...and counting

it's been six weeks since my oldest son moved.

it feel like a lifetime. it feels like a few days.

it feels like the world has completely stopped. it feels like everything is on fast forward.

i've had a fuck of a time writing lately. there's so much hurt and anger and sadness and worry and gut wrenching sickness.

but i still get up and go to work.

i still meet up with friends.

i still make sure my youngest son has a good birthday.

i still try like fuck to hold it all together.

that's the real reason i haven't written.

i can't fall apart.

there's too many things to do. i can't write at work because i can't let them see me cry.

i can't write at home because there's dishes and dinner and grocery shopping and all the things i'm supposed to be doing (but can't because i'm just frozen).

i can't think about it. i can't fall apart.

i've lost my son. for probably a long time. i hope not forever.

but i can't think about it because i still have another son that needs me.

i'm so worried. everyone says he'll come back around. he won't hate me forever. he didn't really mean it when he told me he never wants to see me again.

i shouldn't read into him avoiding phone calls, stilted text message conversations. i shouldn't focus on the anger and blame during the few phone conversations that have happened.

i've taken my time thinking over the last few weeks. i can't say it's all been good thinking. i've used (and quite possibly abused) my sounding board friends. i've tried to look at things from all different angles, all different options.

i still haven't found another option that would have been better. i know this is the way it needed to be. it hasn't made it any easier. even weeks out.

i have so many questions and theories and ideas of why it all happened the way it did. i'm still working through them. i know i may not have any answers, ever. i'm working on being ok with that. some of the questions i'm still working up the courage to ask the right people and hope that they're willing to give me an honest response. i've been realizing half truths and passive destructions and undermining that go back years. it makes me think i'll i honestly never get real answers to my questions. it makes me think i've never gotten any honest answers from some people.

people ask how i am. how i've been doing. i answer politely but vaguely. i'm battling. it's true. i don't say it's a bloody, ugly, mean, horrible battle. i just answer politely and move on as quickly as possible. i feel like i've become adept at distractions- ask people questions, keep an arsenal of current events handy to change the topic, know ways to move on as quickly as possible. 

speaking of which.

i had a huge realization last week with the small spawn aging one more year: i'm the same age now as my mum when she got married to her second husband, and the small spawn is the age as my brother (and then me, three years younger).

it's hard to imagine my mom at 27 dating and...being young. hard to imagine her being the age i am now getting married to have someone help her raise her kids (her words). she's always been old to me. i never remember her being young or going out or anything. i remember one time in seattle she showed us she could change lanes without hitting the turtles in the road (the raised lane markers). i remember she had one gal she worked with that we would occasionally go over to their house on the edge of town. i think that was it for the extent of her friends and the extent of activity. she, to this day, has never had a drink of alcohol. she would go to work parties during the holidays but only stay a half hour because she didn't like being around people "like that" (drinkers). we went to church and i'm sure there were people there...but i dont remember her having a social circle. to this day i have NO CLUE what she would do during spring break and our two weeks in the summer my brother and i spent with our dad. we usually came home to rearranged furniture and her with a fresh perm. that's it.

it makes me wonder how my kids see me. i try to take them places and do things- movies, baseball games, hockey games, vacations (well, just one of those). i have a good circle of friends. i take time for myself and go out with said friends, attend theater, tweet-ups. i have friends over for dinner parties and bbq's and movie nights and just hang out nights. i've attempted dating (as well as that's gone...ugh). i've tried to make life LIFE. i've tried to show my kids conflict and resolution. i've tried to show them how to have a good time but still be responsible. i've tried to show them all the things that were hidden from me as a kid because they were grown up issues (never too early to learn budgeting and being money wise to me.)

i don't want my kids to look back on their childhood and only vaguely remember stories associated with pictures but draw a huge blank for the rest of it.

i'm 33. my youngest is 11. my oldest will be able to drive in a few months. life FLIES BY. i want them to remember it and love it.

