Hello there! The last time we talked (alright, I'm aware that I'm doing all the talking but you're such a terrific listener!), I mentioned that I had begun reading about the Law of Attraction. The basic tenet of the LOA is that everything in the universe is made up of energy and whatever you "put out there," is what you're going to get back. Which, when you think about it, you've probably already seen in your day-to-day life anyway - you just didn't have a name for it. But whenever you're having a day where you are on top of the world or when nothing seems to go right, that's because you're putting out certain vibes and getting back exactly what you put out there.
A friend of mine once told me that we are responsible for EVERYTHING that comes our way. As a survivor of early childhood sexual abuse, I was really ticked off when he said that. After I've read a few things about the LOA, I'm understanding a little more (and that guy wasn't even an advocate of the Law of Attraction!) In some ways, I get what he was saying - I won't lie, I still struggle with this concept a little bit but on some level, I do get it.
So about this Law of Attraction. What's the deal, anyway? Well. It's like this. People always talk about having a positive attitude but really, your choice for success goes so much deeper than that. You can't just think it. You have to feel it. And then you have to truly accept that what is good and right is what's going to happen. It's that simple. The trick comes in feeling something - truly imagining yourself in a certain scenario: having your dream car, traveling to that one place, etc. And in then letting it go. We're not conditioned to do those two things. We have to convince ourselves that we deserve good things. And when we don't have them, we're conditioned to dwell on the negative. Tomorrow night's my "Friday," as far as work is concerned so, hopefully, when I get home, I can take my time and elaborate on this business of feeling our wants and not dwelling on the negative, don't-want (not having our wants).
In my own life, though, after some horrible struggles that I haven't even written about that include my husband leaving me, losing custody of my children, losing my home, losing my job and my sister dying (all within months of each other), after I started putting this principle into practice, EVERYTHING has turned 180 degrees around. My life isn't perfect yet - this is a journey. But instead of living in a grungy apartment with high school drop out neighbours, instead of being unemployed, instead of being filled with grief and loneliness... my life has changed dramatically.
I live in a lovely condo on Lake Michigan at a price that would make you swallow your tongue with envy. Not kidding. I have a job - no, I'm not rich (not yet anyway; it's on my list of wants and I'll get there, I'm sure of it!) but I'm happy. I actually wake up and love going to work every, single day. No joke. I haven't been physically intimate with anyone in a LONG time (TMI? Maybe...) and I'm okay with it. I know that's coming, too! I'm happy. I'm filled with joy and I'm absolutely filled with peace. Every day. The funny thing is, negative people can sense it and they hate it!!! My second husband, for example. He is the most unhappy, unkind person I know and it just frosts his cookies that I have the nerve to be happy! Ah well, that's his issue, not mine :)
I hope you'll at least consider how the Law of Attraction can work in your life - it's so much more than pop psychology or some sort of new agey thing. It's been around since the beginning of creation and it's always going to be here. The thing to consider is this. Whoever you are, wherever you are in your life - what do you have to lose by genuinely giving it a try? You don't have to buy anything. You don't have to give anything away. You don't have to quit your job (unless you really want to, I suppose) or move away (also an option if you so choose, I guess). All you have to do is be open to learning how your life can change for the better. Simple as that. I promise.
Talk to you soon - ciao for now!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Day 16 - The Law of Attraction
Okay, I was having trouble getting this entry to post on my PC last night so, technically, this post is a day late but *only* technically - therefore, I'm adjusting the date to reflect accordingly!
Right, so now that that's out of the way, I've been meaning to talk about the law of attraction. A girlfriend of mine (way back in ancient history, three years ago) tried to explain this to me and I'm pretty sure I "oh pooh-poohed" it and acted like I knew what she was talking about. The truth of the matter is, I had no clue whatsoever. Here's the basic premise of the theory: you can, within reason, have just about any sort of success you want in life - money, physical, relationships, etc. - if you can learn how to control the energy around yourself. Everything in the universe is made of energy; that much has been proven. The Law of Attraction says that "like attracts like," so, essentially, "whatever you put out there is what you'll get back." A little like karma but so much more than that.
Have you ever had one of those really, really, really good days where you were just "on" all day and it felt like nothing could go wrong? You feel this absolute joy that comes from within, right? Do you know what I'm talking about? I've heard it described as "I was just on my GAME that day!" or simply "I was having a great day!" And, of course, there's the opposite: those days where nothing but nothing seems to go right and everything just sort of snowballs down hill. Yeah, I've had those days, too. Well, the Law of Attraction says that you can learn how to control the energy that brings about those unbelievably good days. Unfortunately, most of us are taught all of the negatives: don't, can't, won't, shouldn't and so on from a very young age so we learn to draw in the negative a lot more easily than the positive.
Well, last autumn, I came across this book called, "Excuse Me, Your Life Is Waiting," written by Lynn Grabhorn and it literally changed my life. It doesn't just talk about the Law of Attraction and what it does for people. It's actually a how-to manual. Do It This Way And I Promise You'll See A Difference. Let me tell you something, whoever you are; that woman was not just whistling Dixie! My whole life has done a 180 degree turn and I'm completely stunned. It WORKS!
I've got to cut this short for now but the next time I write, I'm going to start talking about what learning about and learning to embrace this law has done for me. I can't wait to tell you! Ciao for now!
Right, so now that that's out of the way, I've been meaning to talk about the law of attraction. A girlfriend of mine (way back in ancient history, three years ago) tried to explain this to me and I'm pretty sure I "oh pooh-poohed" it and acted like I knew what she was talking about. The truth of the matter is, I had no clue whatsoever. Here's the basic premise of the theory: you can, within reason, have just about any sort of success you want in life - money, physical, relationships, etc. - if you can learn how to control the energy around yourself. Everything in the universe is made of energy; that much has been proven. The Law of Attraction says that "like attracts like," so, essentially, "whatever you put out there is what you'll get back." A little like karma but so much more than that.
Have you ever had one of those really, really, really good days where you were just "on" all day and it felt like nothing could go wrong? You feel this absolute joy that comes from within, right? Do you know what I'm talking about? I've heard it described as "I was just on my GAME that day!" or simply "I was having a great day!" And, of course, there's the opposite: those days where nothing but nothing seems to go right and everything just sort of snowballs down hill. Yeah, I've had those days, too. Well, the Law of Attraction says that you can learn how to control the energy that brings about those unbelievably good days. Unfortunately, most of us are taught all of the negatives: don't, can't, won't, shouldn't and so on from a very young age so we learn to draw in the negative a lot more easily than the positive.
Well, last autumn, I came across this book called, "Excuse Me, Your Life Is Waiting," written by Lynn Grabhorn and it literally changed my life. It doesn't just talk about the Law of Attraction and what it does for people. It's actually a how-to manual. Do It This Way And I Promise You'll See A Difference. Let me tell you something, whoever you are; that woman was not just whistling Dixie! My whole life has done a 180 degree turn and I'm completely stunned. It WORKS!
I've got to cut this short for now but the next time I write, I'm going to start talking about what learning about and learning to embrace this law has done for me. I can't wait to tell you! Ciao for now!
Monday, March 29, 2010
Day 15 - On Relationships
How did you come to the knowledge that you have about relationships and how they're supposed to work? Do you believe in love at first sight? Fairy tale endings? Do you think all relationships are doomed to fail eventually? Do you think anyone is ever truly happy with the partner choice he or she made? What frightens you? What holds people back?
Me? I've always been an "all or nothing" girl when it comes to relationships. If I truly love someone, I'm all in and nothing will hold me back. I used to believe in love at first sight but I don't any more. In fact, I think the world has it wrong about the definition of love. I don't think you can love someone at first sight; it's just not possible. You can want them so much that your heart aches to be with them. You can be attracted to them. You can dream about growing old together. But love - the real deal; true love - I believe can only grow with time. Weathering a few storms together, getting through something difficult together. Truly experiencing each other's flaws, things you don't even really like about each other... and wanting to be together anyway.
I don't think all relationships are doomed to failure; but I do think that most of us have some preconceived notion about what "happily ever after" means. I think we expect the Cinderella story and are heartbroken when we discover over and over again that life isn't like that. And yet we jump right back in and try again. Over and over and over, never learning. You know what I think? I do believe in happily ever after endings but I think we have to write our own fairy tales complete with monsters and conflicts. And I think we have to write our own, workable endings; be willing to live our fairy tales unscripted and then be ready to adjust when the story line veers off the path we designed.
I am in love with a man who is going through a depression. He isn't always depressed. He wasn't depressed when we first met. But ooh, what a journey. He goes into what I call his "dragon cave" and can't resurface again until he's ready. In short, it's a little crazy making to be in love with someone who's struggling with depression. People even sometimes say "that person has no right to be in a relationship if he can't even manage life by himself right now." What? Just because he's struggling, I should end it? That's ridiculous. But it's not easy, you know? When he hides in his cave for one, I miss my best friend, my love, desperately. I try not to write about it too much because I don't want anyone to think that I dwell on it more than I should. Do I overthink his depression? Sometimes. A little. I'd give almost anything to make it better.
I think I'm just feeling a little melancholy tonight. Thing is, I'm moderately pretty. People tell me often. And whether or not I'm pretty isn't an issue. I'm funny. And intellingent. And desirable.
And desired.
Which makes me teary sometimes. It's flattering to be desired, I guess. But something about it makes me teary when the words I'm hearing are coming from the wrong lips. Does that make sense? Someone I met recently - a television producer - tells me often that he wants to take me out to dinner to court me. That I just "do it" for him, etc. which is certainly not a terrible thing to hear. But all I think is, "this is lovely but I love my Marc so much! God, I miss him... I hope he resurfaces soon." And he will, I know. But I hate waiting. Just hate it.
Anyway, enough of that! I think I'm just really tired... it's going to be an easy week (which is good after a busy weekend with Bekah being here)! Off to bed for now... I have so much more I want to say but I'm so sleepy! Good night, whoever you are - I'll be back tomorrow!
Me? I've always been an "all or nothing" girl when it comes to relationships. If I truly love someone, I'm all in and nothing will hold me back. I used to believe in love at first sight but I don't any more. In fact, I think the world has it wrong about the definition of love. I don't think you can love someone at first sight; it's just not possible. You can want them so much that your heart aches to be with them. You can be attracted to them. You can dream about growing old together. But love - the real deal; true love - I believe can only grow with time. Weathering a few storms together, getting through something difficult together. Truly experiencing each other's flaws, things you don't even really like about each other... and wanting to be together anyway.
I don't think all relationships are doomed to failure; but I do think that most of us have some preconceived notion about what "happily ever after" means. I think we expect the Cinderella story and are heartbroken when we discover over and over again that life isn't like that. And yet we jump right back in and try again. Over and over and over, never learning. You know what I think? I do believe in happily ever after endings but I think we have to write our own fairy tales complete with monsters and conflicts. And I think we have to write our own, workable endings; be willing to live our fairy tales unscripted and then be ready to adjust when the story line veers off the path we designed.
I am in love with a man who is going through a depression. He isn't always depressed. He wasn't depressed when we first met. But ooh, what a journey. He goes into what I call his "dragon cave" and can't resurface again until he's ready. In short, it's a little crazy making to be in love with someone who's struggling with depression. People even sometimes say "that person has no right to be in a relationship if he can't even manage life by himself right now." What? Just because he's struggling, I should end it? That's ridiculous. But it's not easy, you know? When he hides in his cave for one, I miss my best friend, my love, desperately. I try not to write about it too much because I don't want anyone to think that I dwell on it more than I should. Do I overthink his depression? Sometimes. A little. I'd give almost anything to make it better.
I think I'm just feeling a little melancholy tonight. Thing is, I'm moderately pretty. People tell me often. And whether or not I'm pretty isn't an issue. I'm funny. And intellingent. And desirable.
And desired.
Which makes me teary sometimes. It's flattering to be desired, I guess. But something about it makes me teary when the words I'm hearing are coming from the wrong lips. Does that make sense? Someone I met recently - a television producer - tells me often that he wants to take me out to dinner to court me. That I just "do it" for him, etc. which is certainly not a terrible thing to hear. But all I think is, "this is lovely but I love my Marc so much! God, I miss him... I hope he resurfaces soon." And he will, I know. But I hate waiting. Just hate it.
Anyway, enough of that! I think I'm just really tired... it's going to be an easy week (which is good after a busy weekend with Bekah being here)! Off to bed for now... I have so much more I want to say but I'm so sleepy! Good night, whoever you are - I'll be back tomorrow!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Day 14 - Something A Little Crazy That I Love To Do...
You know, when I work, I don't have a boss to work with, coworkers, fellow employees, etc. and I work long hours so, at the end of my day, I pretty much go home and collapse. Which doesn't leave a whole lot of time to develop much of a social life. So what's a girl to do? Well, I don't know about anyone else but this girl puts an ad in the "Strictly Platonic" section of Craig's List. I'd rather be at home with my boyfriend snuggling on the sofa watching a movie before bed but he's in Germany (which I hate) and he's going through a depression and he sometimes checks out of life for anywhere from one to three weeks at a time (which I hate times about a million) so, instead of sitting around at home being depressed because I'm alone, I say "screw it! there's a world out there and I'm going to experience it" whether he's ready to come along for the ride or not! Don't get me wrong - my first choice? Definitely would be to curl up with my sweetie. But if that's not an option then I'm not going to mope about it, no way!
Enter Craig's List. Now, when going on Craig's List for any reason, you have to be a little careful. Not necessarily because of rapists and murderers or whatever, although I'm well aware of THOSE stories, too. But CL can be a weird little place - their "Personals" section seems straightforward enough. It's broken down into categories such as the standard romance seeker categories and then even adds a few others: miscellaneous romance, casual encounters, missed connections and, of course, strictly platonic. Now, one would think that anyone with half a brain would understand the difference between "strictly platonic" and "casual encounters," but, evidently, I'm in the minority. WAY. In the minority. So I've developed a pretty clear cut ad that says something like this:
"Before I say anything, let me make this clear: I am NOT interested in romance, I am NOT interested in a hook-up, and I will NOT be your friend with benefits. I am looking for a friend to hang out with, not someone to discuss sex with. If you're looking for any of the aforementioned, move along, there's nothing here for you. If you're cool with the parameters I've set, keep reading!"
...and then I go on to describe that I'm just looking for new friends to discuss politics and art with, maybe talk about travel, European news, middle eastern culture, and so on. Every once in a while, I still get the occasional weirdo but mostly, I meet cool people who are excited that someone has actually said something so straightforward. Tonight was a dinner night with one such new friend. Thomas is happily married to a lovely woman from China. His wife and adorable daughter live in China while Thomas works here in the city. They're expecting their second baby in a few months - how cool is that??
Anyway, tonight, we went out for Thai and a movie - the food was outstanding (and really, how often do you get to go to a Thai restaurant with someone who actually speaks Thai? Awesomeness); we ate Pad Thai Chicken, Panang Beef, some sort of appetizer thing that was... well, uhm, I don't know what it was, really; it was some sort of rolled up little white thing that tasted slightly of pork and shrimp. You dip it in soy sauce and it's delicious! The Panang Beef was my favourite though. We had jasmine thai tea (very sweet) with our dinner and then a mango/sticky rice thing for dessert. Ooof, I'm *still* full but it was so good!
