They finally buried the Holy Father. Thank you, Lord. The relentless reverence with which the whole Papal death has been handled is the smarmiest attempt at political correctness I've seen lately. God forbid that we have a discussion regarding the direction the Church has taken in John Paul II's stewardship. Once again, it's emotion over intellect. I understand not wanting to offend. I understand not wanting to kick the Holy Father while he's waiting to be buried. I don't think any of that is necessary. Let's just have a dialog about important issues facing the Church and how we might best approach them, with God's help.
The Holy Father's death was politicized here by people who want to use his strongly held moral and ethical positions to pat themselves on the back. Maybe get a vote or two from people who are impressed with phrases such as "culture of life." This from people who have absolutely no qualms whatsoever about the death penalty. We support the culture of life when it suits us, thank you very much. We're politicians. Worse yet, we're Republican politicians.
The truly wonderful thing about the relentless television coverage of the Holy Father's death and funeral is that it reminds us that these rituals have been with us for centuries now. For me, one of the best things about the Church is that it is like joining hands with our ancestors. It's an opportunity for all of us to pause for a little while and think about the "ground of all being."
I'll be glad when we can get this all settled, get the new guy in and get on with things. I don't mean to be disrespectful...I'm just weary of all of the people who want to cash in on John Paul II's death.
Here's the quote of the day:
"...when we finally know we are dying, and all other sentient beings are dying with us, we start to have a burning, almost heartbreaking sense of the fragility and preciousness of each moment and each being, and from this can grow a deep, clear, limitless compassion for all beings." ~ Sogyal Rinpoche
America held hostage day 1913
Bushism of the day:
"If I'm the president, we're going to have emergency-room care, we're going to have gag orders."
Website of the day: Origami Plans and Instructions
http://www.freepapertoys.com/pt-origami.html
Bonus Website of the day: Vatican: The Holy See
http://www.vatican.va/
08 April 2005
06 April 2005
Looking Back Again
My grandfather was conveniently missing for some period of time, but resurfaced just long enough to propagate another 3 or 4 kids. I think my dad had 11 kids in his family. But guess what my grandfather did then! He left! Good God, why would you possibly go back to having sex with this guy? Apparently my grandmother was overly optimistic.
Some time in there, though, my grandfather was busy sexually abusing his kids. I'm pretty sure he did something sexual to my father. I know for a fact that he had a sexual relationship with at least one of his daughters. My grandmother held that against her. Needless to say, her mental health was badly compromised. She made several visits to a psychiatric hospital when she became an adult. Much like most of the other siblings, she had a real fondness for alcohol and any drugs she could wheedle a doctor into providing to her. I was always surprised that she didn't attempt suicide. Maybe she did and I just never found out about it.
So that's kind of how it went for my dad. Is it any wonder he was such a complete mess? He was estranged from his father for about 20 years. I remember that he came for a visit when I was home from college one year. I'm sure my dad made me talk to him, but I know I didn't have much to say because I'd heard so many bad things about him. Plus, he just seemed like a complete asshole. I don't understand how anyone could meet him and not see that he was an asshole. Have kids with him? Oh my god, no!
My mom's childhood is shrouded in mystery to this day. She grew up in South Carolina in a little tiny town that had a post office and a general store. She had six siblings. She went to live with her grandmother when she was a young child and continued to live with her until her grandmother's death. My mom was 14 when she finally went to live with her parents. Her oldest sister lived with another relative for some period of time. I'm not sure if or when her sister moved back in with the family.
My mom's family didn't have any money. Both she and my dad were depression-era babies who endured additional shortages during World War II. My mom told me that when she was in junior high school, she was taking home economics (I'm sure that was the only thing girls were allowed to take) and they had a home decorating project. My mom didn't have a dresser or vanity table, so she ended up covering some crates with fabric. The class all came over to see the project and my mom was embarassed by her lack of real furniture. That story always makes me sad. But then I remember that, from the time I was 12 until I got some furniture when I was 18, we had no living room furniture. I think we had one of those dinette set things long before they became kitschy and cool.