on another track- i look at how my mom felt like she HAD to get married to have someone help her raise her kids. while i don't agree with that in any way shape or form, i also realize i've gone almost too far in the opposite direction shunning anyone that offers help (especially those that tried to force their help or tell me how it should be done). i'm so afraid of being like her- not being strong enough to do it on my own. i'm pretty sure i'm able to do it on my own. at least i have been able to for 15 years. pretty sure i don't have anything to prove to anyone at this point, so i need to just cool my jets and stop being so...harsh.

it all comes back to balance. i want someone willing to help, but not someone that thinks i NEED help. i'm not some fucking damsel in distress. i'm a damsel- maybe more of a dame. but i'm not exactly in distress. i've kept the lights on and the cupboards filled just fine. i want a partner, not an asshole knight on a horse that is going to shit all over my lawn (the horse. not the knight. well, maybe both). BUT. to get someone willing to help, i have to be willing to LET them help. i have to quit being so worried people will think i'm weak.

i have to quit being worried about people in general.

yeah. that's the biggest part of the equation. people are always going to have their own opinions. i can't control that. i'm sure no matter what someone out there is going to think i'm baby daddy shopping. someone is going to think i needed rescued. someone is going to think i'm with a guy i don't deserve. someone is going to think i could do better. someone is going to think i'm a fucking beached whale. someone is going to think i have soft movie cuddling enhanced plushness.

i have to quit worrying about others and worry about me. i have to look for what i need. what is important to me. what is best for my little core that's left.

IN OTHER NEWS:

i've said it before and i'll say it again: tattoos are my form of healing/working through things. i PLANNED on finishing up my second half sleeve before venturing out into any other tattoos, but gene had other ideas.

i've already introduced gene:

 well, gene needed a friend.

so.  meet anita:

she helps take care of gene. she's there to ice his injuries, mend his broken little heart. sweet little pigeon-toed anita.

together they're kind of AMAZING.

i know for sure i have gene in me. i've taken my hits. i've had my heart broken. i've been knocked around pretty good over the last few years but i'm still going.

but i also have anita in me (i know it's not a proper sentence. shut it.) i'm a fixer. i'm a helper. i want to make things better and take away what pain i can. i want to help put things back together, be there when someone needs me...especially my own damn self. back to that balance thing. admit my hurt, but also my own power to heal. like gene and anita. they go together. i'm going to keep taking hits over the years. and i'm going to keep fixing over the years.


so. 

six weeks. six weeks and counting.

i have plenty to say. i've been taking notes. i just haven't been able to get it out.

i'm trying to come back around. i'll get there.

six weeks is a lifetime and a blink. i'm getting there.

ok. i’m going to start by shouting out random things that i want to make sure to cover, follow along: ultrasound, taco bell, tattoo, work, fish, the OTHER fish, therapy, friends

and go:

so. my oldest spawn has been feeling sick off and on for a little over a week. he’s had an upset tummy that’s gone north and south on him at the most random times- after eating, middle of the night, at school, sitting around doing nothing, out running errand...i haven’t been able to track it to food or activity or being particularly sick. he’s been complaining about how bad it hurts and it’s not getting better, so i decided to take him in to the doctor finally. first thing the doctor said: is he always this white? i laughed. see, we’re not just white people. we have to fucking TAN to reach white. casper the friendly ghost looks at us and goes DAMN BITCH, hit a beach once in a while! so it thought it was funny that the doctor pointed that out first.

anytwaddle. doc looks him over and can’t find anything, can’t pick out a pattern that i missed, a trigger that stands out so he orders a blood panel and an ultrasound. SPIFFY. at least it’s two days BEFORE i lose my insurance, not two days after. BUT. this means there’s only two days left of work and BOTH days i’m training my replacement which means _I_ can’t take spawn to the ultrasound. fuck. if i wait til i can take him there’s no insurance. but how do i work it while i still have it??? FUUUUUUUUCCCCKKK.

rescued: friend was able to take the spawn to the ultrasound for me (that’s a whole story in itself). spawn eats a fat free (as much as possible) dinner the night before, fasts, yadda yadda, goes to the ultra sound (I’M NOT A GRANDMA!) pictures of his belly, the whole works, back to school, long story short his belly looks normal, we’re waiting for blood work. whatever.

