Thank you so much. No one would help me at xxxxxxxx. You're a nice lady.
It does not get better than that. Nothing can compete with hearing those words. Except for stuff my family says to me, but that is another part of my Universe, and, so there.
Today began badly. I overslept by an hour and a half. Yep. Even I can hardly believe it. Rush. No breakfast. No biscuit baking for my lunch today so that I could make little sandwiches from the left-over corned beef. So, I was forced to craft a sandwich from orange infused dark chocolate wrapped around a slice of beef and an apple slice.
It was surprisingly good, but I now have a stomach ache. Not a repeatable recipe.
My first two clients were no-shows. We waffle back and forth here about whether or not to telephone these folk the day before to remind them of their appointments. Like they do here for registrants to the computer classes and like the doctor's office does, and no-shows are not only an inconvenience, but can be costly. I get that.
I have finally ended the debate by choosing to not make those phone calls. People come to me because they experienced or are still having trouble finding and keeping jobs.
And, my belief is that dragging themselves over here and doing the pre-job work they need is their responsibility. No employer is going to make daily calls or deliver reminders to anyone concerning their need to be at work the next day/shift.
They need to remember for themselves. Period.
Now, if I did not always have work to do, a seemingly endless process of research and support for all of my clients, that might be different. Sitting here, twiddling something, would not be my first choice of activity, even if there were the potential of a client actually showing up for his/her appointment. To have that person show up on time would be welcome. And surprising. There are exceptions. My first client after lunch was a half hour early because she could not wait to get started. It was nice and I kind of expected it of her when we spoke last week.
She did some really hard and successful work, as well. I wish that I could say that the majority of the people with whom I work are like her, but they are not. One of the reasons they come to see me is that they have consumed all of their other available resources. They arrive, if they arrive, late, are unprepared and unwilling to do the work.
I have had clients fall asleep whilst I am typing something we just discussed. This same client missed several appointments, and his solution to oversleeping was that I would call him an hour before he was supposed to be here, wake him up and then he would not miss his scheduled time. I did not call and he has not made another appointment
I have had clients arrive reeking of alcohol. When I mention it, the single, every-single-time, reply is "Oh, that's from last night."
Really? Well, I guess it can be, as alcohol, especially in quantity takes as long as it takes to metabolize in each unique body, so it is possible to reek when you show up here after lunch for your appointment. Really? Maybe if you consider 5:00 a.m. to still be part of last night. I mean, in the winter time it is still dark outside. Looks like night. Yep.
I had a client who made appointments and showed up only if it did not interfere with anything else that came along, oh, like having coffee with a friend. He is also the person who told me that he does not get any respect when he goes for interviews. His interest is in law enforcement and he believes that when he arrives for an interview (and, he has had quite a few) that someone should first give him a tour of the place before discussing the job. I do not give him the respect he deserves, either, because he now is prohibited from making appointments, although he can call in the morning, and if there is an opening in the schedule, he can have that slot. He actually did that, once, and did not show up. He also arrived on another day and wanted the open appointment that was there when he called in the morning, did not want to be written in the schedule book (because he had missed the previous time) and was incensed that it had been filled during those several hours by someone who had the nerve to actually show up. Really. The nerve.
There are a great many clients who are angry and frustrated at losing what they believed to be life-long employment, as our economy worsens in some sectors and companies have to more strictly steward their resources. It is unfortunate that loyal, mostly hard-working employees are losing their livelihoods through no fault of their own.
They arrive feeling defensive, particularly when they meet me. My first name is kind of ambiguous, not all that gender specific, and there were lots of times when I was producing art that patrons or potential customers would be surprised to discover that I am female. So, I get, and I honor that from them.
When we start to work and they have to define and share their work experience, they become more defensive, often confrontational. In that early part of the process, the stark details of the work they have done appears to be quantitatively less than the real and actual experience of what they do. It is only through working through the process that we, as a team, pull out and properly express the work to which many of them have devoted their lives.
It is no surprise that this is more difficult for men.
Another client just left. Another Thanks. No "You're a nice lady.", but I did get a "This is amazing. I can't wait until next time."
Good day.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
food
Not only have I not wasted a single scrap of food in the past three weeks...a record for me, I think..., but I have leftovers for lunch tomorrow at work.
Corned beef, tomatoes, a lovely apple and I will be baking a pan of crescent rolls in the morning (from a can) so that I can cobble together something resembling a sandwich. No pickles, though.
I have a ton of eggs to use up quickly, or my record will have to be reset. I am thinking of making deviled eggs for group on Thursday.
So, why the domesticity tale? It is another sign of increasing good mental health.
Wasting stuff is a big part of having depression.
Depression sucks the energy right out of your core. All of the frugal shopping and good intentions will not make it any less likely that food will be bought and never cooked before it expires into a science project.
Depression is not all that much fun. Medication helps, of course, but the wonky parts of my brain will always be just on the other side of the drugs, waiting for the slightest crack to wiggle through.
If I want to have a good life, a healthy life, I have to pay attention. This time it meant no wasted food. Woo.
Corned beef, tomatoes, a lovely apple and I will be baking a pan of crescent rolls in the morning (from a can) so that I can cobble together something resembling a sandwich. No pickles, though.
I have a ton of eggs to use up quickly, or my record will have to be reset. I am thinking of making deviled eggs for group on Thursday.
So, why the domesticity tale? It is another sign of increasing good mental health.
Wasting stuff is a big part of having depression.
Depression sucks the energy right out of your core. All of the frugal shopping and good intentions will not make it any less likely that food will be bought and never cooked before it expires into a science project.
Depression is not all that much fun. Medication helps, of course, but the wonky parts of my brain will always be just on the other side of the drugs, waiting for the slightest crack to wiggle through.
If I want to have a good life, a healthy life, I have to pay attention. This time it meant no wasted food. Woo.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
a whole week
My toe is still broken, although it no longer hurts enough to command my full attention. My back is worse, despite careful exercise and enough rest.