She met my father when she was in high school and got pregnant. That's why I'm here. My dad had been in the army by then. I believe he was drafted, but I'm not certain. Anyway, he went AWOL at some point. Of course, they tracked his sorry butt down and took him directly back to the brig. My dad pitied himself about this his entire life. It's one of those things that used to drive me nuts. What else were they supposed to do? Say, "Oh poor baby, you don't like being in the military? Well that's okay. You just go ahead and go home." Duh, Dad. He had some other run in with the military guys when his first wife gave birth to his first child, a son. She gave the baby my father's name--Prentiss--which my dad thought was reasonable justification to beat the shit out of her. The military guys came right on over and took him to the military version of the psych ward. My dad also pitied himself over that and would tell me, as if it made complete sense, "I told her not to name him Prentiss."
Here's the quote of the day:
"Don't hold your parents up to contempt. After all, you are their son, and it is just possible that you may take after them." ~ Evelyn Waugh
America held hostage day 1911
Bushism of the day:
"A surplus means there'll be money left over. Otherwise, it wouldn't be called a surplus." -- Kalamazoo, MI 10/27/2000
Website of the day: Integral World: Exploring Theories of Everything
http://www.integralworld.net/
Some time in there, though, my grandfather was busy sexually abusing his kids. I'm pretty sure he did something sexual to my father. I know for a fact that he had a sexual relationship with at least one of his daughters. My grandmother held that against her. Needless to say, her mental health was badly compromised. She made several visits to a psychiatric hospital when she became an adult. Much like most of the other siblings, she had a real fondness for alcohol and any drugs she could wheedle a doctor into providing to her. I was always surprised that she didn't attempt suicide. Maybe she did and I just never found out about it.
So that's kind of how it went for my dad. Is it any wonder he was such a complete mess? He was estranged from his father for about 20 years. I remember that he came for a visit when I was home from college one year. I'm sure my dad made me talk to him, but I know I didn't have much to say because I'd heard so many bad things about him. Plus, he just seemed like a complete asshole. I don't understand how anyone could meet him and not see that he was an asshole. Have kids with him? Oh my god, no!
My mom's childhood is shrouded in mystery to this day. She grew up in South Carolina in a little tiny town that had a post office and a general store. She had six siblings. She went to live with her grandmother when she was a young child and continued to live with her until her grandmother's death. My mom was 14 when she finally went to live with her parents. Her oldest sister lived with another relative for some period of time. I'm not sure if or when her sister moved back in with the family.
My mom's family didn't have any money. Both she and my dad were depression-era babies who endured additional shortages during World War II. My mom told me that when she was in junior high school, she was taking home economics (I'm sure that was the only thing girls were allowed to take) and they had a home decorating project. My mom didn't have a dresser or vanity table, so she ended up covering some crates with fabric. The class all came over to see the project and my mom was embarassed by her lack of real furniture. That story always makes me sad. But then I remember that, from the time I was 12 until I got some furniture when I was 18, we had no living room furniture. I think we had one of those dinette set things long before they became kitschy and cool.
She met my father when she was in high school and got pregnant. That's why I'm here. My dad had been in the army by then. I believe he was drafted, but I'm not certain. Anyway, he went AWOL at some point. Of course, they tracked his sorry butt down and took him directly back to the brig. My dad pitied himself about this his entire life. It's one of those things that used to drive me nuts. What else were they supposed to do? Say, "Oh poor baby, you don't like being in the military? Well that's okay. You just go ahead and go home." Duh, Dad. He had some other run in with the military guys when his first wife gave birth to his first child, a son. She gave the baby my father's name--Prentiss--which my dad thought was reasonable justification to beat the shit out of her. The military guys came right on over and took him to the military version of the psych ward. My dad also pitied himself over that and would tell me, as if it made complete sense, "I told her not to name him Prentiss."
