terry schiavo

steroids and terry schiavo. our legislators have determined these are the burning issues that must be attended to right away. not the breathtaking deficit. not the fact that the middle class is diminishing in size every day. shall i go on? i could probably sit here all day, naming other issues.

the terry schiavo legislation just absolutely boggles the mind. this fight has been going on for 15 years now. every court which has agreed to hear it have ruled that she made her wishes clear. her husband has been trying to honor those wishes.

as for the parents, i understand the need and desire to hang on. just because they "believe " something to be true doesn't mean it factually true. i may believe the world is flat. i may believe w. is the easter bunny. all of that is fine, but it doesn't mean that legislation should be enacted to perpetuate their misunderstanding of the situation. i could understand if she were in a coma. some people come out of comas--not many, apparently--but some. that's not the case here. her head is filled with spinal fluid. no amount of therapy or love will change that.

so our elected officials decide to intervene. what happened to state's rights, the darling of republicans everywhere? that gets negated when we don't like the courts' decisions? it's so much easier for them to focus on this rather than the multitude of problems this country is facing. it's one of those feel-good things. ultimately, their legislation won't mean anything. the supreme court has already refused to hear it. nonetheless, your average legislator can point out how committed he/she is to the right to life, despite supporting capital punishment and war. it just feels good, though.

i've heard several people suggest that having a living will is the solution, despite the fact that even those wills have been circumvented by hospitals and doctors. a living will is only as good as the medical personnel who encounter it.

back to my original point. first of all, congress should butt the fuck out. secondly, why don't you guys do something that's actually productive. of course, that might mean that some of the decisions we've been reaching have been utterly wrong. people might actually have to engage their brains and think for a change. you know how bad that is. we do not want our legislators thinking. and we for damn sure don't want citizens to be thinking. we'd rather that knee-jerk reactions and hidden agendas should plot our national course. we want our fellow americans to busy themselves with "survivor" or, better yet, "american idol."

i'm going to have to stop now because it's time to go home. more tomorrow.

capital punishment and the passion to retreat

Typical texas weather today. Yesterday it was rainy and gray. the temperature never got about the mid 50'a. Today, sunshine and 76 degrees. People in other parts of the country get to put away summer clothes when it's winter. Not here. All of my clothes have to be available at all times. When conversing about the weather, someone always gets around to saying, "If you don't like the weather, wait fifteen minutes and it'll change." I think that's supposed to help us all cope with the uncertainty of it all.

I spent the greater part of yesterday watching the various court proceedings online or on television at home. During coverage of the Scott Peterson proceedings, CNN briefly interviewed a couple of the jurors. It appeared that the jurors were taking it all very personally and I guess it would be hard not to do that after sitting through months and months of difficult photographs and testimony.

One guy did a little commercial for a cd he put together about his impressions of the trial. There's a law in California that prohibits jurors from profiting from their jury experiences for ninety days. When you go to the website he ballyhooed, he does make that statement, but he encourages people to sign up to get a copy when the 90 days are over. Apparently he doesn't find it troubling at all to profit from others' misery. it's revolting.

As for the sentence, I'm opposed to the death penalty, but in California it's actually beneficial to the prisoner to be sentenced to death. They get a nice single occupancy cell, as opposed to having to adjust to living in a tiny space with some fucking criminal. No ever actually gets killed there, so why bother? Actually someone did get executed recently, but that was highly unusual. The hillside strangler guy is still alive, for god's sake. Wouldn't you think they'd just go ahead and kill the guy?

If i were to commit some death-penalty kind of crime, I think I'd much rather just go ahead and be killed. Those cells are very, very claustrophobia-inducing. Just looking at them on tv makes me need to take a valium or something.

I generally keep the anti-death penalty position to myself. At some point I just got sick of people trying to talk me out of it. They always seem to think that maybe I haven't thought about it or something and that I'd come around to the right point of view if they just explain the reasonableness of their position. I guess they expect me to say, "Oh man! I was so wrong! Now that you've explained it to me, I see what a fool i've been." How insulting. I don't try to convert death penalty proponents to my way of thinking. I give them credit for having thought about it. On the other hand, we re-elected George Bush so maybe I need to rethink that part of it.

It's particularly difficult being anti-capital punishment in Texas. Everyone knows how crazed we are here about killing people. For a while there, it seemed like we were lethally injecting someone at least once a week. The pace seems to have slowed down for a while now.

I think that killing people is morally wrong. It's morally wrong when an individual does it and it's morally wrong for the state to do it. It's sort of like having someone steal something you own and, as punishment, you go steal something from them. I mean, it's just indefensible.

Killing people is expensive. It's cheaper to keep them alive and suffering than it is to kill them and put them out of their misery. I'm all for extending the misery as long as possible.

Killing people doesn't work as a deterrent . If it worked, we wouldn't still be needing to use the death penalty because everyone would have already learned the lesson. We'd all be too scared to go kill someone.

I'm not expecting capital punishment to be abolished. I'm not that naive. From the looks of things, the country as a whole is getting more punitive. It's like we all woke up with a bad hangover. We're pissed off and we want to punish someone. We've turned into a mean spirited society, which is so amazing considering that we're incredibly powerful and just slathered with abundance in all things.

Recently I decided that it's just a manifestation of millenial anxiety. Before the dawn of the new century, I kept searching for signs that there was some sea change afoot in the world. I mean, on some subconscious level, moving into a new century has got to be a little terrifying for every one of us. It used to be that people had rites and rituals to appease that terror. All we have is television. Because the future is so profoundly uncertain, I think many people are trying to hang on to the way things have been. Or maybe they'd like to go back a bit farther in history.

I know Mr. Moneybags, one of the guys I work with, keeps hoping that white middle aged men will re-gain their ascendancy. He doesn't realize that men still have the majority of the power in this country. He's one of those guys who wakes up every day and checks in on Rush Limbaugh to figure out what he's going to think. I could really help out here and tell him to just cut to the chase. Rush Limbaugh's opinions are rooted in anger and bitterness, which he tries to deny even to himself by ascribing his general level of hostility to his greater intelligence. It's really hard for Rush to have to deal with morons all day. Of course he's cranky.

I think that the fear of change is behind the mounting fervor of both fundamentalist Christians and Muslims. Nothing like some very clear rules about what to do and what not to do. It also helps enormously if, by following your religion, you get to hate a big group of people. that's proof positive of your moral superiority.

This is a topic i could yammer on about all day. Basta.

Will Run Amuck

"Remember always that you not only have the right to be an individual, you have an obligation to be one."~ Eleanor Roosevelt

My mom was recuperating from a virus this weekend, so I didn't see her at all. Instead, I spent the entire weekend doing house cleaning. I tried really hard to maintain my time discipline of 15 minutes of work, then five minutes of rest. I kept forgetting when the 15 minutes started, but when I remembered I sat down and rested. I worked until around 6:00, other than doing a couple of loads of laundry. I was very tired. The time discipline is supposed to address that problem. If I'm following the time schedule, I really shouldn't be tired when I'm finished. I'm guessing that I missed several of the 5 minute rest breaks. It's so hard for me to stick to that schedule. Even having missed a lot of the break times, it seemed to me that I should just keep going when 6:00 rolled around. It just didn't seem like I'd gotten as much accomplished as I wished. It was one of those weekends when I was having some problems with compulsiveness.

The other way my obsessive compulsive tendencies manifested was with the diet thing. I had decided that I would take the week off from working out because I've been feeling really tired. Just making that decision was difficult. I remembered that it hasn't been that long since I took time off because i was sick. That made me anxious. then I remembered the whole overtraining issue. The way you can tell if you're overtraining is that you feel tired all of the time and/or you have sore muscles all of the time. Finally, I was able to make the decision to take time off by ignoring my anxiety.

Then I checked in on "Dateline" and even started watching it. It was about people losing weight. Just what I needed. The more I watched, the more I was feeling the need to be on a diet and work out more. I actually recognized that I was getting into a compulsive state of mind again. That's a major victory, but then I turned the channel! Oh my god! How amazing!

I can't tell if I start feeling compulsive because of a change in brain chemicals or if it's something external that triggers it. I wonder if it would matter in terms of behavior. Who knows.

Hubby and I celebrated Valentine's day on Saturday. Much easier to celebrate over the weekend because I tend to be too tired during the week to celebrate anything. He actually brought flowers and candy this year. Of course, he started eating the candy immediately after he gave it to me. That's okay because I really really don't need to be eating chocolate. Too much fat, too many calories.

This morning was a nightmare. Ruski woke me up sometime in the middle of the night to go out. I was really out of it and turned the coffee pot on, but realized what i had done in time and rushed back into the kitchen to turn it off. I must have also turned the alarm clock off. I woke up later and looked at the clock, but without my glasses. I thought the time was 5:45. I turned over and went back to sleep. The next time I woke up, it was 7:00. Oh jesus. So I rushed around like crazy, but because I still had to deal with the Mighty Tusk, I still didn't get to work until 8:30. Not a great way to start my day. Of course my hubby and my mom would both point out how frequently others are late. Somehow that doesn't make me any less stressed.

When I went home for lunch, I was going to make some brown rice. I stuck the stupid thing in the microwave and set the timer for ten minutes. When the ten minutes were up, i took the bowl out of the microwave and the rice was still hard. I put it back in the microwave for five minutes. When I did that, I noticed that it was set to "defrost." Great. I gave it another ten minutes after I switched to full power. By that time, it was time to go back to work. I knew that Crazy Employee was planning to leave work at noon today, which meant that I was busy answering the phone all day today while The Information Superhighway did payroll. I really wanted to get back in time to rescue The Superhighway from having to do it.