After that, we went to see the movie - I'd call it a dark comedy; very quirky but also extremely good! I love Ben Stiller, though, so it should come as no surprise that I enjoyed the movie. If you like more mainstream stuff, though, you might want to skip this one.
I'm (once again) completely exhausted but I'm in a great mood so it's all good! To bed for me and to work tomorrow - I feel like complaining but only because I have to work at all. To be honest, I have a terrific job and I love what I do! Right right... to bed for me; good night, whoever you are and sweet dreams!
Enter Craig's List. Now, when going on Craig's List for any reason, you have to be a little careful. Not necessarily because of rapists and murderers or whatever, although I'm well aware of THOSE stories, too. But CL can be a weird little place - their "Personals" section seems straightforward enough. It's broken down into categories such as the standard romance seeker categories and then even adds a few others: miscellaneous romance, casual encounters, missed connections and, of course, strictly platonic. Now, one would think that anyone with half a brain would understand the difference between "strictly platonic" and "casual encounters," but, evidently, I'm in the minority. WAY. In the minority. So I've developed a pretty clear cut ad that says something like this:
"Before I say anything, let me make this clear: I am NOT interested in romance, I am NOT interested in a hook-up, and I will NOT be your friend with benefits. I am looking for a friend to hang out with, not someone to discuss sex with. If you're looking for any of the aforementioned, move along, there's nothing here for you. If you're cool with the parameters I've set, keep reading!"
...and then I go on to describe that I'm just looking for new friends to discuss politics and art with, maybe talk about travel, European news, middle eastern culture, and so on. Every once in a while, I still get the occasional weirdo but mostly, I meet cool people who are excited that someone has actually said something so straightforward. Tonight was a dinner night with one such new friend. Thomas is happily married to a lovely woman from China. His wife and adorable daughter live in China while Thomas works here in the city. They're expecting their second baby in a few months - how cool is that??
Anyway, tonight, we went out for Thai and a movie - the food was outstanding (and really, how often do you get to go to a Thai restaurant with someone who actually speaks Thai? Awesomeness); we ate Pad Thai Chicken, Panang Beef, some sort of appetizer thing that was... well, uhm, I don't know what it was, really; it was some sort of rolled up little white thing that tasted slightly of pork and shrimp. You dip it in soy sauce and it's delicious! The Panang Beef was my favourite though. We had jasmine thai tea (very sweet) with our dinner and then a mango/sticky rice thing for dessert. Ooof, I'm *still* full but it was so good!
After that, we went to see the movie - I'd call it a dark comedy; very quirky but also extremely good! I love Ben Stiller, though, so it should come as no surprise that I enjoyed the movie. If you like more mainstream stuff, though, you might want to skip this one.
I'm (once again) completely exhausted but I'm in a great mood so it's all good! To bed for me and to work tomorrow - I feel like complaining but only because I have to work at all. To be honest, I have a terrific job and I love what I do! Right right... to bed for me; good night, whoever you are and sweet dreams!
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Day 13 - Well Met, M'Lord!
Today was the last full day that my 12 year old and I get to spend together for spring break so, in order to celebrate, I splurged and took her to do something she's been begging to do: we went to Medieval Times for dinner and a show. She LOVED it! I have to admit that, while the food wasn't exactly the epitome of fine dining, it wasn't bad! And the show was a lot of fun (photos below) plus there's no shame in admitting that our champion was pretty easy on the eyes (hey! when you have a boyfriend who goes offline without a word for days and sometimes weeks, it's perfectly acceptable for a girl to notice a handsome knight in red and gold every once in a while!)
Tonight's our last night together before she returns to her father's house. This isn't my favourite of our time together. Okay, truth? I hate this. I'm lying in bed with my little sweet pea snuggled up to me as I type. I love my kiddo more than life and I hate that we have to say good bye tomorrow. She hates leaving, wants to live here desperately, but we make the best of it and just try to enjoy our time together. That said, whoever you are, if you don't mind excusing me for just one more night, I think I'm going to turn in early so I can focus on my daughter for our last night together before she leaves again.
Alluvé!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Day 12 - A little break (sort of)
This isn't going to be much of an entry simply because I worked tonight and I'm completely knackered (UK speak for "really tired"). My 12 year old is visiting for spring break and she came with me to my job (tonight's work was nannying four kids, ages 11, 9, 7 and 4 - phew!). Tomorrow's agenda includes a trip to Medieval Times with said 12 year old at her request. She's adorable - how can I possibly refuse? And somewhere in here, I have GOT to fit in a pedicure. This is not negotiable. Must. Have. Pedicure (and accompanying stellar massage chair time). I promise to make up for tonight's wimpy post with something long and rambling tomorrow night. I promise, promise, promise.
Have a terrific day, whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever you're doing!
p.s. I've had another request from a submissive to serve me by cleaning my home and cooking for me. how's that for an enticing little snippet? More on that later...
Have a terrific day, whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever you're doing!
p.s. I've had another request from a submissive to serve me by cleaning my home and cooking for me. how's that for an enticing little snippet? More on that later...
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Day 11 - So What Happened Next?
Alright. Finally. What happened with Jim's dad? Well, as I told you last night, we got a cute little one bedroom apartment in Bloomington. It was vintage but well cared for and really an adorable little place. I was happy but had no plans to marry my boyfriend. When I gave birth to Jim, we agreed that my boyfriend would stay in school and I would work for the time being. So I got a job. Waitressing. In a diner. I will never forget that job as long as I live. It was at one of those edge-of-town tired old restaurants where the jukebox cranked a steady stream of The Judds, George Jones and Conway Twitty. The local farmers came in for breakfast and begrudgingly graced me with a 25 cent tip before heading out to the fields. It was run by three old maid sisters, Mary, Esther and Beulah. My uniform was a god-awful brown and orange polyester outfit; I worked every day from 6am until 2pm and I hated every minute of it. I managed to last two months at that place before I was fired for eating a doughnut that was doomed for the garbage bin (eating any food, even a throw-away pastry was a sin and I do believe, if they could have gotten away with it, the three sisters would have had me stoned to death for my crime).
Thankfully, I immediately got a job working at the mall in a retail store. That's the good news. The bad news? I was now accessible by telephone at work. Which meant that my mother could (and did) call me regularly to ask me when I was getting married. The phone would ring, a co-worker would answer and I would frantically mouth "I'm not here!" which was completely useless because, of course, my mother knew she'd get in touch with me eventually. The conversation was always the same:
My Mother: "When are you getting married?"
Me: "Ohh.... I don't know."
My Mother: "You should do it soon. How about next weekend?"
Me: "Uhm... I have to work next weekend."
"I have to work next weekend??" Can we say Princess of Passive-Aggression? WHY I didn't have the cajones to just say, "Look, I don't want to and I'm not going to," I'll never know! Anyway, my mother would get angry because I didn't have the guts to be direct about anything - I really had absolutely no clue what I was doing - and I would end up in tears. I do know that, in her own way, she was trying to help. But when it comes to figuring out life, there really isn't a one-size-fits-all solution so, instead of helping, I just ended up feeling worse and more frightened. I didn't know what I DID want but I knew I did NOT want to get married at 19. My mother had different plans for me, though.
One day, she got clever. She did call me at work but didn't ask me about getting married or how I was managing my money (answer: not very well). Instead we chatted about the baby, how I was enjoying my job and what everyone in the family was up to. And then she slipped it in there while I wasn't paying attention: "whatcha got going on next weekend?" and I fell for it: "oh nothing, really; I actually have the weekend off!" and in she swooped: "you do? that's it - you're getting married!" and with that, my wedding plans were born.
*sigh*
So, in a matter of days, my mother showed up on the door step with a plate of cold cuts and my grandfather (a judge) and my uncle (a photographer) in tow. I was an hour and a half late to my own wedding (wine. I needed wine. seriously, seriously... two glasses of red) but I finally showed up at the chosen venue - my boyfriend's frat house (I kid you not) - wearing my friend Julie's white prom dress. Since I was so late, the guests had already tapped a keg of beer and so I walked down the "aisle" under an arch of clear plastic beer cups held by fraternity brothers loudly bellowing, "here comes the briiiiiide.... all dressed in whiiiiiite! dum-dum-de-DAAHHH-dum-de-dum-dum-de-DUHNNNNN" (still not kidding - you can't make this stuff up). And in a matter of minutes, Jim Senior and I were husband and wife. I wasn't thrilled but I was terrified to stand up to my mother so what do you do? I got married.
Naturally, there was a party after the wedding and, frat brothers being frat brothers, much beer was consumed. I, however, was exhausted... I was breastfeeding the baby and, by 11pm, all I wanted in the world was to go to bed. Jim Sr. was more than a little miffed with me for spoiling his partying fun and, in an effort to please, I hung in there. To the bitter end. On our wedding night, we finally left when the party ended. At 3:30am. I was so damned tired it wasn't even funny. When we arrived at our hotel, the night clerk had to scramble and find something - assuming we weren't showing up, our room had been given away, which was understandable. My aunt had taken me out shopping for a wedding peignoir set; it was beautiful, filmy and white... and by the time we were in our hotel room, I'd rather have choked my husband with it than worn it for any wedding night fun!
Our marriage lasted until we were 25. I could play the blame game and tell you what a terrible husband he was (and I wouldn't be lying) but you know what? It's not worth it. Yes, he was a terrible husband who drank excessively, didn't work at all (unless you count his summer life guard job) and who smoked pot every day that we were together. Yes, I worked at two full-time jobs to provide for my family and it was exhausting in every way imaginable. But here's the thing about it: I chose that path. I may have been afraid of my mother but I could have said "No, I'm not doing this." But I didn't. I could have told Jim Senior, "I'm not giving you money so you can blow it on pot and acid. In fact, since I'm earning this money and since you seem to have a problem controlling your spending, I'm putting it into an account in my name only and we'll figure out how to budget from there," but I didn't. My point is, even though other people around me did things that were damaging to me, I have to accept accountability for my own role. I could have said "No," or "Enough," but I didn't.
Jim Sr. and I separated in the spring of 1988. By autumn, we decided to try again. I didn't want to become a divorce statistic and I don't think he really did either. But it just wasn't working - I couldn't handle being the only provider while my husband drank and did drugs all day - in February 1990, I'd had enough and I left for good. It took me a while to work up the nerve to tell my family but once I'd decided I was done, I never looked back.
Maybe tomorrow night, I'll start telling you about my life as a young, single mom... then again, maybe not; it really wasn't all that exciting, to be honest! We had some struggles but there were also some fun (and funny) moments, too! But hey, there you have it - now you know the story of my wedding to Jim Senior... wedding in a week, married in a fraternity house with the brothers and little sisters all standing around drinking beer. You know what makes me laugh the most though? My uncle, the photographer, had been very busy taking pictures all evening. Imagine how he felt a few days later when, as he was developing the film, he discovered that he'd forgotten to remove the lens cap. Not one picture came out. Hahahahaha!
Geez, it's late again! I really should take to writing these entries a little earlier in the evening but it's kind of nice sitting here with you, whoever you are, writing and remembering in the middle of the night, hearing nothing but the clicking of my keys, the waves of Lake Michigan breaking on the shore, and my sweet dog, Jillian curled up next to me snoring happily. I hope, as I write and share my life, my words help someone somewhere. I don't know if they are therapeutic, entertaining, a little of both or are utter nonsense.. I do know that I've come a long, long way and, as I look down at my Jilly-bean, I know that life is good.
Good night, whoever you are - I hope you have a day filled with crazy-good things on Friday!
Thankfully, I immediately got a job working at the mall in a retail store. That's the good news. The bad news? I was now accessible by telephone at work. Which meant that my mother could (and did) call me regularly to ask me when I was getting married. The phone would ring, a co-worker would answer and I would frantically mouth "I'm not here!" which was completely useless because, of course, my mother knew she'd get in touch with me eventually. The conversation was always the same:
My Mother: "When are you getting married?"
Me: "Ohh.... I don't know."
My Mother: "You should do it soon. How about next weekend?"
Me: "Uhm... I have to work next weekend."
"I have to work next weekend??" Can we say Princess of Passive-Aggression? WHY I didn't have the cajones to just say, "Look, I don't want to and I'm not going to," I'll never know! Anyway, my mother would get angry because I didn't have the guts to be direct about anything - I really had absolutely no clue what I was doing - and I would end up in tears. I do know that, in her own way, she was trying to help. But when it comes to figuring out life, there really isn't a one-size-fits-all solution so, instead of helping, I just ended up feeling worse and more frightened. I didn't know what I DID want but I knew I did NOT want to get married at 19. My mother had different plans for me, though.
One day, she got clever. She did call me at work but didn't ask me about getting married or how I was managing my money (answer: not very well). Instead we chatted about the baby, how I was enjoying my job and what everyone in the family was up to. And then she slipped it in there while I wasn't paying attention: "whatcha got going on next weekend?" and I fell for it: "oh nothing, really; I actually have the weekend off!" and in she swooped: "you do? that's it - you're getting married!" and with that, my wedding plans were born.
*sigh*
So, in a matter of days, my mother showed up on the door step with a plate of cold cuts and my grandfather (a judge) and my uncle (a photographer) in tow. I was an hour and a half late to my own wedding (wine. I needed wine. seriously, seriously... two glasses of red) but I finally showed up at the chosen venue - my boyfriend's frat house (I kid you not) - wearing my friend Julie's white prom dress. Since I was so late, the guests had already tapped a keg of beer and so I walked down the "aisle" under an arch of clear plastic beer cups held by fraternity brothers loudly bellowing, "here comes the briiiiiide.... all dressed in whiiiiiite! dum-dum-de-DAAHHH-dum-de-dum-dum-de-DUHNNNNN" (still not kidding - you can't make this stuff up). And in a matter of minutes, Jim Senior and I were husband and wife. I wasn't thrilled but I was terrified to stand up to my mother so what do you do? I got married.
Naturally, there was a party after the wedding and, frat brothers being frat brothers, much beer was consumed. I, however, was exhausted... I was breastfeeding the baby and, by 11pm, all I wanted in the world was to go to bed. Jim Sr. was more than a little miffed with me for spoiling his partying fun and, in an effort to please, I hung in there. To the bitter end. On our wedding night, we finally left when the party ended. At 3:30am. I was so damned tired it wasn't even funny. When we arrived at our hotel, the night clerk had to scramble and find something - assuming we weren't showing up, our room had been given away, which was understandable. My aunt had taken me out shopping for a wedding peignoir set; it was beautiful, filmy and white... and by the time we were in our hotel room, I'd rather have choked my husband with it than worn it for any wedding night fun!
Our marriage lasted until we were 25. I could play the blame game and tell you what a terrible husband he was (and I wouldn't be lying) but you know what? It's not worth it. Yes, he was a terrible husband who drank excessively, didn't work at all (unless you count his summer life guard job) and who smoked pot every day that we were together. Yes, I worked at two full-time jobs to provide for my family and it was exhausting in every way imaginable. But here's the thing about it: I chose that path. I may have been afraid of my mother but I could have said "No, I'm not doing this." But I didn't. I could have told Jim Senior, "I'm not giving you money so you can blow it on pot and acid. In fact, since I'm earning this money and since you seem to have a problem controlling your spending, I'm putting it into an account in my name only and we'll figure out how to budget from there," but I didn't. My point is, even though other people around me did things that were damaging to me, I have to accept accountability for my own role. I could have said "No," or "Enough," but I didn't.
