Wednesday, June 21, 2017

...opening the windows to air out the house.

In the matter of 2 months and 2 days I went from married to divorced.

I opened my eyes March 7th and finally saw May 9th.

There were so many masks worn over the 13 years he and I were married. So many excuses, apologies, rationalizations, denial... so much denial. I found myself in a constant holding pattern, reciting my vows like a mantra... mala beads clicking between my fingers with each promise.

For better or worse, sickness and health, good times and bad... bad, bad, bad, smile it can't get worse. And then it got worse. We can only go up from here, right... right? Wrong. So wrong. It got so much worse. I let each blow sit like a cancer in my heart, weighing me down and stealing my sanity. There's a reason I didn't write much these past two years. I was done lying to everyone and most importantly myself. I finally just stuck my life into auto-pilot and went through the motions. Wake up, get everyone else ready, get myself ready, work, home, curl up into the couch/bed to numb my mind, sleep, lather, rinse, repeat...

It's not for anyone to know how bad the abuse got. He never laid a hand on me, but he didn't have to. Sometimes actions and words are worse than physical abuse. There were nights I wished he'd hit me so I could release the floodgates. I was a ticking time bomb. And then... I no longer gave a fuck. I had zero fucks left.

The shift came when my therapist left the practice I was at and a new one stepped in. We began opening up my proverbial windows to air the anxiety out of my "house." When we reached the now ex-husband, I realized he was the last card in my house of cards. We reached him also as soon as he and I reached a boiling point and agreed to an "in-house" trial separation. And then she left back to Sweden. I went back on auto-pilot. I loved the man I married, and I was so blinded for THAT man that I couldn't see that even then I had lied to myself and began the process of excuses and denial. The man I'd worshiped in my head was not the man I married, and he definitely wasn't this ghost haunting my house.

March 9th I laid down for a nap after putting our youngest down. I tossed and turned. Words said and plans made by him that morning didn't sit well in my stomach. They were mundane plans. Plans involving needing my truck to go to the library. Boring. But... not right. Something was NOT right. Weeks had passed since I had my first gut vibe that things were off. Secrets were churning between us and I not knowing was keeping my anxiety vibrating beneath my skin. It had reached a point where I'd deleted most social media outlets off of my phone because I couldn't shake the uneasiness I felt when I saw his posts, or comments made by people I suddenly didn't know and weren't privy to their existence after 10 years of marriage. I opened my laptop, opened my browser, searched for Facebook... it was already logged in. I saw the message notification and clicked. It wasn't until I saw her name, saw their words, my heart was in my ears and I couldn't hear anything but my voice as I called my mother, sobbing, hyperventilating that it was bad. It was so bad. Something horrible was happening. I needed the kids to go straight to her after school. It was so so bad. He was cheating on me. The floodgates released. I crumbled. There was relief in knowing, but not the sort of relief I'd wish on anyone. My husband officially died that day. My husband. Even now, knowing he'd been dead for so long and I'd cohabited with an imposter who looked, smelled, tasted just like MY husband... it's a stone in my stomach that turns conflicted between grief and disgust. My grief overwhelmed me for two weeks. Fourteen days. And then after fierce fellowship at Church, I prayed. I prayed until I felt like my heart cracked open. I wasn't discarded, I was loved. I wasn't cast away, I was precious... worthy... wanted...

He wants me. He holds me. He didn't want this for me, he never did. But in order for me to grow in love and light, I had to get dirty. A diamond doesn't become a diamond out of thin air. It takes immense pressure and heat and time to see the beauty that only comes with experience. I have three beautiful babies. I am strong. I am and always have been independent. I am smart, gorgeous, witty, loved. God loves me as I am and he will love me through it, as he's always done... even when I didn't feel him there. God spoke to my heart during a sermon one Sunday during the midst of my grief. Throughout the now ex-husband's infidelity, verbal and emotional abuse, his heart turning from God, I prayed for him. I begged God to help him come back to Him, to let him see the love and light I'd been witness to my whole life. To return him to me. Many times during those few weeks I was told that my relationship with God, with Christianity as a whole, had disgusted him and further pushed him from me. He was blaming God, my faith in Him, for his disgust in me. And then my eyes fell upon this verse as I wandered through the Bible during service, no lie, based on servitude and selflessness in a marriage influenced by selfishness.

