In about 3 weeks, Mike and I depart for a ride to Norfolk, via the back roads. We will be attending the Blue Knights International, and will be riding with Jason, Cherie and a friend of theirs. This is our second "long" trip, last year's being a ride to the Ozark's and the adventure that was Mount Nebo.
I am so looking forward to this trip, two weeks away from home, the kids and reality. Two weeks of living with 3 pairs of jeans (1 on, 2 packed) 5 t-shirts, 5 pair undies, 3 pair socks, the basics in as far as hygiene and NO MAKE UP!!!! It's also a test of one's relationship with others, ie: spouse and friends. Especially when it's hot as hell and a day's ride is 400 or so miles per day.
Last year's trip was our first together and it came at the mid point of our new relationship, meaning we were exclusively dating, but hadn't yet decided that we were ready to make it permanent. A lot of things can go wrong when travelling together, especially on a motorcycle and most especially into uncharted territory, so a test it was. Happily, Mike passed with flying colors as did I, since we are now a happy couple planning our "official" nuptuals.
Today we took a trip to Austin, so that I could get my military I.D. It was also a test run for my new summer weight, mesh riding jacket.
The day started off well, sunny and warm. The jacket was awesome, but the cross winds were suckish. I don't like cross winds, seeing as I am a new rider and crashed my bike on Good Friday because I panicked in strong cross winds. That aside, Mike rode well and even coached me on HOW to handle the cross winds, so that when I make my distance solo (to San Antonio and back) I won't crash my bike.
We made it to Camp Mabry, got my I.D. and then I got to discover the joys of the PX. Mike got a bottle of lovely scotch and I got a bottle of Chanel perfume at a KNOCKDOWN price.
Now, we are home, my butt is sore and I am feeling quite satisfied. The Mojito I am currently drinking is lovely and I am trying to figure out how to travel with mojito mix and rum on the July trip, whilst not taking up precious space in the saddle bags.
July will be fun...a long trip, but fun. Our new seat (an air seat with adjustable bladders for comfort) will be in this week, the route is planned and I will ride through states I've never been too before (Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, etc.). I expect to return sunburned, relaxed and renewed.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Ghost Rider and Fifth Wheels.
Restless today, and easily angered over trivial crap.
Also angered over not so trivial crap, as in mom informed me today that she hasn't been doing her PT and upper body exercises like she is supposed to be doing, and as a result is weaker now. Understand, she is bed bound, and so every bit of exercise counts!
I'm just ticked off. Why am I doing this every day, if mom isn't going to do her part? All this is going to do is affect how long she is in PT after the replacement on Monday...the weaker she is, the longer it will take for her to get up on her feet and for me to get my life back.
It is what it is, but I'm tired of it being this way. I miss my mornings with Mike, having breakfast with him and hanging out before he goes to work. After the kids go off to school, we generally have the house to ourselves and we just hang, or do chores or run errands. I miss that. I miss it a lot.
I am reading Neil Peart's "Ghost Rider", which I bought yesterday at the Kindle store. I am 3/4 of the way through it, even stopping to make notes (Kindle is cool like that, you can make notes and highlight portions etc. Awesome) on passages that have meaning to me. There have been times where I've shed tears for him and the pain, the unimaginable pain, that he suffered.
Even though my suffering and grief over certain parts of my past, like the break up of my and Adele's father's relationship, watching my grandfather suffer and then being the one he asked permission from to die, having to tell and hear my mother about the death of him, watching my ex-mother-in-law die and having to tell my then husband that his mother wasn't going to live past the weekend, and a myriad of other things; I understood and understand his pain. His need to get away and to just keep moving.
There are times when I wanted to chuck it all and just go away for a while. To just get into the car and drive, to put miles behind me and to think. There is one passage, in particular, that spoke to me. Or, I should say, had me nodding in total understanding..." For some reason, as part of that grief work it also seemed necessary for me to replay every single incident of my own life....Every embarrassment, act of foolishness, wrong-headedness, error, idiocy etc. going back to childhood and all the way forward to now. I physically flinch, say "ow" out loud, or "fuck" as the case may be, and can hardly bear it. "
I sill do that, although to a smaller extent, than I did in the darkest days of my breakdown. I caught myself doing this over the weekend, as I sat on Jason's sofa, head thrown back and listening to Moving Pictures, the remastered, awesome assed, super duper digital version.