I finally finished the dishes and cleaned the kitchen and part of the bathroom. More laundry to do. Gosh, this stuff never ends, but at least now what I have to do is just for me, waaaaay down from catering to someone who was never satisfied. It is difficult to express how wonderful that is. I will not even try.
One of my friends is battling with head lice. She told me that she got it from her grandchild(ren), but my best guess is that the critters jumped to her head from her recently-resident old boyfriend from the past. She already knows that I do not have any problems with this relationship, as she asked me, and as I really do not give a rat's fanny about what anyone else does. It is heartfelt and kind of silly that she wants my approval.
Anyway, in the past month she has used four...count 'em, four...of those insecticide treatments. Frankly, despite the potential harm (almost certain is my best guess, given the ingredients), were my noggin infected with them, I would have most likely have crafted a contraption to contain my entire scalp and worn it constantly, filled to the brim...crown?...with the most powerful chemicals available. As it is, researching, going through her hair and doing the more holistic treatment that we tried on Friday, hell, even thinking about it, makes my head itch like crazy.
She has no one to help her, despite having three sons, an equal number of daughters-in-law and several nearly adult grandchildren who live mere minutes from her. Even better is that over the past several years she has supported two of those families, financially and by having them live with her for years at a time, during which most of her furniture was destroyed.
Sorry, had to stop and scratch my head.
Because of my back pain, I will not be returning for more lice fun until tomorrow, when I will stop on the way over there for lice combs, some Cetaphil and hair clips. Scratch. Digdigdig. I need a bookcase, and yes, one can actually need a bookcase rather than just want one.
I called her today and she is so close to losing it, like the whole thing, the entire Kielbasa even. I rang her to make sure that she has set aside enough hours to properly go through her hair and scalp and scrape the nits off of her hair strands and drag those lousy louses, kicking and screaming, or what it is that lice do, off of her head, and, hopefully, far away from mine. Scritch-scritch.
She has. She also went to the store yesterday for more poisons and because the itching is still making her insane-er, she went out and bought more this morning. She promised to not use it today, but I will not be the teeniest bit surprised if she does use it.
I do not blame her. Even though I am at least a little concerned that the residual poisons may take advantage of my compromised immune system and that I will feel the effects, my main concern is that she might have entirely too much of that crap in her body already. I could stop and research that issue, but, at this point, well, it is pointless, and not in the best interest of anyone to add an additional layer of suffering or concern.
I just took the opportunity to conduct more scratching to get a handful of the gloves I use for cleaning. That should keep any of that stuff from being absorbed by my skin.
Lordy. I wish that she had called me about this weeks ago. I understand that it shamed her that no one would help her, and it breaks my heart that she finally had enough of feeling her scalp crawling all the damn time before she reached out.
We do battle tomorrow. Full assault, followed by another holistic treatment, then another hunting mission on Thursday, and again on Saturday.
Lest anyone think me noble or caring, if I catch these miserable bastards, I may never talk to anyone again.
Ever.
I finally finished the dishes and cleaned the kitchen and part of the bathroom. More laundry to do. Gosh, this stuff never ends, but at least now what I have to do is just for me, waaaaay down from catering to someone who was never satisfied. It is difficult to express how wonderful that is. I will not even try.
One of my friends is battling with head lice. She told me that she got it from her grandchild(ren), but my best guess is that the critters jumped to her head from her recently-resident old boyfriend from the past. She already knows that I do not have any problems with this relationship, as she asked me, and as I really do not give a rat's fanny about what anyone else does. It is heartfelt and kind of silly that she wants my approval.
Anyway, in the past month she has used four...count 'em, four...of those insecticide treatments. Frankly, despite the potential harm (almost certain is my best guess, given the ingredients), were my noggin infected with them, I would have most likely have crafted a contraption to contain my entire scalp and worn it constantly, filled to the brim...crown?...with the most powerful chemicals available. As it is, researching, going through her hair and doing the more holistic treatment that we tried on Friday, hell, even thinking about it, makes my head itch like crazy.
She has no one to help her, despite having three sons, an equal number of daughters-in-law and several nearly adult grandchildren who live mere minutes from her. Even better is that over the past several years she has supported two of those families, financially and by having them live with her for years at a time, during which most of her furniture was destroyed.
Sorry, had to stop and scratch my head.
Because of my back pain, I will not be returning for more lice fun until tomorrow, when I will stop on the way over there for lice combs, some Cetaphil and hair clips. Scratch. Digdigdig. I need a bookcase, and yes, one can actually need a bookcase rather than just want one.
I called her today and she is so close to losing it, like the whole thing, the entire Kielbasa even. I rang her to make sure that she has set aside enough hours to properly go through her hair and scalp and scrape the nits off of her hair strands and drag those lousy louses, kicking and screaming, or what it is that lice do, off of her head, and, hopefully, far away from mine. Scritch-scritch.
She has. She also went to the store yesterday for more poisons and because the itching is still making her insane-er, she went out and bought more this morning. She promised to not use it today, but I will not be the teeniest bit surprised if she does use it.
I do not blame her. Even though I am at least a little concerned that the residual poisons may take advantage of my compromised immune system and that I will feel the effects, my main concern is that she might have entirely too much of that crap in her body already. I could stop and research that issue, but, at this point, well, it is pointless, and not in the best interest of anyone to add an additional layer of suffering or concern.
I just took the opportunity to conduct more scratching to get a handful of the gloves I use for cleaning. That should keep any of that stuff from being absorbed by my skin.
Lordy. I wish that she had called me about this weeks ago. I understand that it shamed her that no one would help her, and it breaks my heart that she finally had enough of feeling her scalp crawling all the damn time before she reached out.
We do battle tomorrow. Full assault, followed by another holistic treatment, then another hunting mission on Thursday, and again on Saturday.
Lest anyone think me noble or caring, if I catch these miserable bastards, I may never talk to anyone again.
