A New Kind of Year

Steeled Soul, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

2010 was a tumultuous, sickening, exhilarating, devastating and  an all around eventful year. I was so glad to be entering 2011 with all of the pieces of my life put back where I thought they oughta be. D and I had reconciled - although we still didn't have any idea what to do with this relationship to make and keep it healthy for both of us. My kids were doing well at home and at school - although I was starting to emotionally separate from my daughter in apprehension of her "leaving me" and going to college. My relationships with my mom and dad were both intact and everyone was - for the most part- happy and healthy.  I was at poverty level financially, but felt very wealthy in terms of friends and family. 


Part of any relationship is sharing with the other those things that make one feel special and cared for - and being honest about the things that don't. Being able to say "Hey! This is not okay!" is crucial to the health of a partnership. And I am not good at it. I am good at pouting. I am good at obscure references and the silent treatment. I can drop hints and exaggerated sighs like a B2 Bomber. But the straightforward approach escapes me.

This year, when planning out holiday celebrations with various family factions, it just so happened that D will be spending New Years Eve in Kansas with his family hunting and opening presents. I, on the other hand, am childless and now boyfriend-less on this very special milestone holiday. And while my brain gets the logistics of what our situation is, the little brat inside of me is throwing a temper tantrum because I don't get my way - I don't get to dress up, party, and kiss my boyfriend at midnight. Ugh. Such a terrible plight. 


But really, it's more than that. I don't want to spend any holidays by myself.


I spent the previous week simpering and sighing every time that NYE came up in conversation (something I do before every holiday or special occasion that doesn't pan out my way). I repeated all of my finely honed poor communication skills - with the expected poor results. Finally, in an obviously-channeled-from-a-healthy-person session, I very clearly said: Hey, I have to tell you something. I have a problem. I am not okay with being alone on holidays. And you know what? It was easy! And good! It works! Did D change his plans and ruin his kids' time with their grandparents so that I could have my way on NYE? No. Thank goodness. But we were able to have a conversation about my feelings and expectations.


I was surprised to learn that NYE is not that big of a deal to my boyfriend. I count it as one of my "High Holidays". I reminded him of how special the NYE we spent in Boston was. Of how much fun we had going to see Benjamin Buttons another year - we went to the theatre in one year and came out of the theatre in another year, etc.


Yet, today when I was getting my head and heart right to be okay with being "alone" tonight, it dawned on me: when I was reminding him of the special NYE celebrations we have enjoyed over the past few years, I did not mention last year. Not one word was spoken about the transition from 2010 to 2011, even with all of it's drama and events. You know why?


I can't remember what we did. Or if we were even together. 


I will have two special gifts for myself as we go in to the new year - one is the ability to trust that I can express my wants and needs in a healthy, constructive way. The other will be a newly written reflection of 2011. I don't want to spend anymore time this year dreading things that haven't happened or might not be as bad as I think they will be. I want to celebrate and be grateful for those moments full of joy and contentment.


Happy New Year, my friends. <3


 
 

A Brand New Day

To those of you who have asked about buying some of my pieces - thank you so very much for giving me enough flattery that I have put my neck out there, risking ridicule and failure, to start my own Etsy Shop. Please visit when you can, leave feedback, and help me with presenting myself in the most attractive and profitable way. Love you and thank you, thank you, thank you!

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Now is the Time

Implemental Slumber, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

In my mind, I am a terribly wonderful friend to have. Sweet, giving, understanding, easy to get along with and lots of fun to hang out with.

And I am. Some of the time.

But I also seem to have another person living in me. Another person who can make a guest appearance at any given, random time. This person is nasty, peevish, cruel, judgmental, ruuuuude, and irrational to say the least.

I shouldn't say that this person shows up randomly - it really isn't as random as I would like. She can show up any random time I am drinking.

I have spent the last 15 years trying to decipher her code, trying to ward off her appearance and to somehow predict her pattern. She just does so much damage all the while using my name and my mouth.

Maybe she only comes when I don't eat enough before I drink. Or maybe I shouldn't drink cheap(er) alcohol. Maybe I was just out of my element this time, giving her a foot in the door. Perhaps I was really emotional this time drinking and that brought her around. Maybe I just don't metabolize alcohol the same since I quit smoking, and my body will come back in to balance with time. Maybe it was because I was hormonal. Or maybe I shouldn't mix my alcohols. Maybe I should only drink wine. Or beer. Or blahblahblah ad nauseum..

It is sad how much time and effort I have had to put in to repairing damage caused in my personal life (and maybe my professional life if I am honest about it). I have hurt people that I care about so very much, I have embarrassed the man that I love with my whole heart, and have made my family come to me with their concerns more than once.

