it, I thought she just wanted to play, so I let her fuss on and off for about 20 minutes. Then she slept for about 40 minutes, and was back up at 5am, crying, saying she was hungry.

So I got her up, brought her down tot the kitchen, and fed her some oatmeal in the dark. Then put her back in her crib, no talking, no playing, no nursing, and she slept until 8am.

I hope I haven't started something I'll really regret a few days from now.

This Is Why I Have a Baby

Boogie has been fighting sleep lately, so she's been going down later and later every night. Her newest "trick" is telling me that she's hungry or needs water as soon as I walk into her bedroom. She's figured out that I'll do anything to get her to eat more, and it's been used to her advantage for the past week or so. On average, she's up about 30 extra minutes playing while I prepare something for her to eat, and while she nibbles a tiny bit and feeds the dogs.

A few nights ago she did the same thing, and finally around 9:30 I refused her pleas for more food, more water, more time to play, and brought her to her room and tried to nurse. She was shoving me away, screaming like a banshee and pointig at the door to go outside for something. I held her in a bear hug so she could kick and scream, but wouldn't hurt either of us, and I started singing hoping she'd wear herself out and fall asleep.

As soon as I started singing, she calmed down and began to nurse. It was just "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" so the song was fairly short and as soon as I ended it and took a breath to sing it again, she stopped nursing, looked up at me and started clapping. Then she smiled and asked for "mas."

Loves it.

I hadn't really sung to her much in the past few months. When she was a baby, she'd hum along with me, but as she got older she would scream, like the sound of my voice physically hurt her ears or something.

But lately, she's been into it again. We've been to two birthdays this past week, and at each she started singing along to the "Happy Birthday" song. She's got the happy down, but she kind of just sings jibberish for the rest, but it is so dang cute! I'm hoping to get her on film, maybe I can make a YouTube thing out of it.

Once Again, I'm Stuck

One of the things that I hate the most about myself is my complete inability to express myself verbally. Now I know that’s not fair to the rest of the world, and I know it’s odd considering I worked in a call center for a few years, but I honestly believe the synapses connecting my brain to my mouth are fucked up.

To overcome this deficit, I’ve learned to slow myself down. I feel like my brain processes too quickly for my mouth to catch up, and the only way for me to be coherent is to breathe deeply, plan my points, and calmly deliver whatever message I’m holding onto. The problem really arises when I’m emotional. I can’t control my nervous system as well as some people, hence the anxiety and depression, and unlike some people with the same afflictions, I can’t express myself in words either.

So I’ve gotten in the habit of writing things down, not only to process my emotions, like on this blog, but also to try to get my message across in a semi-coherent fashion. But the problem then becomes that the recipient of my message is left holding my words without my emotions, and it’s gotten me in crap situations over and over again. Even when I edit the original text to be more reader-friendly and less emotion-driven, I still seem to screw it up.

And I realize when I write that I’ve been holding a lot back for a long time, and it’s like a dam breaking for me. All those things that I’ve been trying to say but haven’t had the words for, come pouring out and my simple note turns into an angry diatribe and really it’s an excuse to vent, and it’s inexcusable because nobody should have to be subjected to my narcissistic rages, and yet the people closest to me are.

And I don’t know what to do about it.

Surrounded By Sickness

We're on her 8th set of PJs and the last clean crib sheet. Beginning at 6pm, Boogie has been vomiting every 30 minutes or so. It slowed down with an hour gap between her 9:15 and 10:20 sessions, and for a while I thought she might actually get some rest, but it happened again. I'm dreading tomorrow, but all I can do is wait and see if I'm going to catch this nasty virus too.

We actually spoke to a nice, knowledgeable advice nurse this time, who told us not to feed her anything, not even water for 30 minutes after she vomits, which made sense at first, but was quickly abandoned when we found the surprising regularity of her upheavals. This sucks, but I am so glad we have laminate floors and in-house laundry available, because if we didn't there'd be frantic calls to Nonny and Tere to drop by the laundromat.

P has been good. Amazing really how through this mini-crisis he's really stepped up. When she starts, I hold her and he cleans. We've both had to shower and change clothes a few times, but I'd do anything to ease her pain when I hear her hoarse little voice calling for me. I can't imagine the burning of her throat, to be doused in acid so much in so few hours, and when I hold her after she's finished, her little heart is thumping around her chest, probably from both fear and exertion.

On other fronts, I get to see Tygir tomorrow. No news is good news, according to the Vet, and I have a candle lit and send up a little prayer often that she'll be okay. I don't know exactly what's wrong yet, aside from her body shutting down due to her liver not functioning properly. When I brought her in Wednesday, she was cold, she couldn't keep her body heat up, she was severely dehydrated, hadn't eaten in 2 days and had very poor bladder control. Once again very grateful for laundry and no carpet.

So hopefully we'll know tomorrow. I don't know if the blood work will be back, but if it's terminal I'll have to decide what to do. I hope I can bring her home, I know she hates being alone, but I'm scared that once she gets here, she might let go.

2008 has already piled on more challenges that I imagined in 4 days. But like I said last year, He will never give me more than I can handle. I just need to get the lessons the first time around so that I don't go through this again..

Broken

The salty-sweet taste of lust fills my mouth
after all these years, I still want you
but shouldn't it be something deeper?

I'm falling head over heels every day
but not in love with you
only into my own pit of despair.

If love is the absence of disgust
I'm halfway there. But if it is more
than the sum of these parts, I'm lost.

And I'm fighting the inevitable.
I don't want to be like them.
I don't want to hurt like them.

But I don't know if I can stay and fight.
For us. For what? Only for her.
Or if I should leave.

Something is missing, we both know
the physicality is covering up a hole.
I don't know if I care enough to stay.

So one day at a time. And one day
you won't be enough to keep me here.
It's nothing you've done.

I'm the broken one.