He had been kind enough to squire me about in search of a summer weight riding jacket, and now, as I lolled about on a hot afternoon, he was helping Cherie unload the car of groceries. I heard both the music and their interaction, sensing the comfortable flow that they have together and I suddenly felt like a fifth wheel. Red Barchetta had me, for some reason, thinking about a stupid incident in Middle School that involved me getting a hickey from John Quigley and being stupid enough to try to hide it under make up.
I hadn't thought about that in DECADES, yet the humiliation that I felt over the ensuing rumors that spread around our Peyton Place of a school, still burned after all of this time. Foolish? Yes, in the big picture, but still hurtful none the less to that insecure, awkward geek that still lives under my skin.
These memories distracted me from the music, and shattered the peace I was feeling in that lovely living room, with it's high ceiling and cool, villa-like vibe. So, I got up and said good-bye, still feeling like a fifth wheel and wanting to flee as fast as I could. They are both so busy (he's a cop, she's a nurse) so I know how valuable "alone time" is and I felt like I was cutting in on that.
I had fun at Laser Tag with Kevin, Tedd, Mike and the gang, but I was more reserved than I normally am, or at least I felt that way at times. The later it got the quieter I got, yet still couldn't sleep once I got back to my hotel. I slept, eventually, but I can't shake this angry lassitude that followed me back from New Orleans. I know that I've reached my tipping point, yet I cannot bring myself to tip over...duty and honor compel me to suck it up and carry on, but it's so fucking exhausting!
I am sitting on the patio as I write this, looking at the lawn and it needs to be cut. So does the front, actually. I guess Mike will do it tomorrow, or the next day. He works so hard, so I don't want to complain about it. I also don't want a bitchy tome from the homeowners association. I'd cut it myself, but it's too damn hot, even at this late hour (it's 8:15pm here and the sun is just setting) also, I can't be arsed enough to do it. If only the mower were self propelled, then I could make Katie do it. A cut lawn isn't worth having to listen to her bitch and moan about it, though.
To hell with it. I have naan and hummus in the fridge, I have a nice pinot grigio chilling as well...dinner calls.
Monday, June 13, 2011
I Shaved My Legs for This?
The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men,
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!
There is a reason why I hate the treadmill at the health club, or anywhere else for that matter. There is the fact that I feel like some lab rat in an intergalactic lab, being observed by some alien life form scientist, who takes a perverse interest in the tedium that humans suffer in the quest for fitness. (It is fortunate that the club doesn't offer those wheels that hamsters and the like run around to nowhere on; I'd go spare if I had to run on one of those.) This is how I think on those days when I consider the question posed to me by my Humanities teacher in my senior year, ie: what if we are just some speck of dust in the nose of a giant alien, and what if he sneezes?
I can also reference the ending to Men in Black, where, right before the credits roll we see an alien shooting, then picking up his marbles and sticking them in a bag. That sequence had me thinking for days on end and I eventually ended the pain of it all by drinking a pitcher of Margaritas and nursing a tequila hang over the next day. That can take your mind off of ANYTHING, even death.
Back to the treadmill thing. I have been on one for the last 7 months and I am most heartily sick unto death of it. Nothing has, thus far, turned out how I wanted it to when I decided to put my heart on the line again and eschew the whole Crazy Cat Lady Down the Street thing I was working on perfecting.
I love Mike, can't imagine not being with Mike. He isn't the issue. I am the issue, perhaps...no not perhaps, but not totally, either. It's hard to explain, my thoughts are so jumbled right now; it's as if this weekend's trip back home opened a straining floodgate and everything is rushing through in a torrent that I cannot control.