All in all, it's just been a fabulous day. I'm still intermittently thinking about abandoning the idea of not working out this week. I just hate this part of myself.


america held hostage day 1860
bushism of the day:
"Then I went for a run with the other dog and just walked. And I started thinking about a lot of things. I was able to—I can't remember what it was. Oh, the inaugural speech, started thinking through that."
—Pre-inaugural interview with U.S. News & World Report, Jan. 22, 2001 issue

Quieting the Inner Noise

"Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it." ~ Lewis Carroll

So all day yesterday and into the evening, I had the self-loathing soundtrack repeating endlessly in my head. I thought it was because I was feeling angry with my father. Late in the evening, I remembered my therapist said she thought it was related to sexual abuse and suggested that I remember with whom I'm really angry. So I shifted my thoughts and started substituting his name instead of mine. It only took a couple of minutes for me to be overwhelmed with rage. It always makes me feel like a want to set myself on fire. It makes me want to disappear. It makes me want to implode. I stopped the thoughts. I couldn't bear it anymore. Here's the big surprise--it worked. For the rest of the evening, the cruel voice inside my head was silenced.

I still tend to minimize that abuse. As I thought about that, about why I don't want to face how horrible it was and the damage that was done, it dawned on me that somewhere deep inside I still believe that it was my fault. That really makes me angry. I've managed to keep that a secret from myself for a while now. My logical mind knows it wasn't my fault. it's that child inside who believes otherwise.

Somewhere in the midst of all of these epiphanies, it occurred to me that recounting the events of my life doesn't help because I am unwilling to move across the threshold of my memories. I can recount them to myself endlessly, but the meaning of those events is still more than I can bear. I know the meaning. I'd just rather not have to confront it. The meaning of those memories plunges me into darkness, so much darkness that I'm uncertain whether I can return to the light. Confronting the despair barely hidden behind the events my past makes me not want to go on living.

I thought yesterday about letting a friend of mine read this weblog. I thought about it, but I didn't do it. I'm afraid she will no longer like me. I have no idea what the fuck that's about. If someone were to ask me if I like myself, the answer would be yes. there are a lot of things I like about myself. I think. now I'm uncertain, having had this revelation.

On the other hand, it's true that one of my biggest difficulties in life is letting people know me. I tailor my personality to fit my audience. Would my audience like me to be intellectual? Then I'll downplay the parts of myself that don't fit that bill. Would my audience like to believe all I ever think about is shoes? Can do. I just temporarily excise other parts of my personality. I don't know why this is. I know when I first started therapy this last time, I told my therapist that I wanted to figure out what people want from me and give it to them so they'll go away and leave me alone. That's not so true at this moment. but if that's not it, I'm not sure why the hell I behave that way.

america held hostage day 1857

bushism of the day:
"I'm hopeful. I know there is a lot of ambition in Washington, obviously. But I hope the ambitious realize that they are more likely to succeed with success as opposed to failure."
—Interview with the Associated Press, Jan. 18, 2001

The Dreaded Hump Head, Among Other Things

"I'm tired of all this nonsense about beauty being only skin-deep. That's deep enough. What do you want, an adorable pancreas?" ~ Jean Kerr

I thought long and hard yesterday about making an entry here, but I was just never able to summon the interest. It was one of those days. It began with my hair. I curled my hair yesterday morning before work and, when I looked in the mirror, there it was--hump head. One side of my hair was poofed up taller than the other side. It was also poofed up more than all of the other hair on the same side of my head. I tried to flatten it out, but no matter what i did, it wouldn't budge. I spent the rest of the day avoiding the mirror because every time I would catch a glimpse of myself, all I could see was the hump head. then I would be obsessed for a while with trying to get it to flatten it.

Aside from that, whenever my attention to something would lag, I kept hearing my critical voice inside my head telling me what a terrible person I am. There wasn't any precipitating event, I just was having a self-hating day. I was able to notice when those thoughts arose and try to stop them. Sometimes I was successful, sometimes not. I was answering an email from a friend and I kept thinking about how lame my email was. I started feeling very needy, which is not a feeling I find acceptable.

I've also noticed that for the past several days I've had random thoughts of my dad that just simply infuriated me. It wasn't new material arising from some deeper part of my memory. It was just the same old shit. It was stuff i should be angry about, but I found it a little disorienting nonetheless. I'm thinking that maybe that anger at my father was directed at myself. It certainly wouldn't be the first time I decided that it was easier to hate myself than to hate someone else. Yesterday afternoon, in pursuit of understanding, I started to try to find some information on sadistic personality disorder on the web. There wasn't a whole lot out there beyond the obvious. Symptoms are predictable and fit my father perfectly. I was really searching for an answer to why someone would find pleasure in others' pain. Naturally I thought it was something that happened in early childhood. I may be correct in that assumption, but I was never able to verify it.

It's another manifestation of my need to understand my father. I've always thought that if I could understand his behavior, I could forgive it. There's just so much to forgive. At this point, I question whether understanding will lead me anywhere in particular. I just always think there's some way to soothe this terrible tension between love and hate. Maybe that's just a belief left over from when I had to deal with him every day, when I wanted to make that interaction more bearable. At the very least, I need to not take out my anger on myself. I also need to try to always avoid having the dreaded hump head.


america held hostage day 1855
bushism of the day:
"Then I went for a run with the other dog and just walked. And I started thinking about a lot of things. I was able to—I can't remember what it was. Oh, the inaugural speech, started thinking through that."—Pre-inaugural interview with U.S. News & World Report, Jan. 22, 2001 issue

website of the day: Fourth Way Home
http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/1236/

Pity Party

"Bitter are the tears of a child: Sweeten them. Deep are the thoughts of a child: Quiet them. Sharp is the grief of a child: Take it from him. Soft is the heart of a child: Do not harden it."~ Pamela Glenconner

I just got back to the office from a dental appointment. That cut my work day by about 2 hours, although one of those hours should have been my lunchtime. Instead of taking extra time for lunch, I had some peanut butter crackers, an apple and an orange. I think I'm having a feeling sorry for myself kind of day. I'm not a feeling sorry for myself kind of person, so I'm trying to get over it. My therapist would say that I should feel sad for myself. In fact, she's said exactly that. I don't know how productive this mind set can be, really. Yes, my life has been crappy beyond belief and it's not that great now, but it's the only life i know. I should just get over this.

I've been doing some new workout videos lately. last night I did a Minna tape and I'm really sore today. On Monday, I did a cardio crunch tape which really kicked my butt. When I woke up the next day and tried to turn over in bed, every muscle in my body complained. That must mean I'm making progress. Tonight is another cardio night. That should help my mood. When i did the cardio crunch tape on Monday, i had that wonderful euphoria that comes from getting your heart rate up and keeping it up for an extended period of time. It's been a long time since I've felt that way. Since i was talked into cutting back on the length and difficulty of my workouts, I just stumble along day to day with nothing even resembling a good mood.

For some reason, I've been reading about the Michael Jackson case on the Smoking Gun. Goddamn it, it makes me so angry. This is a man who needs to spend a long time in jail. I'm sure he's a pedophile because of things someone else did to him, but that doesn't absolve him of his guilt. Of course, it brought up lots of old memories. The whole grooming process, the threats, the accusations that it's actually the victim's fault that the perpetrator is acting out. I can feel this rage deep inside that makes me want to break things or, better yet, go find my perpetrator and kick his ass. He's an old guy now; I bet I could hurt him with very little effort. What a lovely thought. It's probably also not so great for the pity party I'm having for myself. Nothing makes me sadder than innocence ripped away.

That's about enough for today, since i can't shake this sad feeling.

america held hostage day 1823
bushism of the day:
"There's not going to be enough people in the system to take advantage of people like me."

Spinning the Wheel

"When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us."~Helen Keller

I'm very disgruntled today. The sky is gray and another cold front is moving in. It's been in the low 70's here for the past couple of weeks and, even though I look forward to wearing my warm clothes, I hate the gloominess. I must have sun. I finally managed to deliver the last of the xmas presents today. I brought The Foot Lady's gift to her, since she left on vacation before it even dawned on me that she should be on my gift list. Well no big deal, but I just had to go through that awful gift-giving thing again. Jesus. I love giving gifts, but I never wish to be there when they're opened. It makes me profoundly uncomfortable, though not as uncomfortable as receiving them.

Hubby just called to say he's going to submit a resume tomorrow for a writing job. It would be great if he could get it, but I don't have my hopes up. Unfortunately, he's never learned that interviewing skills must be practiced. It's really the only way to be ready with an answer for any question interviewers might pose. It's the difference between seeming professional versus looking unprepared. I refuse to meddle. I'm going to have to go with whatever fate brings in this arena.

Relying on The One (aka "God" aka "Higher Power, etc.) is highly valued in the workaholics anonymous group. They operate out of the belief that we workaholics need to figure out that we are not in control. Further, that attempting to impose our will on The One's plans for us is a big part of our problem. I get it. I believe that I've spent the past 7 years waiting for The One to give me some idea of what I'm supposed to be doing other than just taking up space on the planet. I try not to ask for things, even though I might really wish for them. This is not because I'm so spiritually advanced. it's just a very solid understanding that I should be open and accepting of whatever comes, because whatever The One wishes for me is exactly what I should be doing at any given time. Every once in a while, though, I start to wonder if The One is speaking and I'm just not hearing. Or if I'm supposed to be actively trying new things in the hope that I'll hit upon whatever it is that I need to be doing in my life.

