Somebody Shoot Me. Please.

Remember how I'm so good with relational databases? Remember how I work in Crazy Land?

One Crazy employee has asked me to go through the prehistoric employee database, cull specific information and print it out. Huge numbers of records. Ancient database software. Crazy employee's supervisor has no idea why Crazy employee needs that information. He wants to talk about it next week.

I don't want to talk about it. Yes or no. Very simple. Should I do it or not? I'm hoping for not, because I've tried twice to get the records to print (90% of which are most certainly completely irrelevant) and they just won't. Or they will, but not sorted in the order I specified.

I feel a migraine coming on. The muscles in my neck feel like they've been dipped in cement.

Oh god. Somebody get a gun and shoot me in the head. Before Monday, please.

The Brain That Would Not Shut Up

There's a song that's been running through my head the past couple of days.

"Rock 'n roll hoochie coo

(Rock 'n roll hoochie coo)

Lordy Mama, Wipe my shoes

As opposed to "Lordy Mama, Light my fuse."

I don't remember who recorded it, didn't much like it when it came out, know the correct lyrics (obviously), but it just keeps popping up in my head with the wrong lyrics. Someone please free me from The Brain That Would Not Shut Up. God I hate this.

Blindness Descends

The news story of the little boy who was killed by a convicted sex offender and his family reminded me of a day in my own life. Luckily, no one was murdered in my case. (My therapist would disagree with that conclusion.) I've mentioned before that my parents were sexually abusive, but the abuse was psychological, not physical. The events of that day fill me with such shame that I'm unable to even revisit it except in a fleeting, looking at the scary monster way. The shame has nothing to do with me other than that knowledge of my parents' amorality. Or at least my dad's amorality. I can't really speak to my mom's motivations.

I wrote a post several days ago in which I said that I always believe that people are doing the best they can. One of my friends commented,

"Nobody you know, nobody you don't know, in all the world, has ever done less than their very best, at any time? All around you is perfection and excellence?!"

The answer is that things have been so far from perfect and excellent in my life that hanging on to that belief is the only way to see around the dark center at the heart of my childhood. Do I believe my father was doing the best he could? I have no idea. Most people would say he wasn't. It just all gets very confusing to me, so I choose to believe that which is, in some ways, easiest.

What I do know is that I've been judged and found lacking based on people's inability to see what motivates me. That was one of the great things about Mrs. N. She understood that I was, as a human being (not a student), trying to do the best I could when there really hadn't been any model of moral and ethical conduct I could attempt to emulate. In fact, that's one of the things she gave me: a moral compass beyond that which a 15 year old could formulate in a vacuum.

My therapist and I have had many conversations about people doing the best they can. She's pointed out to me many times that my Inner Fascist was born, in part, out of that struggle to transcend my family's moral sickness. IF cracks the psychological whip much too hard so that I could ensure that I never even approached the road to moral decadence. Children who parent themselves invariably create their own Inner Fascists; it's a survival skill.

However, my therapist, like everyone else I've ever spoken to about it, strenuously disagrees with my theory of human behavior. I understand that position. For me, the things that motivate other people are mysterious and unfathomable. If a parent you love regularly engages in conduct that is terrifyingly abusive, a kind of blindness descends that prevents you from seeing their motivations. If the motivation is simply to enjoy hurting someone else, that blindness is kind.

I've had many sessions with therapists over the years trying to come to grips with my father's sadism. The longer away I am from his suicide, the harder it becomes to understand how I can continue to love him. Obviously, he's the only father I'll ever have. Equally obviously, the best he could ever do was destructive beyond measure.

I don't know. I do the best I can based on where I am at any given moment and I choose to believe that everyone else does, too. As in the case of the six-year old boy, though, sometimes what arises from that "best" is horrifying and maybe even inhuman. The darkness at the center of my life was built around that horror. I've spent the rest of my life trying to see around it.

Black Shirts and the Hydra Head

"In order for the wheel to turn, for life to be lived, impurities are needed, and the impurities of impurities in the soil, too, as is known, if it is to be fertile. Dissension, diversity, the grain of salt and mustard are deeded: Fascism does not want them, forbids them, and that's why you're not a Fascist; it wants everybody to be the same, and you are not. But immaculate virtue does not exist, either, or if it exists it is detestable." ~ Primo Levi

Last Friday, my therapist and I took a longer look back than I have in quite some time. Breast cancer severely limits the energy and interest one can summon to think about one's history. I've had a lot of trouble with my Inner Fascist lately and she became the focus of our delicate probing.

I've been pushing myself physically a bit because I don't wish my co-workers to think I'm a slacker. "Who has ever thought you were a slacker?" My therapist wanted to know. There are many heads to the Inner Fascist Hydra, notably my parents. By the time I was 13, I'd developed my own early version of her and she was already quite a taskmaster.