Ever.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
weekend
First of all, I have so much abundance in my life that it is shameful for me to want anything, and I mean things that are other than material. All my whining about being lonely and afraid is just so much crap. Same thing for meaning and who knows what else; I cannot remember all of the angst I have been spewing over the past months.
I know what poverty is, had it as a child, we were a large family, lived in the country, and were certainly not alone. I really did not know how little we had until high school. The middle part, that other life was much better financially. I did not share much of my ex's resources, but I made my own money and was able to take care of what needed taking care.
Past year and a half has brought me back to my early days and I am more than grateful that I know how to live without lots of things, like money. I am still waiting for the financial stuff to finish, and when that happens (I am no longer willing to say "if", as it does not serve me in any positive way), I will not have to worry about paying my bills, which are pretty frugal anyway.
Anyway, and I am certain that I have been expressing this for some time, I am stopping crying poor and most especially poor me. I have enough stuff to last me several lifetimes. Fortunately, I was a clean freak and brought all of those products along with me. Now that it is just me, and perhaps another cat in time, there is hardly anything to clean. Unless I take something to use and it stays out of place for a while, it looks like no one lives here most of the time. But, I digress and I am finally accepting that the abundance in my life is more than I need. So, no more of that crap.
And, these are the proof the abundance faerie folk have treated me well.
In the process of finally unpacking I found some more clothes, a pair of sandals, a bra and a two top sheets. Yay. I have never found my winter coat, but did well without it last winter because someone gave me a woolen shawl or cape or floppy coat or whatever it is. Layered, it works a charm. Since this place has only one small closet, maybe four feet wide, it is such a pleasure to have all of my clothes, like every single thing, with room left over for paper toweling, toilet paper, seldom used kitchen stuff and my laundry basket. Yay.
I am ready for winter temperatures, have all of my fleecy pants, my socks and a black, zippered sweat suit jacket with a hood. I suppose it is a hoodie, and have no idea why I had to describe it otherwise. I still do not have lights on at night, which really makes a huge difference when the bill comes every month. Mild weather costs, without the furnace, have been around $30-35 per month. I am not looking forward to another $166 heating bill, though.
I am keeping the thermostat set at 52F, will dress warmly indoors and I stopped at one of the big hardware stores yesterday and bought a large roll of that window plastic that you tape up (bought the special tape, too). It looks like I will be able to do two windows with that stuff, with some left over so that the boys can shrink-wrap some of their toys. Yay.
I stopped at Aldi for fresh vegetables and came home with those along with a couple of those over-the-door hanger things. They were marked down to $1.99 because they are kind of flimsy, but the hanger part looked deep enough to fit over the freakishly thick doors here. So, now there is one in the little closet that holds the circuit breaker and one over the front door, on the inside, so that I will be able to hang my wet coat this winter, instead of jumping and trying to toss it over the top of my bedroom door.
Now, does that sound, any speck of it, like someone who is poor? I thought so. And, if people will stop trying to hire me to be a case manager or vocational counselor...like I could really do either of those jobs, I mean, what are they thinking...and I can find a part-time job doing what I trained to do, then my cups will overfloweth like crazy.
Oh, I almost forgot about the weekend. I met my friends for coffee yesterday morning. It was nice and I kept steering my part of the conversation away from all of the political stuff that is beleaguering everyone, although not me because I think I know everything, donchano. Hah!
I took every last piece of textiles to the laundromat, and except for what I wore yesterday and what I am wearing today and the fresh sheets on my bed, every single item is cleaned and put away. Yay.
Sometime on Thursday I broke the little toe on my left foot. It might have been at the laundromat. Whilst I am not whining or groaning and moaning about all that other stuff, I would like to share that my toe and foot hurt like the dickens. Like any good, responsible health consumer I went to the best medical resource, the Internet, and if it should ever come up, the traditional, probably folk-lorish as well, remedy is that there is no remedy and you should just tape the broken toe to the toe next to it. It is helpful to know that that remedy causes more pain. Just saying. But, no griping. None. Not any more.
I know what poverty is, had it as a child, we were a large family, lived in the country, and were certainly not alone. I really did not know how little we had until high school. The middle part, that other life was much better financially. I did not share much of my ex's resources, but I made my own money and was able to take care of what needed taking care.
Past year and a half has brought me back to my early days and I am more than grateful that I know how to live without lots of things, like money. I am still waiting for the financial stuff to finish, and when that happens (I am no longer willing to say "if", as it does not serve me in any positive way), I will not have to worry about paying my bills, which are pretty frugal anyway.
Anyway, and I am certain that I have been expressing this for some time, I am stopping crying poor and most especially poor me. I have enough stuff to last me several lifetimes. Fortunately, I was a clean freak and brought all of those products along with me. Now that it is just me, and perhaps another cat in time, there is hardly anything to clean. Unless I take something to use and it stays out of place for a while, it looks like no one lives here most of the time. But, I digress and I am finally accepting that the abundance in my life is more than I need. So, no more of that crap.
And, these are the proof the abundance faerie folk have treated me well.
In the process of finally unpacking I found some more clothes, a pair of sandals, a bra and a two top sheets. Yay. I have never found my winter coat, but did well without it last winter because someone gave me a woolen shawl or cape or floppy coat or whatever it is. Layered, it works a charm. Since this place has only one small closet, maybe four feet wide, it is such a pleasure to have all of my clothes, like every single thing, with room left over for paper toweling, toilet paper, seldom used kitchen stuff and my laundry basket. Yay.
I am ready for winter temperatures, have all of my fleecy pants, my socks and a black, zippered sweat suit jacket with a hood. I suppose it is a hoodie, and have no idea why I had to describe it otherwise. I still do not have lights on at night, which really makes a huge difference when the bill comes every month. Mild weather costs, without the furnace, have been around $30-35 per month. I am not looking forward to another $166 heating bill, though.