1 Corinthians 7:15 But if the unbeliever leaves, let it be so. The brother or the sister is not bound in such circumstances; God has called us to live in peace.

My heart lifted. It was as if the air sweetened and I was finally able to just BREATHE. God didn't want me to be enslaved by a Godless marriage. God didn't want me to sit idly by while my spouse brought infidelity and darkness into our marriage. God despises and is disgusted by divorce, but I am still precious to him and he still wants peace for me and our babies. I will raise them up to question everything as I was raised. I will raise them up knowing God, because I can't look at them and NOT see God at work. I will raise them up with eyes wide open.

I filed for divorce. I started talking to friends again. Friends I'd pushed away so they wouldn't see me through my excuses and lies. I fell in love again. I wasn't trying, I didn't even mean to, I only wanted to open my heart to God and let things fall into place as they came. My babies and myself were top priority and the ink was not even remotely dry on the divorce paperwork. My best girl friend came over and burned sage as I threw the windows open to let out the ghosts and to air out the house. My best boy friend came back into my life and dated me, still dates me. And it is so good. It feels strange, uncharted, spontaneous and right.

I am happy. I am exhausted by all the revelations and realizations and re-connections. But it's a good exhaustion. Like I had been running in the dark, and essentially, that's what I'd been doing before I entered back into the light. All of the anxiety has lifted. No more emergency meds. No more pulling over to walk the "bees" out of my body from hyperventilating while driving. No more walking on eggshells. I am in love with this body that has survived so much abuse and mistreatment, but continued on to build three amazing little savages, carried me across multiple finish lines, and has yet to seriously fail me. It's time to get back on the bandwagon of treating this body better for the long haul. I've began the process of quitting smoking (I know... finally...), I'm starting to eat again (I barely ate more than a cheese stick for the 2 months between discovery and divorce), and I'm finding my flexibility and inner peace in yoga and meditation again.

So welcome back, y'all!! Thanks for hanging in through the radio static and get ready for some new wild rides!

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Inner Demons

I have not been able to successfully put into words, out loud or on paper, this running monologue that hasn't been whispering so much as it's been screaming in my head.

I got pregnant two October's ago. It was a surprise, and yes, I'm well aware of how babies happen. I tried so desperately to be positive, I wanted nothing more than to cherish every second of my pregnancy and my time with this child.

 

Lukas was born July 15th, 2014. Three weeks premature... but still weighing in at 8 pounds 3 ounces. The smallest of my three kids. He should have been stillborn.

He should have been stillborn. Every time I look at him I think those five words. "Miracle" in a myriad of languages tickle my tongue, because he SHOULD HAVE BEEN STILLBORN.

Because we knew Lo had a bicuspid aortic valve, I was put under rigorous prenatal observation. Weekly ultrasounds, visits with the prenatal cardiologists... I became a gestational diabetic... more testings, more ultrasounds, my poor husband pricked my finger 5 times a day and put up with every flinch and grunt and curse word as he doctored me up.


We celebrated Logan's 7th birthday July 13th, I began training my temporary replacement July 14th -- corporate had me walking up and down the stairs of our new building (the one replacing the building we lost to the fire) and I started having "back cramps." I was used to these cramps, they were constantly coming and going without any rhythm or real reason. I chalked it up to the heat and too much activity. I went home and read "Green Eggs and Ham" to Lillie... they started coming in waves and I realized it was taking 5x as long to read the stupid book and why was I in so much pain?

