still looking. haven't found it yet.

christopher robin believed in his crew. his neurotic, depressed, hyperactive, pessimistic, bumbling crew. unfailingly.

i have the knock off version of this quote in my room, of course on an adorable decorative wooden box on a side table next to a salt lamp and another decorative wooden box with another particularly cliche quote. it's a very stereotypical mid-30's single white girl bedroom. bitches love their salt lamps. *correction: bitches love their pink himalayan ionized positive energy infusing salt lamps*

the knock off version of the quote changes it the required trademark 10% to read: i'm stronger than i seem, braver than i believe, smarter than i think.

as different as night and later that same night.

i bought it on a whim a few years ago hoping that maybe seeing the words every day i could convince myself of their message.

same theory with the tattoo on my collarbone that says: love yourself (literally IN MY SKIN but i still haven't been able to achieve that one quite yet either).

now most days i feel vagueishly smart. especially when creating my own words like vagueishly. IT IS TOO A WORD SPELLCHECK. i just used it in a sentence twice. fuck off.

but most days i do feel a little smart. sometimes i even see my bachelors degree in it's frame (of course placed right behind the decorative quote box) and *almost* convince myself that it's a real degree. that i actually had to EARN it. i mean- it's a literature degree. not like, you know, a rocket surgery degree or anything. i just had to read a bunch of books and write a bunch of papers. i've been doing that my whole life. but, i guess, since the college gave it to me, maybe i actually earned it.

yes, you read that right. there is a not-insignificant portion of time i'm convinced that a college just, like, gave me a degree because i paid all my tuition, didn't have to repeat any classes, and finished all 4 years.

but at least most days, degree smart or not, i at least feel some version of smart.

bravery- that one is a bit of a joke. i'm not brave. i mean, my dad and my brother are brave. 4 generations of cops in my family tree. they literally run at danger, all the time. they're brave. i have friends that travel all across the country, all the time, even as crazy as the world is right now. friends that have literally flown into war zones. i know people that fight illness, massive life devastation, they take on impossible tasks and jobs with no idea what the outcome may be. i know EMT's and firefighters that every. single. shift. is a test of their mettle. 

what do i do? paperwork. read books. make sure the teenager has food and long sleeved shirts. no wait...hoodies.  no wait, flannel long sleeve shirts with a hoodie. NO WAIT... (can you guess what the conversation at our house has been this week?)

i've maybe had moments of bravery. leaving my marriage was scary, but i did that. and i've sat in the ER with the kid without losing my shit. i guess that was...maybe not brave, but at least not a hot mess?

i'm sure there's another example. 

and strength. ha. strength. i really like to pretend i'm strong but my family always treated me with kidd gloves.

in the 90's my dad wrecked his patrol car. he hit a patch of black ice and it threw his car off the road. the glove box was found 50 yards from the car. he had a broken collarbone, a few broken ribs, a punctured lung. i wasn't told about it until after he was out of the hospital.

same thing with my brother- he wrecked his bike, had to have a craniotomy and be placed in a medically induced coma for two weeks. i found out after he was out of the coma and moved to ICU.

when my dad died they waited several hours then called my mom and had her come tell me in person.

they all insisted that i wouldn't have been able to handle the news any other way. they "didn't know how i would react," so they tried to keep it from me as long as they could. i've never really thought of myself as a delicate flower, but you know, they must know something i don't. maybe they remember something from my childhood. maybe i reacted to things badly then. i've blacked out a significant portion of everything before 17, so i really don't know. maybe they're assholes, maybe they know something i don't.

the point of all this endless self depreciation?

i'm like- i don't even know the words. i'm at this place. it's not the swamp of sadness. it's not even the pit of despair. it's like...the chilean mine shaft of failure.

i've been applying for jobs here and there, been on a few interviews, looking without LOOKING. i'm putting off an intense job search, but at the same time, the ones i have applied for haven't worked out, so, is *actually* looking going to go any better?

i have so little bravery, so little strength, so little faith in myself that i talk myself out of jobs before i even hit the apply button.

school tutor? i can't fucking do that. yeah, i have a college degree, but that's not what i WENT to college for. i mean, they probably want people that took education classes, not just english classes.

barista? i mean, yeah, i learned to make coffee and i love it. but i couldn't actually like WORK at a shop with rush hours and cranky customers. and i mean, i never really fully learned how to take down a machine. i'm sure there's MUCH more qualified people out there.

a part time office assistant? i can't do that. i'm sure their office isn't at all like all the others i've worked in. it's probably like, way busier and harder than any of the places. i'll fall behind and make a mess of things and not be able to figure out their systems.