The only person who ever thought I wasn't working up to my level of capability was my college prep English teacher in my junior year of high school. She was more than that, though. Her name was Mrs. N. She was the first person who ever saw who I really was, not the product of a truly degenerate (I use that word advisedly) living situation, not a young person who was on her way to teen pregnancy and the streets. She saw how hard I tried, how much I kept hidden in order to gain approval from someone, anyone.

Though I placed out of lower division English classes in college and made A's in upper division classes, Mrs. N. never ever gave me an "A". She always told me that I wasn't working hard enough, that I was skating by on inherent smarts instead of applied focus. Oh. I had no idea what she even meant by "working hard." I actually thought I had been giving it my best.

Therein lies the development of one of the Hydra heads. Am I working hard or am I coasting? I can't ever tell. I never could. If I have to try too much, I have a tendency to get bored and move on. If I'm interested, there isn't enough time in the day for me to indulge my intellectual passion. I become obsessed. Some of those obsessions wax and wane repeatedly over the years.

"So what?" my therapist wanted to know. I didn't have much of an answer for that. I suppose the answer is that if I'm not living up to my capabilities, I'm unhappy with myself. I'm unhappy with myself a lot. The Inner Fascist would like to know whose business it is of hers, anyway. IF is perfectly capable of setting the agenda for me. And she looks fabulous in black. She has some mighty impressive boots, too.

Therapist suggests that the Inner Fascist take a hike and that I come to recognize there's no need to push so hard so much of the time. I've been trying to get the IF to take a less active role in my life, but she's pretty dedicated to getting me right. I suppose it's helpful to know how one of the Hydra heads developed, that love has always been the motivation for feeling myself somehow less than I might be.

I would have done anything to please Mrs. N. She saved my life, both figuratively and literally. She died when I was in my early 20's, so I have no way to measure my accomplishments by that touchstone. Would she be pleased? I don't know. I hope so. But the Inner Fascist doesn't think she'd be pleased at all.

Bushism of the day:

"And there is distrust in Washington. I am surprised, frankly, at the amount of distrust that exists in this town. And I'm sorry it's the case, and I'll work hard to try to elevate it." ~ George W. Bush, interview on National Public Radio, Jan. 29, 2007

Verdict

Paul shanley was found guilty of all charges this afternoon and could receive a sentence of life in prison. he will be sentenced at a later date.

Happy Fucking Birthday

I feel like shit today. I've been tinkering with my breakfast menu to try to make it a little more heart-friendly (and fewer calories). I generally have half a bagel, an oatmeal bar and six prunes. Lots of antioxidants, good for macular degeneration and cholesterol. I decided recently to try to eliminate the bagel. I did that today and it was a huge mistake. I've felt so nauseated all morning. The nausea is gone but my stomach is still pretty unhappy with me. I take this handful of pills every morning and I guess the bagel (or something of equal bulk) is necessary to protect my stomach lining from the onslaught of medication. For a while I was thinking maybe I could move some of the pills to lunch time, but the medication I take the most of (antidepressants) has to be taken early. Damn damn damn.

We're getting ready to have an office birthday party. Big fun. Owner of the Crazy Land always ruins the birthday celebrations by talking about inappropriate topics. He has at least three favorites: the company is going out of business and we're all going to be unemployed; he's dying of a tumor and won't be around much longer; and something on the birthday cake looks like snot or a bug or something equally disgusting. He also makes us sing happy birthday, which all of us without exception really hate. That part about the tumor really drives me nuts. That's exactly the kind of thing my dad would do. It irritated me when my dad did it and I have absolutely no patience for it in anyone else. I've pointed out to my boss that he's been saying that to me for at least the past ten years and -- surprise! -- he's still here. He loves to say that shit when he's just done something he knows will piss me off. Of course, it just annoys me more, but god forbid that he should actually learn from experience. As a matter of fact, he has quite a few qualities which are similar to my dad's. Narcissitic. Obtuse. Whiny. Self-pitying. There's more, but I'm running out of time here. My therapist is periodically surprised that I can work in such a triggering environment.

Anyway, when he starts in on his birthday party patter, I'm the only person who will tell the man to shut up or change the subject. I've thought about sitting next to him so I can just elbow him when he starts. I really think someone else should be a big grown-up person and say something instead of waiting for me to do it. I've thought about instituting a fee for my services. I'm thinking ten dollars from every person every time I have to intervene. Seems fair to me. The person we're having a party for is a the Money Man. He's the guy who's getting his instructions directly from Jesus and his opinions from Rush Limbaugh. For such a pious person, there's very damn little of Jesus in his conversations. According to this guy, everyone is a moron or a moral derelict. He has contempt for people who dare to suggest that maybe if we all tried a little harder to get along, the world would be a slightly more pleasant place. Money Man is the guy who had a little pouty party because he thought I said something critical about the San Antonio Spurs basketball team. Jesus. Yes, you asshole, everything is about you.

