The letting go. Letting go of what? Of the hope that it would "work out," that he'd change his mind...that it would get good again. It's done. It has been from the start.
Maybe on some level I knew this. I knew that somehow this would never work. Maybe that's why I wanted it so much. God I have never wanted any earthly thing so much. I wanted so much. But yet I was scared shitless. I'd never admit that, but I was. I thought for once I wasn't afraid, but I was more afraid than ever. How did I become such a damn pansy?
Guess I always was...'twas all an act.
So here I stand, poised to let him go. To walk away. To admit that it's done. To say I'm done. It's a good thing I know, but damn if it doesn't hurt like hell.
Makes me think...(what else is new?) I used to believe that if it was meant to be it would be. Nice thought. Comforts a hurting heart. But who knows...maybe some things work and some don't, and that's just the way it is. Maybe people are in your life for a season, and they exit. End. Sometimes they come back, but not usually...
Anyhoo I made a good step forward today. Someone new. Guess I'll be in limbo for a while yet. But I can handle the limbo...
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
girl like me...
Girl Like Me
Miranda Lambert
You don't need a girl like me
I've got bruises you can't see
And when the lights go outI won't be around
You don't need a girl like me
You can't have a heart like mine
But you can hold it for a while
And when the lights go outI won't be around
You can't have a heart like mine
There's a rule that goes unwritten
And I break it from time to time
If you're fool enough to listen
Then I'm fool enough to lie
That's the kind of girl I am
I take off before I land
And even though you think you can
You can't change the way I am
Cause the rule remains unwritten
I still break it from time to time
If you're fool enough to listen
Then I'm fool enough to lie
You can't change the way I am
You don't need a girl like me
Miranda Lambert
You don't need a girl like me
I've got bruises you can't see
And when the lights go outI won't be around
You don't need a girl like me
You can't have a heart like mine
But you can hold it for a while
And when the lights go outI won't be around
You can't have a heart like mine
There's a rule that goes unwritten
And I break it from time to time
If you're fool enough to listen
Then I'm fool enough to lie
That's the kind of girl I am
I take off before I land
And even though you think you can
You can't change the way I am
Cause the rule remains unwritten
I still break it from time to time
If you're fool enough to listen
Then I'm fool enough to lie
You can't change the way I am
You don't need a girl like me
Thursday, May 28, 2009
mister UPS man...
Seriously?
So how is it that every single time I am waiting for a package to arrive the UPS man shows up the moment I step out of the shower? Yup that's right. I step out of the shower, water-soaked, just starting to towel off and... knock, knock, knock. I normally pick up the pace of my towelling. Scurrying to dry the water enough to throw my jeans on. But this never works. Never. I end up with damp legs trying feverishly to pull the jeans on. Of course they stick. I pull and pull. Jump around. Nothing. No avail. Of course the soundtrack to my jumping and wrestling my jeans on is the UPS man giving one last go-round to his knocking.
He leaves. And leaves my usual note: your package is at the office.
Of course it is. Damn the UPS man. Maybe next time I will just appease him. Maybe I will just saunter to the door in nothing but a bra and panties. I will surely make it to the door on time then. But that will bring a whole other can of worms to the table...
Guess I will just let him take my packages to the office like he always does...
But I must admit the look that would be painted all over his countenance when he saw a girl with dripping wet hair, in nothing but a bra and panties. Heehee :)
So how is it that every single time I am waiting for a package to arrive the UPS man shows up the moment I step out of the shower? Yup that's right. I step out of the shower, water-soaked, just starting to towel off and... knock, knock, knock. I normally pick up the pace of my towelling. Scurrying to dry the water enough to throw my jeans on. But this never works. Never. I end up with damp legs trying feverishly to pull the jeans on. Of course they stick. I pull and pull. Jump around. Nothing. No avail. Of course the soundtrack to my jumping and wrestling my jeans on is the UPS man giving one last go-round to his knocking.
He leaves. And leaves my usual note: your package is at the office.
Of course it is. Damn the UPS man. Maybe next time I will just appease him. Maybe I will just saunter to the door in nothing but a bra and panties. I will surely make it to the door on time then. But that will bring a whole other can of worms to the table...
