Alien Abduction?

Just when I was so proud to be brave enough to try again...
He disappeared. Poof. Into thin air.

So, what are you supposed to do with that? Was I dumped? Should I be hurt? Did something happen to him? Should I be worried? Is he really so scared to face me? Should I feel compassion for him? Or is he dead?! Should I call hospitals?

Once I decide it was most likely that I was dumped... and I go through some good old-fashioned self-doubt and hurt... and then some hearty fury... I move into complete dating surrender. Pretty sure dating is in NO way worth it. I decide I am DONE. Finito. Fertig. Finis. Over it.

(Until, luckily a cute guy at Lulu Lemon who writes his grandma every week started to snap me out of such drastic thinking...)

We had often discussed our mutual experience with depression and battle with the accompanying instinct to withdraw from the world. So I am hoping it is safe to assume he retreated (not died) - either to avoid a difficult conversation or to avoid the world in general - 'cause I'd feel bad about being so hurt and angry if it turned out something actually happened to him.

But then, upon remembering his openness to the possibility of extraterrestrial life...

Maybe they came for him?!

Bitten by Twilight

My Christmas break involved the usual amount of retreating from the world, and I decided to use some of that time to finally pick up Twilight. I knew I had to try them in order to maintain my status as relatively knowledgeable about pop-culture (i.e., street-cred with my tween girls). And I knew enough reasonable people who loved them to be fairly sure it would be a fun frivolous way to escape for a while.

Of course, this time of year I am incredibly susceptible to being irrationally swept away by anything that helps me avoid my actual life, but I was immediately sucked in (like they warned). By the middle of day-two in bed with a cold and halfway through the second book, I realized that I desperately needed the next two books before I ran out. I NEEDED them. So three days, 2,548 pages, two movies, and one Google search for whether Kristin Stewart and Robert Pattinson are really dating later... I was done, but only mildly satiated.

I can't quite figure it out. I was literally laughing out loud at the ridiculousness in my hands and at my level of investment in this vapid teenage vampire soap opera. In addition to just bad writing, I had some major thematic concerns. I can forgive the ridiculously heavy abstinence message, whatever. I can just about forgive that Bella is always the one in the kitchen cooking for the men, probably because I'm jealous that she's obviously a better cook than I am. But I'm pretty sure this uber-popular model of undying true love is a actually a cleverly disguised sadomasochistic, codependent, generally dysfunctional relationship. As she is tossed around like a helpless rag-doll from one superhuman protector/ love interest to the next, all while worrying about keeping them happy, I wish more than anything that she would be allowed to unleash just one small dose of Buffy Summers. And does Bella even have any self-esteem?!

And yet I was compelled to read. I could barely put it down to go get something to eat. Heartbroken then sedated by each sliver of tenderness coming from her cold dark overprotective and isolating vampire love - right there in the alarming cycle of emotional control with her.

It must fill some kind of emotional need, right? I'm sure that in the sad state of my current (non)love life, a good dose of undeniable undying first love is attractive. Especially since my own relatively-magical first love is getting ready to marry someone else. And I know a little about Bella's constant need for validation from either Edward or Jacob and her happiness depending on how she perceives they feel about her (I very nearly was that girl once upon a time).

FYI, until book 4, I was pretty much Team Jacob. Not surprisingly, I prefer the warm best friend love-the-one-you're-with comfort of a werewolf to an all-consuming star-crossed infatuation with a stone cold vampire.

Thank god there are only four books. I really don't think that this is helping me maintain my ability to identify and participate in realistic and healthy romantic relationships...

UPDATE 1/10/10: But look, it's a teaching tool! That's why I was reading it... um, yeah. Rachel Simmons (my idol) developed activities to generate healthy discussion about Twilight with girls. Yes, I promise to put myself through the intervention first.

Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

The season has changed. School is underway. Darkness is descending, inside and out. Squash soup. My birthday. Halloween. Rain.