I could, and generally do, see the past seven years as an enormous waste of time. spinning my wheels while I'm waiting for the universe to lead me someplace else. I don't know. Yesterday I was thinking that maybe there is a reason for me being stuck in this place (mentally, physically and emotionally) that I'm just not seeing. I started to try once again to resign myself to enduring until things improve (or get worse--that's always a possibility).

In the meantime I've been conscientiously working on relaxing and resting. That's pretty funny. I make myself rest regularly. I try not to work out too much. I've been doing much better at it and I take some pride in the fact that I'm developing this discipline. Well, pride is probably not the right word. I'm giving myself a pat on the head.

Lethargy overtakes me. I guess I'll try to wade through some more email that's been piling up while I was on vacation. Sometimes I even bore myself.

america held hostage day 1822

bushism of the day:
"One of the common denominators I have found is that expectations rise above that which is expected."

website of the day: Frontline
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/

The Most Recent Flashback

"Where love rules, there is no will to power; and where power predominates, there love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other."~ Carl Jung

Yesterday I was planning to make an entry here, but I couldn't really focus because of a migraine. I woke up again today with a headache, but it's not so intense.

I can't remember how the conversation started last night, but my mom and I were discussing childhood sexual abuse. Not my abuse, of course. I try never to talk about that specifically. At any rate, she was telling me about the woman who lives across the breezeway from her, who has two young children. She said one of their other neighbors, a man, is always especially friendly to the little girl. The man has no interest in the boy. My mother said that everytime the man encounters the little girl, he picks her up. Alarm bells went off in my head and I told my mother there was no reason ever for some guy who's unrelated to the child to be picking her up. I quickly amended my statement when i had a flashback of being picked up by my uncle when I was 5, the first memory of him abusing me. Suddenly it all came back. The sensation of being picked up and knowing that there was absolutely nothing I could do to prevent what happened next. The memory of having tried to hide from him, then trying to escape.

I told my mother that no one other than a parent should be picking up little kids. My mom said something to the effect that you can never tell about people's motives and trying to warn little children about bad people probably doesn't have much effect because they're too naive. I pointed out that it doesn't really matter ultimately because the adult is always so much larger than the child that resistance is futile.

I had to change the subject. My heart was racing and I was almost overcome by anxiety. I did not tell my mother what I was feeling. My therapist would ask me why. I'm still not certain why.america held hostage day 1821bushism of the day:"The most important job is not to be governor, or first lady in my case."

The Day Before Freedom

"The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself."~Henry Miller

It's been a hellacious week so I haven't gotten around to writing for a while now. After today, I'll be off work until the new year. What a blessing.

I had my annual physical and found out that my cholesterol level is 265. I don't eat crappy food. I work out five days a week. I don't get it. I wish there were someone I could take this up with because I'm pretty annoyed about it. I'm supposed to start taking Lipitor. Just what I need--more medications.

I also found out that the Mighty Toosk has doggie diabetes. We have an appointment with the vet tomorrow so we can find out about how to change his diet and how to give insulin injections. It was purely by accident that we found out. He was having trouble getting up off the floor and i thought it might be because his toenails were too long. Luckily, when we went in, the doctor was standing around in the lobby and saw his difficulty. She thought he might have arthritis and gave me some doggie Celebrex to give him. She also took some blood to make sure his liver was up for the medication. His liver enzymes were indeed high and his blood glucose level was also high. I collected some urine on Monday to have them analyze and the diagnosis of diabetes was confirmed.

I've also been a little under the weather. Cedar Fever hit me like a mack truck over the weekend, so I've been feeling sick without the benefit of actually being sick. I mean, if I had a cold or the flu, I might feel better about taking some time off my rigorous workout schedule. Of course, now that I've found out about the cholesterol problem, I'm even more antsy about having taken some time off.

One of my coworkers dropped by to give me a gift yesterday and I had another attack of not knowing how to appropriately respond. I said thank you, of course, but gifts just make me profoundly uncomfortable. Even when my family gives them to me. Thanks Dad.

america held hostage day 1808

bushism of the day:
"One of the common denominators I have found is that expectations rise above that which is expected."
website of the day: Beachbody: Decide. Commit. Succeed
http://www.beachbody.com/jump.jsp?itemID=0&itemType=HOME_PAG

Anger and the Hunger for Perfection

"I'm not crazy about reality, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal." ~ Groucho Marx

My therapist and i discussed my body dysmorphia issues last week. I told her I'd been avoiding making an appointment for my annual physical because I don't want to know how much I weigh. I chose not to work out one night last week because I was exhausted from doing some serious cleaning the night before. I was able to allow myself to lie down and rest, but the next day all I could think was, "Oh god, I should have worked out. Maybe I should eat less today. Maybe I should work out longer today. Maybe I should do both." My rational mind knows this is nonsense. I'm 5'6" and wear a size 8 dress. I know that that is not fat. I am a little heavy because of the amount of muscle mass I've developed, but that's good weight, not bad. As I undress or notice myself partially clothed in some mirror, I start obsessing again about how I should just lose about five pounds and I'll be fine.

My therapist pointed out to me that there is a direct link between eating disorders, body dysmorphia and sexual abuse. Of course I already knew that. I just hadn't thought to apply it to myself. She suggested that, instead of berating myself for being fat, maybe I should focus on to whom the anger should be directed...the perpetrator.

Well, that's easier said than done. when I start thinking about that, I tend to get overwhelmed by my anger and start to feel like I'm going to implode. It truly feels unbearable to me. I've been trying to increase my tolerance for anger by hanging onto the feeling for as long as I can stand it. As we discussed that, I started to dissociate. That's what I do when I'm angry. I just numb out and lose my train of thought. I really hate it when that happens. So I'm trying not to feel fat today. Is it working? Not really.

America held hostage day 1801

Bushism of the day;
"In my sentences I go where no man has gone before."

website of the day:
Fashion Alley: A Place Where Fashion, Trends and Style Resides
http://www.fashionalley.tv/

Staying in The Present

"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."~ Henri Nouwen

I'm not in any place for reflection regarding the past. Today I'm staying firmly anchored in the present.

My stepson and his wife were in town for the weekend. They finally got around to calling us at 4:00 p.m. on Sunday. I had rushed through all of my usual Sunday errands so that I would be sure to be around when they came by. They wished to have dinner at 6:00, so we went to a restaurant they selected. It was expensive, but the ambiance was pretty funky. They were also out of a large number of menu items. I had eaten an apple around 4:30, knowing I couldn't fast until 6:00. I wasn't very hungry, but there were no entrees that weren't enormous. I ended up having a small salad with some turkey on top. I regaled them with stories about my boss' wife.

Then we went over to their friends' house to meet their dog. After that, they came over to our house and stayed until about nine. They invited us to come to their house for Christmas, but I wasn't inclined to leave my mom here alone. I'll be the only person in town over that weekend to take care of the office kitties--another big stumbling block to being out of town. I think my husband was annoyed with me, but I really didn't care.

I had to take one of my dogs to the vet this afternoon. He's been having some difficulty getting up when he lies down. I thought perhaps it was because his toenails were getting long and he couldn't get any traction. We went to the vet to get them cut, but the vet was available so we had her look at him to see if there is another problem. She thinks he has arthritis and gave me some nsaid medication to give him. He's a senior dog and weighs 75 pounds, so it's not terribly surprising that he'd have some joint problems at this point. As usual, though, the bill was staggering. We have to take him back in two weeks when the bill will be staggering again. Merry Christmas to me.

I've been paying bills all day at work. very, very tedious. I don't even have an online trial to entertain me while I do it. the Scott Peterson trial is over, finally. He received the death penalty and, even though it's unlikely he'll ever be killed in California, it made me sad nonetheless. I'm opposed to the death penalty generally, but I thought his life would be much more difficult if he got life in prison. There would be much more interaction with other prisoners. having gotten death, he'll be housed in his own cell. I guess I was also sad because it was another opportunity to wish none of it had ever happened. Such a stupid, stupid crime.

That's about it for today.
america held hostage day 1800

bushism of the day:
"I mean, there needs to be a wholesale effort against racial profiling, which is illiterate children."

website of the day: The Irish Potato Famine
http://www.humboldt1.com/~history/lexiso/

The End of My Father

even though the sun is finally shining, i'm having a terrible day. last night i was watching a television program (without a trace) when they unexpectedly started talking about one of the characters' mother who committed suicide. sometimes it's too difficult for me to hear, even when i know suicide is going to be discussed. the character felt responsible for his mom's death because he had concealed an earlier attempt from his father. i've been watching a trial on courttv live in which a battered woman is being tried for the hatchet death of her husband. i just listened to lenore walker testifying about battered women and their children who grow up in violent homes. very triggering.my own father's death has been on my mind recently. he'd been actively psychotic for some time prior to his death. he saw several different psychiatrists before his death, but they were not medicating him sufficiently. just before he died, he was only taking paxil, which is completely ineffective for psychosis. my mom said that shortly before his death, she had found him standing on the front porch with a butcher knife in his hand. she asked him what he was doing and he said he wasn't doing anything. he came inside and laid the knife on the corner of the kitchen counter. the day he died, she had gotten a phone call from her sister and was trying to get her off the phone without being rude. she heard my dad in the living room making animal noises. this is a detail which haunts me still. by the time she got off the phone, he was gone. he went to a neighbor's house and asked for some bullets because my mom had hidden the bullets which were in their house. he still had the gun. he told the neighbor that he wanted some bullets to kill some cats with. they gave him some. he walked out of their house, opened the passenger door and blew himself away. my mom got off the phone, noticed he was gone and went to look for him. she saw his truck parked at the neighbor's house. by the time she got there, he was already gone. she said he was still warm when she got there. the neighbor who gave him the bullets came out and asked if he should call 911. my mom stayed with my dad.when the police got there, they actually performed a gun powder residue test on her hands. that was the end of my father, the beginning of five years of living in hell for me. maybe more later. this is very hard to talk about. i need to try to calm myself down.