After the kids were successfully in bed I downloaded a contraction app, packed a bag JUST IN CASE, and proceeded with my semi nightly routine. Dad and I ran to the pharmacy and from the front door to the pharmacy counter at Walgreens, I had three contractions. I held my belly and "yoga breathed" my way through each searing pain that threatened to rob me of my breath. The pharmacist begged me not to go into labor. It was too late at that point. My midwife begged me to come in as "the third child can come at ANY TIME, Tiffany, ANY. TIME." I laughed and told her I still needed to get bread for the kids and coffee to get me through the morning. That's when I realized my contractions were every two to three minutes lasting 30-45 seconds each. Dad rushed me (as fast as one can rush a woman in labor) out the door and he floored it to our one major intersection in the center of town. He cussed as he realized he didn't get his McDonald's tea. Lord forbid we have an outing without tea. I convinced him that it was just going to be a quick check, and so 20 minutes and a McDonald's tea later we were headed to the hospital. Every last speed bump sent me into a contraction. I was holding both the "Oh SHIT" handle and the door handle breathing through the pain. The maternity ward entrance was locked. The maternity ward entrance was a good 20+ speed bumps away from the main entrance. Once we were parked, I waddled, stopped, breathed, waddled, stopped, breathed in through the nose, out through the mouth, and into the ER I went. Triage told me I had to be wheeled to labor and delivery. I argued that I wanted to go into labor naturally and this was just a check up. Triage told me I was in labor and get my ass into the wheelchair. It put the lotion on the skin and did as was told.

My water broke before I could get my gown on. The gown was blue and my Dad stood guard outside the curtain. I text my Husband, "Not a false alarm. We're having a baby."

My midwife "checked me" and listened as I recounted all the gory details of my water breaking. I was still in shock. "I can't be in labor! I didn't lose my plug! I'm not supposed to be induced for another two weeks! My boss just left for Florida! I started training the temp TODAY!" I got a lot of "looks" and "hmms," but I never thought to question. I was simply in shock. I was having a baby! I went into labor! ALL BY MYSELF LIKE A BIG GIRL! GO ME!

In reality, my placenta was ripping away from the uterine wall. My baby's head was the only thing keeping it attached. Three days earlier the high risk doctor said he was using the placenta as his pillow. I can't do math, 2+2=9.

With Logan they had to stop me from hemorrhaging on the table. It wasn't until I watched "The Business of Being Born," that I realized everything they were  doing to me on the table was exactly what one of the mother's went through in the documentary. After asking more questions, they told me what I already knew. With Lukas, every contraction was like my body pulling the thread on a sweater. Hearing his little cries 10 hours later made up for the fact I was a human puppet while they "retrieved" all the pieces of the placenta (I should have gotten my midwife's number after THAT traumatic birthing aftermath).

I went back to work part time after a month of maternity paid maternity leave. I was back full time at six weeks post partum. I barely made it to six months before my milk dried up. I still cry over the fact that I can't even produce milk for him. The "bigs" as I now call them, nursed until 9 months and 15 months respectively. I was able to stay home with them, nap with them, work around their schedules. I now get 3-4 waking hours with them on days I work, half that with the baby. I see the looks he gives my Husband versus the looks I receive and I want to scream and break plates and throw shit across the room. I want to run away and not look back some days. It's not fair. IT'S NOT FAIR. He's my miracle, MINE. And I want to be selfish and snuggle him and nibble the rolls of his neck and thighs and inhale all the sweet baby out of him before it's gone forever. I stitched him together. I breathed life into him. I knew every finger and toe before anyone else. He wants nothing to do with me. I'm not the one he wants when he needs comfort. I'm not the one he wants when he's hungry or tired. Every time he looks for his Daddy or cries in a way I don't know because I'm not here, it rips my heart out a little more. I prayed for this child. I PRAYED for him. I told God I would do anything just to have one more baby. And because of that I gave him up. I get occasional giggles. Sometimes he'll even give kisses when I get home, but he more wants to pull my head close to his to steal my glasses more than anything.