Every time my windshield wipers stop mid-window when I turn off the car, I remember my big love at 20-22. He was generally an easy-going guy, but he was passionate that all windshield wipers should always return to their rightful fully-down resting position when you leave your car. I probably wouldn't be here today if that windshield wiper guy hadn't gotten it into his head to blindly love me an unreasonable amount when I happened to desperately need it the most, and I still carry his playful spirit with me everyday. I send a little cosmic apology out to him if I'm in too much of a hurry to turn the car back on to right the wiper situation. It's an odd but pleasant fleeting reminder of having really loved.

Quite a few gentlemen have come in and out of my life, each leaving a unique imprint - whether big and momentous, or small and odd, or both. They linger. Become a little part of who I am.

One of my best friends comes out of the radio with every song that makes me ask "who is that?", thanks to the year with my own personal DJ. The civic-minded environmental consultant who convinced me to use the library again comes out in overdue fines (and a smirk at old Kerry/Edwards bumper stickers which got him so worked up). I can't go through a produce section without a visit from the 7th grade boyfriend and a quick glance to see if they illegally placed organic produce on the same display as regular. Of course, I can't grab green tea mochi ice cream from the freezer case without thinking of the creativity I enjoyed with the Trader Joe's guy. I can't go around Greenlake without the Banker and his dog on my mind (and a quick stop to look for the turtles).

I owe this very blog to a combination of the Med Student and the Ironman triathlete - neither anywhere near qualify as boyfriends, but worth a mention.

The only spooky ghost is that of my high school sweetheart who is instantly conjered up by cheesy 80's love songs, Kidd Valley burgers, Lake Washington Blvd, any early 90's grey Toyota Camry that goes by... I know I am capable of loving with my whole heart in the first place because of him. Also because of him, I know how easily you can deeply wound yourself and the person you love. How you can scare off the people you need most when you withdraw in the face of Chaos instead of leaning and trusting. Still working on that one. Maybe a little haunting is good for me.

Bring It Back To The Breath

Take a little Chaos. Add two parts Greener Grass. And some Goldilocks. Welcome to my summer. Lovely. I'm looking into filing for a do-over.

My initial strategy to cope with change and loss in my life was Deny & Distract for as long as possible. Don't get enough sleep. Don't exercise enough, and eat too much. Then cry in public at inappropriate moments. (They still don't know what to do with me, but at this point I can barely work up the energy to care.)

My body has been nearly as much of a mess as my emotional state. At the ripe old age of 32, I don't seem to recover from late nights, overindulgence, injury, etc. quite like I used to. The handstand incident injury and my knee issues linger. Apparently, you are supposed to actually do your physical therapy for things to get better, or something. Also as strangely, eating more and exercising less doesn't so much help you fit into your favorite jeans. For me, momentum is everything when it comes to taking care of myself. When the emotional slump starts and exercise goes out the window, it feels insurmountable to get back on track. Even the threat of public humiliation didn't get me going. I did one mini-triathlon at the beginning of the summer, but I let it slide so much that I didn't even try to do the Danskin, therefore wasting a ton of work over the winter and spring.

When my Mom suggested trying yoga again and offered it as a birthday present, I was intrigued. And of course, slightly desperate.

My first class in years started a little rough, but I knew it was good. I was astounded by how sweet it tasted to take a purposeful deep breath. I think I kind of forgot about breathing for a while there. Though my brain won't hold still for more than two seconds - except to focus on counting Lululemon labels around the room and wonder if I would be better at yoga if I was wearing $60 tank top ('cause I know the point of yoga is soooo all about materialism). A moment of mixed success came when the teacher led us through a breathing exercise where you press one nostril closed at a time - which did stop the rest of my brain for a while as I became consumed with how frustrating the exercise was. Baby steps, I guess.

It's been about a month of yoga, and my muscles now beg for it if I skip a day. Which makes me slightly alarmed about how stiff and disconnected I must usually be. I am also attracted to yoga's potential for spiritual connection as well, since it didn't seem fair to sit in church and complain about them talking about Jesus too much. But I need sources of wisdom. And to feel some grace.

I'm hoping breathing can help.

The dizzy dancing way you feel...