This is The Way Violence Sometimes Ends

i'm not feeling much like writing today, but here i am anyway. we had dinner with an old friend from out of town last night. that necessitated a brief cleanup, which must have really zapped my energy level because i feel really tired today. i was supposed to go to the grocery store at lunch to get some more kitty food for the boys, but i didn't. i'll end up buying it at a convenience store again, like i did this morning, and paying twice as much for it.i've been watching the trial of a woman, about my age, who murdered her husband with a hatchet. well, she murdered him with the hatchet and then stabbed him a number of times and then beat him. she says she wished to make certain he was dead. she alleges to have been physically abused in the relationship for decades. the state is arguing against that last allegation, presumably because there were no hospital records or police reports to verify the abuse. she has two sons, both of them in their early twenties. one of them took the stand to bolster the abuse accusation, the other denied there was any abuse.i'm inclined to believe she was abused, but primarily because i find it hard to accept that some school teacher who's never been violent in her life would resort to the level of overkill unless she had been abused by the man. the really interesting part of the trial for me was when she testified in her own defense. that's usually a very, very bad idea. unfortunately for her, i think it was a bad idea in her case, too.of course, i have no way of knowing how the jury received her testimony. she became very passive aggressive with the female prosecutor who cross-examined her. she kept asking the attorney to repeat the question when they seemed to pin her down on some lies that she told, for instance. the defendant seemed to be a person who rattled people's cages without regard to the consequences. some of the things she said to her husband would have been guaranteed to enrage him. she questioned his masculinity by accusing him of "playing house" with another couple. there was never any real explanation of the situation, but regardless of what was going on, it's usually unwise to say those sorts of things to someone who is abusive.i noticed the same thing in my own mother. i'd be doing my best to keep things peaceful between my parents and she would say something that i immediately knew was going to result in violence. i used to get exasperated with her for not recognizing the sorts of things that triggered him. the other thing i noted in the trial was the peculiar relationship between her and her sons. it was clear to me that everyone had been forced to take sides and mom was cherishing the victim role. it seemed like her sons had been parenting her by attempting to protect her from their father. one son had been trying to resolve her legal problems (the murder) for her, but that clearly wasn't going to be too successful. mom kept saying that she just wished she could die. the striking thing wasn't that she said it--that makes perfect sense to me. it was that there was a subtle undertone in the statement that communicated some serious anger. here's the quote of the day:"Anybody can become angry, that is easy; but to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way, that is not within everybody's power, that is not easy."~Aristotleamerica held hostage day 1796bushism of the day:"We must all hear the universal call to like your neighbor just like you like to be liked yourself."website of the day: Boycott China for Tibethttp://www.buyhard.fsnet.co.uk/non_chinese_products.htm

Where I'm Supposed To Be

this weekend when my husband and i were driving to dinner, i remembered something i just read in a workaholics anonymous book. it said that we should operate on the assumption that we are exactly where god wishes us to be. all of the time. no matter where we are. it was absolutely amazing. i felt so liberated...at that moment i didn't need to struggle anymore. i generally operate under the assumption that, since i was spared the predictable aftereffects of my childhood, i need to do something to pay the universe back. it's like i feel that i need to pay back god for his/her investment. i generally end up feeling frustrated and a little frantic because i have no clue what it is i'm supposed to be doing here. at this moment, i can let that go. i can relax into the present and be grateful for whatever appears in the eternal now.

here's the quote of the day:"We must not, in trying to think about how we can make a big difference, ignore the small daily differences we can make which, over time, add up to big differences that we often cannot foresee."~Marian Wright Edelman

america held hostage day 1795
bushism of the day:
"I mean, there needs to be a wholesale effort against racial profiling, which is illiterate children."

Broken Or Not

i tend to see myself as profoundly broken, but no one else does. i've focused a great deal of time and energy to repairing myself. since i had so little experience with normalcy, i've had to observe others and then try to emulate them. i was much more consumed with this when i was a young. i'd reallly like to get to the point that no one, not even i, can tell that i wasn't raised in a healthy family. my therapist points out to me on a regular basis that my goal is unattainable.i know she's right about that. i guess it's gotten to be such a habit that it's hard to stop myself. at one of my recent sessions, i talked about my husband's bad habit of slamming doors and throwing things on the floor when he's in a bad mood. it's not directed at me or anyone else; it's just a thing he does. unfortunately, it's very triggering. i have an extremely hard time lowering my anxiety level; sometimes it causes flashbacks. my therapist asked me if my husband knows how it affects me. i've never said anything to him about it because it's one of those things i think i should get over. i have a lot of issues around sexuality. for a long time, i think i believed my uncle when he used to say that his behavior was my fault. i had a really hard time allowing myself to be vulnerable with men. if i was having a sexual relationship with some guy, i was very competitive intellectually. for me, the power dynamic of sexuality has always been abundantly clear. i've already spoken about a couple of my relationships. here's more. after i stopped seeing the guy i got pregnant with, i went back to college in a different city. i was taking a class in eastern religion and somehow got involved with the professor. by involved, i do not mean having a sexual relationship. i was so paranoid about getting pregnant that i was extremely reluctant to be sexual with anyone. after a couple of classes, he called me up and asked me to dinner.that really flipped me out. i don't know why, really. he had a phd from harvard and had lived in france for a while. i think it made me a little awe-struck, which isn't necessarily the basis for a good relationship. in my case that was particularly true. nonetheless, he was pursuing a long-term (as in marriage) relationship. i didn't think i wanted to do that, but what could i do? i told him i wasn't sure i was going to be around the following year because i was thinking of transferring. so we saw each other for the winter semester and i went home for the christmas break. another important relationship was also developing with a guy who was a year younger than i. he went to the same high school i did, though i didn't meet him until he was in college in a town not too far away. i think i was quite smitten with him, but he was so young. i mean, i've pretty much been 40 since i was 5 years old. he seemed very immature to me and i wasn't crazy about that.oops. someone just brought in some additional work. i guess the story will wait until tomorrow. here's the quote of the day:"In the middle of every difficulty lies opportunity."~Albert Einsteinamerica held hostage day 1792bushism of the day:"You teach a child to read, and he or her will be able to pass a literacy test."

Facing The Hard Truths

after a point, my own history just ceases to interest me. i mean, it's all so huge and unmanageable that it's hard to keep the panoramic view in sight. although a closer inspection of any single event or time period can be overwhelmingly painful and the residual effects of such an examination can be difficult to shake. once i enter into the memory, flashbacks are inevitable. they leave me breathless with fear and it can take hours to calm myself back down. the other danger is that, at some point in many of my memories, i can fall into that great black void inside where the pain seems unbearable.it's not easy to live with the certain knowledge that i was never of much value to either of my parents. my father, psychotically narcissitic and sadistic, was never much interested in me. he used me for bolster his own ego and fostered in me a deadly drive to both achieve and die. my intellect and drive for achievement was, in his mind, just a reflection of his own intelligence passed on to me and further evidence of his houdini-like ability to mold me into the perfect child. of course, the molding is never really done and so it also gave him a long term project. even when i was 40, there was plenty of molding left to do. he also enjoyed hurting me. what a difficult thing to say. what a difficult thing to face. when i was a little girl, he was never happier with me than when he was telling me some sad story about himself and making me cry. i was a compassionate child, but i did not have a compassionate father. he liked to engage in all-day (or longer) torture sessions, whether that torture was physical or psychological or both. he must have found my pain and terror very gratifying. no one is easier to hurt than a little child, especially one's own little child. my mother was so focused on my father that there really wasn't much left over for me. she was doing her best to survive. i understood at a young age that there was a good possibility my mom wouldn't live long. i was committed to helping her survive. i did my best to distract or defuse rage when i saw it rising in him. i wasn't always successful. i've felt a lot of guilt over my inability to protect her.my therapist likes to remind me that i was the one who was supposed to be protected. i understand that. however, i knew that if something happened to my mom, the chances of my survival dropped precipitously.as usual, this line of thought is getting to be unbearably painful. enough for today. here's the quote of the day:"We can discover this meaning in life in three different ways: (1) by doing a deed; (2) by experiencing a value; and (3) by suffering."~Victor Franklamerica held hostage day 1790bushism of the day:"I am mindful not only of preserving executive powers for myself, but for predecessors as well."website of the day; Enneagram Institutehttp://www.enneagraminstitute.com/

What Am I Afraid Of?