 
We had a baby. We had a baby and then we found a home. We moved off the property I work at into a home one street down from the house I grew up in. The "bigs" started soccer and ballet and now they can run to Grandma's house whenever they feel like being spoiled (i.e. all the time.) We had a baby. We found a home. We found peace and then chaos hit us like a bag of bricks.

My aunt passed away around the same time from a 10 year battle with aggressive breast cancer. Two days before the Husband's birthday, my uncle shot himself in my grandfather's back yard behind a chicken coop. I have two sets of cousins who are now without a parent. I found out a cousin of mine has a child who doesn't have much longer to live. The child is a week or two older than Lo. We found out Lu has a high probability of a bicuspid valve himself. (Babies are wiggly and uncooperative during a heart ultrasound... how very inconsiderate of them... we will know for sure by his first birthday.)


I have several other blog posts sitting, saved, waiting to be published... but I can't press the button. I can't bring them forth into the light as that makes them more real. That makes all the thoughts and nightmares that have kept me busy, plugging away outside the house to keep me from focusing any energy on just the realization that these nightmares are real. They are so real. I can't ignore them forever, I know that. But I'm afraid to open that Pandora's box. Once these things are said out loud they can not be unsaid. Words said in anger that are meant to be hurtful cause damage that can't be undone and there's a seed of truth to every bitter line spat out in that moment of white hot anger. The sting never leaves. The wound is always fresh and each new argument or miscommunication is the same as having salt ground into the wound. I can't make these situations better, no matter how hard I want to. It all goes back to saying no to the people I love the most. It all comes down to them showing up in our relationships be it family or friendship or both. I can no longer be the glue. I can barely keep myself together and upright.

I need a friend. I need to go back seven months ago and whisper, "miracles happen," into my own ear. I need to go back four months ago and hold the broken woman's hand and whisper in her ear, "be strong, think before speaking and say it, say it LOUD and don't be afraid of what comes next." I need to go back two months ago and hug my "bigs" and not apologize for moments that were beyond my control and weren't anything I could have prepared myself or them for. I need my inner voice to trade places with the voice I keep locked up. The only voice left is autopilot.

I need a friend.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Sticks and stones, splinters and boulders.

This is my first post in I can't tell you how long.

This post should be about my beautiful baby boy who turned six months today.

This post shouldn't be emo and leave you halfway through saying tl;dr.

This post hurts me, but I have to write it. I have to get it out as I can't keep it festering inside like a scab on my heart festering with infection that I can't stop myself from picking at.

Behind every hurtful word said out of anger lies some seed of truth. Those on the receiving side can at times let the words slide right off them. No big deal. No scars. Nothing to see here. And then there are people who hear those words, over and over like a broken record. They know the truth is in those words, and it feels like it will never stop hurting, burning, breaking their heart over and over again.

"You have to be worthy of being earned."

Sounds like sage advice. Unless it's coming from your partner in the middle of an argument in front of all three children.

"You have to be worthy of being earned."

After a major blow out back in November I asked him to please date me, make me feel feminine, wanted, loved. Take me back to when we were first together. Please. Please make me feel wanted. Earn me. Please earn me back, because my heart was on autopilot, because I'm at my heaviest... because I feel the least sexy I've ever felt in my life... because I only feel wanted by my children out of necessity. My nerves are like sandpaper, my heart is a stone sinking deeper into my chest, I cry until I feel like I have nothing left... that I'm dehydrated from all the fluid leaking from my face.

I tell all this to my therapist, the psychiatrist, and it still doesn't feel right. I skate on thin ice afraid to speak up, afraid to make it worse, only begging for it to change, to please God make this right again. I'll do anything to make it right. Please God, we're both at fault and we both need help.

I wake up. I take my meds. I toss back two cups of coffee. I get kids out the door, nurse the baby, dress myself and sob at the reflection. The sour, sad, broken woman inside this shell is trying to make herself apparent physically. My pock marks seem bigger, my stomach saggier, my shirt sleeves tighter around my arms.