...when every fairy tale comes real. I've looked at love that way.
-Joni Mitchell (from the song Both Sides Now)

Powerful drug, that first spark of romance.
Happiness startles me awake in the morning.
I don't really need to eat. Except a little chocolate.
I walk around smiling. Catch myself whistling.
I feel generous and patient.
I see human kindness and love wherever I go.
I am full of Hope.

But then, good old Fear starts nibbling away.
Sometimes even jumps out and grabs hold of the whole thing.
If it's good enough to make you dizzy,
it must be too good to be true, you see.
So prepare for the worst.
If you start to attach and depend, you'll have too much to lose.
Protect yourself, it tells me.

...if it hurts don't let them know. Don't give yourself away.

Isn't there a way to live somewhere in the middle? Where you relax and enjoy the fun and possibility of a new connection? My brain knows this, but my heart has been so well trained to defend itself fiercely.

If only we could convince my heart to stay open. No matter what happens, I am bound to at least learn something along the way - if I can hang in there and pay attention. God knows, I could use a little more learnin'.

I really don't know love at all.

Greener Grass Syndrome

When the sky is perpetually gray and the holidays felt like something was missing, I suddenly feel a lot less OK with being where I am in life. Really, single again? Really, still trying to figure out what to do with my life? What is wrong with me? When do I get to be a grown-up?! (In this mood, it does not help that my single thirty-two-year-old self with two cats just moved into my parent's house, whether the parents still live there, or not.)

I hear my little niece once innocently asking, "Where's your family?"

It seems like everyone I know is having babies. Or at least trying. And I am so happy for them. But I also can't help but feel like the train left without me. Not that I'm even ready for all that. But as they enter a different world, there is no way I can completely relate. I'm still trying to imagine what it is like to live with a boy.

And who knows what my life will bring?! Who knows if I'm ever meant to be a mother or even be in just one long-lasting relationship. Who knows how long I will even be around? Maybe this is as good as it gets! Carpe diem!! (A close call with a freak eyebrow plucking tweezers-in-eye incident just gave me renewed appreciation for my sight and health; bear with me.)

On my good days, I'm open to whatever life will bring. I am grateful for my unique path and am happy I still get to look forward to falling in love again. I am confident that I am doing things with my life that uniquely fit my gifts and positively contribute to the world. I am making the most of each effing opportunity for personal growth...

But sometimes, I wonder what it'd be like to be a "normal" thirty-something woman walking around Greenlake complaining about my partner leaving wet towels on the floor and having to religiously monitor my ovulation. As if replacing my issues with a set of more conventional ones might help anything. As if that woman never wonders if she made the right choices and wouldn't trade to be free for a while.

Greener grass syndrome hits again. (I know, I know. Don't compare my insides to others' outsides...)

Pharmaceutical Haiku

Who gets sick five times in one winter? (And it's only January.) It might have something to do with not actually sleeping. And cold, dark, damp gray days in Seattle. And a little physical manifestation of emotional turbulence.

In the meantime, I have discovered a new way to cope during the thick of it (ew, sorry). I had been operating under the assumption that cold and flu symptoms are your body's way of working out the virus, and the best way to combat these illnesses is to rest and to bombard your system with natural immune boosting things like Vitamin C, zinc, ginger, lots o' water, etc. I thought artificially suppressing your symptoms just prolonged the whole thing. But I have come to the end of my rope and am wearing out the sick days.

I will now share with you my delightful new discovery, which you probably knew about all along (in the form of inverse haiku, if there is such a thing).

Ode to Cold Medicine
I did not know about you.
You pack quite a buzz.
How on earth are you legal?

(If it gets me through my day; I'm not asking too many questions.)

How I Spent My Christmas Vacation

Wow. Snowpacalypse in Seattle. Normally, I love any excuse to stay in PJs and watch movies for days on end. But apparently when it is imposed on me, serious cabin fever/claustrophobia can develop. Especially when trapped in the vortex of childhood memories. There is only so much HGTV I can watch. And even catching up on my favorite TV series (thank you high speed internet), can only distract me from reality for so long. The demons eventually break through. It was interesting.

When I woke up to even more snow falling Christmas Eve and fought visions of being stuck home miserable and alone, I braved the snow to go buy the perfect paint to compliment my new purple wall in the dining room [see before and after].