I am keeping the thermostat set at 52F, will dress warmly indoors and I stopped at one of the big hardware stores yesterday and bought a large roll of that window plastic that you tape up (bought the special tape, too). It looks like I will be able to do two windows with that stuff, with some left over so that the boys can shrink-wrap some of their toys. Yay.
I stopped at Aldi for fresh vegetables and came home with those along with a couple of those over-the-door hanger things. They were marked down to $1.99 because they are kind of flimsy, but the hanger part looked deep enough to fit over the freakishly thick doors here. So, now there is one in the little closet that holds the circuit breaker and one over the front door, on the inside, so that I will be able to hang my wet coat this winter, instead of jumping and trying to toss it over the top of my bedroom door.
Now, does that sound, any speck of it, like someone who is poor? I thought so. And, if people will stop trying to hire me to be a case manager or vocational counselor...like I could really do either of those jobs, I mean, what are they thinking...and I can find a part-time job doing what I trained to do, then my cups will overfloweth like crazy.
Oh, I almost forgot about the weekend. I met my friends for coffee yesterday morning. It was nice and I kept steering my part of the conversation away from all of the political stuff that is beleaguering everyone, although not me because I think I know everything, donchano. Hah!
I took every last piece of textiles to the laundromat, and except for what I wore yesterday and what I am wearing today and the fresh sheets on my bed, every single item is cleaned and put away. Yay.
Sometime on Thursday I broke the little toe on my left foot. It might have been at the laundromat. Whilst I am not whining or groaning and moaning about all that other stuff, I would like to share that my toe and foot hurt like the dickens. Like any good, responsible health consumer I went to the best medical resource, the Internet, and if it should ever come up, the traditional, probably folk-lorish as well, remedy is that there is no remedy and you should just tape the broken toe to the toe next to it. It is helpful to know that that remedy causes more pain. Just saying. But, no griping. None. Not any more.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
city life
Today was interesting, but that is for later.
Therapy first, which was all over the place. A lot of the conversation was about my certifications and that I should be ever so proud to have taken the training and getting such high grades on the exams. Woo.
I shared that I actually did attend last week's wedding, well, at least part of it. I am still dwelling on I needed the social lubrication of martinis and wine, but at least I went and the chances are somewhere in the range of possible-to-good that I might honor a future invite.
Group followed, with a weird video about some man, standing on an empty stage, red velvet audience seats empty as well, shouting, murmuring affirmations about being a woman. You know the stuff, you are beautiful, you are talented, you are smart, you can do anything. And, if you are not believing those things about yourself, you can be comforted to know that God loves you and thinks that you are all of those things.
So far, so good.
Then he named Ester and three more women from the Bible and talked about how powerful and important they were in their time(s), and I thought, 'well, how cool, but how is it that except for the Unitarian church down the street, non of the other denominations really allow women to hold any positions of authority'.
As a former Catholic, I am always interested in Popes, especially the current one. He has said some pretty radical things since his term (wrong word?) began, including the news this week that he is opening up all of the church's financial information. I am certain that announcement has a whole bunch of people feeling a whole bunch of nervous.
However, and keep in mind that I really do not care if women can be priests, not being all that interested, and yet felt minimized as a member of the female species when he reiterated the traditional Catholic practice of women not allowed to be priests and that would not change under his rule (wrong word?).
Other than that, the four minutes of that little film was not bad, and it led to a nice and meaningful dialogue.
All of that happened right down the street from where I live. Here. In the city. Woo.
Next, back home to gather up the hills of dirty laundry and wrangle that mountain of dirty fabrics into the car and the short drive to a new laundromat, which is close enough to reach on the bus for when I have to get rid of the car. The place is huge and was empty, save for one man. During the time I was there, lots of people came and went, filling the washing machines, returning to transfer their stuff to the dryers, leaving and I thought, 'how cool this place is, and safe'.
One of the cool things is that they have...yippee...60 pound washing machines, which hold four regular loads for only 3/4 of the cost. I filled two of those babies. Woo.
Unfortunately, after I poured in the detergent, the machine would not accept the full measure of quarters and refused to return the $5.50 I had dropped through the slot. Then began a round of asking if any of the, now, four people who were currently in the place if they had any experience with the machines. For one woman, it was her second time there and for the rest of us it was our first, so no experiences to share. The son of the first woman told me that there was a telephone number on the front door. There were two and it was only after listening to the message at the second number that I was instructed to call a third number, where I finally reached a real person. He was nice and told me that I was really nice. Part of that is me, not yelling, arguing with him or crying, as I explained that I was well versed in working with the public. Part of that is something he does not know, and it is that I never yell or argue or give anyone a hard time.
Crying. I was able to do that for the first time last month on the last day CoolCat and I said good-bye. I have not cried in several decades, so weeping that day came as a surprise. It would have been an enormous disappointment had I not wept, but I did not realize of feel that until much later. I have had several more opportunities to cry, but the tears are back to not coming when they would make my pain less. No release. So be it.
Anyway, the third number guy is meeting me at the laundromat tomorrow morning to return the money from the reluctant machine, who took my cash and then backed out of our new, albeit short relationship.
Not only is all of this possible because I live downtown in a medium-sized city, it is possible because I saved my life last year and have now been living in my own, dear place for a year.
And, the city aspect is with me all day long, even when I am at work, doing other volunteering, washing my duds, shrinking my head, banking or chewing my nails with stress as I await me meds, and the final total, at the little pharmacy.
I see people walking their dogs and their children and other adults. I get to watch the three dogs across the street pointlessly confront people passing by their fence, whilst their own people relax on the porch, drinking, eating and fussing with the people in the next house. I really like those guys.
When I am in the area of the therapy/group place, I am able to observe and meet so many interesting, one might even say fascinating, people. Just like I do at my main gig. I learn so many things when I am in that part of downtown. The laundromat was the same today. The hungry and stingy machine aside, it turns out the one of the women from whom I asked for help, one of the first-timers, seems to have waited until everyone else but me left, as everyone there seems to do. I do not leave. I like my stuff, do not have much of it, and would be really messed up if any of my clothes came up missing. Like the king-sized mattress pad and some huge pillows that disappeared when that other woman did.