Jim Sr. and I separated in the spring of 1988. By autumn, we decided to try again. I didn't want to become a divorce statistic and I don't think he really did either. But it just wasn't working - I couldn't handle being the only provider while my husband drank and did drugs all day - in February 1990, I'd had enough and I left for good. It took me a while to work up the nerve to tell my family but once I'd decided I was done, I never looked back.
Maybe tomorrow night, I'll start telling you about my life as a young, single mom... then again, maybe not; it really wasn't all that exciting, to be honest! We had some struggles but there were also some fun (and funny) moments, too! But hey, there you have it - now you know the story of my wedding to Jim Senior... wedding in a week, married in a fraternity house with the brothers and little sisters all standing around drinking beer. You know what makes me laugh the most though? My uncle, the photographer, had been very busy taking pictures all evening. Imagine how he felt a few days later when, as he was developing the film, he discovered that he'd forgotten to remove the lens cap. Not one picture came out. Hahahahaha!
Geez, it's late again! I really should take to writing these entries a little earlier in the evening but it's kind of nice sitting here with you, whoever you are, writing and remembering in the middle of the night, hearing nothing but the clicking of my keys, the waves of Lake Michigan breaking on the shore, and my sweet dog, Jillian curled up next to me snoring happily. I hope, as I write and share my life, my words help someone somewhere. I don't know if they are therapeutic, entertaining, a little of both or are utter nonsense.. I do know that I've come a long, long way and, as I look down at my Jilly-bean, I know that life is good.
Good night, whoever you are - I hope you have a day filled with crazy-good things on Friday!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Day 10 - So What Was Labour & Delivery Like, Anyway?
(I've been posting a link to my blog on my Facebook page each day. After last night's ramblings, I received a complaint about the use of the F-bomb in my subtitle. I won't go into the entire conversation ad nauseum but suffice it to say that, out of respect for the friend who doesn't like to see the offending word on his home page every time I post an update, I've rephrased things slightly. But only up there *points to blog subtitle* - down here, it's business as usual and that, my friend, includes the occasional F#@!! or even a little *#$^~! once in a while. You've been duly warned; enter this journal at your own risk. Alrighty, now that that's out of the way, let's get back to my history.)
The last time we'd talked, I told you about my decision to keep my beautiful, brilliant, sweet son who is now a wonderful 25 year old daddy of his own little girl. So what happened? Well, as I mentioned, my parents suddenly changed tack and began supporting me instead of fighting me. And that changed everything. I admitted that I really did want to keep the baby and so I called my boyfriend who was with his family for the winter break holidays. He told his mom and we made arrangements for the two of them to visit my family the following day.
I don't remember all of the details except that our parents seemed to get along well enough. My mom was pushing for a pre-baby wedding (which alarmed me greatly - remember, I was trying to break up with this guy! Marriage? yyyyikes) but eventually, after talking with a representative from the health insurance company, she realised that it was actually more beneficial for the purpose of health insurance coverage if I was still single when the baby was born. Ultimately, the adults decided it was best for me to return to the university town since the doctor I'd been seeing was there and deliver the baby there.
So! Back to the college town I went and my boyfriend and I began telling everyone our big news. We became even more solidified as "the darling couple" of the fraternity and I have to admit, his frat brothers were just about the sweetest, most helpful guys you could possibly imagine. They surrounded me like a flock of mother hens, taking care of me, making sure I was well rested - they even had me move into the fraternity house so someone would always be available in case I went into labour and needed help. Pretty cool for a bunch of teen aged and young 20 something boys!
On Friday, January 18, I was having an extremely uncomfortable night and, to my horror, I kept peeing a little once every hour or so. I was really embarrassed and kept taking showers because I felt just... gross; I think I took NINE showers that night! Finally, the next morning a few contractions began taking place. By noon, we decided maybe we should call our parents and by 4pm, we decided that it might be a good idea to go to the hospital. 19 January was also one of the coldest days in the history of Illinois (wind chill of -79) and no one's cars would start. It took several tries before we finally found a car that could get us to the hospital and we were on our way!
Things started out innocently enough but, by 8pm that night, after receiving ungodly levels of pitocin to "speed things along," I was ready to kill someone and, frankly, I'd have let the garbage man come in and see my nether regions if he could promise to make me feel better! My mom, in an attempt to help me learn Lamaze breathing at the last moment, gave me a picture of a prairie dog nibbling on a daisy to focus on. I think that's the only time I've ever sworn at my mother to her face. I was in pain, exhausted, and I thought I was going to DIE! I remember the doctor coming in at 2:00 am, checking my progress and saying with a smile, "Good, good, Kerrey... you fie centimeter dilated so oh-nree sree oh four mohr howah now." WHAT?? Did he say THREE OR FOUR MORE HOURS? I don't think so, mister! I cried and wailed, "I can't do this for three more hours! I can't!" but he just patted my hand and told me he'd see me later. I was miserable... and then, 20 minutes later, I felt a pain that can only be described as "ohmahgodwhatthe--!!??" as it felt like my body was turning inside out, starting with my pelvis. I told the nurse watching over me, "ohmahgodit'scoming! it's coming out!" She ran over, starting talking to me very rapidly and telling me to stop pushing. I distinctly remember giving her a death glare and hissing, "I'm not pushing - it's coming out all by itself!!!!!" The nurse said, "impossible!" but called the doctor just to humour me. He came in, looked at me very doubtfully and said declared that it was highly unlikely but I kept insisting that the baby was coming so he checked (I think, more than anything, just to shut me up). His expression changed immediately when he saw the baby's head beginning to appear and from that point, everything moved lightning fast. Fifteen minutes later, on Superbowl Sunday morning, at 2:36am, after a very long and painful back labour, James Andrew Leeds (5 lbs, 11 oz, 18 inches long) made his entrance into the world and immediately peed on the doctor. I'd like to say that it was a Hallmark moment filled with joy and tears but to be honest, I'd been up since Friday morning and all I thought was, "well thank God, that's over!"
The next day, however, I had some private time to get to know my son. I remember holding this teeny, tiny little bundle, thinking, "I'm going to break it. I just know it," and then thinking that plenty of women much dumber than I had managed to raise a child before so I guessed I'd learn as I went, too. He was beautiful with tons of pitch black hair, soft, soft skin and dark eyes that stared and stared at me.
"So, here you are, little man. It's about time we finally met, don't you think?" I whispered to him. He blinked his tiny eyes and continued to stare. "I really have no idea what I'm doing," I went on, "but I promise you. I promise, I'm going to do my best, okay?"
It's funny how something so tiny and unexpected can change everything about you in the blink of an eye. I was a kid when I had my son. I had no idea what I was doing. I'd barely even changed a diaper before. And I was terrified that I'd break him. That I'd fall asleep while holding him and he'd fall out of the hospital bed or I'd roll over on him and smother him or I'd accidentally do something terrible just because I didn't know what I was doing. But you know what? I watched. I watched the nurses clean his umbilical cord. I watched them swaddle him in his blanket. I watched them hold him as easily as if he was a little human football. And I learned.
My mom tried to get me to name him "Sanford Bruce," after my grandfather. I refused and we had another Battle Royale. "Think of the inheritance!" she said. "Grandpa doesn't even like his own name! I'm NOT naming my son Sanford!" I retorted. "You're ungrateful and selfish; you know what? Forget it. I'm not coming to get you - find your own damn way home; how about that??" My mother and grandmother had arranged to pick me up from the hospital so when she issued that threat, I felt sick to my stomach and scared to death. I began to cry and my mother told me to quit being a ninny. The next day she and my grandmother showed up at the hospital. When it was time to fill out the birth certificate information, the nurse asked me, "and the baby's name?" I couldn't look at my mother but I replied quietly, "James Andrew Leeds," and, with that, we headed out the door.
My first four weeks postpartum were spent at my parents' house in Chicago. After that, my boyfriend and I rented a cute little apartment in Bloomington, Illinois. So whatever did happen between Jim's dad and me? I said I'd tell you that story today and here I've gone and spent the entire time talking about the birth of my first born instead. Awful of me, I know... okay, okay. This time I promise: tomorrow I WILL tell you what happened between Jim's father and me. I promise. But now? It's time for this girl to get some shut-eye. I hope I'm not boring you with the story of my life. I know I'm certainly enjoying telling it!
Good night, whoever you are. Talk to you tomorrow...
The last time we'd talked, I told you about my decision to keep my beautiful, brilliant, sweet son who is now a wonderful 25 year old daddy of his own little girl. So what happened? Well, as I mentioned, my parents suddenly changed tack and began supporting me instead of fighting me. And that changed everything. I admitted that I really did want to keep the baby and so I called my boyfriend who was with his family for the winter break holidays. He told his mom and we made arrangements for the two of them to visit my family the following day.
I don't remember all of the details except that our parents seemed to get along well enough. My mom was pushing for a pre-baby wedding (which alarmed me greatly - remember, I was trying to break up with this guy! Marriage? yyyyikes) but eventually, after talking with a representative from the health insurance company, she realised that it was actually more beneficial for the purpose of health insurance coverage if I was still single when the baby was born. Ultimately, the adults decided it was best for me to return to the university town since the doctor I'd been seeing was there and deliver the baby there.
So! Back to the college town I went and my boyfriend and I began telling everyone our big news. We became even more solidified as "the darling couple" of the fraternity and I have to admit, his frat brothers were just about the sweetest, most helpful guys you could possibly imagine. They surrounded me like a flock of mother hens, taking care of me, making sure I was well rested - they even had me move into the fraternity house so someone would always be available in case I went into labour and needed help. Pretty cool for a bunch of teen aged and young 20 something boys!
On Friday, January 18, I was having an extremely uncomfortable night and, to my horror, I kept peeing a little once every hour or so. I was really embarrassed and kept taking showers because I felt just... gross; I think I took NINE showers that night! Finally, the next morning a few contractions began taking place. By noon, we decided maybe we should call our parents and by 4pm, we decided that it might be a good idea to go to the hospital. 19 January was also one of the coldest days in the history of Illinois (wind chill of -79) and no one's cars would start. It took several tries before we finally found a car that could get us to the hospital and we were on our way!
Things started out innocently enough but, by 8pm that night, after receiving ungodly levels of pitocin to "speed things along," I was ready to kill someone and, frankly, I'd have let the garbage man come in and see my nether regions if he could promise to make me feel better! My mom, in an attempt to help me learn Lamaze breathing at the last moment, gave me a picture of a prairie dog nibbling on a daisy to focus on. I think that's the only time I've ever sworn at my mother to her face. I was in pain, exhausted, and I thought I was going to DIE! I remember the doctor coming in at 2:00 am, checking my progress and saying with a smile, "Good, good, Kerrey... you fie centimeter dilated so oh-nree sree oh four mohr howah now." WHAT?? Did he say THREE OR FOUR MORE HOURS? I don't think so, mister! I cried and wailed, "I can't do this for three more hours! I can't!" but he just patted my hand and told me he'd see me later. I was miserable... and then, 20 minutes later, I felt a pain that can only be described as "ohmahgodwhatthe--!!??" as it felt like my body was turning inside out, starting with my pelvis. I told the nurse watching over me, "ohmahgodit'scoming! it's coming out!" She ran over, starting talking to me very rapidly and telling me to stop pushing. I distinctly remember giving her a death glare and hissing, "I'm not pushing - it's coming out all by itself!!!!!" The nurse said, "impossible!" but called the doctor just to humour me. He came in, looked at me very doubtfully and said declared that it was highly unlikely but I kept insisting that the baby was coming so he checked (I think, more than anything, just to shut me up). His expression changed immediately when he saw the baby's head beginning to appear and from that point, everything moved lightning fast. Fifteen minutes later, on Superbowl Sunday morning, at 2:36am, after a very long and painful back labour, James Andrew Leeds (5 lbs, 11 oz, 18 inches long) made his entrance into the world and immediately peed on the doctor. I'd like to say that it was a Hallmark moment filled with joy and tears but to be honest, I'd been up since Friday morning and all I thought was, "well thank God, that's over!"
The next day, however, I had some private time to get to know my son. I remember holding this teeny, tiny little bundle, thinking, "I'm going to break it. I just know it," and then thinking that plenty of women much dumber than I had managed to raise a child before so I guessed I'd learn as I went, too. He was beautiful with tons of pitch black hair, soft, soft skin and dark eyes that stared and stared at me.
"So, here you are, little man. It's about time we finally met, don't you think?" I whispered to him. He blinked his tiny eyes and continued to stare. "I really have no idea what I'm doing," I went on, "but I promise you. I promise, I'm going to do my best, okay?"
It's funny how something so tiny and unexpected can change everything about you in the blink of an eye. I was a kid when I had my son. I had no idea what I was doing. I'd barely even changed a diaper before. And I was terrified that I'd break him. That I'd fall asleep while holding him and he'd fall out of the hospital bed or I'd roll over on him and smother him or I'd accidentally do something terrible just because I didn't know what I was doing. But you know what? I watched. I watched the nurses clean his umbilical cord. I watched them swaddle him in his blanket. I watched them hold him as easily as if he was a little human football. And I learned.
My mom tried to get me to name him "Sanford Bruce," after my grandfather. I refused and we had another Battle Royale. "Think of the inheritance!" she said. "Grandpa doesn't even like his own name! I'm NOT naming my son Sanford!" I retorted. "You're ungrateful and selfish; you know what? Forget it. I'm not coming to get you - find your own damn way home; how about that??" My mother and grandmother had arranged to pick me up from the hospital so when she issued that threat, I felt sick to my stomach and scared to death. I began to cry and my mother told me to quit being a ninny. The next day she and my grandmother showed up at the hospital. When it was time to fill out the birth certificate information, the nurse asked me, "and the baby's name?" I couldn't look at my mother but I replied quietly, "James Andrew Leeds," and, with that, we headed out the door.
My first four weeks postpartum were spent at my parents' house in Chicago. After that, my boyfriend and I rented a cute little apartment in Bloomington, Illinois. So whatever did happen between Jim's dad and me? I said I'd tell you that story today and here I've gone and spent the entire time talking about the birth of my first born instead. Awful of me, I know... okay, okay. This time I promise: tomorrow I WILL tell you what happened between Jim's father and me. I promise. But now? It's time for this girl to get some shut-eye. I hope I'm not boring you with the story of my life. I know I'm certainly enjoying telling it!
Good night, whoever you are. Talk to you tomorrow...
Day 9.5 - WHY AM I AWAKE???
It's the middle of the night. Again. And I can't sleep. Again. Is this some weird "over 40" thing or something? If so, I'm not loving it! I slept just enough (3 hours) to be wide awake right now. I used to do this when I was a little kid, too, except, back then, I'd sleep from 9 until midnight, be up from midnight until about 3am and then sleep again from 3 until 7am. Hm. If I'm reverting to habits of old, maybe I can try revamping my sleep pattern to something a bit more suitable for my current schedule. Hm! For now, though, looks like I'm going to be up a while so I think, since I'm often told I should write about my life and make it a book, I'll start documenting some of it. Sorry if I repeat anything. Just gloss over that stuff, alright? Thanks!