But it worked out(ish). My parents made it in to the city despite the snow. I managed not to giggle when saying "ass" in front of the whole church. Then survived being stuck in a VW Passat with 5 people (1 with dementia), 1 40 lb dog, 3 pies, 1 violin, luggage and presents for 2.5 hours on the way to Mercer Island via Sea-Tac. Of course, the Xanax helped.

But I got a label maker and got to play Legos on Christmas. So maybe it's all worth it.

Nesting

Well, I'm settling in. I've had a few "what have I gotten myself into/when do I get to go home" moments, but also, more surprising, "I kinda feel like I'm home" moments. I was right about the ghosts. I still expect to hear the excited barking from Millie and Winnie in the kitchen when I walk in the front door. (Luckily there are two little black cats waiting for me to soften the heart-wrenching blow.) I keep looking at the painting in the hallway expecting to see myself in the mirror that hung there growing up. All the while, I am battling confusion about what is childhood emotion and what is adult reality.

But the stress of the move, the inability to rest until I'm unpacked and settled, feeling the need to decorate for Christmas, and general holiday angst have caught up with me. I've gotten sick twice in two weeks. And having trouble keeping my head above water. One morning I was feeling so tired, sick, discouraged, and trapped that I couldn't stand up long enough to brush my teeth (at which point, I decided it was time to call in sick).

But after a nap, I looked at the bathroom (while finally successfully brushing my teeth), and for some reason, felt compelled to start painting it the mocha/gray I used in the bathroom of my last house that went so well with the dusty purple towels. I may have been influenced by my new 24/7 access to HGTV... And it felt so good. Creative outlet. A fresh start. While the color it was before was fine, I was making it my own. Re-bonding with and claiming the space, one square foot of wall at a time.

It felt so good, in fact, that I decided to see how the red paint leftover from an accent wall in my last house would look on the kitchen wall. Then the other walls. Pretty soon I had a red kitchen. It's kind of a shock. But I like it. It's a tiny little kitchen and the rich color makes it feel cozy and cottage-y.



I feel completely different about those two rooms. Amazing what some paint can do. Now I'm dreaming of a rich tan bedroom and a purpley-mauve dining room wall with a collage of old plates hanging on it...

Haunted House

It just sunk in. I've been distracted by the anticipation of a dishwasher, low rent, a patio for a grill, etc., and I didn't stop to fully consider what this means... I'm taking over the house that houses my childhood.

I had distanced myself from the difficult parts of my past by no longer thinking of it as mine. But now when I walk in, bits of memory and emotion jump out and nip at me at unexpected moments. With the familiar hop up the front stairs and the smooth door latch in my hand. With the familiar creak of each floorboard. With the unique sound of each door - which I can hear before it even swings. Like the back of a hand I thought I had amputated. Surreal memories from a past life. Plenty good. Plenty hard. Lots that just were. All of which surprise me with their force as they surface. Not really sure what was real, what was imagined, or what I've long forgotten.

The closet I open and expect to still see clothes that I wonder if my sister will notice I borrow. The bookshelf that housed the encyclopedias confirming my suspicion about Santa Claus (after one more quick look at the word "mythical"). The wood floors that I could never clean up well enough to not leave a mark when they got wet. The storage loft that was my private safe haven. The bathroom where I was perplexed by tampons but too ashamed or too proud to ask for help. The room in which I spent hours flirting and making out with high school boyfriends, but also spent hours holding my favorite dog while she was dying. And, of course, the kitchen where it became clear my hunger was an unfortunate and unsatisfiable urge.

A vortex. Where I am all of those parts of my past selves again at once. Where I can't always remember the difference between who think I am supposed to be to fit in and who I really am. Where the constant fear I may be doing something wrong still lingers in the air.

Can I be an adult in my childhood home? Will the substitution of my grown up stuff and some new color on the wall make it my (grown up) own? Will the legs I finally stand pretty steadily upon still hold me up when I walk in the door every day? Or will I wake up terrified of that same old boogie man outside every dark window.