THE POINT: spawn has a tummy ache for a week. doctor worthy. ultrasound worthy. what does he do as soon as the ultra sound is over? asks my friend to take him to taco bell for lunch. THEN, later at school to impress friends, he eats packets of hot sauce.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

*slowly counting to ten*

yeah. i think i know what the stomach problem is. fuck. all that stress for nothing.

so. there’s taco bell and ultrasound off the list.

TATTOO!! the sleeve is basically finished! well, half sleeve. and all but the shading! HOORAY! there’s pics on my facebook. if you don’t follow my facebook, you’re lame and you dont’ deserve to see pictures. just kidding...LOOK, PICTURES!

fish: which to start with? there’s TWO fish at work here...ummm...i’ll take door number one bob:

if you’ve been hiding under a rock, here’s a news flash: i quit my job. technically i turned in the notice back in november, but tomorrow is finally the actual last day! dear st peter on the crapper...what have i done? i’m actually doing this! it’s really here!

so, the good people in my department took me out to lunch today to say goodbye- SO FUCKING SWEET. really. i’ll miss the people a TON. boss even asked me today if i’m going to come back to keep doing meals on wheels with him one wednesday a month. SO SWEET. so lunch: my boss also bought me a going away gift: a picture. a really fucking cool picture. it’s two fish bowls next to each other. one has a bunch of fish, the other only has one fish. in between the two bowls is one fish in the process of jumping from one bowl to the other...in support of me jumping out into the unknown and taking a new path. HOW FUCKING COOL IS THAT??

i’m really going to miss the people. not so much the work, i’m really excited for the whole doing my own thing, but the people...damn, there’s some wicked awesome people there. i’ll have to stop in and say hi every now and again.

now to the other fish. yes, i signed up on plentyoffish again. all for you people. you know you love the train wrecks. so. here i am all optimistic about meeting some freaks and getting some great stories for you guys. then i have to go find a normal one that i actually kinda might be liking a little bit. so. sorry about that everyone. i’ll let you know when the inevitable happens and it goes up in flames. i’m sure it will be spectacular!

so. a few weeks ago a friend an i were laughing about what a hot mess i am at times and he jokingly suggested that it would take years of therapy to fix me. i laughed. he didn’t realize i’ve been in therapy (off and on) since i was 17. more off than on, but since lpsing my dad i’ve been going every two weeks to figure this whole mess out. and guess what: I’M NORMAL well, as normal as anyone could expect given the fucked up family i was raised with and the shit that’s hit the fan since then. but that’s life, you know? we all have our issues and shit hands that have been dealt to us at times. the important thing is how you deal with it and and how you work through it all. big news: i learned something important about myself: I AM A GOOD COMMUNICATOR. i’ve tried. i’ve tried FOREVER to learn how to talk to people, to think things through, listen more than i speak, make sure that what i’m saying is what i truly mean, so many different things. i’ve had many friendships and relationships end because of arguments and what i thought was my inability to communicate. i realize now that is probably partially true, but i was trying my damndest. i still have a TON of learning to do, we all do, BUT, I AM GOOD. so. .there’s that. it was a nice boost. a little affirmation.

and finally: friends: they’re amazing. everyone should get some. yes, cop out. i got tired and got side tracked and forgot what i was going to say. there’s that excellent communication at work...ha ha. anytwaddle. friends are good, i’ll think of the point to this after some sleep and get back to you. but for now: here’s the tip of the day: if you ever feel the need to sneeze but it’s a bad time, picture a purple cow with pink spots. sneeze: GONE. so. there. you learned something.

and then i was all...

today has been deemed random blog post day. there’s too many ideas to narrow it down to one. so. strap in. it could be a fucked up ride.

first off. i’m disappointed with myself. i knew that making changes in my life would open me up to new things, different things, the same things from a different perspective. i didn’t expect to hate- nay- loathe myself this early on in the process. yes, that’s right friends, a dixie chicks song made sense to me. I KNOW. i’m ashamed enough for all of us. but really…all of a sudden i’m listening to my mp3 and wide open spaces pops up and it just made sense. and yes, that was me admitting to having it on my mp3 thus giving it the ability to pop up and cause this whole identity crisis. going down in flames before i’ve even started the journey.