Why would I continue down this road? I obviously have failed to figure out how to drink without having it turn out badly every so often. In fact, this game of Russian Roulette has more live rounds in the gun than it does blanks - more sorrowful Saturday mornings trying to piece together what chaos I have wreaked upon my loved ones than not.

The only way to guarantee victory over this particularly damaging part of my life is this:

I admit that I have a problem with alcohol. And I am committed to living my life alcohol-free from this day forth.

Not because I think it will make my life better, or fix any problem that I have right now - I just know that if I drink anymore it will make my life exponentially worse. And I am tired of hurting myself by destroying relationships and opportunities just because I haven't figured out the "right formula".

And I know that there will be many people in my world who will doubt that I can follow through on this intention - and that is okay. If I focus on what everyone else expects of me, I am sure to fail. And I may fail anyway - who knows?

But I have to say that the joy and freedom that comes to me through this decision (Yay! "She's" never coming back to hurt me or anyone else!) is liberating.

I feel free. And hopeful. And ambitious. And ...well, I feel good. Something I haven't felt in a long time.

Merry Christmas to you and me! <3

Happy Fat

Vol, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

One of the only benefits to having a broken heart is the "Break up and Die" diet. Good GRIEF that was awesome! I lost every ounce of weight that I put on when I quit smoking in three weeks! I had the best time pulling my favorite outfits out of solitary confinement (otherwise known as the "I will fit into this again one day, I swear to God" section of the closet). Honestly, it was like getting a whole new wardrobe! A whole new wardrobe that most of which had since become outdated - and was promptly sent to Goodwill.

When BF and I got back together, I slowly put back on that ole Quit Weight. However, it couldn't be called Quit Weight anymore - now it could only be called Happy Fat.

Happy Fat stinks. It won't exercise off, it won't starve off, it won't melt off with sauna heat - noooo, Happy Fat is here to stay.

I am grateful that Happy Fat can be camouflaged and hidden with the right clothing, but I want to dance naked (in my own home when noone is there, by the way) at least one more time before I turn into an old lady - and Happy Fat doesn't dance naked.

The only solution that I can think of is the "Break up and Die" diet, and every once in awhile I get desperate enough to contemplate starting the process.

Thankfully - my heart knows how to trump my vanity and will shake some sense back into my head.

I just wish that when my heart shook some sense into my head, my Happy Fat wouldn't jiggle so much.

Morosity Exposed

Steel Peacock, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

For the record, Morosity isn't a word. Not a real one, anyway.

I don't care. (Not caring is called apathy. Apathy is a real word.)

Morosity - a constant state of morose-ness. (I made this up)

mo·rose   [muh-rohs]
adjective
1.gloomily or sullenly ill-humored, as a person or mood.
2.characterized by or expressing gloom.

Good grief - I have always thought of myself as a relatively cheery and optimistic person.

It was BF who rather bluntly enlightened me with the news that I am showing all of the symptoms of chronic depression. (He wasn't that nice or elegant about it, though.)

I think the term "Chronic Depression" in itself is too broad, too much of a cop-out for everyday maladies and bad attitudes. A catch-all phrase, a generic way of explaining away being lethargic and uninspired.

I think I am just a morose person!

A beautiful sunset is mourned because it changes too quickly and goes away - never to be seen again.

A tender moment of holding hands brings a peculiar ache to the heart as the hands will separate soon and the closeness experienced will be encroached upon by time and distraction.

The joy of a reunion with a loved one is overshadowed by anticipation of the impending pain of separating again.

Morosity. I don't want it anymore. Going to find me some endorphins and serotonins and marshal my gloom and doom thoughts right on out the door until I can see sunshine in my heart again.

I can only hope it lasts... *sigh*

(Ha! See? I made a funny joke! Take THAT, morosity!)

ROBQUIT

robquit and tielji, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

You all know (well, some of you know) that I quit smoking using the Quitnet.com.

Internet-ANYthing is such a great sociological experiment, but an internet support system for kicking an addiction is another animal altogether. It is very intense. I think it is due to the power of the written word, but also because of the (sometimes false) sense of knowing other people very intimately because you communicate so often.

I have met the finest people on the world wide web. And most of them I met on the Q.

Often the Q will have a huge get-together where people from all over the world will come meet each other in person. These days, meetings like this are called conventions and are not very out of the ordinary. But 4 years ago it was still pretty shaky. Our friends and family were nervous for our safety and questioning our sanity. I mean, really! Who flies (or drives) thousands of miles to hang out with total strangers for the weekend for no other reason except to connect a face to a screen name?

