Unpleasant deeds are best done without any fanfare. Quickly. Efficiently. Expediently. If you do the thing quickly no one has time to protest or feel the anticipation of the hurt. It happens. It hurts. Everyone's life moves on.
Only the doer of the deed feels the full affect of the pre, during, and post pain. Only the doer undersands the anxious anticipation. I think, I wonder how it is that... That...
Time is up. The dye is cast.
Thursday, February 23, 2017
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
The Truth of the Matter
I love love. I honestly do. I love the stories. The butterflies. The delightful little things that the emotion makes you feel.
But the truth of the matter is that I love other people's love. I have never been that girl, you know. The one that looked for Mr. Right. I much preferred Mr. Hot(mess) and interesting. I never wanted to marry the hot-messes. They were highly entertaining and able to make me laugh, two qualities I find admirable.
Some girls picture their wedding or husband- the gallant knight in armor. They meet, fall in love, have 2.5 kids/ a dog/ a white picket fence and live happily ever after. I always pictured myself with kids. Always. I never pictured the husband or the lifestyle to go with it. I figured that we could be bohemian gypsies. Have adventures and be pirates or recluses or get off the grid. I never envisioned a husband to go with it because they're kinda bossy. And opinionated.
I like a man to be a man. To be decisive and intelligent and a leader. I know that in a relationship someone has to drive and someone has to co-pilot. I believe in this algorithm. I believe in the institution of marriage with roles and hierarchy- logically. Emotionally, I happen to hate being dictated to. The idea makes my skin crawl. I would be lying if I didn't admit that I also really like to drive some days. I do. Fast with the windows down and the music up. I feel free.
I am an oxymoron.
I only like falling in love to the point that it feels easy and light. Once it starts to feel like a cemented bond I'm not a fan. I know that's not a girl thing to admit to. The idea that my freedom holds more allure than stability. That whenever I start to feel hemmed in by a relationship I lay on the ground and have a panic attack. I feel heavier. Weighted. My kids sigh, step over me, roll their eyes.
I love love though. I have been in multiple weddings, hooked people up (in a non-invasive way of course), and I always encourage the girl to stay with the guy she loves. I'm happy when they make babies and I babysit once the kids come around so that they can have "date nights" and rekindle the romance. Make more babies. I have an affinity for babies (other peoples. I like the returnable kind). I'm happy when they are happy and I never feel resentful when I am relegated to the "call when I have a minute" status. Good for them and love. Just thinking about it makes me feel that all is right in the world.
... thing is while they are falling in love I am having meetings with people with a lot of letters behind their names like Esq. or PhD. While they are cooking dinner together I'm at the poetry cafe/ dancing/ art opening/ African-Asian fusion restaurant that I walked into because my feet followed my nose. While they are raising babies I am at a rooftop bar on an island. While they are becoming one I am learning myself anew and finding eccentric friends in random places.
That's the truth of the matter- I've never seen any couple make their coupledom look to them as exciting as my singleness is to me. It all seems so Meh. I am slightly embarrassed that I feel like that. It feels like hubris. I wish I could want to want to be that other girl. The settling down kind one. If for no other reason than to fit in with cultural norms but I don't. I like me. That girl's a fun girl. I'll keep her.
small disclaimer- This isn't to say that I don't want a ring. Eventually. I love love. It's saying that for a ring to be a possibility then the man in question would have to offer the possibility of more good times than is currently true in my life. Maybe I'll get married after AARP sends me a subscription.
In other, slightly related, news V Day has come and gone and I am successfully not in a situation. Yay adulting. Maybe I'm making some strides after all. No situation, able to admit that I'm more of a Marilyn than a Jackie. I think it's the blogging. Sometimes you just have to say it and leave it.
Check.
Dewberry
But the truth of the matter is that I love other people's love. I have never been that girl, you know. The one that looked for Mr. Right. I much preferred Mr. Hot(mess) and interesting. I never wanted to marry the hot-messes. They were highly entertaining and able to make me laugh, two qualities I find admirable.
Some girls picture their wedding or husband- the gallant knight in armor. They meet, fall in love, have 2.5 kids/ a dog/ a white picket fence and live happily ever after. I always pictured myself with kids. Always. I never pictured the husband or the lifestyle to go with it. I figured that we could be bohemian gypsies. Have adventures and be pirates or recluses or get off the grid. I never envisioned a husband to go with it because they're kinda bossy. And opinionated.