next. i have decided that i HATE tall book shelves. will never own another one again. ever. now i’m a tall person, so please don’t think i’m height discriminating. actually, think that all you want CAUSE I AM. i hate tall book shelves. you can never see what’s on top, they take up a whole wall, and if you’re not crazy diligent then whole villages of dust bunnies will move in and take over the place. i decided this weekend that the tall book shelves had to go. i swapped them out for little half height cubicle shelves and I LOVE IT SO MUCH. i have space to set things and decorate. i have wall space to hang pictures. i have NO MORE DUST VILLAGES. seriously, the swiffer duster was disgusting when i finished cleaning off the old shelves. it was a relatively small change, but it made a HUGE difference in my house- less claustrophobic, more clean, better displayed, all around happier shelves. it’s the little things that make a difference.

random #3: i broke my new car. yes, bonnie has been mortally injured. ok. maybe not mortally, it was more like a hangnail, but it happened. i was backing out of my garage and discovered that my side mirror does NOT bend backwards, and more importantly, does NOT bend back forwards after being bent backwards. also: insurance/warranty doesn’t cover stupid. so. $180ish later bonnie has been fixed and now my new car is old. the first official battle wound. all fixed up and better, but i’ll always know that the original side mirror met an untimely demise.

if insanity is defined by repeating the same action and expecting different results: I’M INSANE. we tried another pet. I KNOW. someone needs to put my picture up at the pound and not even let me in the door. BUT: the cat has made it over a year, so i’m not completely hopeless. so. the story goes like this: we adopted an akita. BEAUTIFUL dog. he was 3 years old, fully grown, and fit right in. was perfectly behaved while we were home over christmas break. got along perfectly with the kids, didn’t mind the cat, acted great when people came over and we did glee karaoke at way too loud of a volume with way too big of actions to go with the singing. strike that- there’s no such thing as too loud or too big of actions when it’s glee karaoke. but you get the idea. GREAT dog. no accidents in the house, didn’t even think about chewing up one thing, didn’t cause any problems. then we had to go back to school/work. turns out he had a bit of an anxiety/separation issues thing going on. TORE THE HOUSE APART. destroyed the kitchen blinds/curtains. shredded the plastic blinds in the living room. that was the first day. so i thought: my bad for leaving him out, i’ll put him in a kennel. second day: destroyed the kennel. or more correctly the contents of the kennel and everything near by. i had left a blanket, a bowl of water, and some toys in with him. DESTROYED. and he somehow managed to pull a stuffed giraffe off a shelf nearby and eat that. apparently the giraffe wasn’t good eating according to the mess that was smeared all over the kennel, through the wire mesh, EVERYWHERE. so i thought: my bad for leaving things in the kennel with him. so. day three: dog, rawhide, kennel. came home to the kennel TORN APART. still no idea how he did it. one of the big wire kennels and he managed to tear one of the doors down. it’s the kind that can collapse for travel, so it’s not a complete feat of strength, but still- those things are pretty damn solid when you put them together. but he tore it apart and got out. so. he had to go back. he was GREAT when we were home, but there’s no way we could have a dog that couldn’t be left alone. we’re gone more than i realized- grocery shopping, errands, movies- just a deal breaker for us. so. no more dog. back to just the cat. who, by the way, is even MORE obnoxious now that she is back to being an “only child.” ugh.

random #15: i think i broke my finger. well, not my finger, the knuckle on my right pointer finger. it hurts.

so. we all know how hard it is to take a GOOD picture of ourselves. don’t lie- you know you’ve tried it a million times on your digital camera or cell phone and HATED the results. know what’s even harder? taking a good picture of your own arm. it’s REALLY HARD PEOPLE. i’ve been trying to take a picture of my sleeve for a few weeks now and just can’t make it work. even got the spawn to try it…well…that’s a whole different story. you thought _I_ was technologically incapable? turns out it gets worse when you pass that gene on. anytwaddle: i have a half sleeve tatt now that is almost done and i can’t get a good picture of it to show off. so. imagine flowers. there you go. that’s all i can do for now. (not really, THIS is all i can do for now: 