I'm not sure I'd trade any of what that house has held. The wounds healed over stronger. I can see the undeniable love, now that I've learned to interpret it. But I'm bracing myself. Anticipating getting briefly knocked off-balance by the whirl of old selves.

I figure my only defense is to just immerse myself in whatever the house throws at me, messy as it may feel. Welcome the ghosts. Listen to what they have to say.

Then maybe have a cleansing. Burn sage. Gather friends to bring in new energy. Fill it with music and laughter and new life. And get ready for the selves yet to come.

Long Time No Blog

No need for public introspection in the last month? Unlikely. More like I stopped being able to steal high speed internet from my neighbor and have been banished to the realm of DIAL UP. And I've been using Facebook for my virtual social interaction (at least that's slightly more two-directional, right?!). But lucky for you, the impulse to pour my heart out on the internet has flared up again.

Since I've been gone...

Budget: pretty darn good still. Amazingly. How glad am I to already be on the right track when things like suddenly have to move and global economic crisis hit?! And I actually feel like I have more money now, by knowing how much I actually have. Though, I still often wish "how much I have" was more...

Food: lovin' cooking things from the Farmers Market. Slowly building my competence and confidence in the kitchen. Did you know you can turn on the oven to 400 degrees, spritz with a little olive oil and salt and pepper, and roast just about any vegetable to perfection? Just a matter of knowing when it's best to pull it out. Why didn't someone tell me that earlier?!

Health/Fitness: looking into it. Not loving the post-injury waistline. Not cute - even when we call it the "sympathy bump" for one of my best friends who is pregnant.Goin' easy on the knee; still frustratingly temperamental. Played some volleyball OK last week. Yay.

Love Life: sucks. Pulling myself together after some quality time only being attracted to people I can't or shouldn't have. Apparently, I refuse to pursue the one lead on a possibly mature adult I've gotten - yet, I reserve the right to complain.

Moving Shock: recovering and adjusting. Big News... I'm moving into my parents' house. My parents have pretty much moved out to the beach full time, so their cute little house sits empty. They've offered to move out of the main part of the house and just use a bedroom in the basement via the downstairs door for if/when they do want to stay in town. Will it be a safe refuge while I get my own "house" in order? Or opening an old can of worms?! We'll see. Maybe both. Luckily, I have until the end of November to actually move.

Current state of mind: hangin' in there. It's that time of year when everything/one starts getting crazy busy - all the while talking about needing S.A.D. lights for our Seattle depression. (I already have one, btw.) I've started living on Emergen-C to try to avoid the munchkin germs.

And the instinct to turn inward for the winter has begun.

Chaos and the Dancing Star

"One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star."
-Friedrich Nietzsche

Chaos has been swirling.
Back with a vengeance.
Playing a familiar old tug-of-war.

Defeated.
Convinced I am defective.
Desperate to be oblivious to these depths.
(Why can't I just be normal?!)

After a good while in battle,
Something starts working itself to the surface.
Chaos has knocked it loose.
To help me shed something destructive that I've clung to
for the illusion of safety.

When I'm ready to turn the corner,
I catch a glimpse of Hope.
I begin to lean forward.
And timidly reach out.

Life never feels quite as valuable
as in those moments
on the other side of Despair.
When my heart is freshly open.
And I understand that it is through shadow
that I know light.

Hiding Out From Life

Life is too much for me right now. I can't stand to hear about natural disaster devastation, but I can't turn away. The tragedy sinks right into my soul. And lots of smaller losses are piling up around me. Cancer is back with a vengeance in the mother of a wonderful young girl whom I love. A friend is dealing with the complicated death of her father. Friends are moving away. Other friends' lives are moving on in ways mine just isn't. (And riding 73 miles in 90 degree weather probably depleted some of my resiliency this week.)

Why is my life so easy compared to people in earthquake leveled China? How is that right? And why does my life still feel so hard? Life is delicate. Time is short. Make the most of it, right?! I believe that. But I just waste more time feeling guilty that I may not be making the most of mine. What will actually make it be the most? What do I even want? And if I know what I want, how do I get it? Do I even deserve it?