Guess I will just let him take my packages to the office like he always does...
But I must admit the look that would be painted all over his countenance when he saw a girl with dripping wet hair, in nothing but a bra and panties. Heehee :)
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
too much in your own head
That's what he said. I never worry about you until you get too far into your own head...
Struck a chord. A thick heavy E chord. Ya know? The fatty on your guitar, the one that digs deep into your fingers as you depress, trying desperately to make something similar to music. You press. It hurts and you press harder still. Your feeble finger trying with all it's umph to make a good clean crisp noise. But it waivers. Your finger's strength fails and the sound is more of a rattling, gurgling annoyance. That's how I felt. That's what I feel now. I am trying to make music out of an old guitar. Out of tune. And my fingers are blistered to near oblivion. But still I press that thick string. That tightly wound steel that was made to make music.
Here I am way too far into my own head. Entirely too much these days. You see there are layers and layers of muck and mire I am trying to sort through. I am trying to find the solid ground... This last season of my life has brought so many changes. The rollercoaster of evisceration all began with my getting the boot from my beloved pastors. And sitting there in the aftermath of the cataclysm, I looked at what I was. Who I was. I saw who I really was underneath all I had pretended to be for so long. I had--and for the most part am still having-- one megalith of a question of faith. Trying to find the intersection of my faith and my reality...but this is another 47,000 blogs...one day, one day I will type it all out...but anyhoo...
Next stop folks: THE BLACK HOLE.
What the hell is the Black Hole? The black hole is where you find yourself when you feel free enough to live your life on your terms, and you do so only to feel as though you've made some enormous mistakes. Wondering so many times "where the fuck am I?! How did I get here? What am I doing? I should stop. Go back? No, not turning back...but then what? What now?!"
This my friends is me being too much in my own head. Pondering. Contemplating. Questioning. Answering. Only to question once more. Just figuring it all out. So I say. Guess it's just my way. My way of gathering my thoughts. Straightening them out, and starching them. Creasing them just right. Folding them perfectly. Making sure I no one sees the stains. What stains? Emotions. I hide in my thoughts. I think it through. I ponder every last drop out of it. It's avoidance. I avoid feeling it by thinking. Is this just another gift from dear ole Dad? Maybe... And that gets the thinking turbines turning all over again...
And then I remind myself to be patient. After all, twenty-something years of auto-protect cannot be turned off in 30 days. Approximately 30 days ago is when I started this Dad business. Trying to identify and sort out all the Daddy issues I have. But I know I've merely scratched the surface. Like the storm shutters at the flea market. Old and dirty. Layers of paint and dirt. Paint weather-worn and cracked. In places showing colors underneath, and other places tiny glimpses of the wood. In order to get to the wood-- the parts that make the shutters shutters--you have to take off years and years of paint. The very thing that protected the wood from years and years of storms, is making it an eyesore now. So let us begin. Stripping off the paint. Chemicals. Wire brushes. And finally sand paper...
Struck a chord. A thick heavy E chord. Ya know? The fatty on your guitar, the one that digs deep into your fingers as you depress, trying desperately to make something similar to music. You press. It hurts and you press harder still. Your feeble finger trying with all it's umph to make a good clean crisp noise. But it waivers. Your finger's strength fails and the sound is more of a rattling, gurgling annoyance. That's how I felt. That's what I feel now. I am trying to make music out of an old guitar. Out of tune. And my fingers are blistered to near oblivion. But still I press that thick string. That tightly wound steel that was made to make music.
Here I am way too far into my own head. Entirely too much these days. You see there are layers and layers of muck and mire I am trying to sort through. I am trying to find the solid ground... This last season of my life has brought so many changes. The rollercoaster of evisceration all began with my getting the boot from my beloved pastors. And sitting there in the aftermath of the cataclysm, I looked at what I was. Who I was. I saw who I really was underneath all I had pretended to be for so long. I had--and for the most part am still having-- one megalith of a question of faith. Trying to find the intersection of my faith and my reality...but this is another 47,000 blogs...one day, one day I will type it all out...but anyhoo...
Next stop folks: THE BLACK HOLE.