random #5: there’s something very liberating about realizing you’re learning how to get past what you think other people will think. i’ve had a nasty habit…well…forever…of editing what i write depending on how i think people will respond to it. i’m (slowly) learning how to get over that. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR HOW PEOPLE FEEL. i write what i write. how people feel in response to that is up to them. i can’t dictate what mood they’re in or how they interpret something or the voice they attach to my writing. IT IS OUT OF MY CONTROL, AND I AM OK WITH THAT. that’s a hard sentence to write. especially for a complete control freak. i know how things sound in _MY_ head and how i would LIKE them to sound in your head, but i can’t control that and it’s ok. i don’t need to let that dictate what i’m going to write and how i’m going to express myself. i will not be unnecessarily vicious or mean (well, not without proper warning anyway). i will not go out of my way to offend people or be completely out in left field. but it will happen from time to time that people are offended. or that they didn’t read a particular post the way i intended it to come off. AND THAT’S OK. along the same vein: it’s liberating to look at situations that are already in turmoil or where there are already problems and be able to speak my mind. i’m slowly leaning that the things i think are the worst that could happen rarely do happen. the worst response that i think i’ll get is rarely the true response that i do get. and when things are already in turmoil or when there’s already a problem it’s not like i can mess it up any more. well, i probably can, but that’s not the point. if there’s already a rift or a lack of communication, what is there to lose by speaking my mind? if someone has cut me out of their life or decided to move on, what do i have to lose by speaking my peace? the answer: NOTHING. and it generally helps me out to know that i’ve done and said everything i could on my end. but it really is liberating to realize that. so. learn from me. your yoda i am.

you can shoot me now. i apologize for that. can’t believe i just dropped a yoda line on you people. i’m sincerely sorry. i suppose i could delete it, but eh…that means backtracking and hitting extra buttons and it just sounds like too much work.

BIG NEWS: i’ve decided what i want to write first. i’m going to write my story! i’ve been thinking about it lately and i just really need to get all my history out of my head before i can get a character with a history of their own up in there mixing everything up. so. that’s my starting point. ME. i’m excited to see how it will turn out. that may sound strange, but you know how it goes- different parts and pieces come together at different times and it make all different stories. i don’t know what will be important or come to the front or want to be written about first. but i’m excited to see what path it takes, which of my experiences makes the cut, and what it tells in the long run. think of all the different blogs- how on different days, different pieces of my past have come forward to shine. they weren’t all in order, they didn’t all have the same tone or purpose to them, but they were all important and all were pieces of me. so. i’m excited put it into book form and see where it goes. hooray! a starting point!

i’m sure there’s a million other random things that i’ve been thinking of that i’ll think of again later, but right now…i think i’m good. i think that’s most of it. i’m doing a ton of thinking today apparently. and i like the work apparently apparently. there will be a more serious post up on the meatball page in a bit...so, if this doesn’t suit you today, give me a few minutes and we’ll try something different.

my healing process

so. in the middle of everything there’s one thing that keeps coming up, one thing everyone keeps saying, one recurring theme: it will get better, i’ll heal and get back to normal. i’ll move on.

i get it. you know? i know it will happen. i know it’s inevitable. it will get better. i will begin to heal. i will eventually move on. but normal? there is no normal any more. normal is long gone. there will be a NEW normal eventually but there is no normal to go back to. nothing will ever be the same again.

NORMAL was talking to my dad every week. it was him checking about my car, asking how money was, what the boys were up to, when i was going to come see him again. it was listening to him talk about football games or golf or fifty cent taco night at the bar. normal was my dad being upset every time i moved that my house wasn’t good enough. it was grandpa showing up at every birthday or holiday with WAY too many presents- there was no such thing as getting a few things on the wish list- it was EVERYTHING on the wish list. normal was great big grizzly bear hugs and snoring that put old school cartoons to shame. normal was having a dad i could call any time for help or love or laughs. there will never be a normal again.

so what do i go back to? i guess the answer is that you don’t go back to anything- you have to move forward. but it’s fucking hard people. it’s hard to move forward. it’s hard to move. it’s hard to breathe. it’s hard to know that all the things that were so special, the things i took for granted are just gone. they’re memories now. and i’m TERRIFIED that memories will fade with time.