Right now I want more...
more time
more sleep
more freedom (aka more money)
more knowledge
more experience
more direction
more Project Runway
more Nancy Drew skirts to sew
more ice cream

And here's my big question of the moment: How much of what I want has to overlap with my significant other's? What can I compromise? If it is not possible to compromise, then how long do I hang around in the meantime? What do I really want?

I'm not sure. Or I'm not ready to stand up for it. Much less go after it.

So I slowly retreat. Turn inward. Hide out while it all churns in my head. Bury my head in Project Runway or whatever other distraction I can get my hands on.

Not sure when I'll be ready to come back up for air. Might be a while. My only glimmer of hope is that perhaps I'll come out the other side of all this rumination with some sort of brilliant epiphany...

Love. Injure. Retreat. Recover. And Repeat.

I received another complaint about my coaching, but from a parent this time. Eek. And it touched on something I wasn't entirely happy with myself at that moment. Those complaints that ring in the vicinity of true are especially hard to take.

They were not happy with the amount of playing time their daughter is getting. (Apparently, she was devastated and ready to quit?!) I freely admit that balancing inclusivity vs. competitive edge in the heat of the game is by far the hardest part of coaching volleyball for me. As a group we've talked through their frustration with losing and chose to be more "strategic" with who we play when. I actually haven't been comfortable with how far we've swung toward the competitive side recently. But I really didn't think that if you counted up the minutes (which apparently they had) that she'd been on the bench far more than anyone else. That really wasn't my intention. But they didn't care. They were MAD.

I am sure we both see what we are looking for in the situation. This year I am noticing how hard it is to sift through my assumptions about players to see what they are actually accomplishing on the court. The appearance of how athletically they move and the actual result of their action doesn't always match up. And growth creeps up on us. I don't always see each person with fresh eyes each day, even though I desperately hope other people give me that chance to grow in their eyes. This girl had been working hard and doing better, and I was slow to respond.

But please tell people how you are feeling before it reaches crisis levels in your eyes!!!!

It is devastating for me to feel like I've injured someone. Especially when my intention is exactly the opposite. For a brief moment after hanging up the phone, I actually wanted to quit. To retreat completely. From this, one of my favorite things to do in the world. Because of one hard conversation.

Then I remembered that I really do trust my intentions. To understand and teach and love all of those girls the best I can. Not only that, but I am open to learning to do better, which is rare and remarkable. I also remembered it will feel better the next day. And even better the next.

Injure. Retreat. Recover.

And then I had a date where I thought that I had ruined everything. As my words came out, I felt like that girl who needed a boy's validation to be OK. And I didn't get the response I thought I wanted. Pain. And so I pulled back.

Injure. Retreat.

But I remembered that I am not that girl - I am an honest individual who is brave enough to risk revealing my messy insides. (Although, I admit it can get confusing for everyone involved. Often I'm not really sure what I am feeling... then I spend a lot of time wishing that I wasn't feeling what I am feeling... then I'm not sure how to express it... but eventually I get there.) I retreated and recovered. Then I was able to say what I actually meant. And it went back to being joyful and fun.

Recover. Repeat.

Too Nice

I received the first open complaint about my coaching... apparently I am "too nice". In the grand scheme of complaints, that's not so bad. But it still stung. Especially because it came from two girls I appreciate and respect. And they told someone else, not me. (And I'm already dancing on the edge of neurotic at the possibility going on a date with the Trader Joe's guy. More on that later...)

I'm just not so good at receiving criticism. My first instinct is to tear up and feel like I'm failing because I'm not perfect. I stayed there for a while. And might go back in a minute.

Then I point out all the reasons why they are wrong (to myself or sympathetic ears only, of course). I'm insulted that people don't see the complexity of what I try to accomplish. I'm not a pushover; I'm not trying to be their friend. I have good boundaries. I expect them to work hard and pay attention. I just know the value of facilitating an open group process, so I am not an authoritarian. And I'm not willing to sacrifice any of the girls' feelings about themselves in the pursuit of a win. The bottom line is that I'm there to have fun, so I'm going to create fun. I quess it's been so much fun for me that I forgot about my own learning and growth here - which rarely happen painlessly.