Here's the quote of the day:
"Don't hold your parents up to contempt. After all, you are their son, and it is just possible that you may take after them." ~ Evelyn Waugh
America held hostage day 1911
Bushism of the day:
"A surplus means there'll be money left over. Otherwise, it wouldn't be called a surplus." -- Kalamazoo, MI 10/27/2000
Website of the day: Integral World: Exploring Theories of Everything
http://www.integralworld.net/
05 April 2005
Looking Back to Find the Past
I was born in the early 1950's in a city in the deep south. Over the years I've tried to get at least a few facts about my parents' lives in the hope that their personal issues might be more understandable. I've always believed, to some extent, that if I could just understand how my parents got so crazy, my own history might be more bearable. It's been a difficult process. The answers are few and far between and, as time passes, those facts become mythic in nature. Stories get repeated, frequently by people who have a vested interest in how they're interpreted. I'm not always certain whether they're true...or if it even matters.
My paternal grandmother apparently grew up in Mississippi. When she was a young woman, her parents were killed in a fire. She may have lost one or more siblings, too. She did have one remaining brother, whose name was Ernest. People tell me they were very close, I don't know whether that's because everyone else was dead or there was just some natural affinity between them.
After the death of her parents, she and her brother were placed in an orphanage. I can only imagine what that must have been like. It must have been profoundly damaging. She and the other orphans were required to work--presumably to earn their keep--in conditions that were probably very harsh. She met my grandfather while she was working on the farm of a local, somewhat well-to-do couple. I gather she was very young when they married. There are also vague stories about my grandfather being disinherited. If I had to guess, I'd say that's where the trouble started within my family. Though I have absolutely no proof, experience leads me to believe that my grandfather probably selected her precisely because she was so young. Later on, he sexually abused several of his children. My grandmother must have just gotten too old to be of interest to him.
I asked my grandmother many times to tell me about her life. She was the most stoic person I've ever known, bar none. My own mother is the second most stoic person I know and, according to people who know me, I may be a close third. To say she wasn't forthcoming is an understatement. Whatever stories I came to hear about her all came from her children. Since a fair number of her children were just crazy as loons, I can't always count on their veracity.
My grandmother started having babies at a breathtaking pace. Somewhere around the fourth or fifth child, my grandfather struck out for greener pastures. He disappeared. It wasn't all that unusual in the Depression for men to go off in search of work. People in the family believe that he had a job or a series of jobs, but he never sent money back to his family. My grandmother and her children were forced to do whatever they could to survive. I think they were sharecroppers, but they may have only been employees of wealthy farmers. It was a hungry life and a life of great hardship. My father and his brothers and sisters picked cotton for a living. I heard many times about how the stickers on the cotton would just rip through flesh. Even though they worked, they frequently didn't have food.
None of this did much for my grandmother's disposition. According to my father, she was very abusive. His ears were deformed his entire life because of her habit of grabbing an ear and twisting hard when she wanted to make a point. She was also known to hit kids with whatever was readily available at any given moment...a cast iron frying pan, a stick of stove wood. From my own experience with her, her vocabulary of profanity was extensive. She was also known to drink. I believe vodka was the drug of choice, but I think any alcohol would do in a pinch.
My father told me he'd gone into his mom's house one day when he was young and overheard her plotting with her daughter to kill my grandfather. True? Beats me. He also said that he walked in on his mother having sex with someone other than her husband. He told my mom about that and she told me. Here again, I'm not sure it even matters whether those apocryphal tales have any truth to them. The important thing was that it colored everything my father did as an adult. I guess that's how it always is with parents; you spend your entire life trying to avoid living your parents' lives. Unfortunately, that generally means you're still having a crappy life, you're just having a different crappy life than your parents.
Here's the quote of the day:
"History is the present. That's why every generation writes it anew. But what most people think of as history is its end product, myth." ~ E. L. Doctorow
America Held Hostage Day 1910
Bushism of the day:
"Families is where our nation finds hope, where wings take dream." —LaCrosse, Wis., Oct. 18, 2000
Website of the day: Jain History
http://jainhistory.faithweb.com/
My paternal grandmother apparently grew up in Mississippi. When she was a young woman, her parents were killed in a fire. She may have lost one or more siblings, too. She did have one remaining brother, whose name was Ernest. People tell me they were very close, I don't know whether that's because everyone else was dead or there was just some natural affinity between them.