i don’t want to move forward. i don’t want to have a new normal. i don’t want to forget.

i know that eventually i’ll have to. i know that time and life will force me to. but for now i need to hurt. i HAVE to hurt before i can heal. i have to ask my questions. i have to be angry. i have to cry. i have to rage against the universe and curse the unfairness of it all. i have to find time to let myself feel all the different things.

i’ve been told over and over “this is the life” but i say BULLSHIT. BULL. FUCKING. SHIT. this is NOT the life. it is NOT normal to lose your brother and your grandmother and your father and your step mother all in less than a year. YES, loss happens. but holy fuck universe- give me some fucking room to breathe and deal with things. can we space these out a little more? you know...like...NEVER? and yes, i understand how unreasonable that is. i understand life and death and eventually we will lose people. but FUCK. not all at once, you know?

so. the questions really are: HOW DO I HURT? and HOW DO I HEAL? i know that i have to do both. and here’s what i’m attempting (poorly, but attempting):

talking about it: friends and sounding boards and therapy and hell, even perfect strangers are all hearing little bits and pieces of what i’m going through right now. there’s several reasons for this: #1- it validates my feelings. wait...validates isn’t the right word- it makes them real. when you’re forced to put words to things you have to know what you’re saying. you have to be able to call it by name and once you’re able to do that it doesn’t seem so big and scary. it makes me really think about what i’m feeling so i CAN say it. #2- every person you come into contact with is there for a reason and at a specific time. i believe that with every part of my being. every person is there for you to share something with or to share something with you. you never know what you will take away from an interaction, or what you may be able to give them. whose to say that the checker at the store didn’t also recently experience a loss and by my talking about mine it lets them know that they’re not alone in the shit-pile the universe is shoveling out? maybe they can tell me how they’re getting through it or i can tell them how i am. maybe it’s something as simple as making another human connection. maybe it’s an opportunity to learn something new or laugh for a minute or be reminded and one of a million things. TALKING IS GOOD.

writing about it: if talking is good, writing is fan-fucking-tastic. as much as you can talk about something there’s a sense of finality to see it in front of you. writing has always been my core self. it’s what i ALWAYS go back to when shit hits the fan. i have journals from every hard part of my life. it’s my chance to talk to myself and talk to other people without being interrupted or thrown off track or forgetting what i was trying to say. i can organize it, tweak it, work it through until i really know it’s exactly what i want to express. it also gets it out of my head- there’s something about writing for me- i can think about it forever, i can talk about it, but until i put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) it won’t be OUT of my head. once it’s written i can finally put it to rest. i can know i’ve said my peace. i can know that it’s there. it’s a tangible thought. it’s no longer just my own voice in my head, it’s out there- if this makes sense to you, you’re probably also a writer. if it doesn’t make sense- trust, it really helps me.

and i'm finding new ways to write. ways to force myself through it. i'm making myself write on my lunch breaks at work- it makes me get through things and feel it all without being allowed to fall apart. i tried to write at home one evening and just found myself staring at the wall and getting lost in emotions and getting NO writing done. when i write at work i have to focus, i have a time limit, i have to get it out and still be able to function for the rest of the day. i make myself write about the hard things that i know i wouldn't be able to face otherwise. it's been very helpful.

ink: i waited until i was 27 to get my first tattoo. every single one of my designs is something i picked, something that represents a part of me, something that helped me deal with a different part of my life. a tattoo on my foot for my kids. “destiny” on my wrist to remind me every day that there’s a time and a purpose for everying. the flowers growing up my calf to remind me of all the battles i’ve made it through. the vw for my brother. and now my dad’s badge on my shoulder to never forget who he was and what he meant to so many people.