Other than the anticipation of that fun-filled event, not much is going on today. The sun is finally out, so I'm feeling a little less down today. It's supposed to start raining again this weekend, though. hey, I'll take anything i can get.

here's the quote of the day:
"There is a sort of jealousy which needs very little fire; it is hardly a passion, but a blight bred in the cloudy, damp despondency of uneasy egoism. " ~ George Eliot

america held hostage day 1852
bushism of the day:
"They can get in line like those who have been here legally and have been working to become a citizenship in a legal manner."—Referring to immigrant workers, Washington, D.C., Dec. 20, 2004

website of the day: Gregorian Chants
http://www.christusrex.org/www2/cantgreg/

Paul Shanley Redux

as i mentioned earlier, i've been following paul shanley's trial all this week. the testimony finally wrapped up today with the one and only defense witness. her name is elizabeth loftis. elizabeth has made her living attempting to discredit people who recover memories of past abuse. even though (as far as i know) i have always known about all of the abuse inflicted upon me, i really loathe this woman.

as she was testifying today, she spoke about several studies she's conducted regarding memory. her studies involved things like showing someone photographs of a car accident or telling people they were lost in a grocery store when they were children when, in fact, those events never occurred. some of those people did believe they remembered those events. i don't think it's the same thing at all. i don't think they're even remotely similar to actual recovered memories from people who were abused in childhood. as a matter of fact, i find the comparison insulting.

i do know of at least one case where two teenagers were convinced they had been sexually abused by their father when no abuse (apparently) occurred. part of the reason i'm willing to entertain the idea that the girls were wrong is the circumstances in which the abused supposedly took place. the abuse involved sacrificing babies and a lot of other improbable events. i'm also aware that young children can indeed have things accidentallly implanted in their heads that they then believe to have actually happened. as a matter of fact, i read recently that children who believe but have not, in fact, been abused have exactly the same emotional difficulties as they would had they really been abused. however, i'm aware of many more instances in which people actually did recover memories of abuse years after the abuse occurred. my knee jerk reaction is that the people who would have us believe that recovered memories don't exist are the people who either abuse or shield abusers. that's a fairly extreme position to take, i know.

the jury is now deliberating. the main witness for the prosecution was a young man, now 27, who was one of four victims who reached settlements in their civil cases against the church. the witness was abused for many years, beginning around the age of 6. he believes that many of his problems in life were a result of that abuse. specificallly, he has problems with anger, problems with alcohol and steroids, problems with relationships. there may be more that i'm forgetting. i know that all of those problems could be caused by his sexual abuse. however, the jury may find it difficult to accept because he also had a very difficult childhood in other ways. he had a mom who wasn't there for him, who was into drugs and who physically abused him. his father physically abused him and neglected him.

one of the facts they were not given was that there had been other complaints about shanley as far back as the early 60's. given that fact and his history of being shuffled around from one parish to the next, my guess would be that the man is guilty. i tend to believe the victim unless i can see clear evidence that nothing happened. i would never be allowed to be seated in a child abuse case. it's just a matter of time before the verdict is reached. i'm sure i'll have something to say about it, one way or the other.

here's the quote of the day:
"Thou shalt not be a victim. Thou shalt not be a perpetrator. Above all, thou shalt not be a bystander." ~ Holocaust Museum, Washington, D.C.

america held hostage day 1851
bushism of the day:
"It's a time of sorrow and sadness when we lose a loss of life."—Washington, D.C., Dec. 21, 2004website of the day: The Online Guide to Traditional Games
http://www.tradgames.org.uk/index.html

Cold and Gray Day

i have a crushing headache today and i can feel my level of depression rising for every day there is no sun. cold, gray weather always reminds me of my childhood. as a matter of fact, if i didn't know better, i'd swear every day i was growing up was cold and dark. of course, that just speaks to my psychological state at the time.

i've spent a fair amount of the day working on osha logs...never a particularly appealing task. on the up side, i spent some time reformatting data in a company database. that's more palatable for me somehow.

hubby had a job interview today for a writing job with the department of agriculture. he chose not to prepare for it other than to check out their website. he did get some valuable information there. my advice would have been to practice some interview questions, just to make sure you have a ready answer when they ask those predictable questions like "how do you handle multiple projects with the same deadlines." they also asked him what type of writing he prefers. he didn't have a particularly good answer for it. successful interviewing techniques require practice, unfortunately. they're going to select 10 candidates and start round two of the process. they're anticipating that should happen in about a week to ten days.