What the hell is the Black Hole? The black hole is where you find yourself when you feel free enough to live your life on your terms, and you do so only to feel as though you've made some enormous mistakes. Wondering so many times "where the fuck am I?! How did I get here? What am I doing? I should stop. Go back? No, not turning back...but then what? What now?!"
This my friends is me being too much in my own head. Pondering. Contemplating. Questioning. Answering. Only to question once more. Just figuring it all out. So I say. Guess it's just my way. My way of gathering my thoughts. Straightening them out, and starching them. Creasing them just right. Folding them perfectly. Making sure I no one sees the stains. What stains? Emotions. I hide in my thoughts. I think it through. I ponder every last drop out of it. It's avoidance. I avoid feeling it by thinking. Is this just another gift from dear ole Dad? Maybe... And that gets the thinking turbines turning all over again...
And then I remind myself to be patient. After all, twenty-something years of auto-protect cannot be turned off in 30 days. Approximately 30 days ago is when I started this Dad business. Trying to identify and sort out all the Daddy issues I have. But I know I've merely scratched the surface. Like the storm shutters at the flea market. Old and dirty. Layers of paint and dirt. Paint weather-worn and cracked. In places showing colors underneath, and other places tiny glimpses of the wood. In order to get to the wood-- the parts that make the shutters shutters--you have to take off years and years of paint. The very thing that protected the wood from years and years of storms, is making it an eyesore now. So let us begin. Stripping off the paint. Chemicals. Wire brushes. And finally sand paper...
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
the webs we weave...
At this moment I'm feeling strange. I just poured my heart out to someone... Someone I've been hesitant to get close to. I won't go into details, but I could get very close to him if you know what I mean. And this would be bad. Very bad...
He whines and moans because I won't let him into my life. But I have very strict boundaries. I know that things go crazy without our planning.
Life is so motherfucking complicated.
I would so love the world to be black or white. This or that. One or the other. But no. The world and life is gray. All gray. There are some things that exist in black and white. But for the most part gray. Or black with white polka dots, or black with white polka dots. Hey! That's more interesting than gray.
Ugh... oh well. Guess the polka dots sure make it an interesting ride eh? And make for good stories...or half stories...or something...
He whines and moans because I won't let him into my life. But I have very strict boundaries. I know that things go crazy without our planning.
Life is so motherfucking complicated.
I would so love the world to be black or white. This or that. One or the other. But no. The world and life is gray. All gray. There are some things that exist in black and white. But for the most part gray. Or black with white polka dots, or black with white polka dots. Hey! That's more interesting than gray.
Ugh... oh well. Guess the polka dots sure make it an interesting ride eh? And make for good stories...or half stories...or something...
Sunday, May 24, 2009
ER errrr entertaining...
The ER is a never-ending wheel of entertaining, perplexing and hair-raising adventures...
The tales us members of this ER cult can tell.
The man who shaved his leg--hair, skin, and some bone--with a chain saw.
The man whose wife bit his testicle just a tad bit too hard during a rough midnight romp, and nearly lost the family jewels.
The man who arrived to the ER mid-afternoon stating he had some "things" in his rectum. And upon X-Ray examination a full-sized shampoo bottle, a compact mirror, a lotion bottle, and several other toiletries were found. Apparently a wild one night stand left him with more than a few lasting memories.
Of course in 7 years of work in the ER that is only a mere sprinkling of the tales I can tell. But tonight I must laugh at the silliness of people and the things they do...and say.
Over the radio a few hours ago we get a patch for a Police Clearance. Turns out a girl with a history of Autism (not sure how it can be history when that is not something you recover from...but anywhooo...) was assaulting her boyfriend and injured herself. The police were called and she went to jail...
Just now: A patient was struck with a bowl. Yes bowl. Not sure whether a cereal bowl. A mixing bowl. A drug paraphernalia (pipe) bowl. Who knows. But a bowl nevertheless. At four in the morning, he was tragically struck with a bowl. Right in his shin! Call the trauma surgeon! STAT!
And twenty two minutes ago a man waltzed into Triage, and filled out his form to be seen by the doctor. Dammit Jim! He's got vomiting and "craps!" Oh no! Not the craps! --tell me why he can conjure up the word vomiting, but not diarrhea? Maybe too difficult to spell? Or craps sounded more complex? Painful? Tragic? Nope. Not really. More asinine. Just spelled out in five letters just how much he did not need to be in the EMERGENCY ROOM at four AM on a Sunday morning.