What a asswipe. Seriously. No one goes to a laundromat, spend an insane amount of money to clean their duds, risk picking up someone else's bad dye batch in one of the machines or spend the better part of an afternoon sitting and waiting and watching your duds on the duds rides. Oh, yeah. I do all of that. Still, it really pissed me off that the aforementioned asswipe pulled off her caper right under my nose. Pissed. True, I could not see anything from where I was sitting, reading my Pratchett, and the chances are good that she thought she was alone, that I had left just like everyone else usually does (even though I sought help because it was my first time there) and that her assertion that it was also her first time was most likely a lie and my guess is that because I did not notice anything, that this might even be a regular occupation of hers. It also occurs to me that if everyone was telling the truth, that joint was full of laundromat virgins. Woo.
This evening was the ordinary life experience of this little city. Lots of people walking their dogs and their people; no babies seem to come out in the late-late afternoon. There was an older woman, sort of like me, walking and singing. Not just softly vocalizing, but singing right out loud, her voice clear and sweet.
This is living in the city. That other life was mostly spent in the country. Not the middle of nowhere, but right next to it. No food deliveries, no special mail service or post office anywhere near. Neighbors a respectable margin away. Big lawns and a rough asphalt road. Frequent water main failures. Power failures.
Not that none of that happens in this city, but I can walk to a lovely old post office, the library, the pharmacy, therapy. Not the laundromat, but there is a bus stop on the corner of the block, which will take me to today's laundromat, as well as the market in the next block east of there.
Even better is that this new life is as normal as I am ever going to get, and it most likely would not be possible had I not saved my life last year.
Woo.
Therapy first, which was all over the place. A lot of the conversation was about my certifications and that I should be ever so proud to have taken the training and getting such high grades on the exams. Woo.
I shared that I actually did attend last week's wedding, well, at least part of it. I am still dwelling on I needed the social lubrication of martinis and wine, but at least I went and the chances are somewhere in the range of possible-to-good that I might honor a future invite.
Group followed, with a weird video about some man, standing on an empty stage, red velvet audience seats empty as well, shouting, murmuring affirmations about being a woman. You know the stuff, you are beautiful, you are talented, you are smart, you can do anything. And, if you are not believing those things about yourself, you can be comforted to know that God loves you and thinks that you are all of those things.
So far, so good.
Then he named Ester and three more women from the Bible and talked about how powerful and important they were in their time(s), and I thought, 'well, how cool, but how is it that except for the Unitarian church down the street, non of the other denominations really allow women to hold any positions of authority'.
As a former Catholic, I am always interested in Popes, especially the current one. He has said some pretty radical things since his term (wrong word?) began, including the news this week that he is opening up all of the church's financial information. I am certain that announcement has a whole bunch of people feeling a whole bunch of nervous.
However, and keep in mind that I really do not care if women can be priests, not being all that interested, and yet felt minimized as a member of the female species when he reiterated the traditional Catholic practice of women not allowed to be priests and that would not change under his rule (wrong word?).
Other than that, the four minutes of that little film was not bad, and it led to a nice and meaningful dialogue.
All of that happened right down the street from where I live. Here. In the city. Woo.
Next, back home to gather up the hills of dirty laundry and wrangle that mountain of dirty fabrics into the car and the short drive to a new laundromat, which is close enough to reach on the bus for when I have to get rid of the car. The place is huge and was empty, save for one man. During the time I was there, lots of people came and went, filling the washing machines, returning to transfer their stuff to the dryers, leaving and I thought, 'how cool this place is, and safe'.
One of the cool things is that they have...yippee...60 pound washing machines, which hold four regular loads for only 3/4 of the cost. I filled two of those babies. Woo.
Unfortunately, after I poured in the detergent, the machine would not accept the full measure of quarters and refused to return the $5.50 I had dropped through the slot. Then began a round of asking if any of the, now, four people who were currently in the place if they had any experience with the machines. For one woman, it was her second time there and for the rest of us it was our first, so no experiences to share. The son of the first woman told me that there was a telephone number on the front door. There were two and it was only after listening to the message at the second number that I was instructed to call a third number, where I finally reached a real person. He was nice and told me that I was really nice. Part of that is me, not yelling, arguing with him or crying, as I explained that I was well versed in working with the public. Part of that is something he does not know, and it is that I never yell or argue or give anyone a hard time.
Crying. I was able to do that for the first time last month on the last day CoolCat and I said good-bye. I have not cried in several decades, so weeping that day came as a surprise. It would have been an enormous disappointment had I not wept, but I did not realize of feel that until much later. I have had several more opportunities to cry, but the tears are back to not coming when they would make my pain less. No release. So be it.
Anyway, the third number guy is meeting me at the laundromat tomorrow morning to return the money from the reluctant machine, who took my cash and then backed out of our new, albeit short relationship.
Not only is all of this possible because I live downtown in a medium-sized city, it is possible because I saved my life last year and have now been living in my own, dear place for a year.
And, the city aspect is with me all day long, even when I am at work, doing other volunteering, washing my duds, shrinking my head, banking or chewing my nails with stress as I await me meds, and the final total, at the little pharmacy.
I see people walking their dogs and their children and other adults. I get to watch the three dogs across the street pointlessly confront people passing by their fence, whilst their own people relax on the porch, drinking, eating and fussing with the people in the next house. I really like those guys.
When I am in the area of the therapy/group place, I am able to observe and meet so many interesting, one might even say fascinating, people. Just like I do at my main gig. I learn so many things when I am in that part of downtown. The laundromat was the same today. The hungry and stingy machine aside, it turns out the one of the women from whom I asked for help, one of the first-timers, seems to have waited until everyone else but me left, as everyone there seems to do. I do not leave. I like my stuff, do not have much of it, and would be really messed up if any of my clothes came up missing. Like the king-sized mattress pad and some huge pillows that disappeared when that other woman did.