I am struggling with the intrinsic need to "honor" my parents, mom in particular, and the desire to also take care of Mike and the kids. He, after all, works his ass off to keep me "home", and since my job is to take care of the house and the running of it, I figure that I owe 100% percent to that effort. It's, also the kids who need my attention and have reveled in my being home in the morning to see them off to school, to make their lunches and to be home when they get home. I've loved it too, and quite to my surprise, found that I liked being an At Home Mom, doing chores and cooking and the like.
In all honesty, I think I spent the first 4 months of this new phase in my life in a state of shock or maybe disbelief...I had never imagined that my life would lead to this (which thoughts in and of themselves are to be thought about and debated internally later...my self esteem and all that). I mean, I actually CLEANED, hands and knees cleaned. I organized the pantry (an exercise in terror of there ever was one), the kitchen cabinets, I hung pictures and rearranged furniture. I watched cooking shows and tried new dishes and found that I liked the whole process of cooking, but most of all genuinely felt happy and proud that I had pleased Mike and the kids with my efforts.
Then mom had a knee replaced and fell at home and the nightmare started. As a result I have turned into a creature who no longer bothers to put on make-up, and only shaves in anticipation of sex.
What the fuck? Who am I and what has happened to the real Beth?
She is stuck on the treadmill from hell and the fucking alien scientists are laughing their green little asses off.
I have become something that I swore I'd never be, especially when I was a "liberated career woman and single mother who had it all". I looked upon these make-upless, messy haired, sloppy clothed women with infants and toddlers in tow and sneer. I was the mother who took her kid to the emergency room, but wore make-up, perfume and matched clothing. I remembered to bring a book and things to keep the healthy kid entertained, as opposed to bored and ill mannered. I reveled in the fact that I wasn't tied down and could take a lover if I wanted to. Mostly, I didn't take said lover because the kids and I had our nice little routine and I didn't want a man to disrupt that.
Isn't it funny how when the right guy comes along, the routine suddenly becomes unimportant and/or workable?
So, just when I was getting into the swing of the whole June Cleaver thing, mom falls and busts open her surgical site, setting off the proverbial domino effect. In a nut shell, she fell at home and busted the knee open, nearly bleeding to death. Then a few days later, this time in the hospital, she falls again and fucks the knee up once more. A month or so later, after inpatient rehab, she is sent home. A few days after that, the staples are removed to reveal a gaping wound that never closed up properly and off to the wound care specialist we go (happy Valentines Day!). Here I got the treat of watching the doctor probe the "tunneling" under my mothers leg, and charting his observations (when the doctors and nurses found out I was considering nursing school, they all wanted to educate me). The conclusion to this awful probing was that mom needed a debridement and a wound vac, but in the interim dad and I were in charge of keeping the leg clean. This process involved much saline solution, sanitary napkins and gauze. I can dress a wound quite well now.
Damned if things didn't get worse, because the day before her surgery to debride and apply the vac, she ends up in CCU and intubated, as she had developed pneumonia. I can't tell you how much it sucks to realize the fact that one's parents are mortal in such a manner. To be told that your mother would likely die is something I was ill prepared for, even though I sat next to her on a daily basis and watched the nurses do their work. After all, I had been with her since the first fall, going daily to the hospital to keep her company and advocate for her where it was needed. I had seen her struggle through physical therapy so that she could walk again, so I knew how determined she was to get better.
Blessedly, she remembers very little of that time, but it is seared in my memory forever. When I have the time I will have to seek therapy sessions to deal with it all, I refuse to repeat the year of 1996-1997 when I went through the deaths of family and friends, one after the other, and neglected myself so that I could help others. Never again.
As it stands now, mother has been bedridden since March. I have been in attendance since January and I am, as she is, heartily sick of it all.
Today, for some reason, has been the worst for me. I am so fucking tired of not having a life. I want my life back. I barely see Mike, I am so tired by the time I get home that I have no energy for cooking or cleaning, and the house looks like shit. The fact that the dog is losing his winter coat, and the cat has gone into one of her Emo phases, and is pulling her hair out by the chunk, isn't helping either. God I wish I had carpet, maybe that would make the hair not so noticeable as it is when it collects in the corners.
I still haven't gotten the mani/pedi Mike gave me for Valentines day(a day ruined by the visit to the wound care doctor, but at least the filet was good), because everytime I make the reservation, something comes up with mom and I have to cancel.