Ahh the perpetual battle between the people working the night away for the true emergencies, ending up treating the man who forgot to wash the dye off his hair and scalp 20 hours prior, and lo and behold! his scalp itches. At 2 AM no less...
At least it makes for ridiculous stories to fill the annals of asininity.
The tales us members of this ER cult can tell.
The man who shaved his leg--hair, skin, and some bone--with a chain saw.
The man whose wife bit his testicle just a tad bit too hard during a rough midnight romp, and nearly lost the family jewels.
The man who arrived to the ER mid-afternoon stating he had some "things" in his rectum. And upon X-Ray examination a full-sized shampoo bottle, a compact mirror, a lotion bottle, and several other toiletries were found. Apparently a wild one night stand left him with more than a few lasting memories.
Of course in 7 years of work in the ER that is only a mere sprinkling of the tales I can tell. But tonight I must laugh at the silliness of people and the things they do...and say.
Over the radio a few hours ago we get a patch for a Police Clearance. Turns out a girl with a history of Autism (not sure how it can be history when that is not something you recover from...but anywhooo...) was assaulting her boyfriend and injured herself. The police were called and she went to jail...
Just now: A patient was struck with a bowl. Yes bowl. Not sure whether a cereal bowl. A mixing bowl. A drug paraphernalia (pipe) bowl. Who knows. But a bowl nevertheless. At four in the morning, he was tragically struck with a bowl. Right in his shin! Call the trauma surgeon! STAT!
And twenty two minutes ago a man waltzed into Triage, and filled out his form to be seen by the doctor. Dammit Jim! He's got vomiting and "craps!" Oh no! Not the craps! --tell me why he can conjure up the word vomiting, but not diarrhea? Maybe too difficult to spell? Or craps sounded more complex? Painful? Tragic? Nope. Not really. More asinine. Just spelled out in five letters just how much he did not need to be in the EMERGENCY ROOM at four AM on a Sunday morning.
Ahh the perpetual battle between the people working the night away for the true emergencies, ending up treating the man who forgot to wash the dye off his hair and scalp 20 hours prior, and lo and behold! his scalp itches. At 2 AM no less...
At least it makes for ridiculous stories to fill the annals of asininity.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
the happiness factor
The happiness factor...
Happy. Such a simple word. So often unused. How many people are genuinely happy? Truly, honestly happy? For the longest time I went around claiming happiness, but all the while I was more dead inside than anything. I remember countless times when people would tell me to smile more. "Val you have such a pretty smile, I wish you weren't so serious all the time." So many people told me this over the years. I wondered all the time how I could just smile. Smile for no reason? Like some crazy ass fiend who had no clue about anything so they just smiled? Or like some over-botoxed hag whose face was stuck in a smile? But I get it now.
I get it. Recently I have been really analyzing my childhood and my feelings about some of my experiences. I realized that I held to the hurts and disappointments even though I told myself that I was fine and I had let go of it all. That it was in the past. Blah blah. But in reality I hadn't let go of a single hurt. The wounds would have long since healed and been nearly forgotten had I not held them open. I held the chains of my father's addiction so tightly that I was the one doing the damage. I kept this hurt so close and so tightly that I caused it to injure me over and over again.
I now know why I was so serious. It takes a lot of energy to fake life. To walk around making everyone believe that you are full of life, and that you are really living your life. When the secret reality is I was dying inside. I held myself so closely to my family--and the supposed responsibility that lies within keeping the secrets of addiction--that I was causing myself to atrophy. To remain in the town I hate living in, working in the job I don't want to do anymore, just surviving day to day. When I am a 26 year old woman who should be living her life to the fullest. I should be going out and meeting new people. I should be moving wherever I so choose. Living the nomadic life I dream of. Wherever the wind blows...wherever my next whim takes me. That is where I should be. Not settling for a mediocre life. Not wearing this stupid "everything's okay" mask.