What a asswipe. Seriously. No one goes to a laundromat, spend an insane amount of money to clean their duds, risk picking up someone else's bad dye batch in one of the machines or spend the better part of an afternoon sitting and waiting and watching your duds on the duds rides. Oh, yeah. I do all of that. Still, it really pissed me off that the aforementioned asswipe pulled off her caper right under my nose. Pissed. True, I could not see anything from where I was sitting, reading my Pratchett, and the chances are good that she thought she was alone, that I had left just like everyone else usually does (even though I sought help because it was my first time there) and that her assertion that it was also her first time was most likely a lie and my guess is that because I did not notice anything, that this might even be a regular occupation of hers. It also occurs to me that if everyone was telling the truth, that joint was full of laundromat virgins. Woo.
This evening was the ordinary life experience of this little city. Lots of people walking their dogs and their people; no babies seem to come out in the late-late afternoon. There was an older woman, sort of like me, walking and singing. Not just softly vocalizing, but singing right out loud, her voice clear and sweet.
This is living in the city. That other life was mostly spent in the country. Not the middle of nowhere, but right next to it. No food deliveries, no special mail service or post office anywhere near. Neighbors a respectable margin away. Big lawns and a rough asphalt road. Frequent water main failures. Power failures.
Not that none of that happens in this city, but I can walk to a lovely old post office, the library, the pharmacy, therapy. Not the laundromat, but there is a bus stop on the corner of the block, which will take me to today's laundromat, as well as the market in the next block east of there.
Even better is that this new life is as normal as I am ever going to get, and it most likely would not be possible had I not saved my life last year.
Woo.
Monday, September 30, 2013
full
It is the middle of the night here. I am not sleeping well, have not for months and months and, then, a few more months. I used to take a generic antihistamine to force my body to at least drowse. It no longer works well. Even one tablet a half hour before a decent bedtime and I feel drugged in the morning.
The stresses of the past few dozen weeks is showing on my face. I have had one form of acne or another for the better part of fifty-five years. The worst is the cystic acne I get now. It seems to come from nowhere, causing lumps and bumps of considerable size, mostly on the lower half of my face and on my neck. It is embarrassing to have, although it causes little pain. Just have to wait it out. The damn cysts show up at the end of stressy stuff, stay for as long as it takes them to heal or shrink or whatever they do and wherever they go. I have only two left, just under my jaw, where some glands are.
I am feeling kind of packed with life stuff. I have come so far in my recovery and am doing so well in this new life, that when the bottom drops out of my good feelings and happiness, it is more disturbing and disorienting that it was when my life was not so great.
And, the thing is that now that I am pretty freaking well, I am expected to never have negative, sadder emotions. There are some important people in my life who believe that since the worst is over, that I should be acting and feeling as though it were high noon, sun shining, birds singing, flowers blasting into being where the unicorns frolic.
Unfortunately, my life is not working that way. It is now what passes for a normal person experiences as what passes for a normal life, with all of the ups and sideways and plummets. And, for a while there I thought that was what my life was supposed to be like, because everyone kept telling me that is what it should be.
I knew better. Better than anyone. I know the difference now between a frozen life and one that gets to be what it wants and needs to be. I know what it means to pretend that everything is fine, that nothing horrific happens when no one else is around. I know what it is like to have to go out in the world and, just to be safer, act as though none of that crap ever happened.
I was good at that. Hell, I was amazing at keeping those secrets. I was so great that I felt like the biggest liar in the Universe. Nearly my entire public and familial life was one huge process of keeping those secrets. An interesting result is that there are people, his family and friends that still believe all of the lies he told them and when I left he created many more lies to protect himself. There are people who believe that I am the most awful person. Ever.
How do I know all that? I know because, despite my efforts to keep to myself and avoid all of that mess, as soon as the divorce was final and I no longer had to stay in hiding that my dishonesty was over and I was always honest about where I was, where I lived and worked, even to having my current address used on the final decree paperwork. I have come to regret that on a few occasions, as it made it possible for people to contact me. I would not change that act of courage that made my information public. As time passes, I feel safer and am less worried when I leave this place or leave work or shop at the market or visit friends.
Everything in its time.
I really do love my life now, even with CoolCat gone. There is not anything I would wish to be able to go back in time to change. Not a single moment. Not the worst day. Nothing.
I have what passes for a normal life. I like it. I like every aspect of it, even on days like today and yesterday and the day before that when I am not feeling all that noontime sunshine, cannot hear the birds singing and the unicorns are off somewhere, eating butterflies, or daisies or violets or whatever they eat.
It is all right to be full of sadness when it is appropriate to feel that way. It is fine to be full of longing for all of the things I never was able to experience in that other life. I get to wallow in all of that once in a while, and I get to do it in my own way. It occurs to me, once in a while, that being without CoolCat has something to do with this, some added layer of sadness and missing him on top of months of study and testing and trying to do everything with less and less money. It most likely is that I do miss him so much. This is the very first time in my life that I have lived entirely alone, no other living thing shares this space. It is worth working through all of this, allowing the experience to work through me, to find out what is on the other side of this new part of my new life.
I am hoping that tomorrow...later today...will be better. I am sick and tired of feeling sick and exhausted and sad. I get to feel that as well.
The stresses of the past few dozen weeks is showing on my face. I have had one form of acne or another for the better part of fifty-five years. The worst is the cystic acne I get now. It seems to come from nowhere, causing lumps and bumps of considerable size, mostly on the lower half of my face and on my neck. It is embarrassing to have, although it causes little pain. Just have to wait it out. The damn cysts show up at the end of stressy stuff, stay for as long as it takes them to heal or shrink or whatever they do and wherever they go. I have only two left, just under my jaw, where some glands are.