I like a man to be a man. To be decisive and intelligent and a leader. I know that in a relationship someone has to drive and someone has to co-pilot. I believe in this algorithm. I believe in the institution of marriage with roles and hierarchy- logically. Emotionally, I happen to hate being dictated to. The idea makes my skin crawl. I would be lying if I didn't admit that I also really like to drive some days. I do. Fast with the windows down and the music up. I feel free.
I am an oxymoron.
I only like falling in love to the point that it feels easy and light. Once it starts to feel like a cemented bond I'm not a fan. I know that's not a girl thing to admit to. The idea that my freedom holds more allure than stability. That whenever I start to feel hemmed in by a relationship I lay on the ground and have a panic attack. I feel heavier. Weighted. My kids sigh, step over me, roll their eyes.
I love love though. I have been in multiple weddings, hooked people up (in a non-invasive way of course), and I always encourage the girl to stay with the guy she loves. I'm happy when they make babies and I babysit once the kids come around so that they can have "date nights" and rekindle the romance. Make more babies. I have an affinity for babies (other peoples. I like the returnable kind). I'm happy when they are happy and I never feel resentful when I am relegated to the "call when I have a minute" status. Good for them and love. Just thinking about it makes me feel that all is right in the world.
... thing is while they are falling in love I am having meetings with people with a lot of letters behind their names like Esq. or PhD. While they are cooking dinner together I'm at the poetry cafe/ dancing/ art opening/ African-Asian fusion restaurant that I walked into because my feet followed my nose. While they are raising babies I am at a rooftop bar on an island. While they are becoming one I am learning myself anew and finding eccentric friends in random places.
That's the truth of the matter- I've never seen any couple make their coupledom look to them as exciting as my singleness is to me. It all seems so Meh. I am slightly embarrassed that I feel like that. It feels like hubris. I wish I could want to want to be that other girl. The settling down kind one. If for no other reason than to fit in with cultural norms but I don't. I like me. That girl's a fun girl. I'll keep her.
small disclaimer- This isn't to say that I don't want a ring. Eventually. I love love. It's saying that for a ring to be a possibility then the man in question would have to offer the possibility of more good times than is currently true in my life. Maybe I'll get married after AARP sends me a subscription.
In other, slightly related, news V Day has come and gone and I am successfully not in a situation. Yay adulting. Maybe I'm making some strides after all. No situation, able to admit that I'm more of a Marilyn than a Jackie. I think it's the blogging. Sometimes you just have to say it and leave it.
Check.
Dewberry
Sunday, February 12, 2017
Doors and Windows
Sometimes some doors are not meant to stay open. In which case the best thing you can do is gently shut the door. Lay your hand and head against it for a moment and allow the shadow of sadness to become a part of your story. Then push off. Cross the room to open the blinds in order to open the window. Then wait and watch. Allowing the anticipation of seeing the Sun rise from a completely different perspective to excite you.
Feel appreciative that regardless of the angle, the sun always comes up.
Here is to doors closing and windows opening.
Dewb
Thursday, February 9, 2017
The nights when everyone falls asleep in my bed
My kids are in their 17th year of life. Some nights, like tonight, they still need to be soothed to sleep by their Mother.
We had strict rules, their Dad and I, about not having babies sleep with us in bed. It was simple- we bought them their own beds. That's where they sleep. Period. Even though I breast fed we still navigated this rule- when they awoke in the middle of the night he would fetch them, I would feed them, he would put them away. I know that most men find it funny to fake sleep when the baby cries but ours was never a relationship like that.
As the kids grew older they always had their own space and I had mine. Own beds, own rooms, own places of being. Occasionally though there are nights when we end up in my space. Talking, laughing, inflating the retelling of our own stories and my bed is often the chosen venue.
I never really invite them. They just show up. One then the other. First they perch on my bed, ready to take flight because they "aren't ready to fall asleep"; then every so slowly they recline by degrees until they are prone. Talking non-stop the whole time. Their hands will sneak into mine, Or they will nudge my hand, like the dog does, for a back rub. Then eventually they stop speaking and fall asleep. Fetal position and fetal position. I smile. Amazed at the life we have been blessed to live and the bonds we seem to continue to share.
I keep waiting for the day when they are no longer drawn to the comfort that I bring them. The need for reassurance that I am there. It hasn't happened yet. That surprises me. I know that at almost 17 I avoided my Mom like the plague. My kids are so different than I was at that age.