i went in a week or so ago and had this new one done. and it’s my dad. it’s his badge, his badge number, hell, my artist even mixed some of my dad’s ashes into the ink for me. it’s as much of my dad as i can get and keep forever. and there’s something about the pain of getting ink- it puts a REAL pain to the pain in my heart. as i was on the table for this last one i started crying- something NOT ALLOWED on tattoo tables. you know how there’s no crying in baseball? there’s no crying in tattoos too. so there i am on the table, all of 5 minutes into the ink, and i start to cry. IT DIDN’T HURT (which was surprising given the placement). that is to say the INK didn’t hurt. but it hurt to the very core to think of why i was getting the tattoo, what it meant. it made me really face it again- you can’t deny your father is gone when his ashes are being put into your skin. you can’t say he’ll come back one day when you’re holding his burned badge in your hand for the artist to get the design from. you can’t pretend it didn’t happen any longer.

and you know that thing about talking that i mentioned? how each person is there at a certain time for a certain reason? turns out my tattoo artist was law enforcement. he worked as an EMT for years, had been recruited for the WSP, had tested for Kootenai county- all places my family of cops has been. my dad studied to be an emt back in the beginning and was a WSP. my brother started his career in Kootenai county. my artist UNDERSTOOD. he knew what it meant to put this badge on me. he had read the news and followed the story. it meant as much to him to be able to do the ink for me as it did for me to receive the ink. it wasn’t just some random person all...whatever...with the gun. we were able to talk about it through the process. he understood the tears and made an exception to the rule for me on his table crying.

and it really did help me start to heal. going through the pain, working through the meaning, making sure the ink healed right- it’s helping me heal a little more every day. i still tear up when i look at it. i still hurt when i remember why it’s there. i have a hard time explaining it to people without turning into a slobbering crying mess. but each time gets a little easier. i can’t say each day is getting easier yet. just when i think that something comes along to submarine me. but you know...eventually...right? that whole being forced to move forward and find a new normal? it will happen whether i want it to or not, right? so. welcome to my healing.

one small step

i took one small step today. no literally...small steps. i'm in 4" heels here people. they're ALL small steps!

so. i took one LARGE step today. the safety event today at work was about domestic violence and how it affects the work place.

and i went.

i wasn't sure i wanted to go. it's like (i would think) willingly going to watch an IED be detonated after having one blow up your bradley. sure, part of it might be healing in a way, but there's huge potential that it will just freak you the fuck out.

if you haven't seen my tattoo before, there SHOULD be a picture of it. notice the purple flower? that one is for _my_ battle with domestic violence. if you didn't know, all the colors are for different things that have impacted my family/me. they're things we've had to grow through...thus the growing up the calf...the gladiolas are strength of character...how much can you pack into one tattoo? you'd be surprised.

but today i went to the domestic violence presentation. turned out to be completely lame. a 20 minute video about how it affects the workplace and things we can do. and by completely lame i mean really good information, but it wasn't a personal speaker or a live re-enactment or something that would have really had explosive potential. so lame is good in this case.

but you know...i took that risk. i went, not knowing what it would be. i faced it. and came out the other side. so there is that.

seven years people. that's how long i've been away. and although i'm 98% healed it's surprising what the at final 2% can hold and when it can pop up again.

but the good news is i'm 98% better. and stronger. and braver. and less willing to take shit off someone. and more willing to stand up for myself. and 100% sure that i don't have to take it, ever again. and 100% sure that i WON'T take it ever again.

slightly ironic point: i'm wearing 4" heels today. and i went to a domestic violence presentation. one of the first things i had to do when i was married was get rid of all my heels because he didn't like me being taller than him. FUCK THAT. today...well, today i can tell you EXACTLY what i'd do with this 4" heel if anyone complained about it....and it wouldn't be throwing it away...

random prego bunnies with ice picks

so many inconsequential things to say, so little time. okay. first. i was walking across the street the other day on my way back to work after lunch and this very nice pickup truck pulled up to the intersection. now, i know i look good, you know i look good, but he in the truck was just discovering how good i look. and it must have been quite startling because it forced him to almost immediately begin to scratch his brain. yes, that's right. while mildly interesting gentleman in the hot truck was checking me out (very obviously) he proceeded to insert finger up nose to fourth knuckle (that's all the way in if you weren't aware) and scratch his brain at the amazingness that was me. how flattering. i laughed. i'm still laughing. it amazes me what people do. no, that's not true, i've ceased being amazed. but it's still fucking hilarious. he was in the cone of invisibility that is our own personal vehicle (even though his windows were all down, thus shattering the invisible barrier, some people forget that). he could see me, but i couldn't see him. it was lovely. i'll cherish that moment for ever. F.O.R.E.V.E.R.