After the death of her parents, she and her brother were placed in an orphanage. I can only imagine what that must have been like. It must have been profoundly damaging. She and the other orphans were required to work--presumably to earn their keep--in conditions that were probably very harsh. She met my grandfather while she was working on the farm of a local, somewhat well-to-do couple. I gather she was very young when they married. There are also vague stories about my grandfather being disinherited. If I had to guess, I'd say that's where the trouble started within my family. Though I have absolutely no proof, experience leads me to believe that my grandfather probably selected her precisely because she was so young. Later on, he sexually abused several of his children. My grandmother must have just gotten too old to be of interest to him.
I asked my grandmother many times to tell me about her life. She was the most stoic person I've ever known, bar none. My own mother is the second most stoic person I know and, according to people who know me, I may be a close third. To say she wasn't forthcoming is an understatement. Whatever stories I came to hear about her all came from her children. Since a fair number of her children were just crazy as loons, I can't always count on their veracity.
My grandmother started having babies at a breathtaking pace. Somewhere around the fourth or fifth child, my grandfather struck out for greener pastures. He disappeared. It wasn't all that unusual in the Depression for men to go off in search of work. People in the family believe that he had a job or a series of jobs, but he never sent money back to his family. My grandmother and her children were forced to do whatever they could to survive. I think they were sharecroppers, but they may have only been employees of wealthy farmers. It was a hungry life and a life of great hardship. My father and his brothers and sisters picked cotton for a living. I heard many times about how the stickers on the cotton would just rip through flesh. Even though they worked, they frequently didn't have food.
None of this did much for my grandmother's disposition. According to my father, she was very abusive. His ears were deformed his entire life because of her habit of grabbing an ear and twisting hard when she wanted to make a point. She was also known to hit kids with whatever was readily available at any given moment...a cast iron frying pan, a stick of stove wood. From my own experience with her, her vocabulary of profanity was extensive. She was also known to drink. I believe vodka was the drug of choice, but I think any alcohol would do in a pinch.
My father told me he'd gone into his mom's house one day when he was young and overheard her plotting with her daughter to kill my grandfather. True? Beats me. He also said that he walked in on his mother having sex with someone other than her husband. He told my mom about that and she told me. Here again, I'm not sure it even matters whether those apocryphal tales have any truth to them. The important thing was that it colored everything my father did as an adult. I guess that's how it always is with parents; you spend your entire life trying to avoid living your parents' lives. Unfortunately, that generally means you're still having a crappy life, you're just having a different crappy life than your parents.
Here's the quote of the day:
"History is the present. That's why every generation writes it anew. But what most people think of as history is its end product, myth." ~ E. L. Doctorow
America Held Hostage Day 1910
Bushism of the day:
"Families is where our nation finds hope, where wings take dream." —LaCrosse, Wis., Oct. 18, 2000
Website of the day: Jain History
http://jainhistory.faithweb.com/
04 April 2005
My Summer with Sigmund Freud
It was the summer of 1966 and I had a cousin visiting from out of state. It had been just a bang-up great summer vacation to Jackson, Mississippi with my mom, my dad, and my dad's 15 year old wife. Prior to the visit, my dad had bought his wife a number of new outfits. Unfortunately for her, that would be the last windfall she'd ever see while they were together. Photos were taken along the way, his wife (in her new clothes) and me standing in front of various unidentifiable landmarks. Once we arrived, we must have visited several of his relatives. I never knew what story he offered up to explain the 15 year old wife. I was mainly concerned with being left alone. I was profoundly humiliated by the whole situation, so I just tried to escape into solitude whenever possible. We visited one of my aunts who had four children, but I maintained my distance from them unless compelled to interact. Though all but one of them was younger than I, I firmly believed that they knew how fucked up my family was and laughed at me when I wasn't around. The other aunt that I remember visiting was the mother of my summer guest.