ruski seems to be improving. he's been eating more regularly. in addition to his special diet food, he had a couple of bags of moist dry dog food at lunch today, then an oatmeal biscuit, then a vegetable chew treat. i think that's the most he's eaten since he became ill. he even initiated play with sheba yesterday afternoon. the past couple of evenings, he gets on his bed in the living room about nine, lies down and starts flopping one foot at us periodically. it's kind of like a little wave at us...that means he's ready to receive pets. not only is he ready, he's a little fascist about it. hubby and i have a tag team approach so one of us isn't stuck petting him for a solid hour. hubby periodically has to go in the den, though, to make sure that The Princess of Woo isn't feeling neglected. i figure once she goes to her crate, she's just doing her greta garbo impression...she wants to be alone. i'm very cheered up by The Mighty Tusk's improvement. if only i could get the timing right for all of the things i need to do for him first thing in the morning. this morning i forgot to give him his liver pills until 6:45, which made me late for work.

my mom is feeling ill still. she sounds like she's very stuffed up and she's coughing, but she says she feels okay. when she's sick i start feeling like i need to be in control of the management of her illness. i guess that comes from having to deal with my dad for such a long time. when he would call me up and not be feeling well (a lot), i would leap into action intellectually and come up with a series of things i thought he should do to feel better. that didn't mean he'd do any of those things, of course, but sometimes he would. i guess the fact that he would cooperate sometimes ensured i'd continue to try to crisis manage for him. i don't generally think of myself as a controlling person, especially since my dad's suicide. that was the best lesson i've ever had in exactly how much contol one really has over other people. i recognize my need to control in this situation is really just a function of how much anxiety i'm experiencing.

that reminds me. last night i was watching some television program in which a husband and wife were having conflict. the husband arrived home late and hadn't called to let his wife know. the children ran to greet him, his wife made some comment clearly indicating her irritation and then left the room. it was surprisingly triggering. i remembered how frightening it was for me when my father came home late. even more frightening when there was even a hint of conflict. in my flashback, i noticed my need to try to assert some control over the situation. how much control could a little kid have? i would try to assess the immediate danger related to him being late. then i would try to distract my father in the hope that the situation wouldn't then become explosive. in retrospect, i'm not sure i was ever successful in completely defusing the situation. sometimes i was just able to get him to focus his anger on me. that's a cheery little tale to end with.

here's the quote of the day:
"Affliction comes to us, not to make us sad but sober; not to make us sorry but wise." ~ Henry Ward Beecher

america held hostage day 1850
bushism of the day:
"A surplus means there'll be money left over. Otherwise, it wouldn't be called a surplus." website of the day:
Economic Justice Now (Global Debt Relief)
http://www.economicjustice.org/resources/media/aslam042099.html

Loneliness

i've probably talked here about aloneness and loneliness. i'm not accustomed to feeling lonely and this weekend i remembered why that is. in high school and college i had some close friends with whom i spent a fair amount of time. i was closest with my college roommate, my former english teacher and a dear high school friend. i had boyfriends, some serious and some not so. my inability to open up to boyfriends is legendary, as a matter of fact.

even though i had dear friends and dear boyfriends, i was always aware of being alone. at the heart of all of my interactions with people was the knowledge that i would eventually be going home to my parents' house. i went there alone. i lived there alone. no matter how comforting my friendships were, no matter how much light-hearted fun i managed to have, the road always led back to my home. no one, least of all me, knew what awaited me there on a daily basis. i was certain of one thing, though. as long as i lived there, i was going to suffer. even if the suffering was only because there was no heat in the house. even if the suffering was because there was next to no furniture in the house. generally, i'd say it was an exceptional day when those things were the only sources of my suffering.

in many ways, i experienced my friendships (but especially my boyfriends) as diversions. not only could my friends not help me, but they would never truly understand my experience. i knew how my friends lived. i stayed in their houses, sometimes overnight and sometimes for extended periods of time. nothing in my friends' lives could provide them with even the slightest understanding of how i was forced to live. though my living circumstances have changed radically, even now no one knows what it felt like to live through the harshness of my life. no one knows what it feels like to live with the memories of my earlier life. no one knows how those experiences continue to infect my daily existence. in my mind's eye, i am still a solitary figure.when my therapist asks me if i'm lonely, it's a question i have some difficulty answering. i guess i would counter with, compared to what? compared to when i was 16, i'm definitely less lonely. compared to other people, though, i guess i'm profoundly lonely. my world view isn't one that's shared.

here's the quote of the day:
"The most terrible poverty is loneliness and the feeling of being unloved." ~ Mother Theresa

america held hostage day 1848
bushism of the day:
"They said this issue wouldn't resignate with the People. They've been proved wrong, it does resignate."
website of the day: Consortiumnews.com
http://www.consortiumnews.com/