I'm not sure where to look for guidance. The other coaches around me seem to have no problem being relatively insensitive - the kids all want to win, don't they? Tell them what they are doing wrong (along with praise for what they are doing right, hopefully). And play the best players without feeling bad for the people left on the bench. Can I be authentic and sensitive and still win? I think it's possible I could be tougher. Not everyone is the sensitive and perfectionist little girl that I was.

It's a balance I haven't completely found yet, even if I thought I had. Great. If only growth didn't hurt in the process.

Losing it over cheese (and believing in God for a few minutes)

I was sick all last week - feeling so bad that I even temporarily lost the will to blog [gasp]. Along with feeling physically down, it gets frustrating to be vulnerable and emotionally complicated to call in sick. I feel guilty, worry they'll think I'm lazy and faking it, wonder if I really should just suck it up and deal with it, worry people would be mad that I was spreading my germs if I went in... that internal battle in itself is exhausting.

And then making my way back into the land of the living was difficult. My group was in charge of providing snack for the weekly staff meeting. As we all volunteered our ideas via group email, I volunteered to get bottles of water and sparkly water from Costco since I had to go way up north anyway. But then someone suggested that I get cheese along with the water. I'm not sure how it happened, but for some reason the idea of having to track down cheese nearly put me over the edge. Maybe it was just that it wasn't my idea, and I wasn't feeling like I had the internal resources to do anything that wasn't on my own terms. People tried to tell me I could get cheese at Costco, but I was picturing only the mega-loaf. I didn't think we wanted that kind of cheese or that kind of investment in cheese. Someone tried to continue the conversation with me at lunch, and I had to leave the room before I started crying.

Part of me could see that this would probably be a temporary feeling, since I am usually pretty agreeable doing whatever needs to get done to in this kind of group situation. But I couldn't mentally adjust no matter what I did. So I told them I couldn't handle it. And somebody kind of let me off the hook, so I felt a little better.

I made my way to Costco, and I saw that there are tons of cheese choices. And I felt momentarily generous enough to buy a lovely little party platter. I felt good leaving the store, having gotten that and several other things taken care of. As I was loading my car, I wedged my clutch/wallet in the front of the cart for safekeeping, despite very clearly thinking, "That's dangerous; I could totally see myself forgetting that there." And of course I did.

I realized this as I pulled up to my next stop ten minutes later. I dropped everything and zoomed back up Hwy 99 PRAYING that it would still be there. I solidly belive in greater spiritual order and meaning in the universe, but I usually shy away from the Christian labels I grew up with. It's amazing how in the moments of desperation, I go back to my roots and the big "G".

Luckily, it was right where I left it! Maybe there is a God. I took it as a sign that I should pull into PaperZone as I passed it for the second time for some fabulous scrapbooking/collage paper. I often find my higher power in creativity these days.

Romantic Comedies Must Die

Remind me when this became my life? (Apparently we're back to that.)

I just watched the Jane Austin Book Club (neither the film nor the book were as fantastic as I hoped - try The Reading Group instead. But anyway...). When they got to the end where the right people finally kiss, I didn't get the heartwarming reaction I usually get in spite of myself. I just wanted to cry. It's a mean trick they play. They suck me into their world where people in relationships are only a fraction of the complicated and guarded mess that they are in real life (myself included). It's not real, but I enter the dangerous territory of wishing it was. And any image of people waking up next to each other makes me ache with longing. Bad combination.

Interestingly, the two most recent inappropriate men both resurfaced briefly last week. Karmic Pop Quiz? I managed to retain my dignity and walk away, although one of them more easily than the other. Luckily, I have good friends to help the "stop it/don't go there" voice be louder than the others for now...

P.S. on 2.13.08: I may not have technically walked away from one of them after all. Somehow I got sucked back in and even ended up asking/daring the football coach to meet for another drink. I was feeling momentarily tough. He doesn't get to flirt with me anymore if he doesn't mean it. Apparently. Luckily, he said he was busy. So I called him a wimp. And so goes the 7th grade banter...