I usually let them sleep just long enough to know that when I send them to bed they will go straight back to sleep. When you've had your kids their whole life you know what point that is. The hands relax, the snoring starts, the eyes slide open a smidgen, the face reverts back to baby hood. I wonder why people always look younger asleep. Then I send them to bed, assured that they will sleep well for the night.
I am curious if they will ever outgrow this phase. Or if at 20, 50, 80 they will still climb in my bed- drawn by an invisible connection and feeling safe, fall asleep.
A
We had strict rules, their Dad and I, about not having babies sleep with us in bed. It was simple- we bought them their own beds. That's where they sleep. Period. Even though I breast fed we still navigated this rule- when they awoke in the middle of the night he would fetch them, I would feed them, he would put them away. I know that most men find it funny to fake sleep when the baby cries but ours was never a relationship like that.
As the kids grew older they always had their own space and I had mine. Own beds, own rooms, own places of being. Occasionally though there are nights when we end up in my space. Talking, laughing, inflating the retelling of our own stories and my bed is often the chosen venue.
I never really invite them. They just show up. One then the other. First they perch on my bed, ready to take flight because they "aren't ready to fall asleep"; then every so slowly they recline by degrees until they are prone. Talking non-stop the whole time. Their hands will sneak into mine, Or they will nudge my hand, like the dog does, for a back rub. Then eventually they stop speaking and fall asleep. Fetal position and fetal position. I smile. Amazed at the life we have been blessed to live and the bonds we seem to continue to share.
I keep waiting for the day when they are no longer drawn to the comfort that I bring them. The need for reassurance that I am there. It hasn't happened yet. That surprises me. I know that at almost 17 I avoided my Mom like the plague. My kids are so different than I was at that age.
I usually let them sleep just long enough to know that when I send them to bed they will go straight back to sleep. When you've had your kids their whole life you know what point that is. The hands relax, the snoring starts, the eyes slide open a smidgen, the face reverts back to baby hood. I wonder why people always look younger asleep. Then I send them to bed, assured that they will sleep well for the night.
I am curious if they will ever outgrow this phase. Or if at 20, 50, 80 they will still climb in my bed- drawn by an invisible connection and feeling safe, fall asleep.
A
Friday, February 3, 2017
PMS, Valentine's Day, Eleanora Fagan, Wine & Chocolate
It probably goes without saying that PMS and Valentine's Day do not go well together.
Oh to be a woman. Every month my body releases the raw materials to help create life. Given my unique body chemistry, I feel this process literally. Soon thereafter, pms hits. It is not my brain's fault that is is flooded with chemicals it normally does not have to manage. It is part of the wonderful gift of being woman. Some days I wonder if pms is the body's grief cycle for not conceiving. The egg dies. The lining has to go. The body is sad that the womb is bereft of a baby and wala- pms chemicals wash your brain in their tears. I know this is not scientific but it makes sense to me.
Every year I pms around the same time as Valentine's Day. I am usually relationship-less too. I realized last year that I typically hop into relationships around Valentines Day or shortly thereafter. The cycle is - I pms, it's Valentine's Day, I decide I want a $12.99 Teddy Bear (the fact that I don't celebrate Valentine's Day makes the situation even more insensible), and I fall into a situation. I stay in the situation through Spring and Summer- I believe Spring and Summer are conducive to situations. It's nice to have someone to while the Summer away with at an outdoor cafe with an adult beverage. Fall comes along with the realities a new school year for the stinks, new service year, and new work school year; you know my life starts back up. The situation starts to feel like work and I look for the exit.
It is not (really) the other part of the situation's fault. I spoil people with time and "stuff" during the first half of the year. Mostly because I have a lot of extra time and "stuff". They get used to it. When my life starts up my time becomes limited and they throw small fits. I find it annoying and self-centered. I never understand why they don't innately realize that the last 2 seasons are their time to give as opposed to take. Not having the time to explain it nor the inclination, I hang my relationship hat up for the year.
Fall is full of fall activities and breaks and family time. Winter is more of the same but with snow activities. I don't really think about relationships again until the February holiday decorations come out. Blast effective marketing. I'm good at ignoring it until the inevitable pms hits. Then the cycle begins anew.
I decided last Fall that if I can make it through Valentine's Day situation-less then I will have achieved an adult benchmark. I am 12 days away. Funny number that one. The pms hit a day or so ago, the fight is on. When I was younger and I understood that my body was good at releasing 2 eggs at a time (which meant that my pms was terrible as was everything else that goes with it and it explains my resultant fraternal twins) I decided I had a choice- I could try and talk myself out of my pms and thus prolong it OR I could embrace it and hate everyone and everything for about 48 hours. I decided to go with the latter. Naturally. I'm nice about it, I give fair warning and hide in my room.