Why Am I Afraid

i was talking with my mom on the phone last night about the shanley trial, which we've both been watching on courttv. we were both pretty angry at the defense attorney's badgering the victim on the stand for a full 9 hours. i commented that one of the things that made me the most angry was when the attorney asked the victim just how far the priest had inserted his finger into the boy's rectum. my mom was angry about it, too, but for different reasons than mine.

i was angry because the attorney was implying that just because the victim couldn't come up with the number, it must not have happened. i know from personal experience that that is exactly the kind of thing to which a victim will not have access. the actual abuse can be very fragmented in memory because the victim has generally gone somewhere else in his/her head to escape from the things that are being done to him or her. i remember staring at the ceiling. what magnificent concentration i maintained. i do not know specifically what was done to me, but i do know that it was unbearable.

my mom, of course, doesn't know these things. i found myself thinking about explaining to her, but then i stopped. i couldn't bring myself to talk about it with her. why. i'm not sure whether it's protection for me or for her. i think there's some belief hidden under the layers of consciousness that it's my fault. it's always been my fault...didn't my abuser tell me so? didn't i believe it? a similar thing happened when i was talking to my daughter in law this past week. i started to explain the concept of post traumatic stress disorder, but then it dawned on me that i'd probably have to explain how i came to have that problem. i couldn't bring myself to share any of the reasons. why. why. i don't know. it's so painful for me to even contemplate the reasons behind those decisions. the thought of sharing these memories--any part of them--fills me with anxiety. i can feel my hands go icy cold.

Paul Shanley

i've spent the majority of the day listening to the trial of the former roman catholic priest paul shanley's criminal sexual assulat trial. i've been working on a database on my computer, where the trial is being broadcast. i haven't watched much of the video, but whenever i do and see the former priest, sitting there as if he hadn't ruined people's lives, i just want to ask him if he really believes in god.

i'm not of the mindset that god punishes us for our sins. i'm not even completely sure that all of the bad things that happen to us in our lives aren't supposed to happen. i can't pretend to know what is in god's mind. however, i do know that sexually abusing little children causes enormous harm for the rest of their lives.

it's difficult to determine whether this man is really sorry in the slightest bit. i'm certain that he's sorry he got caught. i wonder, as he watches his victim testify, does he harden his heart against the victim? i know that most abusers blame the child. the child was too provacative. he couldn't help himself, the child was too flirtatious and took advantage of the adult. it's so much easier than having to admit that you have sentenced someone to live a life significantly devoid of trust in other human beings. if mr. shanley was abused himself, he must already know the consequences of abuse. how, then, could he harm another little child in that way?

last night i was watching an episode of law and order in which there was a murder related to a whole series of sexual assaults against several children. there was one scene where the father of a child was sitting on a sofa, the child on the floor beside him, playing with a toy. the father suggests to the boy that he sit on the sofa where he'll be more comfortable. at that moment, it was like being five again for me. i wanted to go get a knife, find my uncle, and rip him to shreds. i want him to suffer every single moment of every day of his life. i'd be surprised if he does.

i really believe that people who can hurt children that way don't have much empathy for anyone. they are, of course, pretty sorry for themselves. shortly after that program ended, there was a local newscast which has been doing a series of segments about depression. last night's topic was electroshock therapy. i was talking on the phone with my mom, but i managed to hear just a bit of it. that bit was about how tragic the lives are of people who are unable to escape depression any other way. it was one of those moments in which i was forced to look at the truth again. i wouldn't say my life has been tragic, but when i think about it in the context of how other people have grown up, i can't really find a word to describe my life. unhappy is an understatement. i'm reluctant to latch onto tragic, though. i guess that's too reminiscent of the mindset of all of my abusers. they all had tragic lives. that's why it was okay that they hurt other people. it was even okay to hurt defenseless children. i know that accepting the truth of severe abuse doesn't make me like them.

but now i can't think of anything else to say. i just had one of those dissociative moments when i cease to feel and can't really even maintain my train of thought. i guess i might as well find a quote.

quote of the day;
"The cosmos is neither moral or immoral; only people are. He who would move the world must first move himself." ~Edward Ericson

america held hostage day 1844
bushism of the day:
"It's clearly a budget. It's got a lot of numbers in it."

website of the day: Disgruntled Housewife
http://www.disgruntledhousewife.com/

Change Your Mind

i suffered through an allergy meltdown all weekend and lost a fair amount of sleep because of some creature gnawing away somewhere in or adjacent to my bedroom. this morning, as i pushed myself forward into the day, taking care of my responsibilities to huskies and hubby, i was aware of a low-level dissatisfaction. it's times like this that i remember that the reality we all share can be dramatically altered or restructured. we have only to change our minds.