Sometimes I wonder why some people seem to be more sensitive to and affected by people's opinions of them than others. When you were a kid - or maybe even now - did you ever worry to the point where your stomach hurt whether or not people would like you? Ugh, I hate admitting I was like that but it's true! And, as long as I'm telling the truth, I might as well tell you that I was that way for a long, long time. So much so that I let it govern about 90% of what I've done for most of my life.
I lost my virginity when I was 17 years old to a boy I'd been dating for a year. Two months later, he broke up with me. You know what's so sad about it? I wanted to save my first intentional sexual intercourse for marriage (I was molested by my biological father at age 3 so I can't really say "lose my virginity" but, hopefully, you know what I mean) and the only reason I finally did it was because we had seriously talked about getting married right out of high school and going to university together. All in all, I didn't think it was a bad plan. I still think it wasn't but our parents hit the roof when we told them what we wanted to do and that, I guess, was that. I often think about how my life might have turned out if we'd just gone ahead and done what we wanted instead of chickening out simply because our parents said "no." Instead, I cried buckets, sang my heart out to every break-up song that came onto the radio, and decided that sexual purity was an utter farce.
I'd told my parents that I wasn't ready to go to university and that I wanted to get an apartment and a job in Chicago for a while before deciding what I wanted to do in life. My parents vetoed that idea in a hurry and told me that college was not optional - that, with each passing year after high school, I would be less and less likely to get a degree. So I went. And hated every minute of it. In fact, I'm truly embarrassed to admit this but, since I was too scared to openly defy my parents and simply tell them, "No. I'm not going," I did the next best thing: I intentionally flunked out. Isn't that awful? Ask me how many classes I attended my first semester. Go ahead... ask. Want to know? I was registered for 5 classes - the typical 3 classes on Monday, Wednesday, Friday and 2 classes on Tuesday and Thursday schedule - and, after attending classes for the first week, I never went back to any of them for the rest of the semester. Not once. That's right, my friends; I ended my first semester at university with an impressive 0.0 GPA. Somehow, at my mother's urging, I managed to talk to the dean of undergraduate students and he let me come back the following semester. Much to my chagrin.
My second semester was a little better. I did attend classes, joined the Little Sister program of a fraternity, and met a boy in the fraternity. I wouldn't say I was overwhelmingly attracted to him but he was nice and, for once, I felt like I sort of belonged somewhere at the university. I never really intended for it to be a long-term relationship; yet somehow, we became known as one of "the couples," which definitely held a status of some sort. We began sleeping together and by the end of the semester, unbeknown to me, I had gotten pregnant. I say "unbeknown" because I was still getting my period (later, I found out that I simply spotted throughout my pregnancy but when you're 18 and no one you've ever known before has ever had a baby, this is stuff you just don't know about) and my stomach never grew much, although my jeans became a tiny bit snug after about 5 months.
Summer came, I'd passed my classes and, somehow, managed to stay in school. I worked, went back to university in the fall, and resumed my relationship with the frat boy. By October, I was thinking about breaking up with him; nothing personal, I just wasn't really interested in dating any longer. And then I got a cold. A bad one. So I went to the university's health services for some medication. While I was there, the nurse asked me if I had any other questions. Now, by this time, I'd started noticing that my periods were a little off and, come to think of it, they'd been sort of strange for a while now so I asked her about it. When I told her how long I thought things were a little odd, she took one look at me and said, "well, it's just not possible that you're pregnant, but let's take a test just to be on the safe side." So, I went into the bathroom, peed into the plastic cup that had been handed to me, slid it into the little two-way door thing in the wall, and promptly forgot about it.
Until the next morning at 7:00 when I received a phone call from the nurse. "Miss Farrell? Can you come in this morning at 9:00? The doctor would like to see you." Now, let me tell you here and now that when you receive a phone call like that, it can only mean one thing. Shit. Shit, shit shit!!!! My stomach dropped to my toes as I hung up the phone. I got up, showered, trudged across campus in the blustery weather to the health services building and, when I arrived, changed into the paper gown folded on the exam table. The arrival of the doctor is one of those moments in life that I will never, ever forget as long as I live. His name was Sun-San Lin, from South Korea, and here is our very first conversation:
Dr. Lin: "Herro Kerrey, how-ohh ahr you today?"
Me: "Er... hello, Dr. I'm fine thanks, how are you?"
Dr. Lin: "No, Kerrey. How ohhhh ahr you?"
Me: (blushing) "Oh sorry. I'm 19."
Dr. Lin: "Okay. I cannot require you to tehr yohr parents that you ahr pregnant but I must encourage you to tahk to them."
Me: *blink* "Uhm. Okay." inner dialogue: shit! shit-shit-shit!!
Dr. Lin: feeling my stomach "Judging from position of abdomen, I say you ahr in yohr six oh seven months of pregnancy."
Me: "Oh. Right. Okay." inner dialogue: what?? shiiiiiiiit! shit-shit-shit!!!
Dr. Lin then left while his nurse handed me a large bottle of prenatal vitamins - if you've never taken prenatal vitamins before, let me tell you something: they look like horse pills. They're gigantic. Gi-GAN-tic. And then she set me up with regular bimonthly appointments. Since, you know, I'd already gone two whole trimesters without even one freaking prenatal doctor's visit. SHIT!
I felt like I was walking to my own funeral as I left the health services building. First stop: my boyfriend's class. I went and sat outside his classroom door and tried my best to think about what to do. To say my head was spinning would be a huge understatement. I was going to break up with him! Now what? Now what??!! Finally, he came out of his class and, as I told him the news, his first response was, "I love you but I'm not marrying you." Nice. But it didn't really matter because marriage was the last thing on my mind. So I said, "that's okay; I love you but I'm not marrying you either!" From there, we decided that giving the baby up for adoption seemed like the smartest move to make, since neither of us knew the first thing about babies.
So when I went to my first official prenatal visit, I told the doctor of my decision. Although he strongly tried to discourage me, my mind was made up. He gave me information about private adoption and, eventually, told me that he had a family - patients of his - who desperately wanted to adopt a baby and so, after learning about them, I decided that they would be the perfect family for my little one. And then something happened. Never, ever did I expect to start bonding with my unborn child. When you're 19 and no one you know has ever had a baby, you don't really hear about this stuff. But my baby started kicking. And at night, I would lie on my back and watch my belly shift, thinking, "oh my God... that's a real, live baby in there. And it's part of me," with wonder. I tried not to think about it too much because the thought of giving birth and then having to say good bye gave me a big lump in my throat.
...and I still hadn't told my parents. December came and I called my mom to tell her that I was needed at my job and that I wouldn't be coming home for Christmas (nice one, Kel. *insert eye rolling here*). Now, my mom isn't stupid - she knew something was up and immediately asked if I was "shacking up" with my boyfriend and was I pregnant? Naturally, I vehemently denied all of the above and stuck to my "I have to work" story. Which my parents totally did not buy. Eventually, they talked me into coming home for a couple of weeks... by this time, I had gone from a size 8 jeans up to a size 12 so I thought, "well, if I wear baggy sweatshirts, I can probably claim the 'college 20 lbs' and get away with this. I can be back down right after New Years Day, have the baby, hop off the delivery table, head back to my apartment and nobody will be the wiser." I mean, really. How stupid can you get? I actually thought exactly that. And so I headed home for Christmas.
Well, my parents didn't say anything for a couple of days. But one day, my mother asked. "Kelley, are you pregnant?" I denied, denied and denied again. A few days later, "Kelley, are you certain you're not pregnant?" More denial. And then, on January 2, 1985 (a Thursday), my mother woke me up, handed me a vial and said, "get in the bathroom and pee into this cup right now." My response? "No." Now, my mother is not used to being disobeyed by anyone, especially not me. "Excuse me? This is not optional. Get. In. That bathroom. And pee. Right. NOW!" So in I went meekly, my mind racing, trying to figure out how to throw the test somehow because, dammit, I did not want her knowing the truth!!! So I peed into the cup. And then I added some baby powder. And some Scope. And whatever else I could find in the medicine cabinet that I thought might confuse the little pregnancy testing kit. What I did not know was that, if your body is producing the pregnancy hormone, nothing but nothing will keep you from having a positive result on a pregnancy test. So I came out, handed my mother the evidence and held my breath while she did the test. "please God, pleeeeeeeaaaaase! pleasepleasepleasepleasePLEASE don't let it come up positive!" but, of course, the incriminating little positive symbol appeared within seconds. Damnit.
Well. My mother put her head in her hands then looked up and said, "You're pregnant." She then poked my stomach and said, "You're what? Three months pregnant, aren't you? Or is it four?" I smoothly said, the picture of utter honesty, "No. I'm not." Again, she poked my stomach. "Oh. My. God! Will you stop with the charade, Kelley Jean? Yes, you are! I'm going to guess you're between three and four months pregnant! Now quit being such a god damned ninny and face up to the truth because you need to be under a doctor's care!" Smooth as silk, I said the following: "No. I am NOT three OR four months pregnant. I know this for a fact because I am nine months pregnant, I've been under a doctor's care and the baby is due on Monday!!!" I have to give the woman credit for not fainting on the spot. I cannot begin to imagine what in the world she must have thought in that moment but I imagine her blood first ran cold before it began to boil.
After the truth was out, a battle royale ensued. I told my mother of my plans for adoption. She insisted that, if I refused to raise the baby myself, she would intervene and adopt it instead. A tiny little light bulb went on in my head: for the first time in my life, I had something that I had absolute control over and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. So I played that card to the hilt. And then finally, my mom wised up. She talked to my dad. She talked to my grandparents. She talked to my aunts. And finally, she and my dad said, "We hope you'll change your mind but, whatever you choose to do, we'll support you."
What?? That's not how it's supposed to work! We're supposed to fight! I'm supposed to win! That's how it goes! But instead, in that moment, they said the one thing my heart truly needed to hear: "we support you, no matter what you decide." And then the dam broke. I finally admitted to myself that I really wanted to keep this baby. I had no idea what to do and I was scared to death but the thought of giving birth to a child and then never seeing it again, never seeing it go to school for the first time, take its first steps, never seeing what kind of person it would become... gave me a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.
And so I made a decision for which I will always be grateful. I decided to keep the baby. My wonderful, amazing, kind, gorgeous son Jim is now 25 years old. How about that? And he is an awesome dad of the most beautiful little redhead you've ever seen, Lilly Snow, born on 22 December, 2008. How cool is THAT?
So what happened with Jim's dad? That, my friend, is a story for another time. It's nearly 4am here in Chicago and I think it's time for me to get a little more sleep before I have to get ready for work. Good night, whoever you are... sweet dreams.
Sometimes I wonder why some people seem to be more sensitive to and affected by people's opinions of them than others. When you were a kid - or maybe even now - did you ever worry to the point where your stomach hurt whether or not people would like you? Ugh, I hate admitting I was like that but it's true! And, as long as I'm telling the truth, I might as well tell you that I was that way for a long, long time. So much so that I let it govern about 90% of what I've done for most of my life.
I lost my virginity when I was 17 years old to a boy I'd been dating for a year. Two months later, he broke up with me. You know what's so sad about it? I wanted to save my first intentional sexual intercourse for marriage (I was molested by my biological father at age 3 so I can't really say "lose my virginity" but, hopefully, you know what I mean) and the only reason I finally did it was because we had seriously talked about getting married right out of high school and going to university together. All in all, I didn't think it was a bad plan. I still think it wasn't but our parents hit the roof when we told them what we wanted to do and that, I guess, was that. I often think about how my life might have turned out if we'd just gone ahead and done what we wanted instead of chickening out simply because our parents said "no." Instead, I cried buckets, sang my heart out to every break-up song that came onto the radio, and decided that sexual purity was an utter farce.
I'd told my parents that I wasn't ready to go to university and that I wanted to get an apartment and a job in Chicago for a while before deciding what I wanted to do in life. My parents vetoed that idea in a hurry and told me that college was not optional - that, with each passing year after high school, I would be less and less likely to get a degree. So I went. And hated every minute of it. In fact, I'm truly embarrassed to admit this but, since I was too scared to openly defy my parents and simply tell them, "No. I'm not going," I did the next best thing: I intentionally flunked out. Isn't that awful? Ask me how many classes I attended my first semester. Go ahead... ask. Want to know? I was registered for 5 classes - the typical 3 classes on Monday, Wednesday, Friday and 2 classes on Tuesday and Thursday schedule - and, after attending classes for the first week, I never went back to any of them for the rest of the semester. Not once. That's right, my friends; I ended my first semester at university with an impressive 0.0 GPA. Somehow, at my mother's urging, I managed to talk to the dean of undergraduate students and he let me come back the following semester. Much to my chagrin.
My second semester was a little better. I did attend classes, joined the Little Sister program of a fraternity, and met a boy in the fraternity. I wouldn't say I was overwhelmingly attracted to him but he was nice and, for once, I felt like I sort of belonged somewhere at the university. I never really intended for it to be a long-term relationship; yet somehow, we became known as one of "the couples," which definitely held a status of some sort. We began sleeping together and by the end of the semester, unbeknown to me, I had gotten pregnant. I say "unbeknown" because I was still getting my period (later, I found out that I simply spotted throughout my pregnancy but when you're 18 and no one you've ever known before has ever had a baby, this is stuff you just don't know about) and my stomach never grew much, although my jeans became a tiny bit snug after about 5 months.
Summer came, I'd passed my classes and, somehow, managed to stay in school. I worked, went back to university in the fall, and resumed my relationship with the frat boy. By October, I was thinking about breaking up with him; nothing personal, I just wasn't really interested in dating any longer. And then I got a cold. A bad one. So I went to the university's health services for some medication. While I was there, the nurse asked me if I had any other questions. Now, by this time, I'd started noticing that my periods were a little off and, come to think of it, they'd been sort of strange for a while now so I asked her about it. When I told her how long I thought things were a little odd, she took one look at me and said, "well, it's just not possible that you're pregnant, but let's take a test just to be on the safe side." So, I went into the bathroom, peed into the plastic cup that had been handed to me, slid it into the little two-way door thing in the wall, and promptly forgot about it.
Until the next morning at 7:00 when I received a phone call from the nurse. "Miss Farrell? Can you come in this morning at 9:00? The doctor would like to see you." Now, let me tell you here and now that when you receive a phone call like that, it can only mean one thing. Shit. Shit, shit shit!!!! My stomach dropped to my toes as I hung up the phone. I got up, showered, trudged across campus in the blustery weather to the health services building and, when I arrived, changed into the paper gown folded on the exam table. The arrival of the doctor is one of those moments in life that I will never, ever forget as long as I live. His name was Sun-San Lin, from South Korea, and here is our very first conversation:
Dr. Lin: "Herro Kerrey, how-ohh ahr you today?"
Me: "Er... hello, Dr. I'm fine thanks, how are you?"