second. i am a jealous person. i am just learning to admit this. and yes, it's a complete and total jealousy based on insecurity and greed. it's things i wish i could be, things i want to have, a way of life that i want to reach. that's all jealousy is at the root really, wanting what you don't have or protecting what you're scared you're going to lose. i never really thought i was a jealous person. and i guess i'm only half of the normal jealous picture you see of females. i get horribly jealous but i won't act on it, i won't say anything (usually), i won't boil a baby rabbit or come after you with an ice pick. but it's there. almost all the time. because i hear, and i see, and i know. i know that the guy that's been tolerating me for the last two years still prefers the itty bitty little girls. i know he still drools over his ex's (and satisfies them as they see fit to drop by). i'm jealous that he attracts women like no ones business and i rarely get any attention. i'm jealous of the couples that i see that are happy together (even though i would probably go insane if that was me). i'm jealous of all the people that have someone to call and talk to when they have a bad day. i'm jealous of all the people that have someone to curl up and watch a movie with. i'm jealous of the people who have kids that are out of diapers. i'm jealous of people that have help handling mouthy teen-wannabe's. i'm jealous of people that can just live their lives and not have to worry about money every minute (even if they're just pretending). i'm jealous of the people that LOVE their jobs and really feel like they're making a difference (not just shuffling papers back and forth). it's all irrational. it's all things that will come in time or i just need to get off my ass and work towards. they're silly, nonsensical things that are a waste of energy to worry about. but it's there. and i'm owning it. not sure what good it will do me, but i'm owning my jealousy. it's there. i'd rather admit that than fight it forever.

*big sigh* okay. next. i've decided i would be a great surrogate. the friend that i recently wrote about passing- his best friend is (was?) a gay gentleman that has been desperately looking for a surrogate to have a child for he and his partner. why not? i was good at being prego. had super fat and healthy babies, no big worries during the pregnancies, the deliveries were both horrible, but that's just one day. and honestly, how much fun would it be to have people as questions about the baby and be able so say "oh, it's not mine..." i think it would be a freaking riot to see people's faces. they're looking at you...ummm...you're pregnant, what do you mean it isn't yours?? i would crack up every time. like when phoebe was prego on friends and got to tell people they were her brother's babies...freaking fun! hell yes! sign me up! plus, i was super healthy when i was prego. great hair, great skin, really healthy...i'll sign up for that! so. me + prego = great jokes and fat babies. it's an all around win.

moving on. how many of you believe in strange things that happen? okay, guess i could be a little more specific- the tattoo on my calf. it is loaded with personal meaning for me, the most important part is the pink butterfly that is for the gal here at work battling breast cancer. well, she's started coughing again which is NOT a good sign, it means her cancer is back again. well, ever since she started coughing again, my butterfly has been itching off and on. just the butterfly, not the rest of the tatt. just that one part. how odd is that? i think it's really odd. and it's just the left wing...i wonder if her cancer is worse in one lung than the other (that's where's it's spread to finally...started out 20 years ago as breast cancer). and today, i had a cold spot in the middle of the back of my right hand. it felt like a cold drop of water was on it and i kept trying to wipe it off but there was nothing there. there IS a small virtually invisible spot that i can see exactly around where the cold spot is...no bug bite, no marks, but i can see a circle of skin that doesn't match. i wonder what the hell that has to do with anything. if i find out one of my kids hurt their hands today i will freak out. that always happened to us growing up. well, not so much us as my brother. every time he got in trouble my mum would get little itty bitty water blisters all over her fingers so he was basically busted before he ever got home.

okay. one final thing for today: every time i hear "stimulus package" it makes me giggle. yes, i do have the ability to make anything dirty. it's great.

so. in summary: brain scratching, ice picks and bunnies, prego joke, "stimulus package" *giggle* dirty.