what exactly is it that causes us to believe that we must get up every day and go to jobs which we may or may not find intellectually compelling or unsuitable for any number of reasons? because that's the way it's been done in recent history? because that's the way it's been done in our specific culture? all we have to do is change our minds. change our minds about what's valuable in life. change our minds about how we will treat one another. we can eliminate the staggering debt loads of "third-world" countries simply by deciding that the debt no longer exists. the debts of all nations could be eliminated by deciding it should be so. we could conceivably find far more meaningful ways than our current jobs to spend our brief time here. we just need to change our minds.

of course, once we get into the realm of religion, it gets very difficult to advocate changing one's mind. one of the primary jobs of religion is to provide us with some clearcut guidelines for individual behavior. having bought into those guidelines, we find it unbearably difficult to see things in a new way. many times, we're unable to recognize that which is holy in one another because the other isn't adhering to our specific (and sometimes nit-picky) guidelines. we could see it another way, if we wished. we could choose to search for commonality instead of focusing on our differences. just takes a change of heart and a change of mind.

here's the quote of the day:
"The universe is transformation; our life is what our thoughts make it."~Marcus Aurelius

america held hostage day 1841
bushism of the day:
"This administration is doing everything we can to end the stalemate in an efficient way. We're making the right decisions to bring the solution to an end."

website of the day:
The Butterfly Websitehttp://butterflywebsite.com/organicgardening.cfm

Black Thursday

today we officially enter into another four years with bush. it's a bleak prospect. he's already fucked up a number of things beyond repair--at least for the remainder of my life time. i loathe him even more than i once loathed dick nixon. he's arrogant, willfully and proudly ignorant, smug, self-righteous. i've basically given up even watching the news in order to spare my blood pressure. i'd rather not have a bush-related stroke.

today, in honor of of black thursday, i'll focus on bushisms.

america held hostage day 1837
"One of the great things about books is sometimes there are some fantastic pictures."

"It's clearly a budget. It's got a lot of numbers in it."

"If you don't stand for anything, you don't stand for anything!"

"A surplus means there'll be money left over. Otherwise, it wouldn't be called a surplus."

god help us.

Friendship

i'm so glad this week is over. dealing with my sick dog has left me exhausted and stressed out. of course, the only thing that changes over the weekend is that i don't have to show up at the office. that makes me happy under any circumstances. he seems to be doing a little better today. i was able to get him to eat some of his special food, so maybe he has a little more fiber and vitamins in him today.

i can see a tiny, tiny little bird on the tree outside my window. i used to have binoculars here, but i took them home and haven't brought them back. it moves a lot like a woodpecker, but it's too small to be that. it's really nice to glance outside and see the little creatures that live in the tress outside my office window.

i have a new online friend. i met her through an online support group and we've been corresponding for a couple of weeks now. her early life was also deeply scarred by parental abuse. this is really pathetic, but i was so happy to see that i had an email from her his morning. i'm surrounded by people at work all day, but there's very little hope that anyone here could ever understand the life i've lived and the consequences that still reverberate through my life. there is one person here who believes she does, but that's because she doesn't know the full story.

i resist the idea that i might be lonely, although my therapist says that, if i weren't, there would be something wrong with me. i guess i've gotten so accustomed to living a solitary life that i don't even notice loneliness most of the time. i'm very introverted, but i'm also very low on trust these days. after the long saga of my friend, stephanie, i've been even more reluctant than ever to embark on any new relationships.

it seems that since i'm a very empathic person, i attract people who wish to lean on me emotionally. i'm open to providing emotional support to friends, but stephanie is a great example of why i'm not so interested in developing any new relationships. she used to call me every day (sometimes twice) and expected me to minister to her emotional needs. during a time when i was working far too much and was very ill with a work-related condition, i was planning a complex event for work and neglected to give her a call on her birthday. when i finally did call her, she told me not to call until she let me know she was ready to hear from me. she had absolutely no interest in why i might have missed the birthday call. i'm guessing she thought i would be devastated by her anger and rejection. wrong. at first, i was just very, very angry that she'd hung up on me. but then it was as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. i went to work on monday and found myself humming.

she finally contacted me shortly after my dad killed himself. i told her i was in no shape to be having any social discourse. she wrote me a letter telling me she was sorry and that she knew i'd be just fine. by that time, i had decided that my relationship with her was indeed over, no matter what.

since that time, my wariness about people has increased. every time i think of making new friends, i feel a great resistance.the great thing about an online friend is that she isn't going to be expecting me to talk on the phone with her for hours every day. she won't try to make me do things with her, like go to movies, etc. it is a little depressing, though, that i'm so happy to hear from her. i take great pride in my independence. the thought that i might actually need something from someone else is a little threatening. more fodder for therapy today.

here's the quote of the day:
"Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: "What! You, too? Thought I was the only one." ~C.S. Lewis

america held hostage day 1831
bushism of the day;
"For every fatal shooting, there were roughly three non-fatal shootings. And, folks, this is unacceptable in America. It's just unacceptable. And we're going to do something about it."