Dr. Lin: "No, Kerrey. How ohhhh ahr you?"
Me: (blushing) "Oh sorry. I'm 19."
Dr. Lin: "Okay. I cannot require you to tehr yohr parents that you ahr pregnant but I must encourage you to tahk to them."
Me: *blink* "Uhm. Okay." inner dialogue: shit! shit-shit-shit!!
Dr. Lin: feeling my stomach "Judging from position of abdomen, I say you ahr in yohr six oh seven months of pregnancy."
Me: "Oh. Right. Okay." inner dialogue: what?? shiiiiiiiit! shit-shit-shit!!!
Dr. Lin then left while his nurse handed me a large bottle of prenatal vitamins - if you've never taken prenatal vitamins before, let me tell you something: they look like horse pills. They're gigantic. Gi-GAN-tic. And then she set me up with regular bimonthly appointments. Since, you know, I'd already gone two whole trimesters without even one freaking prenatal doctor's visit. SHIT!
I felt like I was walking to my own funeral as I left the health services building. First stop: my boyfriend's class. I went and sat outside his classroom door and tried my best to think about what to do. To say my head was spinning would be a huge understatement. I was going to break up with him! Now what? Now what??!! Finally, he came out of his class and, as I told him the news, his first response was, "I love you but I'm not marrying you." Nice. But it didn't really matter because marriage was the last thing on my mind. So I said, "that's okay; I love you but I'm not marrying you either!" From there, we decided that giving the baby up for adoption seemed like the smartest move to make, since neither of us knew the first thing about babies.
So when I went to my first official prenatal visit, I told the doctor of my decision. Although he strongly tried to discourage me, my mind was made up. He gave me information about private adoption and, eventually, told me that he had a family - patients of his - who desperately wanted to adopt a baby and so, after learning about them, I decided that they would be the perfect family for my little one. And then something happened. Never, ever did I expect to start bonding with my unborn child. When you're 19 and no one you know has ever had a baby, you don't really hear about this stuff. But my baby started kicking. And at night, I would lie on my back and watch my belly shift, thinking, "oh my God... that's a real, live baby in there. And it's part of me," with wonder. I tried not to think about it too much because the thought of giving birth and then having to say good bye gave me a big lump in my throat.
...and I still hadn't told my parents. December came and I called my mom to tell her that I was needed at my job and that I wouldn't be coming home for Christmas (nice one, Kel. *insert eye rolling here*). Now, my mom isn't stupid - she knew something was up and immediately asked if I was "shacking up" with my boyfriend and was I pregnant? Naturally, I vehemently denied all of the above and stuck to my "I have to work" story. Which my parents totally did not buy. Eventually, they talked me into coming home for a couple of weeks... by this time, I had gone from a size 8 jeans up to a size 12 so I thought, "well, if I wear baggy sweatshirts, I can probably claim the 'college 20 lbs' and get away with this. I can be back down right after New Years Day, have the baby, hop off the delivery table, head back to my apartment and nobody will be the wiser." I mean, really. How stupid can you get? I actually thought exactly that. And so I headed home for Christmas.
Well, my parents didn't say anything for a couple of days. But one day, my mother asked. "Kelley, are you pregnant?" I denied, denied and denied again. A few days later, "Kelley, are you certain you're not pregnant?" More denial. And then, on January 2, 1985 (a Thursday), my mother woke me up, handed me a vial and said, "get in the bathroom and pee into this cup right now." My response? "No." Now, my mother is not used to being disobeyed by anyone, especially not me. "Excuse me? This is not optional. Get. In. That bathroom. And pee. Right. NOW!" So in I went meekly, my mind racing, trying to figure out how to throw the test somehow because, dammit, I did not want her knowing the truth!!! So I peed into the cup. And then I added some baby powder. And some Scope. And whatever else I could find in the medicine cabinet that I thought might confuse the little pregnancy testing kit. What I did not know was that, if your body is producing the pregnancy hormone, nothing but nothing will keep you from having a positive result on a pregnancy test. So I came out, handed my mother the evidence and held my breath while she did the test. "please God, pleeeeeeeaaaaase! pleasepleasepleasepleasePLEASE don't let it come up positive!" but, of course, the incriminating little positive symbol appeared within seconds. Damnit.
Well. My mother put her head in her hands then looked up and said, "You're pregnant." She then poked my stomach and said, "You're what? Three months pregnant, aren't you? Or is it four?" I smoothly said, the picture of utter honesty, "No. I'm not." Again, she poked my stomach. "Oh. My. God! Will you stop with the charade, Kelley Jean? Yes, you are! I'm going to guess you're between three and four months pregnant! Now quit being such a god damned ninny and face up to the truth because you need to be under a doctor's care!" Smooth as silk, I said the following: "No. I am NOT three OR four months pregnant. I know this for a fact because I am nine months pregnant, I've been under a doctor's care and the baby is due on Monday!!!" I have to give the woman credit for not fainting on the spot. I cannot begin to imagine what in the world she must have thought in that moment but I imagine her blood first ran cold before it began to boil.
After the truth was out, a battle royale ensued. I told my mother of my plans for adoption. She insisted that, if I refused to raise the baby myself, she would intervene and adopt it instead. A tiny little light bulb went on in my head: for the first time in my life, I had something that I had absolute control over and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. So I played that card to the hilt. And then finally, my mom wised up. She talked to my dad. She talked to my grandparents. She talked to my aunts. And finally, she and my dad said, "We hope you'll change your mind but, whatever you choose to do, we'll support you."
What?? That's not how it's supposed to work! We're supposed to fight! I'm supposed to win! That's how it goes! But instead, in that moment, they said the one thing my heart truly needed to hear: "we support you, no matter what you decide." And then the dam broke. I finally admitted to myself that I really wanted to keep this baby. I had no idea what to do and I was scared to death but the thought of giving birth to a child and then never seeing it again, never seeing it go to school for the first time, take its first steps, never seeing what kind of person it would become... gave me a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.
And so I made a decision for which I will always be grateful. I decided to keep the baby. My wonderful, amazing, kind, gorgeous son Jim is now 25 years old. How about that? And he is an awesome dad of the most beautiful little redhead you've ever seen, Lilly Snow, born on 22 December, 2008. How cool is THAT?
So what happened with Jim's dad? That, my friend, is a story for another time. It's nearly 4am here in Chicago and I think it's time for me to get a little more sleep before I have to get ready for work. Good night, whoever you are... sweet dreams.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Day 9 - Gone Again, Gone Again, Jiggety-Jig. I Think...
The room mate's gone again. At least, I think she is... her bedroom door is shut, the smoke smell is (for the most part) no longer hanging in the air. I know this probably sounds totally lame but I'm too nervous to knock on her bedroom door to see if she's in there. Is that totally wimpy or what? Yesterday was awkward! I mean, what a weird situation. She owns this place, not me! So what right do I have to make her feel unwelcome in her own home? The bottom line is, I don't have that right at all. And yet, I shouldn't have to come home to a 50 year old room mate who's shit-faced either. I mean, ew. That's just gross, you know? When she tried to talk to me, I was polite but very distant. I really don't know what the social rules are for a situation like this. I mean... are there any? I just couldn't think of anything to say when she started in with her "so how are ya?" 's. When she's drunk, she asks me that every five minutes. The dialogue goes a little something like this:
Roomie: "So how are ya?!"
Me: "Uh... I'm okay, thanks; you?"
Roomie: "Drunk!"
...pause...
Roomie: "You're not used to having a room mate, are you?"
Me: "Hm? What do you mean?"
Roomie: "Oh you know, having someone else in the house. You like being alone, don'tcha?"
Me: "No...no... I've had room mates before..."
Roomie: "Oh really? Cause you seem uncomfortable with me *hic* being here"
Me: "Oh... no. I'm just... you know... not used to having someone who's always drunk around."
Roomie: "Ah."
...pause... room mate blows smoke into center of living room
Roomie: "So really. How the hell are ya?"
Me: "Still fine, thanks. You?"
Roomie: "Drunk off my asssssss!"
and so on. So to avoid that whole thing, I just gave a two-word answer last night: "fine, thanks," and went back to what I was doing. Part of me thinks, "man, I hope I wasn't being too rude," and another part of me thinks, "why the heck am I even worrying about whether or not I'm being rude???" I guess old people-pleaser habits are hard to break sometimes.
Anyway, for now, the home seems quiet and peaceful, which works for me. Phew!
Subject change! You know what? I love when people get mad at me for no good reason. My ex wants to pick up our daughter, who's been spending the week with me, two hours early. Now, this is the same guy who asks for extra weekends and says he'll make it up to me and then, when I ask for my make-up time with our daughter tells me he has no idea what I'm talking about. So in response to his request, can I get a big "hell no!" from the choir?? I was nice, though. I sent him an email and said, "I'm confused... isn't your pick up time xxx o'clock?" Here's where it gets funny. My ex's wife's kids (confusing to follow, I know) like me. When the ex told his wife that I wasn't on board with the picking our daughter up two hours early thing, his wife got a bee in her bonnet and started stomping around, telling her kids that I'm a big idiot. They immediately texted my daughter telling her what their mom was saying. Hooray! I love the name calling! And I'M the idiot? Pfffff!
I am keenly aware that I am apparently babbling almost incessantly right now. Lo siento. I am really quite tired - today was a good day but a long 'un and I desperately need sleep. I thought about shirking my promise and skipping a day of writing but then I said to myself, "No! You said you'd do this journaling every day for one year, now get up and get it done!" So. This entry ain't pretty but they can't all be gems. The main thing is that I did it. Yay me!
That is all. Good night, whoever you are.
xxx
Roomie: "So how are ya?!"
Me: "Uh... I'm okay, thanks; you?"
Roomie: "Drunk!"
...pause...
Roomie: "You're not used to having a room mate, are you?"
Me: "Hm? What do you mean?"
Roomie: "Oh you know, having someone else in the house. You like being alone, don'tcha?"
Me: "No...no... I've had room mates before..."
Roomie: "Oh really? Cause you seem uncomfortable with me *hic* being here"
Me: "Oh... no. I'm just... you know... not used to having someone who's always drunk around."
Roomie: "Ah."
...pause... room mate blows smoke into center of living room
Roomie: "So really. How the hell are ya?"
Me: "Still fine, thanks. You?"
Roomie: "Drunk off my asssssss!"
and so on. So to avoid that whole thing, I just gave a two-word answer last night: "fine, thanks," and went back to what I was doing. Part of me thinks, "man, I hope I wasn't being too rude," and another part of me thinks, "why the heck am I even worrying about whether or not I'm being rude???" I guess old people-pleaser habits are hard to break sometimes.
Anyway, for now, the home seems quiet and peaceful, which works for me. Phew!
Subject change! You know what? I love when people get mad at me for no good reason. My ex wants to pick up our daughter, who's been spending the week with me, two hours early. Now, this is the same guy who asks for extra weekends and says he'll make it up to me and then, when I ask for my make-up time with our daughter tells me he has no idea what I'm talking about. So in response to his request, can I get a big "hell no!" from the choir?? I was nice, though. I sent him an email and said, "I'm confused... isn't your pick up time xxx o'clock?" Here's where it gets funny. My ex's wife's kids (confusing to follow, I know) like me. When the ex told his wife that I wasn't on board with the picking our daughter up two hours early thing, his wife got a bee in her bonnet and started stomping around, telling her kids that I'm a big idiot. They immediately texted my daughter telling her what their mom was saying. Hooray! I love the name calling! And I'M the idiot? Pfffff!
I am keenly aware that I am apparently babbling almost incessantly right now. Lo siento. I am really quite tired - today was a good day but a long 'un and I desperately need sleep. I thought about shirking my promise and skipping a day of writing but then I said to myself, "No! You said you'd do this journaling every day for one year, now get up and get it done!" So. This entry ain't pretty but they can't all be gems. The main thing is that I did it. Yay me!
That is all. Good night, whoever you are.
xxx
Monday, March 22, 2010
Day 8 - One Week Down, 51 Weeks To Go!
Alright, a little diversion today from my goals.
My room mate has returned. Temporarily (thank goodness) but still. *sigh*
Room mate back story: After a slew of weird room mate situations (the aforementioned garbologist, the slob/thief, a hard-core gamer who only worked temp jobs so he could make enough money to pay his rent for a few months while he holed up in his room immersed in WoW, and a polyamorous couple who announced that they were into polyAMORY, not polyFUCKERY, during an argument between the husband and wife one night a week or two after I'd moved in), I decided to room with an older woman who owned her own condo on the lake. This seemed like a reasonable thing to do. She acted kind of strange when we met but she told me that she'd had surgery recently and I just wrote off her loopy behaviour as a reaction to the many meds she had to take. *sigh* I can be sooo naive.
Four days after I moved in, she announced that she would be leaving for rehab; she's a recovering-backsliding alcoholic. *sigh* So! She was gone for a month, returned... did alright for about three weeks and got drunk again before slitting her wrists. So! Back to rehab she went. For two months this time. Came back home and, within 24 hours, was drunk again. Her family came, did a massive intervention and sent her to a sober living house in Florida. We had big talks and I agreed to be the resident house manager/renter until this home sells. It was (and, I believe, is) a mutually beneficial deal.
Today I came home and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a drunken room mate passed out on the couch with 6 cans of beer. *siiiiiiiiigh*
I called her sister and brother-in-law to find out what's going on and, apparently, she's only here for a day or two (she has to give a deposition for some legal thing) before returning to the sober living house again. I'm trying to keep this place nice and lovely for prospective buyers and here she is, the condo owner, drinking, smoking and generally mucking the place up again. Geez, louise. What is the deal with people???
Oh alright, kvetching officially over for the evening.
Other than the room mate surprise, I am happy. I am working hard and loving my job. My youngest daughter and I went to the grocery store tonight and marveled at how just 6 months ago, I was so broke that, when we went grocery shopping, we had to prioritize which items we really needed and which ones we could do without because we didn't have enough money for everything. I have to admit, it's fun being able to simply buy what we need and not worry about whether I'll have to decide between a 4-pack of toilet paper and a half-gallon of milk!
Phew, I didn't notice how late it is! I need sleep! Good night, whoever you are and, as always, thanks for listening :)
My room mate has returned. Temporarily (thank goodness) but still. *sigh*
Room mate back story: After a slew of weird room mate situations (the aforementioned garbologist, the slob/thief, a hard-core gamer who only worked temp jobs so he could make enough money to pay his rent for a few months while he holed up in his room immersed in WoW, and a polyamorous couple who announced that they were into polyAMORY, not polyFUCKERY, during an argument between the husband and wife one night a week or two after I'd moved in), I decided to room with an older woman who owned her own condo on the lake. This seemed like a reasonable thing to do. She acted kind of strange when we met but she told me that she'd had surgery recently and I just wrote off her loopy behaviour as a reaction to the many meds she had to take. *sigh* I can be sooo naive.
Four days after I moved in, she announced that she would be leaving for rehab; she's a recovering-backsliding alcoholic. *sigh* So! She was gone for a month, returned... did alright for about three weeks and got drunk again before slitting her wrists. So! Back to rehab she went. For two months this time. Came back home and, within 24 hours, was drunk again. Her family came, did a massive intervention and sent her to a sober living house in Florida. We had big talks and I agreed to be the resident house manager/renter until this home sells. It was (and, I believe, is) a mutually beneficial deal.