thanksgiving was relatively painless this year. i gave up cooking after my dad died, when i decided that i wasn't going to be doing anything any more that didn't entail some fun for me. cooking has ceased to be fun for the time being.i'm actually having a christmas tree this year. the past several years i've been too tired and/or too depressed to take on the job. i have the ornaments out and the tree up so i'm well on my way. i just hope i can stave off depression until i finish it.appropos the list of questions i posted earlier, i think i'll start with what frightens me. such an easy question to answer. what frightens me is the prospect of somehow reliving my past. i'm afraid of being alone and terrified with no hope of things improving. the irony is that i'm always alone. i've always been alone and i probably always will be. it's a choice i make to some extent. some part of it is my extreme introversion. if survival depends on creating a safe haven in your own mind, i think being introverted becomes a survival skill. i think there's some scientific indication that introversion may be an aspect of personality one comes equipped with at birth. when i was younger, i thought i really wanted to develop a network of friends. by younger, i mean around college age. i could have that now if i wished. i just don't care anymore. i have relationships with others that center around one or two interests that we share. however, i have many, many interests and i haven't found anyone yet who shares more than a couple. (notable exception here is my husband.) that's fine with me.as for emotional support, no one--not even me--knows the full story of my life. i've related a lot of it here, but there are still things i'm unwilling to write about even in my only anonymity. the people who know bits and pieces of it have absolutely no comparable personal experiences. what i feel is a mystery to them. my world view was shaped under dire circumstances and is not so easy to understand, even when people really try.that is true existential aloneness. the type i'm still afraid of. the type i live in every day. what a conundrum. i'm afraid of the very life i'm living. it's bearable because i'm not in any ongoing physical danger and because i'm not constantly being bombaarded by traumatic events. sometimes i think i wish that i could be more connected. but then i think better of it.here's the quote of the day:"I write from solitude and I speak from solitude...However I did not seek solitude. I found it. And from my solitude I think, work, and live - and I believe that I write and speak with almost infinite composure and resignation."~ Camilo Jose Celaamerica held hostage day 1789bushism of the day:"We must all hear the universal call to like your neighbor just like you like to be liked yourself."website of the day: Edgehttp://www.edge.org/

Great Questions

i read this just a moment ago and i didn't want to lose it. important questions. Excerpted from LIVING YOUR BEST LIFE, by Laura Berman Fortgang.
"The way to your life blueprint requires asking deeper, more useful questions in order to get better answers and more effective action. The questions that will help you do that are access questions, which I like to call Wisdom Access Questions. These questions access your innate wisdom to create positive, forward motion.
What do you want?
What are you afraid of?
What is this costing you?
What are you attached to?
What is the dream?
What is the essence of the dream?
What is beyond this problem?
What is ahead?
What are you building toward?
What has to happen for you to feel successful?
What gift are you not being responsible for?
What are your healthy sources of energy?
What's stopping you?
What's in your way?
What would make the biggest difference?
What do you like to do?
What can you do to make you happy right now?
What do you hope to accomplish by having that conversation?
What do you hope to accomplish by doing that?
What's the first step?
What would it be like to experience the excitement and the fear at the same time?
What's important about that?
What would it take for you to treat yourself like your best client/friend?
What benefit/payoff is there in the present situation?
What do you expect to have happen?
What's the ideal?
What's the ideal outcome?
What would it look like?
What's the truth?
What's the right action?
What are you going to do?
What's working for you?
What would you do differently?
What decision would you make from a position of strength?
What other choices do you have?
What do you really, really want?
What if there were no limits?
What haven't I asked that I should ask?
What needs to be said that has not been said?
What are you not saying?
What else do you have to say about that?
What is left to do to have this be complete?
What do you have invested in continuing to do it this way?
What is that?
What comes first?
What consequences are you avoiding?
What is the value you received from this meeting/conversation?
What is motivating you?
What has you hooked?
What is missing here?
What does that remind you of?
What do you suggest?
What is underneath that?
What is this person contributing to the quality of your life?
What is it that you are denying yourself right now?
What do you need to put in place to accomplish this?
What is the simplest solution here?
What would help you know I support this/you completely?
What happened?
What are you avoiding?
What is the worst that could happen?
What are you committed to?
What is your vision for yourself and the people around you?
What don't you want?
What if you knew?
What's your heart telling you?
What are you willing to give up?
What might have you done differently?
What are you not facing?
What does this feeling remind you of?
What would you do differently if you tapped into your own wisdom?
What does your soul say?
more later.

Having Come Full Circle

"At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us."~Albert Schweitzer

After my father's marriage was over, he started taking medication. This may have been a result of the arrest for child kidnapping (and whatever else). He did go through a period when we all had to regularly go to the emergency room with him because he thought he was having a heart attack. I'm talking twice a weekend, every weekend, at least. Sometimes more. I

t's possible that the Court made the suggestion that he seek psychiatric help. Otherwise, I can't imagine him even acknowledging he had a problem. The medication seemed to diminish his proclivity for violence, but we were engaged in a cold war. I had to spend time in the same room with my father, but I wasn't interested in engaging in any kind of dialog with him.

He had regularly scheduled visitation with his daughter. Of course, I was fearful that all of this contact might result in the return of his wife to my life. Fortunately, that didn't happen. Many years later, I learned that he'd given his daughter up for adoption to whatever man his ex-wife married. They moved toMinnesota, I think.

Backing up a bit, I started dating when i was a junior in high school. That year i went to various school dances, but never had a relationship of any sort with my dates. They were all in accelerated classes and, even though I might have found their minds interesting, I wasn't interested at all in their hearts or bodies. I didn't have any particular interest in relationships until around Christmas of my junior year when I just woke up one day and decided I was in love with someone who participated in the literary magazine. He was not interested. I pined away for him for the rest of the year.

Michael and I did get together at Christmas of my senior year and started dating as regularly as possible. He was attending college in another city about 5 hours away. The problem with Michael was that he was a lot more interested in my body than my mind. However, he was making a valiant stab at improving my mind, too, by sending me books to read. I was not charmed by that behavior. I knew that I was his intellectual equal, whether he knew it or not. also, I believe(d) that sort of relationship was inherently unequal. I'd had a pretty good look at unequal relationships in which one party believed themselves to be brighter than the other half and I had absolutely no intention of having that kind of relationship with Michael or anyone else.

Since he was away at school, I started hanging out with some guys who were also in my literary magazine meetings. I had something of a romantic relationship with one of them, but I think my motivation was simply to see if I could make someone fall in love with me. Thus began the practice of having two boyfriends, one in the city where I lived and one who lived somewhere else. It wasn't until just recently that I came to see the parallels to my father's relationships.

There were some profound differences, though. I only slept with one person at a time, usually the one who lived out of town. I didn't play them against each other and I was very open about the fact that I had a "serious" boyfriend with the person I was having a non-sexual relationship with. There was no violence in my relationships.

At the end of my senior year, I broke up with Michael. I could see that, the way things were going, we'd be having sex by the end of the summer. I was very aware of the possible ramifications from my sexual abuse. I was afraid that if we had sex, I would hate him. In the meantime, my other boyfriend had found greener pastures. I worked and prepared to leave for college in the fall.

I think I've now come full circle from where I started this history. I may continue to tell the tale a bit more, because my childhood never ends. It's a living part of my life even now and I suppose it would be silly for me to assume it would ever be otherwise. There are darker stories I haven't told yet; I have to find additional courage to speak those truths. That's for another day, though.

Since it's thanksgiving tomorrow, here are some of the things I'm grateful for today. I'm grateful for sunshine (it stopped raining finally yesterday). I'm grateful for all of the people who have loved me or been kind to me. I'm grateful for all of the opportunities I've had to love other people. I'm grateful for hitting the genetic jackpot and surviving my hellhole childhood. I'm grateful for being able to hang on to compassion. Probably enough for today.

america held hostage day 1784

bushism of the day:
"Our nation must come together to unite."

website of the day; Disaster News Network
http://www.disasternews.net/index3.php

The End Of The Marriage

"Lying is done with words and also with silence."~Adrienne Rich

After the ninth grade, I transferred to another school. My dad insisted that I do it because, he said, it was a better school. I thought it was because he wanted to get me away from my friend. As much as I hate to admit it, he was right, it was a better school.

I made a couple of new friends after I'd been going there for a couple of months. We weren't particularly like one another, but then none of my friends had ever been very much like me. My home life was just the same as always. Dad still married to the girl, mom still sleeping with me. No furniture. By that time, I had devoted myself to school work because it meant I could phase out and forget how it felt to be living my life. I didn't want to be around my father or his wife. The smell of baby shit depressed the fuck out of me. Furthermore, if my father could see me, there was a good possibility he'd start harassing me. Occasionally, he'd make me hang out with him. I always wondered why. I assumed he was aware of how much I hated him. I don't know why I thought that; I did my dead level best to keep my feelings to myself. To this day, when i'm angry I frequently adopt a distant, preoccupied look. I was never aware of it until my therapist mentioned it.

By the time I was a junior, I had found a true friend. She was my english teacher. I met her because I wanted to be in the accelerated english program. I went to speak with her and she encouraged me to give it a try. I was also submitting poetry to the high school literary magazine she sponsored.

She came to give me safe haven when I couldn't stand my life anymore. She kept me alive when I was suicidal. She gave me hope. She loved me. The world was a little less lonely.

Somewhere before christmas of my senior year, my father's wife once again decided she'd had enough. She left and I believe she took her daughter with her. Somehow my father got her in his clutches and absconded with her. He finally had to acknowledge she was his child. Even though I already knew that, his admission just further enraged me.

My dad left the state with the child and went to see his mom. I don't recall how long he stayed there, but I'm sure it wasn't long enough, as far as I was concerned. I actually hoped never to see him again. Wrong again. He decided the coast was clear, apparently, and returned with his mother and child in tow to a small town not far away from where we lived. My mother started visiting him (brilliant, right?), but I refused.