The Vet Probably Thinks I'm Crazy

i just got back from the vet's office. Mr. T.'s glucose level was very high. we checked it in the morning a couple of times and it was much lower; the vet doesn't know why, but she suspects i'm not doing it right. i did drop the insulin a couple of nights ago, so maybe that's the problem. i don't know, but i do know that i seem alarmingly anxious-- even to me.

i hate that. it's just that it's been such a frustrating week and things seem to be going downhill. he won't eat any dogfood. none. nada. give me the hamburger, please, because that's all i'm going to eat. of course, on the up side, Sheba won't eat canned dogfood, either. nothing like picky pets. the vet suggested i give him the ground beef, but add some stuff to it to make it more nutriitous. my entire life right now is consumed by this husky. next week he's going to spend the day at the vet's so they can monitor his glucose level periodically and to get an ultrasound done. maybe we can figure out what's wrong with my guy so we can make him feel better.

i've been attempting to work on creating a database all day. fascinating stuff. i'm being ironic, of course.i don't know. i've been ratcheted up since last night. maybe it's just the cumulative stress over Mr. T. maybe it's menopause. what the fuck.

here's the quote of the day:
"Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea." ~ Robert A. Heinlein

america held hostage day 1830
bushism of the day:
"I appreciate that question because I, in the state of Texas, had heard a lot of discussion about a faith-based initiative eroding the important bridge between church and state."website of the day; Anarchy and Game Theoryhttp://www.spunk.org/texts/misc/sp000161.txt

The Anasthesia of Everyday Life

driving back to work from lunch today, i drifted off into a reverie of the past. there was a time when everything was vivid, when every passing moment was intensely experienced. i think that's what everyone seeks in high school reunions or just reunions with old friends. it's what i seek when i recall the girl i once was. that girl had considerably more pain than i have to deal with on a daily basis. she wasn't sure she would make it to 50. she certainly wasn't sure whether she wished to.

these days, though i try to remain present in the moment, i frequently drift off into an anesthetized routine. i'm a little numb to it, so i try to reach back and rouse emotion or, at the very least, to break free momentarily from the drudgery of my life. every day it's the same. wake up, think about how sore i am from working out. try to summon some interest in what i'm going to wear to work. lately i just put on whatever's easiest. i shower, wake my husband up with coffee in bed and finish getting dressed. i take care of the dogs, then i drive the same streets to the same job i've had for at least 12 years now, but who's counting? i hang around work, go to lunch, come home at the end of the day. i have dinner with my husband, go home, work out and do a little reading. sometimes i meditate. then bedtime and i get up the next day to do it all over again. it's so unbearably tedious.

my therapist would probably say that one of the reasons i have such a numbed response to my life is because there are so many emotions i keep at bay. at the heart of it all is an attempt to hold at arm's length the recognition that i simply haven't been very important to anyone in life. in all of the relationships i've ever had, i immediately move to the bottom of the list of priorities. i don't understand why that's so. when parents can find so many other things to care about than their child, maybe one simply gets accustomed to this profound aloneness. i don't think i'm capable of confronting that black hole hidden at the very center of my being. whenever i catch glimpses of it, the pain is unbearable. it's so much easier to just go through the day like every other day. the sameness of my days may even be just a little heartening. i'm no longer living in a chaotic environment where unanticipated dangers loom behind every passing second. anesthesia is thus somehow comforting.

nonetheless, i miss the girl who was so vibrantly present even to that terror and pain. i think she just got very tired. maybe that's just what middle age feels like to everyone. monotony. comforting in its predictability, but ultimately, maybe deadly to all feeling. we are unimpressed, thank you very much. we've seen the blue sky and the sunset a thousand times before. we've met new people and found them to be, at best, predictable and, at worst, just the same old demands in new packages. we've married our heart's desires and found them to be surly and unshaven in the morning. romance is an old wive's tale. it's just all the same, every last second.

here's the quote of the day:
"There's no such thing as old age, there is only sorrow." ~ Edith Wharton

america held hostage day 1829
bushism of the day:
"They want the federal government controlling Social Security like it's some kind of federal program."wesite of the day: National Institute for Discovery Sciencehttp://www.nidsci.org/index2.htmlYou gotta love this shit.