I don't want to be angry and bitter. I don't want to keep waiting either. I don't want my heart to hurt like this anymore.

The only glimmer of hope I can see is that I'm still taking my medication. That I'm still being proactive about my mental health. That maybe, just maybe, this is normal for heartbreak. That maybe, JUST maybe, this is how normal people cope with taking their relationship from best friends to just friends until the two can make themselves better inside. But, to me, I feel like I've lost a limb. I feel like my best friend sees the spinach in my teeth and is too revolted to fill me in.

"You have to be worthy of being earned."

Each day my brain picks, picks, picks at the scab.

Each day my brain analyzes every move I make, every word said, makes sure I don't make this worse. Sometimes I don't say anything at all. It's easier to pretend it's all ok, that those words don't sting me all day every day, that we're still friends and we're both going to put makeup on that bruise and move on.

Saturday, August 17, 2013

Thank You.

3x5 Folded Card
View the entire collection of cards.


Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your kind words. Thank you for sticking around and waiting for the next little nugget of joy to flow through my fingers. I promise I'm still here, thank you for being on the other side of the blogosphere.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Currently.

Today's post inspired by Danielle from Sometimes Sweet.

Currently Reading

I've been following Jennifer on Twitter for quite some time now. I have NO clue who started following who first. At one point we almost did a 5k together, but I was too much of a chicken shit to jump on a plane to Oklahoma to be doused in color alongside my fellow bloggy friends. What was I so afraid of again? Oh, that's right, I'm the anxious chihuahua of my kind. I'm almost ashamed to say I started this book, ooooooh... back in MARCH. In MARCH people. Re-fucking-diculous. I was on a roll, and then I got sidetracked. Butterfly. Cumulonimbus. Jeebus on a cracker. Seriously though. As a treat to myself I bought myself a BOOK and some BATH MILK with my tax returns (hold on to your underpants, people, I'm out of control when it comes to dollah dollah bills, y'all.) I would read and soak in my milky "spa water" sporting my mad seaweed mud mask and read a few chapters a few times each week. And then, BAM, busy season. I'm sporting POLYESTER SLACKS in the muggy south because I don't. have. time. to. shave. I could probably braid my kneecap hair. I've already apologized to Jennifer... I sensed snark. For real though, I was enthralled with all the church ladies in her life, even the moment when she became the church lady herself. It's also heart wrenching to read her thoughts as she suffers with her own self doubts and anxieties. I feel ya, sista, I truly do. Sneak a peek at her words here or check her out here.

Currently listening to...

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. I love the track "Home" so much I haven't even bothered to listen to any of their other stuff. I seriously crank this regardless of who's in the office. Eventually my boss just might send me home thinking I'm trying to drop hints. I swear I'm not. I just can't stop listening to this song. There's something magical about it. Reminds me of that time I fell in love with Those Darlins. 

 Currently thinking about...

This sweet baby. Her brother. Their insane little minds that go a million miles a millisecond. How at peace they were upon seeing the beach for the first time. Wanting to take them back. I contemplated moving back to the beach for a hot second, because... the BEACH, man... THE BEACH. My heart pulls and tugs and rips from my chest with the ebb and flow of the tide. I need to go back. My very existence depends on it. Needing to see their excitement at the infinite blueness of the horizon. Hearing the waves crash onto the beach at 5 in the morning... on the edge of my seat with alertness knowing with certainty the sun was going to rise at ANY FUCKING MINUTE. I'm suffocating in suburbia, man... suffocating.

Currently watching...
Well, catching up on, rather. Soon I'll be obsessively watching "Orange is the New Black."  I've been blowing through shows on Netflix like a mad man. Drop Dead Diva, Switched at Birth, Secret Life of the American Teenager, Pretty Little Liars and now Weeds. This is what I've been doing after hours. Catching up on the television everyone else has been watching for ever and ever amen. Netflix now has a new section just for me entitled, "Dark Television Shows with Strong Female Characters." Hmm... maybe Netflix knows me a little too well. I need real friends apparently.