At one such get-together, we all gathered in Chicago. (What a wonderful place!) I road-tripped with my Q-Bud Taceon, stayed in NE with another Q-Bud Courtne, and saw all of Chicago's finest tourist spots with Brnhiker and Spmozart - all people that I would have never known if not for the Q.

And amongst the 100 or so beloved strangers I was blessed to meet, there was RobQuit. Yes, I got to meet RobQuit in Chicago.

What a handsome devil. What a Q legend. What an amazing man, husband and father. What a fabulous friend.

He became my most precious penpal and support from afar - through my divorce, through my dating, through my life ills, and child raising disasters - he was there.

But now he isn't.

And he won't ever be there again.

Rob passed away this morning. From cancer.

It isn't fair.

Man, Truck, Dog. Life is good.

Man, Truck, Dog. Life is good., a photo by tielji on Flickr.

It's been awhile, friends. And honestly - that is a good thing. I haven't been fit for company.

I must apologize for the poison and nastiness in my last post. I have actually been that angry and hurt-y inside all summer long, it seems. Not only did I have myself convinced that I was the victim, but I allowed myself the luxury of striking out blindly against the ones that I love the most. How in the world did I let that happen?

Last summer it was the broken heart. This summer it was the bitter heart. If I don't get a handle on things, who knows what my heart will do next summer?

Enough of all of that.

I need to take the reigns of my emotion back before I damage any more relationships that are important to me. I need to forgive, speak words of peace, and most of all - I need to remember to be kind. To everyone. Including myself.

What a concept, eh?

Take a Seat

Take a Seat, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

I know, I know. It's been awhile.

I have missed you, too.

But here's the thing - my world is warping and exploding and shrinking and growing and just generally becoming unmanageable.

Why the unnecessary dramatic language, you wonder?

My daughter is graduating from high school in less than two weeks. And then she is off to college.

I can't even write about it without welling up with tears. It's not that I don't want her to blossom and grow and flourish and fly - I just want her to do it here with me! And that isn't fair. I know that I am supposed to be thrilled that she is wanting to explore the world and investigate every aspect of how she will relate to our society as a whole and healthy, productive, giving, nurturing and loving human being...and most parts of me are so very thrilled, I swear. This is a beautiful culmination of every maternal duty I was charged with when she was born!

But the part of me that isn't thrilled is plain heartbroken. I didn't expect to feel this way. I am mourning already and so afraid of just how bad this mourning can get.

She was the very first human that I ever loved with every fiber of my being.

And while I will let her go with as much grace and dignity as I can muster, and I will be her biggest supporter in creating a future that has nothing to do with mommy's wants, opinions, rules, hangups and/or feelings - it will be somewhat of a facade. A farce, if you will.

Because, really, if you could see into my heart you would see me throwing myself on the floor and begging her to stay.

Just stay a bit longer with me, my little TaylorBooBerry.

right on time

right on time, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

As Easter is rapidly approaching, I have found myself dissecting my faith.

Age and maturity (?) have brought me perspective on which issues really need to be "worked out in fear and trembling", and which ones can be fodder for theological debate but are not worth my time laboring over the validity of.

Going to mass with D has been so good for this heart that KNOWS the liturgy - but after a lifetime of indoctrination, just couldn't open up enough to embrace and believe.

It's so ironic to have been raised in a spirit-filled, nondenominational charismatic church with a rock band for a worship team, three services a week, plus Christian School Monday through Friday - and here in a staid, symbol-laden Mass is where I finally meet my God.

Go figure.

I hope this Easter season has blessed you as much as it has me.

If you remember correctly, BF and I gave up alcohol for Lent. I am telling you right now - I have never been so excited for Easter Sunday in my life! I am planning to have Screwdrivers with my breakfast. Not kidding you. Or maybe Bloody Mary's first thing after midnight.

Come on over. I promise not to try and convert you whilst I pour mixed drinks with reckless abandon.

This Way

This Way, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

I have been thinking a lot about friends.

What is your definition of friend? Do you have many friends - or just a couple and the rest are just acquaintances? Do you have lifelong friends - or friends for a season?

I define friend as someone who can have a conversation with me at any given time of the day, on just about any subject. A friend will ask about my kids. A friend nods knowingly, with a half smile and twinkle in their eye when I recount (maybe in repeat) an escapade involving either bf, parents or rugrats. A friend knows when I an about to cry and quickly grabs a tissue or tells a silly joke, causing my tears great confusion - are we crying from laughter or despair? A friend will interject positive reinforcement when it comes to a conversation regarding me that might be going south - even if I am not present. A friend maintains hope that I will achieve what I set out for - even after I have failed to reach those same goals before.