Dogs and Suicide

hubby left this morning to visit my stepson and his wife. after taking him to pick up a rental car, i came back and got The Tusk ready for his appointment with the vet. he wouldn't eat much this morning, but enough to give him his insulin injection. he only weight 69 pounds this morning, which i'm assuming is related to his not eating breakfast. his glucose level was down to 316. i had a disagreement with his doctor about the amount of insulin he was supposed to be getting. we had raised him to 25 units, then 27 as of last week. his doctor didn't remember those numbers at all...she thought he was still at 22. i still believe i was correct. i don't just make this stuff up, particularly when it relates to my dogs. he had a couple of hot spots, one on his cheeck and one on his right elbow. we got some spray-on medication for that. we have to go back in on thursday to check the glucose level in the afternoon. next wednesday he'll be there all day so they can do several glucose tests to determine when the insulin level peaks. he'll also undergo an ultrasound in the hope that we can find out whether he has cancer.

i'm just not dealing with that right now. it's all i can do to make sure he's adequately fed and gets his injections. i don't really have enough mental energy to worry about it.as i was driving to work this morning, i saw an overweight guy walking towards the car on the opposite side of the road. it put me in mind of my father. suddenly there was the picture in my head of how he used to be. i spent a few seconds trying to figure out what was prompting those memories, but i managed to curtail that train of thought pretty quickly. there was some television program last night that had a couple of suicides in it. maybe that stuck in my head. to be truthful, though, he's always popping up in my head, sometimes as the person he was before he killed himself and sometimes as the person who inflicted so much pain on me and everyone else with whom he had relationships.

i guess that's just the nature of suicides. it's never really finished business for those left behind. i remember when i first started going to my survivors of suicide group, there was a lady there whose daughter had killed herself over 17 years previously. she showed up every week to offer support for those of us still in the unbearable immediate aftermath of our own losses. every week when i saw her, i wondered how she had managed to keep going for so long. she gave me hope that i would eventually be able to survive my father's death. at the time, i wasn't so sure i was ever going to be okay again. i'll always be grateful for her presence and the calm way she talked about her daughter's suicide. the story is burned into my memory.

i sometimes think about going back to the meetings just to provide hope for others just embarking on their own journeys. i never much liked the facilitator and, the minute she started to try to do therapy on me, i stopped going. that's pretty much my pattern. if people attempt to get to close, to see into my very well-barricaded heart, i will immediately and completely withdraw. i get to control when and how and with whom i share my emotions. i had already had some misgivings about her; i thought she responded to one person in a way that may have increased the victim's guilt. that's one thing that no survivor needs. there's enough guilt to drown in it. when she started doing therapy with me, i made the decision that i'd received enough support.enough exploration for the day.

here's the quote of the day:
"Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned." ~ Edna St. Vincent Millayamerica held hostage day 1827 bushism of the day:"We are ready for any unforeseen event which may or may not happen."website of the day: Frugal and Fashionable Living Magainehttp://www.frugalfun.com/frugal.html

I Can Survive Anything

"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next." ~ Gilda Radner

I've been catching up with blog friends I haven't been able to read lately. I need to stop for a moment to talk about yesterday. It was a bad, bad day and it took me until late in the afternoon to realize it. Realization should have started when my mom told me a couple of times early in the day to stop beating up on myself.

On the way home, she was talking about the 4th of July and it immediately reminded me that July 6, 2006 was my last day of radiation. Then I recalled that March 28 was my last chemo day. But then I wasn't sure...was it March 26 or March 28? I became obsessed (oh yeah, I never do that ) with verifying the date. Around 7;00 p.m. last night, I finally managed to find some written evidence that the date was correct.

Then it suddenly hit me. A year. As someone on my breast cancer message board told me, I've been through a lot. It made for a sad and somber evening. It's okay...just a part of coming to terms with it all. I allowed myself to grieve for the relinquishment of wholeness. I remembered it all. The diagnosis--in three stages. The mastectomy. The chemo. The radiation. It was all unbearable, so I chose not to bear it.

I haven't only changed physically. I know now, with complete certainty, that I can get through anything. Maybe my father's suicide should have enlightened me on my transcendent abilities. Now I know. It seems to have created a greater reserve in myself, a distancing from the hard events of life. I am inviolable.

It seems I've permanently retreated into myself to shield myself against misfortune and pain. That doesn't mean I'm emotionally unreachable; as a matter of fact, I may be more open to love (in a general, nonspecific way) than ever before. I can survive love and loss. That knowledge liberates me, but it leaves me with an openness to love primarily on a non-specific basis. I have good will towards everyone. Close personal relationships seem even more unreachable. If you care about everyone equally, do you really care about no one? I don't think so. I hope not.

How have I changed? How have I changed? It's a question that's rather haunting and not fully answered still. There's a lot more grieving to be done, a lot more suffering to be worked through. I can survive it, though. I can survive anything.