Currently bummed  out on...
Apparently when I schedule actual vacation time through corporate, I don't get to revoke that. What's done cannot be undone and you must plan at least 1 month to the day ahead of time. My family cancelled our reunion this year, for logical reasons, but I still want to throw my temper tantrum. Not only will I have to fork out $ I don't have for airfare if I still want to visit, but if I don't fork it over my kids can go but I can't? Eff it. We'll all stay home and build tents and roast s'mores over the gas stove... in our kitchen... with fondue sticks. Can't go to the mountains. Can't go to the beach. Boo hoo, gimme some cheese for this whine of mine. In other, more positive (but damn, seriously no vacation???) news...

I'm totally loving...
That after nearly ten years of paying off my (financial) debt to society, not only was I able to refinance my truck through the bank -- DROPPING $150 off my monthly car note, I'm finally eligible for the Young Adult Visa through my credit union. I actually thanked the woman for thinking I'm a young adult. 30 really is the new 20, you guys. It's the little things in life that totally lift me up. Something as stupid and meaningless to most adults, like getting approved for both a line of credit AND an auto re-finance, mean the world to me. It shows me that I wasn't wrong in working hard and paying off my debts. I cannot even tell you how many times we were advised to "just file bankruptcy" so we wouldn't have to wait as long to fix our mistakes. What would that teach us? What would that teach our CHILDREN? That right there is why this country has gone to Hell in a hand basket financially. Yes, I've had to accept help from family, friends and the government (after a LOT of kicking, screaming, and sucking up of stubborn pride). Warning, run on sentence alert!!! Yes, I have cried myself to sleep from the weight of all that's riding on my shoulders AND the unfairness of watching others file bankruptcy around me and while they're taking their kids to Disney every few months and going to little Johnny and Jenny's Tae Kwon Do ceremonies and my own kids are eating PB&J for the 5,284th day in a row and gluing pipe cleaners together at yet another Vacation Bible School because, GOSH DARNIT, IT'S FREE AND YOU'LL ENJOY IT OR ELSE. This means if we play our cards right, we could actually own our own home possibly by my next birthday. This means no more ridiculous interest rates. This means an emergency fund is now a reality... I can defer payments if times get tough! I can pay my car note now in my underwear from the comfort of my home! No more money orders! No more $100 off my balance after paying $360 towards my balance! It's the little things...


Monday, July 15, 2013

I gotta bad habit...





I started smoking when I was 16 years old. Meaning as of this point in my life, I've been a smoker almost as long as I've been a non-smoker.

I want to quit.

The only reason I started was over a stupid boy. A stupid STUPID boy.

My first cigarette happened pretty much like this:

Stupid Boy, "The waitresses tip me in cigarettes. You want to try one with me?"
Me, "No. I have asthma. Probably not the best idea."

 ~~3 days later.~~

Stupid Boy, "The waitresses tipped me in cigarettes again. You still have asthma?"
Me, "Yes, dipshit. It doesn't just go away."

~~3 hours later.~~

Stupid Boy, "I still have those cigarettes."
Me, "FINE, IF IT WILL SHUT YOU UP LONG ENOUGH TO LISTEN TO ME GO ALL EMO AND TALK ABOUT HOW MY MOTHER HATES ME AND HOW E E CUMMINGS IS THE BEST POET EVARRRRRR...."

~~3 seconds later.~~

Stupid Boy, "Hey... HEY! You alright?"
Me, looking up at him from the floorboard of my car, "Wtf just happened? Let me try that again."

Stupid. STUPID STUPID STUPID. I went from 1 a day to 1 every waking hour. When I'm nervous? I smoke twice as many.

I want to quit. I need to quit. I want to see Lillie walk down the aisle. I want to chase my Grandbabies around the park. I want to run faster. I want to WANT to run.