I am feeling kind of packed with life stuff. I have come so far in my recovery and am doing so well in this new life, that when the bottom drops out of my good feelings and happiness, it is more disturbing and disorienting that it was when my life was not so great.
And, the thing is that now that I am pretty freaking well, I am expected to never have negative, sadder emotions. There are some important people in my life who believe that since the worst is over, that I should be acting and feeling as though it were high noon, sun shining, birds singing, flowers blasting into being where the unicorns frolic.
Unfortunately, my life is not working that way. It is now what passes for a normal person experiences as what passes for a normal life, with all of the ups and sideways and plummets. And, for a while there I thought that was what my life was supposed to be like, because everyone kept telling me that is what it should be.
I knew better. Better than anyone. I know the difference now between a frozen life and one that gets to be what it wants and needs to be. I know what it means to pretend that everything is fine, that nothing horrific happens when no one else is around. I know what it is like to have to go out in the world and, just to be safer, act as though none of that crap ever happened.
I was good at that. Hell, I was amazing at keeping those secrets. I was so great that I felt like the biggest liar in the Universe. Nearly my entire public and familial life was one huge process of keeping those secrets. An interesting result is that there are people, his family and friends that still believe all of the lies he told them and when I left he created many more lies to protect himself. There are people who believe that I am the most awful person. Ever.
How do I know all that? I know because, despite my efforts to keep to myself and avoid all of that mess, as soon as the divorce was final and I no longer had to stay in hiding that my dishonesty was over and I was always honest about where I was, where I lived and worked, even to having my current address used on the final decree paperwork. I have come to regret that on a few occasions, as it made it possible for people to contact me. I would not change that act of courage that made my information public. As time passes, I feel safer and am less worried when I leave this place or leave work or shop at the market or visit friends.
Everything in its time.
I really do love my life now, even with CoolCat gone. There is not anything I would wish to be able to go back in time to change. Not a single moment. Not the worst day. Nothing.
I have what passes for a normal life. I like it. I like every aspect of it, even on days like today and yesterday and the day before that when I am not feeling all that noontime sunshine, cannot hear the birds singing and the unicorns are off somewhere, eating butterflies, or daisies or violets or whatever they eat.
It is all right to be full of sadness when it is appropriate to feel that way. It is fine to be full of longing for all of the things I never was able to experience in that other life. I get to wallow in all of that once in a while, and I get to do it in my own way. It occurs to me, once in a while, that being without CoolCat has something to do with this, some added layer of sadness and missing him on top of months of study and testing and trying to do everything with less and less money. It most likely is that I do miss him so much. This is the very first time in my life that I have lived entirely alone, no other living thing shares this space. It is worth working through all of this, allowing the experience to work through me, to find out what is on the other side of this new part of my new life.
I am hoping that tomorrow...later today...will be better. I am sick and tired of feeling sick and exhausted and sad. I get to feel that as well.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
lifestyle
Sometimes how we live is a choice. I have that opportunity to choose how I will live. Mostly. I cannot create money or other resources out of thin air, although the ability to do that would probably come with many more negative consequences than I would be willing to handle. Still. Would be nice.
Anyway. I survived yesterday's challenge and whilst I am not feeling all that successful, what with the martinis and all, it does have me believing that all of my little, baby and babyish steps are beginning to pay off beyond the basics, those necessary for survival, on all levels.
If I ever manage to receive my share of the resources from that other life, I will be able to live in relative comfort, which means that I will not have to hang on to my car just in case I need to park it somewhere and live out of it. That threat will always be a part of my consciousness, although I move away from it, step by step, each day another heartbeat away from that particular fear. Another heartbeat closer to facing and handling one more of those issues. A list that never ends for even normal people, which, I guess is a group that I can see myself as a member.
Some time back, a person who replied here challenged me about thinking that ordinary people, normal, whatever term I used then, do not have any problems. I thought that I had fully expressed that in my post, and I was unprepared to share that. So, I did what I usually do, and that was to not speak up. Another lesson learned, although it is my tendency to back down to even the mildest difference of opinion.
I will always take the lower, more subservient position, and, you know, I am not sure that I want to change that. It allows me to avoid jumping straight to feeling defensive and helps me see things, whatever they are, from the perspective of the other person.
Sure, my default response is embarrassment, quickly followed by shame, but it is not the worst way to respond to some things. I am working on lessening the shame part, but if I first am at least a little chagrined, that is much better than being pissed. Huh. I wonder if I could be good at being pissed. I am sure that it is only a matter of time before I find out.
Even people who have not had the kind of life experiences as I have had still have a lifestyle. My sisters do, as does my daughter and her family. Friends, co-workers, hell, everyone. Mine is better than many others, and I do not dwell on what has been lost. I tell my self that there was a fire and what I have now is all that I need. Fire is cleansing. It is fast and it is pretty much final. I like all of that, and it in no way minimizes the terrible losses that people experience when tragedy strikes.
And, now that I am here, post conflagration, and living even more frugally than I did during that other life, I wonder, can all those years be of use? Apparently they can. I am doing better than most of the people with whom I work, those folk who are just like me, struggling with extraordinary challenges. It is so much more than enough for me.
After last night's wedding, at a lovely place, full of expensively dressed and very nice people (except for maybe the father of the groom...I do not remember ever judging anyone so quickly before), eating knock-your-socks-off food and cool music and great conversation and those annoying martinis, I woke this morning at the right time to have coffee with my friends. In another city, to be driving my own car, recently filled with pricey gasoline, maybe having something to eat as well, and I just could not do it. My life seems just too schizophrenic. So, I went back to sleep. Mostly because all of the recent good stuff is making me feel ever so wealthy
I am confused, as well, by how difficult every day stuff can be, and since I am home, avoiding doing anything useful (some of that every day stuff), I decided to play a bubble game or two, which I still have not done. That daily work, it all seems invisible to me until it reaches some undefined critical mass and is staring me right in the face. I keep up with the kitchen and bathroom. The laundry is a challenge, but I have only so many big girl panties and unless I want to go commando...makes me ill just to think of it...an afternoon at the laundromat is not the worst way to spend time. It is nice there. Moist and smelling clean. I specially love the scent of the fabric softener products people use. I have no intention of buying or using any of those, but it is pleasant to be around it once a week. Sort of like dogs. If you have a friend or neighbor who will let you hang around their dog, you can have all of the fun of dog ownership with out any of the responsibility.