At some point in that period of time, my father's wife, her brother and sister and maybe a couple of other people broke into our house in the middle of the night. They were fortunate that I was unable to get to the gun I knew was in the house. I was also fortunate because I might well have killed someone. We left the house and returned another day to find that all of my stuff had been taken. Since there wasn't much else in the house, they just decided to steal things from me.

I've always read a lot and kept those books which were meaningful to me for one reason or another. They took my books. Trust me, they did not take them to read them. No one in her family was bright enough to read them. My mom and I moved into a garage apartment.

Also about that time, my dad's wife and sister in law would show up at my school in the afternoons. I lived outside the area the school bus served, so I would wait for my mom till she got off of work. Walking out to my car, they would surround me and threaten me.

All of that ended when they figured out where my dad was. He was arrested and put in jail. My mother and i were required (by my father) to show up for his court date. I'm not sure what good that was supposed to do, but I didn't have any control over the situation, as usual. once again, I was humiliated by the circumstances in which I lived.

america held hostage day 1783

bushism of the day:
"There's an old saying in Tennessee -- I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee...that says, fool me once, shame on...shame on you. Fool me...you can't get fooled again."
website of the day:
The deCode Projecthttp://sunsite3.berkeley.edu/biotech/iceland/

Isolation

"You can have power over people as long as you don't take everything away from them. But when you've robbed a man of everything, he's no longer in your power."~Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn

It's still raining. It's been raining off and on all weekend. I'm talking downpours. Right now there's a break in the rain, but the skies are still gray and there's more rain to come.

So when I was 13 I met two friends. I actually had a couple of other friends, but only two with whom I was very close and knew about my home life (to some extent). I later learned that my friend Gale had been sexually abused by her father for years and years. She was also a Jehovah's Witness, which didn't matter to me, but became a means to an end for my father.

Gale had a kind and gentle heart. She was also hilarious and far more outgoing than I. of course, even then I brought new meaning to the word "introverted." I can't tell you how it cheered me up that she thought I was worthy of being her friend. Remember that I had had no friends for quite some time. At that point, I was just pleased that people would allow me to sit in the same room with them. I think of Gale frequently even now, hoping she's found a safe and loving place to be.

I was also hanging out with another girl, Kathryn, who had a very bad reputation. It was 1967 and she was a hippie. I smile now to think about it. She was pretty comfortable with broadcasting around the school that she had a lover, a 13-year old boy named Clifford. Clifford was kind of a mess. In retrospect, he was quite clearly a neglected child and, perhaps abused in other ways, too. Given the fact that she was sexually active so early, I'd be willing to bet anything that she was sexually abused, too.

One of my favorite things about her, aside from her intelligence and artistic abilities, was that she was rebellious. I had worked up a serious distaste for virtually every adult I met. I just wasn't as vocal about it as Kathryn. With her,Ii could allow that part of myself to come out and play.

I remember once in algebra class, my teacher told me that I should pick my friends more carefully because it was on the basis of my friends that people judged me. Once again, this information was imparted in front of everyone in the class. Thanks, dickhead. He seemed to believe I could just pick and choose who I hung out with. The "nice" kids didn't want to have anything to do with me. What the hell was I supposed to do, just continue to be completely alone so that the idiotic adults around me would think better of me? I was contemptuous.

The problem with Gale began in the summer of the seventh grade. My father had done something that enraged me--I no longer know what it was. I wrote a letter to Gale in which I told her I thought he was insane. Before I had a chance to send it, he managed to read the letter. He was enraged with me, of course, because I had hit upon the truth and he knew it. He forbade me to have any further contact. Once again, I was totally isolated. Worse yet, he decided not to speak to me for the rest of the summer. You would think that would have been a good thing, but when my dad wasn't talking to you, there was no telling when things might escalate into a situation where I could be physically hurt. I had already decided that I'd had about enough of the hitting and that the next time he hit me would be the last. I have no idea what I thought I would do. I had considered running away from home, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that wasn't a workable plan. I had nowhere to go, no money, no friends. Leaving was out of the question. Luckily, the need never arose because he never hit me again.

Nonetheless, it was like living in a prison. My father was not a guy who could let things go. I wasn't in much of a mood to apologize and it wouldn't have done me any good anyway. He wanted me to believe that the reason he didn't want me to see Gale was because he was afraid I would become a Jehovah's Witness. I recognized that for exactly what it was. A lie. The latest self-serving lie in a long line of them. I just learned how to be a little sneakier. I appeared to comply, but I continued to see my friend. That incident marked a further deterioration in my relationship with him.

america held hostage day 1782

bushism of the day:

"There's only one person who hugs the mothers and the widows, the wives and the kids upon the death of their loved one. Others hug but having committed the troops, I've got an additional responsibility to hug and that's me and I know what it's like."

website of the day:ikosmos: Portal for Cultural Creativityhttp://www.ikosmos.com/

What Do You Mean, Depressed?

"The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven's lieutenants."~William Shakespeare

I guess it's worth mentioning here that all this old stuff I'm dredging up is making me depressed as hell. My therapist suggested that it might be why I've been so down lately. Oddly enough, I hadn't considered that.

I had also not considered that one of the (many) sources of my depression is my recognition that no one ever considered my needs important. Sometimes I felt like Athena, sprung from my father's forehead. He thought me into existence. When i was younger, I had a lot of trouble determining what I might be other than what my parents wished me to be. of course, I've figured it out since then.

Nonetheless, I have to acknowledge that neither of my parents--for different reasons, probably--was capable of seeing me as a small human. If they told me I was supposed to sit somewhere, they expected to find me there when they came back, irrespective of how long they stayed away. I was like a doll for them. They were actually the only important people, only their needs and desires were worth noting. Do I find that depressing? Well, I guess so. The problem is that one can only have one's own life. Had i had a different, better life before I lived with my family, I'm certain I would have recognized the problem for what it was.

I have some friends who had good childhoods, but I can't really compare. I have no real idea what it is to have a sane family. I have no idea what it must be like to have a mother and father who acknowledge your humanity on a daily basis. I have no clue as to what it would be like to have my parents do something for me when they couldn't see how it would directly benefit them.

That's about enough for today.

american held hostage day 1771

bushism of the day:
"There's only one person who hugs the mothers and the widows, the wives and the kids upon the death of their loved one. Others hug but having committed the troops, I've got an additional responsibility to hug and that's me and I know what it's like."

The Baby Comes and My Dad Finds Someone Else He Likes More Than Me

"It is a sin to believe evil of others, but it is seldom a mistake."~ H.L. Mencken

Before I begin my continuing litany of what went wrong with my life, just an update on what's going wrong now. My hubby is somewhat bipolar, I think, and he's in the midst of a slight upswing into the manic mode. Unfortunately, this is not the type of mania that leads to euphoria. He's been in a bad mood for at least a couple of days now. I'm much better about dealing with it than ever before. I pretty much leave him alone to work out his own mood disorder. I try not to get anxious. Unfortunately, he has this nasty habit of slamming doors when he's irritable. Every time he does it, I can feel a tremor run through my nervous system. I consider it a triumph that I'm able to recognize what's going on and detach from it a little. I guess this is really just desserts after my little tirade about triggers yesterday. Yes, boys and girls, I do have triggers. I have many. I generally just manage to carry on, nonetheless. As i am doing now. It's just a little blip on the radar screen of unpleasantness. It is unpleasant, though, and maybe a little scary.

It's been raining here for two days now. The sun has been out for about half an hour now and I'm so thrilled to see it. Relentlessly gray skies wear me down emotionally. It's supposed to be clear for a couple of days, so maybe I can regain my emotional equilibrium.

Okay, so where was I in the saga of trauma? Oh yeah, the baby. When i was around 13, I noticed what appeared to be a growing pregnancy in my father's wife (yes, that would be the 15 year old). There was, of course, general denial, although I don't think I ever actually mentioned it to anyone. You know, what would have been the point? After the baby was born and returned to my house, my dad told me it was someone else's kid. Yes, this pisses me off even today. I endured. what else can I say? I was enraged and contemptuous of him. Somewhere in there, before the whole baby thing, my father decided he'd found someone else he liked more than me.

We went to visit his family in Hillbilly USA because, I guess, he wanted to demonstrate to his mother and siblings what a cool thing he was doing. He took the wife with us, along with my mom. If you'd buried me in a hill of fire ants, you could not have caused me any more torture than sitting in a fucking car with all of them for a good 7 hours (one way). While we were visiting the folks, my father dropped in on his oldest sister at her house. She had several kids, including a girl who was my age. Se seemed to hit it off. Of course, it's easy to hit it off when you're looking for any distraction available so you don't have to think about what a huge fucking mess your life is through no fault of your own.

My dad's great idea was to bring her back with us for a visit. I don't know how long the visit was supposed to last, but in retrospect, it seems like several months. Well, guess what? Once she got there, my dad used every opportunity to point out how she was better than I was. She dressed better. She had less acne. She was smarter. Goddamn it. Just in case I wasn't getting the message already that he thought I was just a huge piece of shit, here was further evidence.

Have i mentioned how much I hated him? I worked up a pretty fair hatred of my cousin, too. By the time she left, I never wanted to see her again and, in fact, I never have. I understand that she's been living with another cousin of ours for about the past 15 years or so. Just to be clear, the cousin is a male and yes, they're having a sexual relationship. No children, luckily. It's the scandal of the family. That would make me laugh if it weren't so grim. Let's see now. We have a father (my grandfather) who definitely sexually abused at least one of his daughters, but I'm guessing all of them. He also allegedly sexually abused his sons. It's my own personal guess that his wife (my grandmother) also sexually abused the boys.