Today I came home and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a drunken room mate passed out on the couch with 6 cans of beer. *siiiiiiiiigh*
I called her sister and brother-in-law to find out what's going on and, apparently, she's only here for a day or two (she has to give a deposition for some legal thing) before returning to the sober living house again. I'm trying to keep this place nice and lovely for prospective buyers and here she is, the condo owner, drinking, smoking and generally mucking the place up again. Geez, louise. What is the deal with people???
Oh alright, kvetching officially over for the evening.
Other than the room mate surprise, I am happy. I am working hard and loving my job. My youngest daughter and I went to the grocery store tonight and marveled at how just 6 months ago, I was so broke that, when we went grocery shopping, we had to prioritize which items we really needed and which ones we could do without because we didn't have enough money for everything. I have to admit, it's fun being able to simply buy what we need and not worry about whether I'll have to decide between a 4-pack of toilet paper and a half-gallon of milk!
Phew, I didn't notice how late it is! I need sleep! Good night, whoever you are and, as always, thanks for listening :)
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Day 7 - Action Plan and Other Stuff
Today I started reading about investing. Good grief, talk about being overwhelmed! There are so many terms to learn. Day trading, options trading, dividends, futures... man, my head is spinning! I think I'm going to start small and diversify. First thought? Investing in palladium. I've never heard of palladium until today - it's a precious metal kind of like platinum only cheaper and more useful. It's used in automobile converters, dental procedures and it's mixed with gold to make "white gold." I can buy a bullion of palladium for about $500. Also, it's been steadily appreciating in the market over the past several years so, the way I see it, if I buy one bullion a year to start, I could make a pretty tidy little profit in five years. The pro: my profit can increase significantly. The con: I don't think I can reinvest the dividends so once I decide to sell, I'd have to cash in... which (again as a pro) is incentive to hang onto the metals. Okay, so that's one thing.
Also, I'm starting to read about real estate investing. Now THAT was confusing. I mean, I get the basic idea but I really have no clue how you get from saying "oh hey, I think I'd like to invest in real estate and, by the way, I hear this is possible by using investors' money which is good, since I don't have any!" to "well here I am, the owner of this real estate that my buddy the financial investor put the money up for. Let's make a profit!" I'm sure there are some tricks to this and I do know it's possible. I just haven't figured out any of the "how it's done" stuff yet. Phew, my brain hurts from all of this reading but I'm determined to learn and put this knowledge to good use!
About my own debt. I figured out the following:
An exciting idea: House sitting internationally. I was at a website earlier, http://www.housecarers.com and saw that there are people all over the world who need people to come care for their homes while they travel for work. I could have a six month assignment in Vancouver and then move over to, oh I don't know, Dublin for another four months. How cool is that??!! The more I think about it, the more this truly, truly appeals to me. I can't wait to ask Marc about it - I could be wrong but I think this is the sort of thing that would suit us immensely, as we both have a bit of the wanderlust and nothing holding us back. Hmm....!
Oh! I was searching the web for gift ideas for my two kids who are out of the family circle. I think I've got a pretty cool idea for my son... he's almost 21 and I don't want to spill the beans on the off-off-off chance that he might read this blog but... yeah, it's cool and I'm excited about it. My daughter (age 19) is going to be a bit more difficult but I'm going to keep brainstorming until I find just the right thing.
More news: I'm losing weight! yes! Yesterday, I put on a pair of jeans (I bought these about 6 weeks ago even though they didn't fit because they were the last pair in the store and I reallyreallyreallyREALLY wanted them) and they fit! WOO! At the moment, though, I feel a little "blobby" because I could have gone out for a walk today but instead, I felt like lounging around the house so that's exactly what I did. Scratch that. I did clean and the place looks (and smells) fabulous but otherwise? Yeah, didn't do much moving around today. It's okay though - tomorrow, it's back to work and back to walking, climbing stairs, chasing after a one year old and her dog... I'll be busy! I wish I could figure out how to move around a lot without sweating like a pig though - it feels gross and I think, with my hair all frizzed out, my spine drenched with sweat that I pray to GOD no one can see, and with my make up pretty much melted completely off, I must look awful by the end of the day! Wouldn't it be awesome to look like one of those fake boobed bottle blondes wearing knee high boots as she clickety clacks down the sidewalk in Streeterville during a weekday shopping marathon? *le sigh* Maybe someday, hm?
Alrighty. Work night tonight so I need to get to bed soon. G'night, whoever you are and, as always, thanks for listening!
p.s. Hello to my new followers! Thank you for adding me to your reads!
Also, I'm starting to read about real estate investing. Now THAT was confusing. I mean, I get the basic idea but I really have no clue how you get from saying "oh hey, I think I'd like to invest in real estate and, by the way, I hear this is possible by using investors' money which is good, since I don't have any!" to "well here I am, the owner of this real estate that my buddy the financial investor put the money up for. Let's make a profit!" I'm sure there are some tricks to this and I do know it's possible. I just haven't figured out any of the "how it's done" stuff yet. Phew, my brain hurts from all of this reading but I'm determined to learn and put this knowledge to good use!
About my own debt. I figured out the following:
- If I pay my debtor $300 per month, I can be debt-free in five years.
- If I pay $400 per month, I can be debt-free in 3.8 years, and
- IF I can figure out how to pay $500 per month, I can be completely debt-free in three years!
An exciting idea: House sitting internationally. I was at a website earlier, http://www.housecarers.com and saw that there are people all over the world who need people to come care for their homes while they travel for work. I could have a six month assignment in Vancouver and then move over to, oh I don't know, Dublin for another four months. How cool is that??!! The more I think about it, the more this truly, truly appeals to me. I can't wait to ask Marc about it - I could be wrong but I think this is the sort of thing that would suit us immensely, as we both have a bit of the wanderlust and nothing holding us back. Hmm....!
Oh! I was searching the web for gift ideas for my two kids who are out of the family circle. I think I've got a pretty cool idea for my son... he's almost 21 and I don't want to spill the beans on the off-off-off chance that he might read this blog but... yeah, it's cool and I'm excited about it. My daughter (age 19) is going to be a bit more difficult but I'm going to keep brainstorming until I find just the right thing.
More news: I'm losing weight! yes! Yesterday, I put on a pair of jeans (I bought these about 6 weeks ago even though they didn't fit because they were the last pair in the store and I reallyreallyreallyREALLY wanted them) and they fit! WOO! At the moment, though, I feel a little "blobby" because I could have gone out for a walk today but instead, I felt like lounging around the house so that's exactly what I did. Scratch that. I did clean and the place looks (and smells) fabulous but otherwise? Yeah, didn't do much moving around today. It's okay though - tomorrow, it's back to work and back to walking, climbing stairs, chasing after a one year old and her dog... I'll be busy! I wish I could figure out how to move around a lot without sweating like a pig though - it feels gross and I think, with my hair all frizzed out, my spine drenched with sweat that I pray to GOD no one can see, and with my make up pretty much melted completely off, I must look awful by the end of the day! Wouldn't it be awesome to look like one of those fake boobed bottle blondes wearing knee high boots as she clickety clacks down the sidewalk in Streeterville during a weekday shopping marathon? *le sigh* Maybe someday, hm?
Alrighty. Work night tonight so I need to get to bed soon. G'night, whoever you are and, as always, thanks for listening!
p.s. Hello to my new followers! Thank you for adding me to your reads!
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Day 6 - Elaborating on The List
Okay, so a little elaboration. Here are the things on the list that matter the most to me right now:
- Getting out of debt
- Getting my two wayward offspring back into my circle
- Getting married to Marc
- Traveling internationally (which requires getting a passport - something I've never done before)
- Getting rich
Notes For My Goals
Getting out of debt - what am I doing about this?
Marrying Marc. Well, in some ways, this one's the easiest. I want to marry Marc; Marc wants to marry me. And in others, this one's difficult. Since he's from Germany, we have to go through the K-1 (fiance) visa process. In order to do THAT, he absolutely must visit me at least once. There's a lot more to this one than meets the eye. I'd love to go there but I don't have a passport yet - and I can't get one until I clear up my debt (long story that involves an attorney who requested and received a bench warrant in order to try to intimidate me into paying a bill more quickly than I could afford). Also, I'm still legally married, damn it. My not-exactly-ex-husband left the country nearly three years ago after he ruined me financially. I have no idea where he is... somewhere in England is all I know. *shudder* I recently found out that I can ask for something called a "default divorce," since he's been gone so long. I'd like to find out if I can ask for him to be responsible for at least half of the debt he left behind, even though it was all done in my name (stupid, stupid, stupid me!!!) and then? Goooooooooood riddance, loser!
I've got a lot to get done but I think I'm .... you know... on my way. I do! I think I need to give myself some deadlines though for the K-1 things. And I think tomorrow I might go shopping for some gifts for my two wayward offspring. Yes. Good idea. But for now? Sleep. It's been a long day and I need some serious rest. Good night!
- I down-sized my home and made myself an asset to home sellers. Specifically, I am renting a home from someone who is selling her condo. On the plus side, I pay half the rent one would expect for this home. The minus? My home isn't permanent... but to save that much rent, this is worth it.
- I do not have a car payment (or a car insurance payment) - a perk of living in a big city.
- I have given myself a fixed, weekly allowance and I challenge myself each week to come in under budget. 95% of the time, I spend significantly less.
- I pay all of my bills on time (this sounds like a no-brainer but, after a lifetime of being perpetually late with my bill payments, this is a big deal to me).
- I've built saving money into my budget. Hallelujah!
Marrying Marc. Well, in some ways, this one's the easiest. I want to marry Marc; Marc wants to marry me. And in others, this one's difficult. Since he's from Germany, we have to go through the K-1 (fiance) visa process. In order to do THAT, he absolutely must visit me at least once. There's a lot more to this one than meets the eye. I'd love to go there but I don't have a passport yet - and I can't get one until I clear up my debt (long story that involves an attorney who requested and received a bench warrant in order to try to intimidate me into paying a bill more quickly than I could afford). Also, I'm still legally married, damn it. My not-exactly-ex-husband left the country nearly three years ago after he ruined me financially. I have no idea where he is... somewhere in England is all I know. *shudder* I recently found out that I can ask for something called a "default divorce," since he's been gone so long. I'd like to find out if I can ask for him to be responsible for at least half of the debt he left behind, even though it was all done in my name (stupid, stupid, stupid me!!!) and then? Goooooooooood riddance, loser!
I've got a lot to get done but I think I'm .... you know... on my way. I do! I think I need to give myself some deadlines though for the K-1 things. And I think tomorrow I might go shopping for some gifts for my two wayward offspring. Yes. Good idea. But for now? Sleep. It's been a long day and I need some serious rest. Good night!
Friday, March 19, 2010
Day 5 - To Do
Right. So I have a list of goals. Don't laugh but I'm dreaming big here. I made out this list thinking of things I really-really-really-really want. Some of these things are big and some are a little frivolous. The point is, these are things I want. Badly. I'll revise it here and there I think but for now, here's the starter list of things I want:
- Get out of debt.
- Reconcile with my two kids.
- Get married to Marc.
- Have lots of great sex.
- Fit into a size 8 again.
- Learn about investing.
- Travel internationally with my husband.
- Make lots of money.
- Become a millionaire.
- Live a life of contentment and happiness.
- Hike the Appalachian Trail.
- Go white water rafting.
- Learn how to downhill ski.
- Take a ballroom dancing class with Marc.
- Buy real estate.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Day 4 - Learning Contentment
You know, one of the first lessons I had to learn in all of this was to be content with myself. I've said "I'm content with my life," in the past and this was probably, at least in part, true. In retrospect, being perfectly honest, I think I was experiencing a moment of contentment, which is quite different from actually being comfortable with who I am, with my flawed past, with my current imperfections and truly allowing myself to believe I deserve the future I want. Does that make sense? I hope so. I mean, it certainly does in my mind but I'm never quite sure how my thoughts are perceived when others read them. Assuming anyone ever does read this besides me, I mean!
So how's my lesson in contentment going? Really well, actually! I mean, I still struggle with things like, "why wasn't I responsible enough to manage the money I made when I was younger?" or "why didn't I like myself enough to just stay single instead of hopping in bed with every guy who made me feel like I'd earned his attention?" and even, "does every perimenopausal woman bleed as much as I do during her period?" TMI, I know. I also worry about my waistline (or lack thereof) and whether or not the originator of the "I see you like your chin so much you decided to grow another one" group had someone like me in mind. But really, those are just incidental little side thoughts these days and not the all-consuming things they used to be.
Can I tell you a secret? I used to be terrified of people. That everyone was judging me and that I had "FAIL" stamped across my forehead in neon. You know what's funny? I've noticed some people - not all! - in my "old life," still treat me that way. Kind of condescendingly. And, in the past, that's all it would have taken to shatter any remote feeling of confidence I had. But now? Mmmmmnotsomuch! I might have that initial flash in the pit of my stomach but when it happens, I stop, take a breath, take in the feeling of insecurity, recognising its source immediately and then let it go. Sometimes it takes a few minutes but I let. it. GO. And it works! You know, the old saying really is true. I can't change other people but I can certainly change how I react to them - and, for me, actually putting that saying to practice has made all the difference. I'm becoming a big believer in the Law of Attraction. More on that later...
I want to mention the way my day started today. Now, suffice it to say that, by no stretch of the imagination, am I a morning person. I'm not. But today, as I was leaving for work, the sun was rising waaaaaaay in the distance over Lake Michigan. The sky above me was a breathtaking sapphire blue - almost surreal! - with just a few tiny stars lingering in the sky. The lake reflected a similar shade and then, off in the horizon, both the sky and the water met the deep coral sunrise, the sky blending beautifully, the lake drawing a straight line. As I boarded the L-train, the driver, a honey-voiced black man who goes by "Operator 813" announced that he would be our "chauffeur du jour" today. The connecting bus following my train ride waited for me and, as I was preparing to step down onto the pavement after I'd reached my destination, he actually said (I swear it), "Toodle-oo!" I walked up the block to the doors of my job and had to laugh inwardly as I listened to birds chirping all around me.
Honestly, with a beginning like that, how can I expect anything less than greatness?
So how's my lesson in contentment going? Really well, actually! I mean, I still struggle with things like, "why wasn't I responsible enough to manage the money I made when I was younger?" or "why didn't I like myself enough to just stay single instead of hopping in bed with every guy who made me feel like I'd earned his attention?" and even, "does every perimenopausal woman bleed as much as I do during her period?" TMI, I know. I also worry about my waistline (or lack thereof) and whether or not the originator of the "I see you like your chin so much you decided to grow another one" group had someone like me in mind. But really, those are just incidental little side thoughts these days and not the all-consuming things they used to be.