A friend lets me see when they are hurting. A friend tells me about their bogey monster and does not feel like they need to candy coat their fear. A friend lets me hold them in a fierce protective bear hug when they are reeling from one of life's inevitable right hooks. A friend doesn't expect me to have the right words to say - and doesn't feel slighted when I have no words to say at all.
A friend laughs at my attempts to be clever and witty when I try to lighten the moment. A friend appreciates my effort to make them feel loved even when it's done with banana bread that tastes horrible.

A friend doesn't judge my value by what I wear, where I make my money, where I live, what I drive, who I love, where and who I worship, or what color my skin is.

My friends expect the best from me, forgive the worst about me, promote the vision of a perfect me, and appreciate the me that I already am.

And I am grateful to be blessed with more than a few friends - lifelong AND seasonal.

Eaten Up

ICU, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

I am a jealous person by nature. And I came by it honestly.

My mother is jealous of time spent with others (her own words), and it is her clarity on the issue that allows me to understand where my own thoughts torment me.

I am jealous of others' affection. I crave the status of favorite in everyone's heart - no matter the position. Favorite friend, favorite daughter, favorite parent, favorite student, favorite woman in bf's life, favorite employee, ad nauseum. I crave this status as favorite even when I don't deserve it. And even when it wouldn't make sense.

Over time, I have learned to control how I act on these feelings - I am fairly good at using logic to diffuse my bratty, fit-throwing two year old before I cause too much damage.

However, every once in awhile, that poisonous green fog envelops me in a way that I get disoriented. Especially when it comes to my kids.

I want for my children to have the healthiest relationship possible with both of their parents. I still believe that their dad is a fantastic father, and I also feel that we have both chosen romantic partners that care about our children.

But I want to be their FAVORITE.

Willy

Willy Tank, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

I am supposed to be studying. I have a huge speech to give tomorrow, and two papers to turn in.

I am rebelling.

I am working on pictures and cleaning out drawers and making myself notes to remember to send birthday and anniversary cards to obscure friends whose special occasion dates I just happen to remember even though I sometimes struggle to recall my own checking account number.

I am setting myself up for disaster and I have no earthly idea why.

Do you know why?

Will you tell me?

Overly Smiley

I have a goal this week. 

I am going to omit emoticons from my texting and emails. 

Not really a big deal to most people, but I have been overusing them to the point of worrying that I am not expressing myself correctly if I do not have a smiley or frown or heart or other punctuated facial expression. I know, right? Here I am, a self-professed lover of words and communication, hooked on smileys for interpretation. I have to get a handle on this. (Imagine a frowny face here.)

Another thing I have given up: Alcohol. 

Boyfriend and I gave up alcohol for Lent. 

Having never observed the Lenten Season before, this was quite the leap of faith (adoration) for me. And guess what? It really isn't that big of a deal! I thought I would be jonesin' and cryin' in my green tea by now, but honestly - it hasn't come up as an issue. Well... except for maybe at the airport in Boston when I REALLY wanted a Blueberry Beer at the Brewery Works. Or when I went out for "drinks" with a girlfriend and ended up drinking a pot of coffee whilst she enjoyed vodka and Redbull. That kinda stank. But not enough to abandon my intentions. (I almost put a smiley here! Dammit!) 

What did you "give up for Lent" - if anything? Do you ever deprive yourself of something just to teach yourself restraint or dedication?

(Insert heart here.)

I can always tell when I think things are "good enough" in my life.

I stop wanting and wishing and grappling and wrangling. I stop creating and fulfilling and ...well, I stop writing.

Not that my writing betters anything - or changes anyone else's reality. The only one who notices when I take a sabbatical is me. It isn't like I am letting anyone down with my silence.

It is, however, my way of communicating with the temper tantrum, fit throwing, attention starving two-year old in my head. Writing is how I "hash it out" with myself. Most people are emotionally mature enough to be introspective without this process - I am not. Often, I will feel upset or on edge...and it takes me a good long time to identify what the cause really is! Sometimes I will erroneously attach my upset to whatever train is passing through the yard in an effort to make sense out of my feelings.

God help the human who is nearby when I am looking for a train to hang my upset on. My cargo is not light.

Sometimes it will take years for me to recognize my inappropriate identification of the issues,  sometimes just days or hours. And sometimes you can't say you are sorry for the damage caused during the processing time involved. Or have already said it too many times to be effective.

So, I write.

And I can feel the bratty two-year old gearing up for a tantrum. Let's hope I can find out what her problem is before it becomes someone else's.