I have at least one uncle who sexually abused at least three of his nieces. he may or may not have raped someone. He definitely sexually abused his own daughter. I have a father who's also a pedophile and a sadist. My father said that he once caught his mother in bed with some guy who wasn't his dad. I don't know about that...it's definitely possible, but with my dad you could just never be sure whether he imagined it. He also told me he'd interrupted a conversation between my grandmother and one of my aunts about murdering my grandfather. My personal take on this is, wouldn't you? So given all of this, they all consider it surprising and scandalous that my two cousins are cohabitating? I also have a cousin who's gay. He's been officially excommunicated from the family. He might actually be one of the lucky ones. There are more fun stories from my father's family, but no time now to delve into them.

This seems like about enough for today.

Okay, I'm A Bitch

I can't believe how mean spirited I was being about people suffering from ptsd. It must be the root canal talking....

Could You Possibly Just Buck Up?

"I seldom think of my limitations, and they never make me sad. Perhaps there is just a touch of yearning at times; but it is vague, like a breeze among flowers."~Helen Keller

I had part 2 of the root canal today, so I'm feeling a little worn out already and it's only mid-afternoon.

I've been reading some more messages from folks in my complex post traumatic stress disorder group. I'm once again struck by how many of them have found themselves completely unable to function normally. (Whatever "normal" means.) A few of them have been homeless off and on, most are unable to hold a regular job. It sort of takes my breath away. I mentioned this to my therapist a couple of weeks ago and she was also surprised at the number of people who've given up.

Even though I can appreciate the extreme difficulty of finding and keeping a job, there is defintely some part of me that thinks people should just pull themselves together and try hard to function. They speak of being triggered on a regular basis. Hell, life itself is triggering. I mean, sometimes the way light fills a room can trigger flashbacks or dissociation for me. People being angry is triggering. People startling me is triggering. Anyting and everything carries some terrible memory; nothing is untouched.

Nonetheless, I've been employed for most of my adult life. Furthermore, I've been employed in highly demanding jobs. I never thought there was an option. I need to eat and I'd prefer not to live under a bridge somewhere. I'm incredibly independent and would never be able to tolerate depending on someone else's charity. (Several of the people are staying with friends while they await word on their disability status.)

I know this sounds like I'm denigrating people who are in more difficult places in their lives. I guess maybe I am, as much as I hate to admit it. I'm a very compassionate person and I'm a little surprised at my reaction. I know it's exhausting to continually push yourself forward when all you want to do is lie down somewhere and sleep for about a decade. If you decide to give up, though, there's no hope you'll ever be able to care for yourself. Caring for one's self is critical. If you depend on others, you invite continued abuse (of many different types).

The members of the group also tend to discount what "normal" people say because they believe that no one understands ptsd unless they've lived through it. Well, okay. I suppose it's true that most people don't know what it feels like to have images of incredible violence arise in their heads because they just picked up a stick from their front yard. Do I need for them to understand? It would probably be nice, but it's certainly not mandatory for adequate treatment. When their therapists tell them to buck up, they get really pissed off about it. When their psychiatrists prescribe anti-depressants/anti-anxiety/anti-whatever, it pisses them off that the doctor is only "masking" the underlying pain. Hey, take what you can get. If masking the pain helps you to get out of bed and go to work, then use it.

I know i've been blessed with an extremely hardy constitution and an iron will. They've propelled me through life and helped me to live a normal life even though deep inside I'm in great pain. My compadres talk about wanting to be strong and independent...but only if they can be on ssi. I wish them luck, but i don't think that's how it works. Instead of being dependent on family and friends, they're dependent on THE STATE. That might be even worse.

Well I'm clearly not feeling very charitable today and I'm in no mood to go traipsing through old memories.

america held hostage day 1659

bushism of the day:"The law I sign today directs new funds and new focus to the task of collecting vital intelligence on terrorist threats and on weapons of mass production."

website of the day: CTheory.nethttp://www.ctheory.net

Root Canal and Distrust

Trust only movement. Life happens at the level of events, not of words. Trust movement."~Alfred Adler

I had a root canal on Thursday afternoon and I'm just now feeling better. I haven't been able to open my mouth more than about half an inch all weekend...makes it a little difficult to eat. I have part two tomorrow at 11:00, so I may be missing a couple of days this week, too.

When I saw my therapist on Friday, we spent most of the session talking about my early sexual abuse. Sexual abuse in my life came in many forms, but we were specifically addressing that perpetrated by my uncle. I noticed sometime last week (maybe Wednesday) that whenever there were moments that my mind wasn't actively engaged, a nasty little internal voice would jump right in with, "I hate myself" "I'm a terrible person." You get the drift. when I noticed it happening, I tried to counter it with more loving messages. They were completely ineffective. My brain just completely disregarded those thoughts in favor of the destructive ones. I also noticed at some point that I seemed to be disengaged from my body. The feeling was somewhat different from my usual dissociative state. It's difficult to really describe the difference.

Once I realized I was slipping into a sort of hypnotic state, I was able to shake it off for the most part. had to force myself to really focus on the physical surroundings, in addition to focusing on re-establishing the mind/body connection. I've never noticed any similar states of mind.

My therapist suggested that it sounded like it might be related to my sexual abuse. Any mention of traumatic episodes guarantees that I'll have some flashbacks. We spoke about those flashbacks as they arose. It's been a very long time since I've discussed those memories with anyone. Just talking about it makes me feel like I'm going to implode.

My stepson and his wife were in town briefly on Sunday. They came by to have lunch, but I was doing grocery shopping for the week. I only got to see them for about ten minutes. Just as well, really. I'm very ambivalent about that relationship at the moment, but I need to be able to conceal my distrust and anger with my daughter-in-law. She told my step-son that she'd divorce him If he doesn't address his alcohol problem. My husband and I never knew about him abusing alcohol, but both of us support her decision. Since that time, she's taken a couple of trips out of town. The critical information here is that, before she married my stepson, she was married to someone else. My stepson and she began dating while she was still married. Her behavior now is very similar to her behavior then. If she doesn't wish to be married to my stepson, I can understand and accept that. I'm just having some difficulty trusting her at the moment. Of course, since this is completely between her and my stepson, all I can do is pray for them both. I don't wish to betray my feelings to either of them. Okay, I'm actually boring myself at this point. must be time to go.

america held hostage day 1658

bushism of the day:"The administration I'll bring is a group of men and women who are focused on what's best for America, honest men and women, decent men and women, women who will see service to our country as a great privilege and who will not stain the house."

website of the day:http://thecropcirclewebsite.50megs.com/

You Just Can't Make This Shit Up

"If you're going through hell, keep going."~Winston Churchill

Well I might as well just get on with this. I'm already actively depressed, so what the hell. Actively depressed means I recognize that I'm feeling sad and maybe worthless. I'm depressed a lot and don't even recognize it.) I actually watched the news this morning for the first time since the Bush debacle. Of course, I was getting dressed for work etc., so they may have had something about him, but I missed it. i don't wish to look at him and I certainly do not wish to hear him. I know this guy really well. He's just like hundreds of other good old boys I've met before. A lot of those good old boys were just a rich as W, but without the long record of abject failure that propels someone into politics. Remember that old axiom, "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach?" It actually really applies to politics.

Now the hard stuff. I'm not sure exactly where in time these events occurred. I know that they were sometime between the ages of 13 and 15. As I said before, time is quite mutable when you're living in hell. i may have neglected to say that my father's wife had been getting beaten up for a couple of years on a fairly regular basis. if there was an up side to this whole situation, it was that my dad no longer beat up my mom. ( also recognize that 've neglected to talk about the actual wedding between my dad and his 13 year old girlfriend. that will take some working up to, but eventually I hope to steel myself enough to write about it.)

At some point, I guess she got tired of it or maybe she thought he might kill her (that would have been a reasonable fear). She went back to her mother's house and everything was in chaos. My father knew it was wrong to hit women. In addition to being actively psychotic, he just didn't give a shit.

I remember riding in his truck with him around this time and he was urging me to lie on his behalf. I clearly remember him saying that we needed to "stick together." I think he may have even cried. He did that a lot when he was afraid, but I never saw him cry for anyone other than himself. I'd already determined that he was my enemy, so I was not feeling very much like doing anything for him. However, I realized that letting him see how I felt could be dangerous.

After she'd been gone for several days, I was actually starting to cheer up. I thought maybe we could go back to being "normal" again. (That's just sad, isn't it?) But then she came back. My father broke the news to me in the garage. I have no idea what the deal was with his family and garages. Anyway, I just completely fell apart. I started crying hysterically and I couldn't stop. I almost fainted, but my dad caught me before I could injure myself falling on the concrete floor.

Leave it to my father to come up with the perfect antidote to my despair. He asked me if I'd like to go get an ice cream cone. (Let's just pause for a moment and contemplate the sheer lunacy of that suggestion.) This is one of those many fragmented memories and I don't remember how the garage scene ended, but I know it didn't end with ice cream. She stayed and I focused my energies on not killing myself or anyone else.

I was going to talk about the baby, but I just can't manage that today. I'm feeling a strong need to start screaming and breaking things. Of course, I won't. I'm going to need to calm myself down now, so I'll continue this dreary tale tomorrow.