I'm not sure why I decided to hang out with my cousin Theresa. On the face of it, it seems a highly uncharacteristic congeniality on my part. Nonetheless, we must have had a good time and my dad issued the invitation for her to come for the summer. I wonder now why it was that her parents thought sending any female child home with my dad was a good idea. I was 12 and his wife was 15. I don't know...I just don't think I would have felt comfortable sending my daughter home with him.
Theresa, in addition to being my age, was about my size. She had a better complexion than I, which my father used as a cudgel to beat me with. As usual, whenever my dad was around other female kids my age, he always liked to point out the many ways those kids were more appealing than I. My dad also pointed out that Theresa seemed smarter than I. That fact was probably at the heart of my eventual change of heart towards her. I have no idea why Theresa didn't like me, but I'm sure it wasn't without cause.
Sometime that summer I discovered Sigmund Freud. I have no idea how I found out about him, but reading was my escape of choice and trips to the library were frequent. At that point in my life, I was searching for challenging intellectual books. I had abandoned any literature that seemed to be directed at people my age. I read adult books and began thinking about weighty and complex ideas. I lived in a frighteningly adult world and I knew books directed at 12 year olds wasn't going to help me one tiny bit.
I'm not sure which of Freud's books I read that summer, but I remember the case studies of his patients. One of them detailed one of his patient's hysterical amnesia. It was the most promising thing I'd heard of since I abandoned the Bible as a means of coping with my crazy life. Obviously God wasn't going to be rescuing me or he'd have done it long before then. It made supreme sense to me thatif I couldn't get God to help me escape, I might be just fine if I could simply forget everything that had happened up to that point. However just to ensure my success at forgetting, I decided to pray for it, too.
Of course, I also encountered penis envy. I gave a lot of thought to that issue. At first it just seemed absolutely preposterous. I searched my heart. Did I really want a penis? No amount of soul searching produced any envy that I could identify. Maybe I envied kids who didn't live with psychotic parents, but none of them had penises. Finally, just as many feminists concluded, I determined that he was incorrect. Grossly incorrect. Unfortunately, it seemed he was incorrect about the possibility of amnesia, too.
The real irony here is that, over the years, I have forgotten. Incidents are truncated or confusing. I guess God did answer my prayers after all. As I struggle to make sense of my life, I reach back to grab onto formative memories. Sadly, the absence of memory doesn't result in the absence of suffering connected to those memories. I'm not so sure I'd want to relive them even if I could. I guess the summer I spent with Dr. Freud was like mining fool's gold.
Quote of the day:
"I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat, or a prostitute." ~ Rebecca West
America Held Hostage Day 1909
Bushism of the Day:
"The legislature's job is to write law. It's the executive branch's job to interpret law." —Austin, Texas, Nov. 22, 2000
Website of the day: A Krishnamurti Library of Athens
http://www.kathens.org/
I'm not sure why I decided to hang out with my cousin Theresa. On the face of it, it seems a highly uncharacteristic congeniality on my part. Nonetheless, we must have had a good time and my dad issued the invitation for her to come for the summer. I wonder now why it was that her parents thought sending any female child home with my dad was a good idea. I was 12 and his wife was 15. I don't know...I just don't think I would have felt comfortable sending my daughter home with him.
Theresa, in addition to being my age, was about my size. She had a better complexion than I, which my father used as a cudgel to beat me with. As usual, whenever my dad was around other female kids my age, he always liked to point out the many ways those kids were more appealing than I. My dad also pointed out that Theresa seemed smarter than I. That fact was probably at the heart of my eventual change of heart towards her. I have no idea why Theresa didn't like me, but I'm sure it wasn't without cause.
Sometime that summer I discovered Sigmund Freud. I have no idea how I found out about him, but reading was my escape of choice and trips to the library were frequent. At that point in my life, I was searching for challenging intellectual books. I had abandoned any literature that seemed to be directed at people my age. I read adult books and began thinking about weighty and complex ideas. I lived in a frighteningly adult world and I knew books directed at 12 year olds wasn't going to help me one tiny bit.