Anyway, I am feeling uncomfortably rich today. I have plenty of simple food, electricity, this computer and its connection to the rest of the world, the ability to regulate the temperature, enough money to afford my medications and a domicile to contain all of it. So, I came here, sat down, popped a diet soda (a personal symbol of wealth), read some of the blogs I follow and had my socks knocked off.
I read Mark Bittman's blog, at the New York Times, and one of the reasons is that his social responsibility extends to actually doing something useful and is one that I admire.
The post is about what he is reading. It is too rich to even begin to paraphrase, read it here:
What we're reading now
http://bittman.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/09/27/what-were-reading-now-4/?_r=0#more-5163
One of the links is to an article in The Atlantic Cities, D.C. based, but do not let that discourage you. I would link to the original research at Science, but you need a subscription to read more than the abstract.
How poverty taxes the brain
http://www.theatlanticcities.com/jobs-and-economy/2013/08/how-poverty-taxes-brain/6716/
I have not experienced the level of poverty that most poor people suffer, but the research does give me hope that my muddle-headed-lack-of-energy and generally sluggish state can be helped.
Anyway. I survived yesterday's challenge and whilst I am not feeling all that successful, what with the martinis and all, it does have me believing that all of my little, baby and babyish steps are beginning to pay off beyond the basics, those necessary for survival, on all levels.
If I ever manage to receive my share of the resources from that other life, I will be able to live in relative comfort, which means that I will not have to hang on to my car just in case I need to park it somewhere and live out of it. That threat will always be a part of my consciousness, although I move away from it, step by step, each day another heartbeat away from that particular fear. Another heartbeat closer to facing and handling one more of those issues. A list that never ends for even normal people, which, I guess is a group that I can see myself as a member.
Some time back, a person who replied here challenged me about thinking that ordinary people, normal, whatever term I used then, do not have any problems. I thought that I had fully expressed that in my post, and I was unprepared to share that. So, I did what I usually do, and that was to not speak up. Another lesson learned, although it is my tendency to back down to even the mildest difference of opinion.
I will always take the lower, more subservient position, and, you know, I am not sure that I want to change that. It allows me to avoid jumping straight to feeling defensive and helps me see things, whatever they are, from the perspective of the other person.
Sure, my default response is embarrassment, quickly followed by shame, but it is not the worst way to respond to some things. I am working on lessening the shame part, but if I first am at least a little chagrined, that is much better than being pissed. Huh. I wonder if I could be good at being pissed. I am sure that it is only a matter of time before I find out.
Even people who have not had the kind of life experiences as I have had still have a lifestyle. My sisters do, as does my daughter and her family. Friends, co-workers, hell, everyone. Mine is better than many others, and I do not dwell on what has been lost. I tell my self that there was a fire and what I have now is all that I need. Fire is cleansing. It is fast and it is pretty much final. I like all of that, and it in no way minimizes the terrible losses that people experience when tragedy strikes.
And, now that I am here, post conflagration, and living even more frugally than I did during that other life, I wonder, can all those years be of use? Apparently they can. I am doing better than most of the people with whom I work, those folk who are just like me, struggling with extraordinary challenges. It is so much more than enough for me.
After last night's wedding, at a lovely place, full of expensively dressed and very nice people (except for maybe the father of the groom...I do not remember ever judging anyone so quickly before), eating knock-your-socks-off food and cool music and great conversation and those annoying martinis, I woke this morning at the right time to have coffee with my friends. In another city, to be driving my own car, recently filled with pricey gasoline, maybe having something to eat as well, and I just could not do it. My life seems just too schizophrenic. So, I went back to sleep. Mostly because all of the recent good stuff is making me feel ever so wealthy
I am confused, as well, by how difficult every day stuff can be, and since I am home, avoiding doing anything useful (some of that every day stuff), I decided to play a bubble game or two, which I still have not done. That daily work, it all seems invisible to me until it reaches some undefined critical mass and is staring me right in the face. I keep up with the kitchen and bathroom. The laundry is a challenge, but I have only so many big girl panties and unless I want to go commando...makes me ill just to think of it...an afternoon at the laundromat is not the worst way to spend time. It is nice there. Moist and smelling clean. I specially love the scent of the fabric softener products people use. I have no intention of buying or using any of those, but it is pleasant to be around it once a week. Sort of like dogs. If you have a friend or neighbor who will let you hang around their dog, you can have all of the fun of dog ownership with out any of the responsibility.
Anyway, I am feeling uncomfortably rich today. I have plenty of simple food, electricity, this computer and its connection to the rest of the world, the ability to regulate the temperature, enough money to afford my medications and a domicile to contain all of it. So, I came here, sat down, popped a diet soda (a personal symbol of wealth), read some of the blogs I follow and had my socks knocked off.
I read Mark Bittman's blog, at the New York Times, and one of the reasons is that his social responsibility extends to actually doing something useful and is one that I admire.
The post is about what he is reading. It is too rich to even begin to paraphrase, read it here:
What we're reading now
http://bittman.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/09/27/what-were-reading-now-4/?_r=0#more-5163
One of the links is to an article in The Atlantic Cities, D.C. based, but do not let that discourage you. I would link to the original research at Science, but you need a subscription to read more than the abstract.
How poverty taxes the brain
http://www.theatlanticcities.com/jobs-and-economy/2013/08/how-poverty-taxes-brain/6716/
I have not experienced the level of poverty that most poor people suffer, but the research does give me hope that my muddle-headed-lack-of-energy and generally sluggish state can be helped.
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