I digress. 12 days to go. It is getting critical. Situations are presenting themselves but I am resolved. I figured I needed to find a safe space. Bring on Eleanora Fagan and Chocolate and Wine. Did you know that chocolate releases the same chemicals that make you feel happy and euphoric as drugs do? And wine is a chemical depressant. Which means that wine and chocolate leave you feeling relaxed and happy. Assuming you're not a diabetic alcoholic... Where does Eleanora come in? No one can ever convince me that the blues of Stormy Weather and Body and Soul can't heal you. Eleanora Fagan's stage name is Billie Holiday.
So this is me- 12 days out from a milestone. Drinking red wine, eating dark chocolate, listening to Billie Holiday and blogging. If that doesn't combat V Day pms there is no hope.
Fortunately my body is already bloated so when all of this goes away in a few days I will have "lost weight" and I won't feel obligated to spend an extra day at the gym to work the extra caloric intake guilt off.
If nothing else, that is an amazing silver lining.
I got this.
Dewberry
Oh to be a woman. Every month my body releases the raw materials to help create life. Given my unique body chemistry, I feel this process literally. Soon thereafter, pms hits. It is not my brain's fault that is is flooded with chemicals it normally does not have to manage. It is part of the wonderful gift of being woman. Some days I wonder if pms is the body's grief cycle for not conceiving. The egg dies. The lining has to go. The body is sad that the womb is bereft of a baby and wala- pms chemicals wash your brain in their tears. I know this is not scientific but it makes sense to me.
Every year I pms around the same time as Valentine's Day. I am usually relationship-less too. I realized last year that I typically hop into relationships around Valentines Day or shortly thereafter. The cycle is - I pms, it's Valentine's Day, I decide I want a $12.99 Teddy Bear (the fact that I don't celebrate Valentine's Day makes the situation even more insensible), and I fall into a situation. I stay in the situation through Spring and Summer- I believe Spring and Summer are conducive to situations. It's nice to have someone to while the Summer away with at an outdoor cafe with an adult beverage. Fall comes along with the realities a new school year for the stinks, new service year, and new work school year; you know my life starts back up. The situation starts to feel like work and I look for the exit.
It is not (really) the other part of the situation's fault. I spoil people with time and "stuff" during the first half of the year. Mostly because I have a lot of extra time and "stuff". They get used to it. When my life starts up my time becomes limited and they throw small fits. I find it annoying and self-centered. I never understand why they don't innately realize that the last 2 seasons are their time to give as opposed to take. Not having the time to explain it nor the inclination, I hang my relationship hat up for the year.
Fall is full of fall activities and breaks and family time. Winter is more of the same but with snow activities. I don't really think about relationships again until the February holiday decorations come out. Blast effective marketing. I'm good at ignoring it until the inevitable pms hits. Then the cycle begins anew.
I decided last Fall that if I can make it through Valentine's Day situation-less then I will have achieved an adult benchmark. I am 12 days away. Funny number that one. The pms hit a day or so ago, the fight is on. When I was younger and I understood that my body was good at releasing 2 eggs at a time (which meant that my pms was terrible as was everything else that goes with it and it explains my resultant fraternal twins) I decided I had a choice- I could try and talk myself out of my pms and thus prolong it OR I could embrace it and hate everyone and everything for about 48 hours. I decided to go with the latter. Naturally. I'm nice about it, I give fair warning and hide in my room.
I digress. 12 days to go. It is getting critical. Situations are presenting themselves but I am resolved. I figured I needed to find a safe space. Bring on Eleanora Fagan and Chocolate and Wine. Did you know that chocolate releases the same chemicals that make you feel happy and euphoric as drugs do? And wine is a chemical depressant. Which means that wine and chocolate leave you feeling relaxed and happy. Assuming you're not a diabetic alcoholic... Where does Eleanora come in? No one can ever convince me that the blues of Stormy Weather and Body and Soul can't heal you. Eleanora Fagan's stage name is Billie Holiday.
So this is me- 12 days out from a milestone. Drinking red wine, eating dark chocolate, listening to Billie Holiday and blogging. If that doesn't combat V Day pms there is no hope.
Fortunately my body is already bloated so when all of this goes away in a few days I will have "lost weight" and I won't feel obligated to spend an extra day at the gym to work the extra caloric intake guilt off.
If nothing else, that is an amazing silver lining.
I got this.
Dewberry
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)