I'm not sure which of Freud's books I read that summer, but I remember the case studies of his patients. One of them detailed one of his patient's hysterical amnesia. It was the most promising thing I'd heard of since I abandoned the Bible as a means of coping with my crazy life. Obviously God wasn't going to be rescuing me or he'd have done it long before then. It made supreme sense to me thatif I couldn't get God to help me escape, I might be just fine if I could simply forget everything that had happened up to that point. However just to ensure my success at forgetting, I decided to pray for it, too.
Of course, I also encountered penis envy. I gave a lot of thought to that issue. At first it just seemed absolutely preposterous. I searched my heart. Did I really want a penis? No amount of soul searching produced any envy that I could identify. Maybe I envied kids who didn't live with psychotic parents, but none of them had penises. Finally, just as many feminists concluded, I determined that he was incorrect. Grossly incorrect. Unfortunately, it seemed he was incorrect about the possibility of amnesia, too.
The real irony here is that, over the years, I have forgotten. Incidents are truncated or confusing. I guess God did answer my prayers after all. As I struggle to make sense of my life, I reach back to grab onto formative memories. Sadly, the absence of memory doesn't result in the absence of suffering connected to those memories. I'm not so sure I'd want to relive them even if I could. I guess the summer I spent with Dr. Freud was like mining fool's gold.
Quote of the day:
"I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat, or a prostitute." ~ Rebecca West
America Held Hostage Day 1909
Bushism of the Day:
"The legislature's job is to write law. It's the executive branch's job to interpret law." —Austin, Texas, Nov. 22, 2000
Website of the day: A Krishnamurti Library of Athens
http://www.kathens.org/
24 March 2005
Just for the record, I really don't give a damn how you feel
I've been trying to think of something else to say, but all I can come up with today is that I'm appalled at the level of discourse in this country. The latest example is the Schiavo controversy, but I've been appalled a lot longer than that. It's the incessant emoting that's driving me crazy. It seems that everywhere I look, someone is wringing their proverbial hands over something or they're enraged about something. Generally speaking, the emoting is totally disconnected from the facts at hand. Here's the deal. I don't really give a happy fuck how the news folks...or anyone else...feel.
I'd just like the facts. Why is that so hard to get these days? It's so much easier and intellectually cheaper to resort to emotion, I suppose. Here's a mystery. We keep telling our children how important education is, but I'll be damned if we ever demonstrate any intellectual rigor.
Don't get me wrong, virtually every news story worth telling has a solid emotional hook. I have feelings about the Schiavo controversy, the Scott Peterson trial, etc. I just think we've gone way too far into the touchy-feely realm.
I was watching Nancy Grace last night and she had really worked herself into a lather about Terry Schiavo. She was supposed to be interviewing a neurosurgeon, but she really had absolutely no interest in the medical facts. She just wanted to get stuck in that emotional groove and god forbid that someone should try to offer analysis. I love Nancy Grace. I love the fact that she's this Southern belle with hair teased into a frenzy, yet she can go for the jugular when she deems it necessary. It's really a wonderful combination. If she'd just try to calm down every once in a while, I'd really appreciate it.
America. What a cheap date. We're such an excitable nation and we're so easily entertained. I'm just tired of it. Here's the quote of the day:
"Just once in a while let us exalt the importance of ideas and information." ~ Edward R. Murrow
America held hostage day 1898
Bushism of the day:
"I knew it might put him in an awkward position that we had a discussion before finality has finally happened in this presidential race." —Describing a phone call to Sen. John Breaux. Crawford, Texas, Dec. 2, 2000
Website of the day: Iraq Body Count
http://www.iraqbodycount.net/
I'd just like the facts. Why is that so hard to get these days? It's so much easier and intellectually cheaper to resort to emotion, I suppose. Here's a mystery. We keep telling our children how important education is, but I'll be damned if we ever demonstrate any intellectual rigor.
Don't get me wrong, virtually every news story worth telling has a solid emotional hook. I have feelings about the Schiavo controversy, the Scott Peterson trial, etc. I just think we've gone way too far into the touchy-feely realm.