Dreams of Bridges

I rarely remember my dreams, so when I do, I think there must be powerful meaning behind it. Last night I dreamed my husband and I were going over a very high bridge. He was driving. Once we got on the bridge, a dense fog wrapped around us, making it impossible to see anything. I was very afraid. It seemed to me that we were driving in a straight line, but I couldn't be sure. I recall trying to sense with my physical being how far we had come and how far we had left to go. There is no end to this dream. I think I must have been so frightened that I woke up briefly, which would explain why I remember the dream.

I've dreamed of bridges for as long as I can remember. Bridge dreams generally follow the same trajectory. I'm driving up a tall bridge, but when I arrive at the top, I find that the bridge ends and I fall into empty space. One of the dreams I frequently had as a child involved arriving at my home to find that my parents had moved out. They did not leave a note saying where they went or why they left. I would set off on foot to find them and, inevitably, have to cross a tall bridge. The bridge ended at the top and I would begin a freefall.

I can think of several interpretations to my dream last night, but I'm going to meditate upon it for a while. Sometimes things are not as simple as they appear.

Nothing Left Untouched

"Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired, and success achieved."~Helen Keller

When my therapist and I got together on Friday, we talked at length about why I hate birthdays (and Christmas and all other gift-receiving events). It has nothing to do with age.

Whenever I received a gift from my parents, I always tried to seem as grateful as possible. If I hated the gift, I lied. (And I often hated the gift, because my dad always bought gifts that he wanted as a child.) Despite my efforts at expressing my gratitude, my father would say,"You didn't say thank you for your present." Well, of course I had said thanks...I'd practically carved "thank you" on my forehead. But I said thank you again. All day throughout the day, I was reminded that I hadn't said thank you for the gift. Sometimes I was reminded for days on end. Thank you thank you thank you fucking thank you.

When I receive gifts now, I can't figure out what's enough and what's too much. I don't want to express gratitude too effusively; people might not believe I really like the gift. On the other hand, I don't want to seem ungrateful by not thanking enough. I end up getting so confused that I'd rather people just didn't give me anything.

There was usually the mandatory photo of my on my birthday (Christmas, Easter, etc.). That meant that without a doubt I was going to be hit at least several times. Pose me, hit me, trying hard to hold the correct pose. Hit me, pose me. I valiantly tried to stay completely still so I could hang on to the exact pose my dad demanded. He generally didn't like the way I smiled, either. If you wish for someone to smile broadly the obvious answer is to just to hit them. Yhat'll make them smile.

My therapist pointed out to me that there's isn't even a small corner of my life that hasn't been tainted by my past. I never think of my life that way. I think viewing my life in its totality is just too overwhelming. That is what i'm trying to do here. There are many years for which I have no memories or maybe just one or two memories. I'm fine with that. If there are any memories buried because they're too painful to remember, I really don't want to know what they are. I suspect many memories aren't available because it was just more of the same. It's difficult to pinpoint specific incidents of abuse when the abuse occurs daily. I also think perhaps it's related to the fact that I knew there was no escape so I retreated into my head just so I could bear to get up every day and go on.

I think when I left off, I was talking about the fifth grade, but I think I've covered the high points. The entire sixth grade is missing from my memory. I'm certain I had no friends. I'm also certain that I was enraged at virtually every adult in my life for not taking care of me. I tried hard to get good grades and stay under the radar at school.

The summer before the seventh grade, I withdrew. I had no intention of talking to my father's 15 year old wife. I hated her. My solution was to sleep. I must have been sleeping 19 hours a day. I would get up when my mom got home from work. I was required to eat dinner with everyone. I wasn't allowed that respite for long.

My father made me get up and get out of my (and my mom's) bedroom. I hated my father a little more. So i was out of my room, but I never acknowledged her presence in any way. I win again, even though it was a hollow victory.

When I started the 7th grade, I became obsessed with not being like my father. If he liked something, I was guaranteed to hate it. I discounted everything he said to me because I believed he knew absolutely nothing about me.

Alone

Traveling incognito, I seem to belong to this world of middle class worries and conceits. The people around me find me infinitely amusing and sage. They believe they know me. They believe they understand me. It's a testament to my great powers of disguise and assimilation. In fact, I live in another country from those who think they've defined me.

I have seen things others have not and I have lived through my own concentration camp. I know what it means to entertain your captors so they will spare your life. Have no doubt about it; I could have died at any time, either by my father's hand or by any of the people he brought into my life. I know how it feels to be hungry and cold and all alone with no hope in sight. I know how to continue in the midst of despair.

I've watched people's faces as I've revealed bits and pieces of my life and understand that most people don't have the courage or fortitude to hear it all. Sometimes it's too easy to recognize the revulsion they're trying to hide. They find my past disgusting, but like a twelve year old boy at a slasher movie, they just can't seem to look away. They'd like for me to believe in their compassion, but I know it's less a matter of compassion than an opportunity for self congratulation. They're too good to ever allow themselves to walk into the darkness in which I lived for so long. It's a different universe. I'm from the other side. I've studied the manners and customs in this alien land. Unless I choose to reveal it, no one ever guesses that iIm not as simple as I lead them to believe. Therein lies the problem.

I am still, after so long, alone. I've been alone ever since I can remember. It feels so familiar that I rarely even notice it now. No matter how practiced I become at blending in (and I am very, very good at it), I know that I'll always be separate from the people I come into contact with every day. I could have chosen to embrace the darkness, like many of my relatives, but I would be alone even then.

The problem is that, though I'm intimately connected to depravity, I'm unable to accept it as a way of life. I see it for what it is, a predictable end to a troubled life. My cousins haven't such a clear understanding. They engage in adulterous affairs leading to murder on occasion, they abuse substances, they believe violence is the perfect way to express one's unhappiness. It's normal for them, just as being alone is normal for me. None of us have any choice about that. They're unable to free themselves from the past and so am i. At least they have plenty of company; a lot of people live at the end of line. Check out any bar on any given Friday night and you'll find at least one person reveling in going as far down as they can possibly go.

I used to reach out to people, believing that if I just kept searching, I would find my own milieu. As it turns out, there probably isn't one. I'm still standing over here on the far shore, smiling and waving at all of you on the other side of the ocean.

Birthday Roundup

"Where love rules, there is no will to power; and where power predominates, there love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other." ~Carl Jung

Okay. Birthday roundup. My mom and I had lunch yesterday and she gave me two sets of earrings...very pretty. After work, my husband was ready to take me some place special, but I just wasn't in the mood. I decided we could wait to celebrate this weekend. We went to Jason's Deli for dinner, I came home and did a Pilates workout and did some laundry. I guess that's how you know you're getting old...you don't even mind doing laundry on your birthday. Hubby gave me a lapis necklace. We had cake today at work and, since my boss wasn't in, we all had a pretty good time. My boss always either insults people or he starts talking about how none of us are going to have a job soon. He's also been known to launch into subjects he knows will gross everyone out. One of my coworkers once asked for a cheesecake with a praline topping. My boss pointed out ad nauseum that the pecans looked like dead flies. What a funny guy.

I met my husband thirty years ago on my birthday. I'd had friends in from out of town to celebrate and we had a little party. Later on, a male friend of mine from high school came by and we went to an Anne Sexton reading downtown. Sitting in front of me was this guy with a tee shirt on that said "Riot Squad Ballet" on the back. I think at some point he turned around and asked me for a cigarette (back in the days when one could smoke whether it bothered people or not). Of course I had one. I asked about the tee shirt and he told me it was the name of a play he'd written. We may have made some small talk between poems. I had to leave early because I had a 7:45 Hebrew class the next day. As we left, my friend commented, "He really likes you." I had no idea how he could possibly know that.

On a campus of 40,000 students, my hubby and I kept running into each other. I ran into him late one afternoon when I was delivering a paper for my Shakespeare class. I looked really ratty; I'd had an ear infection and was up late working on my paper. Suddenly, there he was. We stopped and chatted and he invited me to a reading on Sunday where he was going to be reading some of his poetry. I didn't really plan to attend, but when Sunday came, I decided to go. After he finished his reading, we went over to the apartment of a couple he knew and then he took me home. The really funny thing was that I wasn't even sure I was attracted to him. He's got very light brown hair and hazel eyes and I was more into men with dark hair and dark eyes. He sort of grew on me, I guess. Thirty years later, he still makes me laugh and he's still the most interesting guy I've ever met. He's had several nonfiction books published and I get to benefit from the research he did while writing them. I get the knowledge without having to do the work, really. Things haven't always been great; when I was younger I could be quite difficult to be in a relationship with. My history of abuse was the source of some problems when I was younger.

I still have a lot of problems with other men...power issues, competitiveness, anger. I've worked through most of that with my husband, though. He's a very special person. my therapist thinks I don't share enough of what's going on in my head, but there's always so much going on in my head that I'm not sure anyone could really tolerate knowing about it. Self-revelation is definitely something I haven't figured out how to do. I honestly don't even think about sharing with anyone. The only reason my therapist knows is because she's my therapist and I know she's supposed to know.

It's started to get a little cooler here and the trees are losing their leaves. as I look out my window at work, I can see my little squirrel friend that I keep track of all winter. He likes to lie on a branch and nap in the late afternoons. Right now he's busy burying nuts, which he won't be able to find when he looks for them. They don't have any way of knowing where they've buried things, I read not too long ago. It's all just dumb luck if they start digging and actually find something.

bushism of the day:"I understand small business growth. I was one."