What is wrong with me?! Just walk away, lady. Logic and self-preservation have obviously abandoned me. I blame pheromones.

Case of the Mondays?

Remember how I said I loved my job? Disclaimer: not always. Too much attitude in one day breaks my spirit. Especially on a crabby crappy Monday. One of those days when I feel like a pin cushion from all the sharp things that prick me.

Why do people think they don't need to hold up their end of the bargain, yet still demand what they want?! And why do I feel so hurt by their potent insensitivity? I have decided that people from afluent origins often have a sophisticated understanding of their own power. Children and adults alike around here. They can afford more, so they expect more. And the thing is... I think they get more, regardless of price.

I'm trying to learn from it instead of just getting bitter. Why not ask for what I want, whether I think I deserve it or not?! Maybe I'd get more, too. But what would I leave in my wake?

Although, I may need to take more responsibility for my own feelings today. I did try to relive my youth this weekend, complete with a few minor self-destructive decisions. Then I dove right back into my current life. Maybe people are just being people (as they always will be), and I just need more sleep in order to not lose myself in the shuffle.

Bump in the night. And on the slopes.

I went skiing for the first time this season! With a cozy new raspberry-pink ski coat and a freshly knit hat to match, of course. The snow was great. But unfortunately, my own internal conflict overshadowed the potential fun. Why so afraid? It's like climbing... and the rest of my life. I am standing right next to sheer joy, but this big barrier keeps us separate. Fear of the chair lift, fear of taking a turn that looks too steep, fear of looking stupid, fear of losing control.

And what keeps me in my house when there are relationships and connection right outside the door? Fear of judgement. Rejection. I'm not smart enough, funny enough, attractive enough, thin enough, interesting enough... Perfectionism much?! All these years of therapy and it still has complete control of me sometimes.

On the eternal quest to figure out how to be happy in life and make a living while I'm at it, yesterday I decided I should go to design school and work in the clothing/textile industry. (FYI: A few months ago I was going to spend a year at an orphanage in Central America, and two years ago I was going to refurbish vintage Airstream trailers...) Just the idea that I could possibly do something all day that made me happy and make a decent living made me feel fifty pounds lighter for about two seconds. But then the fear and doubt slowly creaped it's way in. How would you even get in? What if you weren't actually any good? What were you thinking?! Until it's just another crazy idea to joke about. And I stick to what I know I know.

I was recently reminded how intoxicating good chemistry with another person can be (even with an immature republican football coach, but that's another story). Deliciously all consuming - concerns about all other responsibility and consequences (and reason, obviously) melt away for a while. I think fear is equally intoxicating in the opposite direction - into the dark side. It sucks me in and everything else fades to the background. And when I go through times when the fear gets louder than the belief in joy and love, I start waking up startled. Hearing more bumps in the night. Doors and windows suddenly exist only as potentials for intrusion. The other night, I actually forgot I had cats and spent a good minute in terror. In my anxiety-drunken state, life means danger. Isn't it amazing the power your mind has to shape your reality? And in the winter around here, I am pulled towards the shadows.

But as I keep skiing, less and less energy is fed to the fear. I start to catch glimpses of the familiar rush. I remember this is something I enjoy. My body knows what to do. Conversation becomes more interesting than worrying about falling 30 feet. I remember about trust. And joy. Now the trick is to get that to rub off on the other areas of my life...

Binge Knitting

Another way to deal with the holiday blues? Binge. I've certainly gone the chocolate route (more recently it was apple pie, actually), but apparently I've moved on. For some reason, all I want to do is knit hats. Small. Easy. Accomplishable. Useful. The perfect way to cover up not taking a shower on the weekend. Here are the new ones I've cooked up...

And that doesn't count the blue-grey stripe I made for my friend's husband and the one currently on the needles. I'm serious, I can't stop. What deep psychological need is this obsession meeting? At least it makes a good excuse to sit on the couch.

My favorite is the purple stripe with the flower. I figured out how to put in a micro-fleece lining. Super cozy!


Happy New Year! Keep your hat on. (You know you lose 80% of your body heat out the top of your head...)