I was watching Nancy Grace last night and she had really worked herself into a lather about Terry Schiavo. She was supposed to be interviewing a neurosurgeon, but she really had absolutely no interest in the medical facts. She just wanted to get stuck in that emotional groove and god forbid that someone should try to offer analysis. I love Nancy Grace. I love the fact that she's this Southern belle with hair teased into a frenzy, yet she can go for the jugular when she deems it necessary. It's really a wonderful combination. If she'd just try to calm down every once in a while, I'd really appreciate it.
America. What a cheap date. We're such an excitable nation and we're so easily entertained. I'm just tired of it. Here's the quote of the day:
"Just once in a while let us exalt the importance of ideas and information." ~ Edward R. Murrow
America held hostage day 1898
Bushism of the day:
"I knew it might put him in an awkward position that we had a discussion before finality has finally happened in this presidential race." —Describing a phone call to Sen. John Breaux. Crawford, Texas, Dec. 2, 2000
Website of the day: Iraq Body Count
http://www.iraqbodycount.net/
23 March 2005
Harridans
I noticed it late in the afternoon yesterday, after spending a couple of hours with my dentist. The harridans inside my head started telling me that I deserve to die. It took a little while before I recognized that it wasn't just a fleeting thought, but a tidal wave of voices. The thoughts woke up with me this morning and have been around all day. whenever I have a moment when I'm not concentrating on something else, my brain returns to that same old tired recording. even though I don't take them seriously, those thoughts are difficult to completely dismiss.
It's not that I have any intention of hurting myself. That option disappeared long ago, even before my father killed himself. When I was around 23, it occurred to me that I couldn't kill myself until everyone who loves me dies. It wasn't a happy revelation. After my dad committed suicide, i fully understood the correctness of that commitment.
It's just very troubling that I can't just stop this internal haranguing. As I mentioned earlier, my therapist suggested that those voices should be directed at the people who hurt me when I was a child. Of course that list is pretty extensive, so sometimes it's hard for me to figure out which villain should be receiving the brunt of the internalized rage these voices represent.
I think my inability to silence the voices is one of the reasons I continue to feel so damaged by my childhood. My therapist likes to point out that I'm the most traumatized people she's ever treated and one of the least damaged. I know that's true. When you wake up first thing in the morning to a Greek chorus of self destructive thoughts, it's hard to have a good feeling about yourself.
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." ~ Aristotle
America held hostage day 1897
Bushism of the day:
"Dick Cheney and I do not want this nation to be in a recession. We want anybody who can find work to be able to find work." —60 Minutes II, Dec. 5, 2000
Website of the Day: Investigating the New Imperialism
http://www.williambowles.info/
It's not that I have any intention of hurting myself. That option disappeared long ago, even before my father killed himself. When I was around 23, it occurred to me that I couldn't kill myself until everyone who loves me dies. It wasn't a happy revelation. After my dad committed suicide, i fully understood the correctness of that commitment.
It's just very troubling that I can't just stop this internal haranguing. As I mentioned earlier, my therapist suggested that those voices should be directed at the people who hurt me when I was a child. Of course that list is pretty extensive, so sometimes it's hard for me to figure out which villain should be receiving the brunt of the internalized rage these voices represent.
I think my inability to silence the voices is one of the reasons I continue to feel so damaged by my childhood. My therapist likes to point out that I'm the most traumatized people she's ever treated and one of the least damaged. I know that's true. When you wake up first thing in the morning to a Greek chorus of self destructive thoughts, it's hard to have a good feeling about yourself.
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." ~ Aristotle
America held hostage day 1897
Bushism of the day:
"Dick Cheney and I do not want this nation to be in a recession. We want anybody who can find work to be able to find work." —60 Minutes II, Dec. 5, 2000
Website of the Day: Investigating the New Imperialism
http://www.williambowles.info/
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.
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.
17 March 2005
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.
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.
14 February 2005
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
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
11 February 2005
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
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
09 February 2005
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/
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/
06 January 2005
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."
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."
05 January 2005
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/
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/
04 January 2005
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."
22 December 2004
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
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
15 December 2004
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/
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/
14 December 2004
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/
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/
10 December 2004
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.
08 December 2004
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
07 December 2004
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."
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."
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