THAT'S RIGHT. I CAN TALK MYSELF OUT OF A JOB I'VE BEEN DOING FOR 20 YEARS.

i have friends that believe in me and encourage me ALL THE TIME. i wish like fuck i could catch a sliver of a glimpse of what they see.

and i'm scared ALL. THE. TIME. lately.

i would love to start my own business but before i can even get the full concept of the business written down i've already started a list of 101 ways it will fail.

i would love to push myself to actually publish but i already have myself convinced that it's a waste of everyone's time to put together a book no one will read.

i just. i don't love myself like my shoulder says. i'm not stronger than i seem. i'm not braver than i believe. i'm not smarter than i think.

i want to be. i wish i could find that path for myself. i'm still looking. but i haven't found it yet.

i want to learn how to be my own christopher robin.

what would YOU do for a klondike bar?

so. i have a problem. see, my oldest spawn is smart. i know...all together...POOR NANA. but seriously. he's smart. like wicked smart. like he really needs to be a lawyer because he can argue his way out of ANYTHING. he would make the supreme court look like a bunch of arguing toddlers...oh...wait...hmm...maybe not the best example...anywho. he's wicked smart. over the top jimmy neutron brain smart. and why is this a problem? i'm smart too after all...but...shhh...if you tell him i said this i will bust your knee caps: i'm not as smart as him. i can't keep up with all his arguments, and how he remembers things, and how he can think of excuses. because while i'm smart too: i'm busy! there's life, and another spawn, and work, and a million other things, and the oldest spawn knows this. AND HE USES IT.

so...how smart is he? well, he's in this special school. for smart kids. he had to take a test and be recommended by his teachers to get into this school. it's a school of ALL smart kids. and he's STILL bored. i've never once seen him do homework or study something and he's still getting 3/4 grades (on a 4 point system). he can figure out almost anything after just a few minutes. he's freaking wicked smart. which is making him LAZY. and by LAZY i mean he won't do a damn thing EVER and throws a complete temper tantrum if i make him. and if you know me, you know i don't tolerate tantrums in my house...but what this kid does is something even beyond tantrums.

the last time he was really in trouble at school i took away tv, the ds and went the extra step of taking away his art work. sounds odd, but it's what he LOVES. he has often been in trouble at school for drawing in class, he loves making his own shirts, the kid is an art freak. so, what better way to get his attention than take away the most important thing? holy. epic. meltdown. screaming, crying, literally pulling his hair out. telling me he had no other way to express himself besides his artwork and i was destroying him by taking it away. (drama queen much?). but, i stood my ground and the art work was gone until all his homework was caught up and his school work was being turned again (hard to do, but i refuse to give in to drama tantrums).

well, here we are again. last night he had a report due for school (deadline is this wednesday). he asked if he could use my laptop to type up the paper. i asked to see his rough draft first. he didn't have one. so i told him he needed to write one out before he would be allowed to type it. and so the battle began. I DON'T NEED TO WRITE ONE. I GET THREES AND FOURS THE WAY IT IS. told him i don't care what grade he gets, i want to see effort in his work. if it's so easy, he should be able to get all fours without a problem. and around it went. it actually ended pretty quickly because there's no point in arguing with an 11 year old until i'm in tears (lesson learned the HARD way. plus, i don't have the greatest temper control). i went to do dishes and the rest of the house went quiet. i assumed (bad) that he had gone to bed. it's a small apartment: two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen. that's it, and i didn't see him anywhere. i finished the dishes, did my work out, and in the middle of step aerobics out he crawls from behind the couch where he hid so he could play his ds and NOT write his rough draft. at this point it's an hour after his bedtime. "well, there's no clock back there". REALLY? i should have known to put a clock BEHIND THE COUCH...silly me. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? it's a good thing i was well into my aerobics and didn't want to stop. oh. my. FURIOUS. so he S.L.O.W.L.Y. went to bed (push a few more buttons kid...see what happens) and i have spent the last...oh...14 hours completely frustrated and out of ideas. before school today i told him i WILL see a rough draft tonight. he is grounded indefinitely from the game boy and tv, and i'm thinking of taking away the art supplies again. HE NEEDS TO DO HIS SCHOOL WORK. but doesn't need to because it's so easy for him. i have books at home with current events and last time around i tried making him pick out one of the articles and writing two pages about it, but after about 10 battles on writing a report vs. copying out of the book i gave up (bad mommy, i know).

i just don't know what to do with him. he is not motivated AT ALL to do ANYTHING. i've tried grounding, taking things away, adding extra work, using chores/school work to earn wii time, i just don't know what to do. he's fine and dandy from the school's point of view because he's getting ok grades, but NOT FINE from my view because he's putting in NO effort. he's too smart for his own britches. damn my good genetics! sheesh.

apparently the answer to the question: what would you do for a klondike bar in OUR house is: wait til mom is completely worn down, then just take it. don't earn it, don't work for it. just wait it out.