Can I tell you a secret? I used to be terrified of people. That everyone was judging me and that I had "FAIL" stamped across my forehead in neon. You know what's funny? I've noticed some people - not all! - in my "old life," still treat me that way. Kind of condescendingly. And, in the past, that's all it would have taken to shatter any remote feeling of confidence I had. But now? Mmmmmnotsomuch! I might have that initial flash in the pit of my stomach but when it happens, I stop, take a breath, take in the feeling of insecurity, recognising its source immediately and then let it go. Sometimes it takes a few minutes but I let. it. GO. And it works! You know, the old saying really is true. I can't change other people but I can certainly change how I react to them - and, for me, actually putting that saying to practice has made all the difference. I'm becoming a big believer in the Law of Attraction. More on that later...
I want to mention the way my day started today. Now, suffice it to say that, by no stretch of the imagination, am I a morning person. I'm not. But today, as I was leaving for work, the sun was rising waaaaaaay in the distance over Lake Michigan. The sky above me was a breathtaking sapphire blue - almost surreal! - with just a few tiny stars lingering in the sky. The lake reflected a similar shade and then, off in the horizon, both the sky and the water met the deep coral sunrise, the sky blending beautifully, the lake drawing a straight line. As I boarded the L-train, the driver, a honey-voiced black man who goes by "Operator 813" announced that he would be our "chauffeur du jour" today. The connecting bus following my train ride waited for me and, as I was preparing to step down onto the pavement after I'd reached my destination, he actually said (I swear it), "Toodle-oo!" I walked up the block to the doors of my job and had to laugh inwardly as I listened to birds chirping all around me.
Honestly, with a beginning like that, how can I expect anything less than greatness?
Day 3.5 - I can't sleep
Okay. So it's 2:00am as I sit down to write. Why? I can't sleep. Why? Because I know exactly why I need to keep at this blog. It's true that I'm committing to writing in this thing every day for precisely one year in order to, for once in my life, stick to it. But there's more to it than that. Remember that quote I wrote the other day about not looking in the rear view mirror because it makes no difference what's behind you? Well, I posted that as my status update on Facebook and an old, childhood acquaintance responded with this:
I see his point. That said, while this blog is mostly going to be about looking and moving forward, I'll occasionally give the rear view mirror a quick check for a little perspective.
Alright. So who exactly am I? The truth is, I'm a formerly completely screwed-up, basically nice girl with an occasional mean streak who had nearly ruined her life until very recently. I'm a mother of five. My kids' ages range from 25 down to 12 (I started early). None of my kids live with me. My second and third children don't talk to me. I love them all fiercely and miss them every, single day of my life. I have three ex-husbands. Well. Two ex-husbands and one husband who left me almost three years ago after taking nearly everything I owned, selling it or trashing it and moving back to his home country, England. He depleted my savings account and left me with nearly $20,000 in debt before making his exit.
Shortly after he left me, I moved to Chicago, hoping for my big do-over in life. Suffice it to say that when I got here, I fell flat on my face. I'd been hired for a fabulous new job making more money than I'd ever made in my life. Three weeks later (less than a week after I signed the lease on and moved into my new apartment and less than a week before Christmas), I was let go from the fabulous new job. Having no savings to fall back on, I invited my best friend to come live with me. She'd recently lost her job and I thought, if the two of us put our heads together and combined our resources, we could make it work. What I didn't know was that my so-called best friend was another sponge I invited into my world (stupid, stupid, stupid me!) and a slob to boot. I, who couldn't even afford to pay my own rent, was now paying rent for two and had become an unpaid house maid to boot. So I did what any "sane" person would do. I put an ad on Craig's List and found another room mate. Can I say it again? Stupid, stupid, stupid me! I had some misgivings about my new room mate (she claimed to be a "garbologist") but she came with cash in hand (which I desperately needed) so I agreed to let her move into the third bedroom. Unfortunately, that cash in hand she gave me? It was the last cash she ever gave me. *sigh* It took me several months to get both of my room mates out of my apartment and, by then, I myself got evicted. It was NOT a pretty time and I spent much of it terrified and in tears with a knot in my stomach that I thought would never go away. I spent the next year room surfing wherever I could by searching Craig's List for people who would let me stay with them for a few weeks and pay what I could with odd babysitting jobs. I ate a LOT of ramen noodles. A. LOT.
I'm skipping some of the details for now - I'm not sure they're really relevant - but you get the idea. I'd also, during marriage #2, gained significant weight. When I was younger, I was a very promising musician - a classically trained flautist - but I burned out and walked away from it. I received a university scholarship - but I got pregnant as a teenager and walked away again. I passed interviews and aptitude tests to become a programmer for the company I worked for but I didn't study and bombed out of the coursework. I'm estranged from my parents and my brother (not all bad, truth be told - I love them but they're toxic; however, I do miss them a lot sometimes). My precious sister died of breast cancer during my room surfing days, which especially sucked because I couldn't afford a plane ticket to Texas so I could kiss her good bye.
I have literally screwed up nearly every facet of my life before now. Until a year ago, I spent a lifetime telling myself I was a failure. Never pretty enough, not tall enough, not thin enough, not elegant enough, not tough enough, rich enough, smart enough, talented enough, educated enough. Enough, enough, enough? ENOUGH! Enough.
So! There you have the negatives. Now it's time to look at the positives:
Here is who I am: I AM pretty enough. I'm not tall but so what? I'm not thin and, yes, I do need to lose some weight but I could be a whole lot worse than I am. I'm actually fairly elegant when I want to be but, more important, I'm gracious and warm and authentic. Not tough enough? Seriously?? What a load of shit! I'm actually one of the toughest people I've ever met! I'm smart, talented, funny and I'm learning to be accountable for myself. It's really not as hard as I thought it might be. AND. I'm determined to be rich one day, as well. No, I don't place it at the top of my list but I've learned that I actually do know how to budget my money and I do have a strong work ethic.
I found steady work. It's not what you might consider a C-Level executive job (insert slight eye rolling and quiet chuckle here) but it suits me very nicely. I became a career nanny and house manager. Turns out I'm brilliant at it and I'm quickly becoming highly sought after. How's that for cool, hm? It's not going to bring me in millions of dollars but I have a feeling I'm going to make a pretty good dent if I keep right on going! I have two long-time friends who are going to mentor me financially as I continue to learn to stand on my own, two feet.
A home? Well now, this is interesting. The thing is, I don't really have one yet. But that's not to say that I'm typing from under the freeway somewhere with my things in a hefty bag either. I began taking care of condos for people while they're away or trying to sell them. I currently stay in a charming, furnished two bedroom condo on Lake Michigan for approximately 1/3 the rent I paid for that first apartment when I moved to Chicago. I'm looking at the lake (it's my back yard) from the bay window as I write. Pretty cool, huh? My long-time companion - my dog, Jillian, is curled up next to me on the sofa, snoring blissfully. She did something today that I've never, ever seen her do before. I took her for a walk to the nearest dog park and she actually played - leaping and scampering - with another dog. Did I mention that before in my previous post? I might have. It was an absolute thrill to see. I'll be staying in this condo until it sells. It's mutually beneficial for me and for the owner. I pay a reduced rent rate and the owner has the assurance of knowing that she has a quiet person who pays her rent on time and who will take good care of the home while it's on the market. Also, I think having my rent to help offset the house payment is a big help, too. Once this place is sold, the real estate agent will have a new place for me to move to. I'm told it's not easy finding tenants like me. How about that? :)
As for my kids, I'm steadily letting them know that I love them with all my heart. I'm very close with my oldest and with my youngest. My 15 year old and I are drawing closer with each day. It's one of those two steps forward, one step back things but, hey, she IS 15 and I think that's part of how it works, being the mom of a teenaged daughter. As I told her when she was telling me about all of the things I "never" do for her: "I'm here and willing to be as much a part of your life as you're willing to let me be." And that's something I will always offer. I still have my two shooting stars - my 19 and 20 year olds - who are hurtling around the solar system far away from me. I miss them more than I even know how to put into words but I truly believe that they'll come flying back into my orbit one of these days. I do.
Last but most certainly not least, I've met someone. Correction. About a year ago, an old internet friend and I began to see each other with new eyes. His name is Marc and he's from Germany. He drives me absolutely insane some days and I have a sneaking suspicion he can easily say the same about me. Oh hell, who am I kidding? Of course he can and does! What's important though is that we're good for each other. One of the really great things about having an internet relationship - a long term one, anyway - is that you're forced to go slow. You really just can't rush things past a certain point. So as our relationship grows, our friendship grows, too. There's really no other way to do it successfully in a long distance relationship, you know?
We think we may have finally found "the one" in each other. Time will tell for certain but we've got a pretty strong hunch. I've got a LOT of shit to take care of though. A LOT. I'll make a to-do list tomorrow. Or maybe the day after that. But right now, it's nearly 3am in Chicago (good God, I've been writing nonstop for nearly an hour??) and I need to get back to sleep, now that my brain's not quite so full of thoughts. Thanks, whoever you are, for listening. G'night!
"if u dont look back now and then, u are bound to repeat
the same stupid mistakes u made before..."
the same stupid mistakes u made before..."
I see his point. That said, while this blog is mostly going to be about looking and moving forward, I'll occasionally give the rear view mirror a quick check for a little perspective.
Alright. So who exactly am I? The truth is, I'm a formerly completely screwed-up, basically nice girl with an occasional mean streak who had nearly ruined her life until very recently. I'm a mother of five. My kids' ages range from 25 down to 12 (I started early). None of my kids live with me. My second and third children don't talk to me. I love them all fiercely and miss them every, single day of my life. I have three ex-husbands. Well. Two ex-husbands and one husband who left me almost three years ago after taking nearly everything I owned, selling it or trashing it and moving back to his home country, England. He depleted my savings account and left me with nearly $20,000 in debt before making his exit.
Shortly after he left me, I moved to Chicago, hoping for my big do-over in life. Suffice it to say that when I got here, I fell flat on my face. I'd been hired for a fabulous new job making more money than I'd ever made in my life. Three weeks later (less than a week after I signed the lease on and moved into my new apartment and less than a week before Christmas), I was let go from the fabulous new job. Having no savings to fall back on, I invited my best friend to come live with me. She'd recently lost her job and I thought, if the two of us put our heads together and combined our resources, we could make it work. What I didn't know was that my so-called best friend was another sponge I invited into my world (stupid, stupid, stupid me!) and a slob to boot. I, who couldn't even afford to pay my own rent, was now paying rent for two and had become an unpaid house maid to boot. So I did what any "sane" person would do. I put an ad on Craig's List and found another room mate. Can I say it again? Stupid, stupid, stupid me! I had some misgivings about my new room mate (she claimed to be a "garbologist") but she came with cash in hand (which I desperately needed) so I agreed to let her move into the third bedroom. Unfortunately, that cash in hand she gave me? It was the last cash she ever gave me. *sigh* It took me several months to get both of my room mates out of my apartment and, by then, I myself got evicted. It was NOT a pretty time and I spent much of it terrified and in tears with a knot in my stomach that I thought would never go away. I spent the next year room surfing wherever I could by searching Craig's List for people who would let me stay with them for a few weeks and pay what I could with odd babysitting jobs. I ate a LOT of ramen noodles. A. LOT.
I'm skipping some of the details for now - I'm not sure they're really relevant - but you get the idea. I'd also, during marriage #2, gained significant weight. When I was younger, I was a very promising musician - a classically trained flautist - but I burned out and walked away from it. I received a university scholarship - but I got pregnant as a teenager and walked away again. I passed interviews and aptitude tests to become a programmer for the company I worked for but I didn't study and bombed out of the coursework. I'm estranged from my parents and my brother (not all bad, truth be told - I love them but they're toxic; however, I do miss them a lot sometimes). My precious sister died of breast cancer during my room surfing days, which especially sucked because I couldn't afford a plane ticket to Texas so I could kiss her good bye.
I have literally screwed up nearly every facet of my life before now. Until a year ago, I spent a lifetime telling myself I was a failure. Never pretty enough, not tall enough, not thin enough, not elegant enough, not tough enough, rich enough, smart enough, talented enough, educated enough. Enough, enough, enough? ENOUGH! Enough.
So! There you have the negatives. Now it's time to look at the positives:
Here is who I am: I AM pretty enough. I'm not tall but so what? I'm not thin and, yes, I do need to lose some weight but I could be a whole lot worse than I am. I'm actually fairly elegant when I want to be but, more important, I'm gracious and warm and authentic. Not tough enough? Seriously?? What a load of shit! I'm actually one of the toughest people I've ever met! I'm smart, talented, funny and I'm learning to be accountable for myself. It's really not as hard as I thought it might be. AND. I'm determined to be rich one day, as well. No, I don't place it at the top of my list but I've learned that I actually do know how to budget my money and I do have a strong work ethic.
I found steady work. It's not what you might consider a C-Level executive job (insert slight eye rolling and quiet chuckle here) but it suits me very nicely. I became a career nanny and house manager. Turns out I'm brilliant at it and I'm quickly becoming highly sought after. How's that for cool, hm? It's not going to bring me in millions of dollars but I have a feeling I'm going to make a pretty good dent if I keep right on going! I have two long-time friends who are going to mentor me financially as I continue to learn to stand on my own, two feet.
A home? Well now, this is interesting. The thing is, I don't really have one yet. But that's not to say that I'm typing from under the freeway somewhere with my things in a hefty bag either. I began taking care of condos for people while they're away or trying to sell them. I currently stay in a charming, furnished two bedroom condo on Lake Michigan for approximately 1/3 the rent I paid for that first apartment when I moved to Chicago. I'm looking at the lake (it's my back yard) from the bay window as I write. Pretty cool, huh? My long-time companion - my dog, Jillian, is curled up next to me on the sofa, snoring blissfully. She did something today that I've never, ever seen her do before. I took her for a walk to the nearest dog park and she actually played - leaping and scampering - with another dog. Did I mention that before in my previous post? I might have. It was an absolute thrill to see. I'll be staying in this condo until it sells. It's mutually beneficial for me and for the owner. I pay a reduced rent rate and the owner has the assurance of knowing that she has a quiet person who pays her rent on time and who will take good care of the home while it's on the market. Also, I think having my rent to help offset the house payment is a big help, too. Once this place is sold, the real estate agent will have a new place for me to move to. I'm told it's not easy finding tenants like me. How about that? :)
As for my kids, I'm steadily letting them know that I love them with all my heart. I'm very close with my oldest and with my youngest. My 15 year old and I are drawing closer with each day. It's one of those two steps forward, one step back things but, hey, she IS 15 and I think that's part of how it works, being the mom of a teenaged daughter. As I told her when she was telling me about all of the things I "never" do for her: "I'm here and willing to be as much a part of your life as you're willing to let me be." And that's something I will always offer. I still have my two shooting stars - my 19 and 20 year olds - who are hurtling around the solar system far away from me. I miss them more than I even know how to put into words but I truly believe that they'll come flying back into my orbit one of these days. I do.
Last but most certainly not least, I've met someone. Correction. About a year ago, an old internet friend and I began to see each other with new eyes. His name is Marc and he's from Germany. He drives me absolutely insane some days and I have a sneaking suspicion he can easily say the same about me. Oh hell, who am I kidding? Of course he can and does! What's important though is that we're good for each other. One of the really great things about having an internet relationship - a long term one, anyway - is that you're forced to go slow. You really just can't rush things past a certain point. So as our relationship grows, our friendship grows, too. There's really no other way to do it successfully in a long distance relationship, you know?