Sunshine-y Moment

Lil H's
Originally uploaded by tielji

There are moments in time where everything lines up just right.

Perfectly.

Beautifully.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Yes, I have bills due. Yes, I have homework due and a quiz to take that I have no chance of passing (stupid college algebra - HATE it!). Yes, I miss my kids. Yes, I still am working life out day-to-day.

But guess what? I will always have a bill or two due...that's the way it is. And I love the fact that I get to do homework! How awesome is it that I am back in school?! And my kids come home on Sunday - lots of mommies don't get to say such a wonderful thing. And working life out in a day-to-day fashion keeps me humble and grateful.

...and now I am going to go crawl into a bed next to my sweetheart - I am a very blessed girl.

Tell me - what was the very best thing about your week? :)

Perspective

Perspective

Originally uploaded by tielji

It's all about perspective.

I know this.

We can each look at the same event and come away with a different life lesson or opinion.

We can change our attitude just by changing how we view our circumstances.

Sometimes, though? Sometimes I can't change my perspective and it takes a drastic measure on the Universe's part to wrench my gaze back to what really matters.

I tend to be a bit obsessive. I lock on to an idea, an exchange with another person, a relationship, or a hurt - mostly on to hurts and worries, and I can't break free. I mull it over fifty different directions, I dig up all of the details for rehashing, I talk about it incessantly, I make plans based on it's importance - and then when my focus changes, I look back and despise myself for my previous conduct. As you can probably guess, I get obsessed about my obsessiveness!

Do you, my dear friends, think that this lack of perspective/obsession problem is a chemical thing? A human condition? A gender issue? A psychotic tendency? An indicator of maturity?

I shall check back incessantly to see your answers.

:)t

Entwined

Entwined
Originally uploaded by tielji

We are strands of barbed wire.

With sharp words that shred and gouge each other, we try to protect our boundaries. We position ourselves for maximum security, minimal intrusion.

Our strength lies in steely resolution. It is maintained through tautness and and a resistance to the elements.

How lonely.

Let's, you and I, align ourselves. Let's entangle in such a way that our barbs don't dig at one another. Let's use our strength and stark beauty to bring peace to our granted parcels of earth, and to establish boundaries where nothing but love may enter.

Let's support each other's purpose.

Let's entwine.

Grilled

Grilled
Originally uploaded by tielji

Happy New Year, Friends. May 2011 bring you much joy, peace and blessings.


Tomorrow my kids go back to school. Tonight - after being on Christmas Vacation for the past...what? Three and a half weeks? ... my youngest son announces at the dinner table that he has 11 pages of homework due in the morning.

Eleven. Pages.

I know what you are thinking - surely since he is only in fourth grade, these are eleven worksheets with minimal effort required, right?

Uh-uh. Nope. Eleven pages of long division/cross-multiplication and graphing - with some word problems interspersed for maximum anxiety.

Because I want to be a good mommy (or at least appear to be a good mommy a few minutes of every day because I am sure that will add up over time to having a few years of appearing to be a good mommy) I sat with him at the kitchen table, with water glasses, a calculator (to check our answers only), and two pencils at the ready.

Things went just fine for the first 4 pages. The kid has long division down. No worries.

The fifth page? Cross-multiplying. The kid does NOT have this down. And the longer I tried to explain why the method he was using was wrong (as evidenced by the very wrong answers he was coming up with!!) the more he insisted that his teacher taught him how to do it just. that. way., and now I was trying to confuse him and get him in trouble with his teacher.

As he ultimately melted down into a puddle of anger, raging about how his teacher must have lied to him if he was wrong because she told him he did it right, *screambawlsniffwhine* I totally got why parents talk about struggling to help their kids with homework. I always thought it was because we just aren't as smart as we once were, and these kids are kicking our arses with the math and sciences they do these days!

I don't think that is the reason anymore. Well, maybe sometimes. But mostly - I think we don't want to help because it is just one more opportunity to have a power struggle. To have a fight with our loved ones. One more arena where parents get to reap what they sowed when they were being helped by their own parents way back in the day. One more place to battle and say things that we don't necessarily mean (WHY can't you just GET this? If you will just LISTEN to me instead of playing DUMB ....no honey, I don't think you are dumb. That is NOT what I said. No it isn't. NO it ISN'T. Fine! You think you know so much??! Time for you to go to bed! You can take this up with your TEACHER in the MORNING - and then you can tell me TOMORROW NIGHT how smart you are!! ....Love you, honey....sweet dreams....*sniff* ...you okay? I do love you...*sigh*) and one more opportunity to regret another parental transgression.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go work on seven more pages of math homework before I go to bed. Night, all.

:)t