Worst habit EVER.

e e cummings is still the best... for instance...



maggie and milly and molly and may
10

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea 
 

 

maggie and milly and molly and may

  by E. E. Cummings
              10

maggie and milly and molly and may 
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang 
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing 
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone 
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) 
it's always ourselves we find in the sea
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15406#sthash.fwLh5BIm.dpuf

maggie and milly and molly and may

  by E. E. Cummings
              10

maggie and milly and molly and may 
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang 
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing 
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone 
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) 
it's always ourselves we find in the sea
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15406#sthash.fwLh5BIm.dpuf

maggie and milly and molly and may

  by E. E. Cummings
              10

maggie and milly and molly and may 
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang 
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing 
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone 
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) 
it's always ourselves we find in the sea
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15406#sthash.fwLh5BIm.dpuf

maggie and milly and molly and may

  by E. E. Cummings
              10

maggie and milly and molly and may 
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang 
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing 
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone 
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) 
it's always ourselves we find in the sea
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15406#sthash.fwLh5BIm.dpuf

Sunday, July 14, 2013

31.

I'm 31 now. Thirty fucking ONE.

Let's talk about 30x30 shall we?

  1. Meet with my people. Not like Jesus, but more like my fellow bloggers... maybe even smoosh cheeks European style with the ones I put up on a pedestal. Met the Bloggess 5/16
  2. Run 40k by 32nd Birthday. (Currently at 21.6: Color Run 2012 5k, All Aboard for a Cure 2012 1 Mile/1.6k, Hot Chocolate Run 2012 5k, Diva Dash 2013 5k, Color Run 2013 5k)
  3. Get back into a career style job. May 21st 2012
  4. Move out of the basement. June 22nd 2012
  5. Take the kids to the beach, any coast will do. May 25th 2013
  6. Really celebrate my marriage and relationship with my best friend, i.e. family might need to avert their eyes.
  7. Pilgrim back to the Drepung Loseling Monestary in it's new (to me) location.
  8. Yoga. And YES, M.... I'm going to need your help on this one because this one is inspired by YOU.
  9. Read 30 novels. (1, Jenny Lawson's "Let's Pretend This Never Happened." 2, Rebecca Woolf's "Rockabye.")
  10. Lose 30 MORE pounds. (Update, I've slipped. Big time. See more below.)
  11. Quit smoking.
  12. Spend more time in my craft room and less time in the kitchen. (Seeing as how I've got no craft room currently, I'm going to have to find some other outlet. Again... see below.)

 WTF IS THIS SHIT??!?!

Oh yes, let's talk about my inherent lack of control when it comes to pretty much anything and everything edible within reach of me as of employment a freaking year ago. Who knew a job where I spend half of my time on my ASS in front of computer would wear me out and depress me so? I spend so much time doing absolutely nothing. Both at home and at work. I mean, I get my job done and I do a damn good job doing so... but... when I'm home? I nap. I use what time I could be bettering myself physically, and eat. Pretty much whatever I can lay my freshly manicured hands on. There's been no motivation, no want or yearning to run or do yoga. I contemplate getting up early and walking the community, maybe picking up some trash, and then when all three of my alarms go off? I wake up to the very last one and end up rushing to get to work on time between feeding children, myself, and making myself semi-presentable. 20 pounds ago I wanted to get up early. I wanted to put on my makeup. I wanted to straighten my hair and look NICE. Because I felt NICE. And for whatever reason, now? I feel disgusting, inside and out. I don't feel worth the time or effort for these things. I know I am, but that little stupid voice in the back of my head tells me otherwise. Time to shut that Bitch up.

Y'all? This is bull shit. This is stopping. TODAY. I see that 240 and even though I've gained 20, I'm going to lose 30. And when I lose 30? I'm going to lose another 10 BECAUSE I'M FUCKING WORTH IT.

End rant.


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