We think we may have finally found "the one" in each other. Time will tell for certain but we've got a pretty strong hunch. I've got a LOT of shit to take care of though. A LOT. I'll make a to-do list tomorrow. Or maybe the day after that. But right now, it's nearly 3am in Chicago (good God, I've been writing nonstop for nearly an hour??) and I need to get back to sleep, now that my brain's not quite so full of thoughts. Thanks, whoever you are, for listening. G'night!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Day 3 - I am SO tired!
I don't know why but I couldn't sleep last night. At ALL. Which was totally not cool because I wanted to write something poignant in my journal today but my brain is absolute mush. I kept trying to sleep and was yawning and yawning but the second I would lay down and try to sleep, I'd suddenly be wide awake again. What's up with THAT?? Somehow I made it through the work day in a relatively good mood and then got home while there was still plenty of sunshine (thank you, daylight savings for forcing me to 'spring forward,' even though I bitch and moan about it in the mornings) so I took Jillian (my dog - more on her later) out for a loooooong walk and play at the dog park. She did something today that I have never, EVER seen her do before and, trust me, she is not a puppy: she actually played, I mean ears flopping, hoppy-happy-tail-wagging, tongue lolling played with another dog today. I just about fell over from the shock. Anyway, like I said, more on her later. It's only 9pm but I am flat-out exhausted, she needs to out again and then I'm going to collapse in bed until dawn.
Good night, whoever you are; I hope you had an amazingly fun St. Patrick's Day. :)
Good night, whoever you are; I hope you had an amazingly fun St. Patrick's Day. :)
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Day 2 - The Reason I Can't Commit To Journaling
Okay, so what is my deal with journals? I'm pretty sure it began at the end of seventh grade. I was a small-town girl in junior high and I felt like I was a little kid surrounded by a bunch of teenagers. I mean, I was a kid surrounded by teenagers but to me, those 14 through 17 year olds seemed like they were light years more mature and worldly than I was. So I did something I think a lot of dumb 12 year olds do. I experimented with "cool, grown up things."
I'd seen these kids at the high school next door smoking cigarettes (back then, smoking was still considered cool and you only had to be 16 to buy) and they looked sooooo mature to me so I wanted to try it. There was no way I'd even think about being brave enough to smoke a whole cigarette myself so I fished some of my mom's nearly non-existent, half crumpled stubs from the living room ash tray and snuck them into a coat pocket in the back of my bedroom closet.
Fact: At that time, I had an irrational fear of fire. I mean, I'm still not a huge fan but I was terrified to be anywhere near anyone who played with matches, kids who liked slowly passing their index finger through a flame scared the crap out of me, and, after seeing the tiny orange circle of my mother's cigarette glowing as she woke up for a quick smoke at 2am, I was convinced she was going to fall asleep with a lighted cigarette in hand one night and we'd all go up in flames. Nevertheless, I was determined. So one Saturday, I stole one of my mother's many lighters, grabbed my stash from the closet and ran like a bat out of hell to the neighborhood grade school. I skulked around to a side entrance - one of those doors that was blocked off by a rolling two-tiered rack of chairs so, on the off chance that someone was inside, they couldn't see what I was doing on the outside. Also, there was no grass - only concrete and bricks - so I wasn't quite so afraid that, if I dropped the lighter, I'd catch on fire. I never claimed that my fear was rational! Anyway. I tried smoking. Meh. I didn't love it and I didn't hate it. It didn't make me cough but I thought "ah well. okay, now I've done it," and I was keenly aware that I really didn't look any older or cooler by trying it.
Something else happened within that time frame: a boy discovered me. Now, I'm reasonably certain he wasn't the first one but this particular boy did happen to be the first one to overtly let me know. My family had driven to Oak Park, Illinois to spend the weekend with a college friend of my dad's and, bored to tears, I'd gone outside to walk up and down the back alley. Now, I don't remember how it all happened but I do remember the boy in vivid detail: his name was Bobby Woolf, he was slightly older, quite a bit taller, and he had the strangest green eyes I'd ever seen. Plus, he was a city kid which, to my way of thinking did not hurt his image one bit. We talked and walked around a while and then, somehow or another, I remember that we were standing in a garage somewhere. I'd never kissed a boy before but I sure knew I wanted this one to kiss me and did he ever. It was pure heaven. Well. We kissed and kissed for what seemed like days. I let him feel under my shirt and I refused to let him unzip my pants (don't get me wrong; I had no idea that touching me up there would make me feel it down there but there was a limit to my willingness to explore that particular urge, no matter how great my curiosity). Eventually, our parents called us in and we stole a few more, quick kisses before returning to our respective families.
That was more or less the end of those two experiences. Or at least it would have been - except for one thing. I kept a diary at the time. I can't remember what was on the cover of the actual journal but I kept it in a cream coloured box, the lid on which I'd doodled with a ball point pen in giant letters:
I'd seen these kids at the high school next door smoking cigarettes (back then, smoking was still considered cool and you only had to be 16 to buy) and they looked sooooo mature to me so I wanted to try it. There was no way I'd even think about being brave enough to smoke a whole cigarette myself so I fished some of my mom's nearly non-existent, half crumpled stubs from the living room ash tray and snuck them into a coat pocket in the back of my bedroom closet.
Fact: At that time, I had an irrational fear of fire. I mean, I'm still not a huge fan but I was terrified to be anywhere near anyone who played with matches, kids who liked slowly passing their index finger through a flame scared the crap out of me, and, after seeing the tiny orange circle of my mother's cigarette glowing as she woke up for a quick smoke at 2am, I was convinced she was going to fall asleep with a lighted cigarette in hand one night and we'd all go up in flames. Nevertheless, I was determined. So one Saturday, I stole one of my mother's many lighters, grabbed my stash from the closet and ran like a bat out of hell to the neighborhood grade school. I skulked around to a side entrance - one of those doors that was blocked off by a rolling two-tiered rack of chairs so, on the off chance that someone was inside, they couldn't see what I was doing on the outside. Also, there was no grass - only concrete and bricks - so I wasn't quite so afraid that, if I dropped the lighter, I'd catch on fire. I never claimed that my fear was rational! Anyway. I tried smoking. Meh. I didn't love it and I didn't hate it. It didn't make me cough but I thought "ah well. okay, now I've done it," and I was keenly aware that I really didn't look any older or cooler by trying it.
Something else happened within that time frame: a boy discovered me. Now, I'm reasonably certain he wasn't the first one but this particular boy did happen to be the first one to overtly let me know. My family had driven to Oak Park, Illinois to spend the weekend with a college friend of my dad's and, bored to tears, I'd gone outside to walk up and down the back alley. Now, I don't remember how it all happened but I do remember the boy in vivid detail: his name was Bobby Woolf, he was slightly older, quite a bit taller, and he had the strangest green eyes I'd ever seen. Plus, he was a city kid which, to my way of thinking did not hurt his image one bit. We talked and walked around a while and then, somehow or another, I remember that we were standing in a garage somewhere. I'd never kissed a boy before but I sure knew I wanted this one to kiss me and did he ever. It was pure heaven. Well. We kissed and kissed for what seemed like days. I let him feel under my shirt and I refused to let him unzip my pants (don't get me wrong; I had no idea that touching me up there would make me feel it down there but there was a limit to my willingness to explore that particular urge, no matter how great my curiosity). Eventually, our parents called us in and we stole a few more, quick kisses before returning to our respective families.
That was more or less the end of those two experiences. Or at least it would have been - except for one thing. I kept a diary at the time. I can't remember what was on the cover of the actual journal but I kept it in a cream coloured box, the lid on which I'd doodled with a ball point pen in giant letters:
MY DIARY - KEEP OUT
I then scratched little warnings and death threats on every bare spot of the cover. This was mine and mine alone. It was my own little world where I could pour out my agonies, my dreams and do a little embellishing of my real life in private. So naturally I wrote about my foray into smoking. Only I made it fabulous and, of course, I was cool. In my diary, I'd done this with a group of friends. It was great and I intended to keep right on doing it - to hell with what my parents or any other grown ups thought. In my diary, I let Bobby Woolf put his hands down my pants and I fantasized about what that must be like in very, very vivid detail. More than once, I think. hah!
And... in my diary is where my mother read all of these private little thoughts and fantasies (and dozens more that I haven't shared here with you, whoever you are) when she found it as she was going through my desk drawers one day. I came home from school that afternoon to an ominously quiet house. My mother called me downstairs to the family room. As I walked in, I saw her sitting on the couch in her kaftan wearing sunglasses, which I thought was odd, considering we were in the basement. She sat staring wordlessly at me for the longest time (never a good sign), finally breaking the silence by asking me how long I'd been smoking. My face turned ashen. I tried to deny but she persisted in a firm, commanding voice: "I. Said. How. LONG. Have you. Been. SMOKING? DO NOT LIE TO ME BECAUSE I KNOW THE TRUTH." I was mortified. I meekly tried to tell her about my single experiment but, after calling me a lying little bitch, she pushed past it and moved on to the Bobby Woolf incident. In excruciating detail. And, while I'd bragged and lied about my attempt at smoking to my friends at school, I had told absolutely NO ONE about Bobby Woolf so, in that moment, I knew where she'd gotten her information from.
She then slowly removed her sunglasses to reveal her eyes, swollen and red. She told me that they were nearly infected from the crying she'd done that day and that it was all my fault. The next four hours of tears and lectures were pure torture. Where had she gone wrong with me? With all that she and my father had done for me, this was how I repaid them? I just wanted to die. I was ashamed. Embarrassed. And worst of all, I'd done it to myself by writing the words down on paper. If I hadn't written them, she would never have read them. After that, any thoughts of keeping a journal went right out the window. No WAY was I going to put myself through that again.
You know what, whoever you are? The funny thing is, I no longer have anything to hide. No secrets. Plenty of flaws, but no secrets at all. And yet, this is still something I struggle with - being committed to keeping a journal. And this is why this blog was created. I heard a line in a movie today. I only mention it because I think it's relevant to so many areas in my life right now so I think I'm going to end today's entry by sharing it with you. Here it is:
I then scratched little warnings and death threats on every bare spot of the cover. This was mine and mine alone. It was my own little world where I could pour out my agonies, my dreams and do a little embellishing of my real life in private. So naturally I wrote about my foray into smoking. Only I made it fabulous and, of course, I was cool. In my diary, I'd done this with a group of friends. It was great and I intended to keep right on doing it - to hell with what my parents or any other grown ups thought. In my diary, I let Bobby Woolf put his hands down my pants and I fantasized about what that must be like in very, very vivid detail. More than once, I think. hah!
And... in my diary is where my mother read all of these private little thoughts and fantasies (and dozens more that I haven't shared here with you, whoever you are) when she found it as she was going through my desk drawers one day. I came home from school that afternoon to an ominously quiet house. My mother called me downstairs to the family room. As I walked in, I saw her sitting on the couch in her kaftan wearing sunglasses, which I thought was odd, considering we were in the basement. She sat staring wordlessly at me for the longest time (never a good sign), finally breaking the silence by asking me how long I'd been smoking. My face turned ashen. I tried to deny but she persisted in a firm, commanding voice: "I. Said. How. LONG. Have you. Been. SMOKING? DO NOT LIE TO ME BECAUSE I KNOW THE TRUTH." I was mortified. I meekly tried to tell her about my single experiment but, after calling me a lying little bitch, she pushed past it and moved on to the Bobby Woolf incident. In excruciating detail. And, while I'd bragged and lied about my attempt at smoking to my friends at school, I had told absolutely NO ONE about Bobby Woolf so, in that moment, I knew where she'd gotten her information from.
She then slowly removed her sunglasses to reveal her eyes, swollen and red. She told me that they were nearly infected from the crying she'd done that day and that it was all my fault. The next four hours of tears and lectures were pure torture. Where had she gone wrong with me? With all that she and my father had done for me, this was how I repaid them? I just wanted to die. I was ashamed. Embarrassed. And worst of all, I'd done it to myself by writing the words down on paper. If I hadn't written them, she would never have read them. After that, any thoughts of keeping a journal went right out the window. No WAY was I going to put myself through that again.
You know what, whoever you are? The funny thing is, I no longer have anything to hide. No secrets. Plenty of flaws, but no secrets at all. And yet, this is still something I struggle with - being committed to keeping a journal. And this is why this blog was created. I heard a line in a movie today. I only mention it because I think it's relevant to so many areas in my life right now so I think I'm going to end today's entry by sharing it with you. Here it is:
"Never, never look in the rearview mirror, darling - it makes no difference what's behind you."
Monday, March 15, 2010
In The Beginning, There Was This Blog
Lao Tzu says that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Consider this the single, first step of my journey. It's not miles I'll be covering, per se, but years.
The objective: to finally, for once in my life, commit to keeping a journal for one year. I've never, ever been able to do this before. I mean, never. I can't begin to tell you how many times I've started a journal (on paper, online, whatever), written enthusiastically for a few days or weeks and then tapered off to not much, which eventually becomes nothing and I add another dead journaling attempt to the pile. This has been going on since my very first attempts at keeping a diary when I was 12 years old. I'll write about that tomorrow. I don't know what I'll write after that but I WILL write something. Because for 365 days, I am committed to writing in this journal. One year. I can do this. I will do this.
Today is my new foray into a committed effort to stick to this journaling thing once and for all. Why? Because I think there's something to it. I don't know, something therapeutic maybe? Or some sort of legacy to pass on when you die; a record of your life saying to the world, "you might have known some things about me but did you know this? Or how about this?" And maybe it's a place to vent when you're angry/afraid/worried/bored/etc. Plus, I'm tired of everyone constantly telling me that my life is fascinating enough to become a book. Maybe they're right. And maybe not. I'll try this for a year and see what happens, hm? And maybe, just maybe, I'll learn something about myself in the process. That would be really cool.
So anyway! I don't know if anyone will ever read this but just in case: Hello, whoever you are, and welcome to my journey.
The objective: to finally, for once in my life, commit to keeping a journal for one year. I've never, ever been able to do this before. I mean, never. I can't begin to tell you how many times I've started a journal (on paper, online, whatever), written enthusiastically for a few days or weeks and then tapered off to not much, which eventually becomes nothing and I add another dead journaling attempt to the pile. This has been going on since my very first attempts at keeping a diary when I was 12 years old. I'll write about that tomorrow. I don't know what I'll write after that but I WILL write something. Because for 365 days, I am committed to writing in this journal. One year. I can do this. I will do this.
Today is my new foray into a committed effort to stick to this journaling thing once and for all. Why? Because I think there's something to it. I don't know, something therapeutic maybe? Or some sort of legacy to pass on when you die; a record of your life saying to the world, "you might have known some things about me but did you know this? Or how about this?" And maybe it's a place to vent when you're angry/afraid/worried/bored/etc. Plus, I'm tired of everyone constantly telling me that my life is fascinating enough to become a book. Maybe they're right. And maybe not. I'll try this for a year and see what happens, hm? And maybe, just maybe, I'll learn something about myself in the process. That would be really cool.
So anyway! I don't know if anyone will ever read this but just in case: Hello, whoever you are, and welcome to my journey.
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