So that is what I have done. I let go. That was the scariest part. The letting go. Like bungee jumping, the hardest part is the letting go. And ya know what? Once I looked at the wounds, they didn't seem so bad. I have examined my wounds, and cleaned them. And now--FINALLY-- they are healing. It hurt, and still does, but I feel better than ever. More whole than ever. I feel alive for the first time in my life. REALLY ALIVE.
All kinds of crazy things have gone on in my world lately. I have been hurt like never before, but in the midst of it all I have an overwhelming sense of peace and security. I know that I am good, no matter what. That what I have traversed thus far has been quite a climb, and so will the rest of my life. But I am happy. I truly choose to be happy.
I have learned several important lessons. One that sticks out the most is: I don't need anyone to make me happy. No one can alter my state of happiness, good or bad. If I am truly, honestly happy no actions can make me less happy, or even bolster my happiness. People aren't placed in your life to change your outlook, to make you this or that. They are not mood enhancers. They are there to make you a better person, and hopefully you do the same for them.
I'm done with this low living, pretending to be this and telling myself that I am that bullshit. I now living my life on my terms. Living MY LIFE! And it will be a grand one. No matter where it takes me, or who the main characters are, my life story will be a great one. I'm ready for it. It's time for a new chapter. The quill in hand, I'm ready.
Wanna read some more? It's gonna get good from here on out!
Happy. Such a simple word. So often unused. How many people are genuinely happy? Truly, honestly happy? For the longest time I went around claiming happiness, but all the while I was more dead inside than anything. I remember countless times when people would tell me to smile more. "Val you have such a pretty smile, I wish you weren't so serious all the time." So many people told me this over the years. I wondered all the time how I could just smile. Smile for no reason? Like some crazy ass fiend who had no clue about anything so they just smiled? Or like some over-botoxed hag whose face was stuck in a smile? But I get it now.
I get it. Recently I have been really analyzing my childhood and my feelings about some of my experiences. I realized that I held to the hurts and disappointments even though I told myself that I was fine and I had let go of it all. That it was in the past. Blah blah. But in reality I hadn't let go of a single hurt. The wounds would have long since healed and been nearly forgotten had I not held them open. I held the chains of my father's addiction so tightly that I was the one doing the damage. I kept this hurt so close and so tightly that I caused it to injure me over and over again.
I now know why I was so serious. It takes a lot of energy to fake life. To walk around making everyone believe that you are full of life, and that you are really living your life. When the secret reality is I was dying inside. I held myself so closely to my family--and the supposed responsibility that lies within keeping the secrets of addiction--that I was causing myself to atrophy. To remain in the town I hate living in, working in the job I don't want to do anymore, just surviving day to day. When I am a 26 year old woman who should be living her life to the fullest. I should be going out and meeting new people. I should be moving wherever I so choose. Living the nomadic life I dream of. Wherever the wind blows...wherever my next whim takes me. That is where I should be. Not settling for a mediocre life. Not wearing this stupid "everything's okay" mask.
So that is what I have done. I let go. That was the scariest part. The letting go. Like bungee jumping, the hardest part is the letting go. And ya know what? Once I looked at the wounds, they didn't seem so bad. I have examined my wounds, and cleaned them. And now--FINALLY-- they are healing. It hurt, and still does, but I feel better than ever. More whole than ever. I feel alive for the first time in my life. REALLY ALIVE.
All kinds of crazy things have gone on in my world lately. I have been hurt like never before, but in the midst of it all I have an overwhelming sense of peace and security. I know that I am good, no matter what. That what I have traversed thus far has been quite a climb, and so will the rest of my life. But I am happy. I truly choose to be happy.
I have learned several important lessons. One that sticks out the most is: I don't need anyone to make me happy. No one can alter my state of happiness, good or bad. If I am truly, honestly happy no actions can make me less happy, or even bolster my happiness. People aren't placed in your life to change your outlook, to make you this or that. They are not mood enhancers. They are there to make you a better person, and hopefully you do the same for them.
I'm done with this low living, pretending to be this and telling myself that I am that bullshit. I now living my life on my terms. Living MY LIFE! And it will be a grand one. No matter where it takes me, or who the main characters are, my life story will be a great one. I'm ready for it. It's time for a new chapter. The quill in hand, I'm ready.
Wanna read some more? It's gonna get good from here on out!
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