I am angry at mom. I can't stand the fact that I am, it's perverse in a way and pointless, but there it is. I'm angry at my sisters, because they have jobs and can't take care of her. I'm angry at myself for being angry at mom and my sisters. I'm just plain angry and sad. This is so fucked up. I can't even go to Ft. Hood to see my niece home from Afganistan.
I just want off of this particular treadmill. I want my life back, so that I can see where that will lead. Seven months of my life has just whizzed by me, one day the same as the day before. I hate it.
I hate that I resent it. I hate that I hate that I resent it, because it is what it is. I'm just sick of it all.
On Monday, mom gets her knee replaced, again...the odds of a rejection are high since she's had a major infection. I dare to hope that she will keep the knee and not have to have the bones fused together. We are both looking forward to the surgery, in a perverse way, even though it will start the whole cycle of pain and PT and misery over again. If she doesn't reject the knee, then perhaps things will eventually return to normal, but I can honestly say that I'm not holding my breath.
It's not that I don't want to be optimistic. I do, but thus far, the whole hope and prayer thing has been for naught.
I am open for surprise, though.
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!
There is a reason why I hate the treadmill at the health club, or anywhere else for that matter. There is the fact that I feel like some lab rat in an intergalactic lab, being observed by some alien life form scientist, who takes a perverse interest in the tedium that humans suffer in the quest for fitness. (It is fortunate that the club doesn't offer those wheels that hamsters and the like run around to nowhere on; I'd go spare if I had to run on one of those.) This is how I think on those days when I consider the question posed to me by my Humanities teacher in my senior year, ie: what if we are just some speck of dust in the nose of a giant alien, and what if he sneezes?
I can also reference the ending to Men in Black, where, right before the credits roll we see an alien shooting, then picking up his marbles and sticking them in a bag. That sequence had me thinking for days on end and I eventually ended the pain of it all by drinking a pitcher of Margaritas and nursing a tequila hang over the next day. That can take your mind off of ANYTHING, even death.
Back to the treadmill thing. I have been on one for the last 7 months and I am most heartily sick unto death of it. Nothing has, thus far, turned out how I wanted it to when I decided to put my heart on the line again and eschew the whole Crazy Cat Lady Down the Street thing I was working on perfecting.
I love Mike, can't imagine not being with Mike. He isn't the issue. I am the issue, perhaps...no not perhaps, but not totally, either. It's hard to explain, my thoughts are so jumbled right now; it's as if this weekend's trip back home opened a straining floodgate and everything is rushing through in a torrent that I cannot control.
I am struggling with the intrinsic need to "honor" my parents, mom in particular, and the desire to also take care of Mike and the kids. He, after all, works his ass off to keep me "home", and since my job is to take care of the house and the running of it, I figure that I owe 100% percent to that effort. It's, also the kids who need my attention and have reveled in my being home in the morning to see them off to school, to make their lunches and to be home when they get home. I've loved it too, and quite to my surprise, found that I liked being an At Home Mom, doing chores and cooking and the like.
In all honesty, I think I spent the first 4 months of this new phase in my life in a state of shock or maybe disbelief...I had never imagined that my life would lead to this (which thoughts in and of themselves are to be thought about and debated internally later...my self esteem and all that). I mean, I actually CLEANED, hands and knees cleaned. I organized the pantry (an exercise in terror of there ever was one), the kitchen cabinets, I hung pictures and rearranged furniture. I watched cooking shows and tried new dishes and found that I liked the whole process of cooking, but most of all genuinely felt happy and proud that I had pleased Mike and the kids with my efforts.
Then mom had a knee replaced and fell at home and the nightmare started. As a result I have turned into a creature who no longer bothers to put on make-up, and only shaves in anticipation of sex.
What the fuck? Who am I and what has happened to the real Beth?
She is stuck on the treadmill from hell and the fucking alien scientists are laughing their green little asses off.
I have become something that I swore I'd never be, especially when I was a "liberated career woman and single mother who had it all". I looked upon these make-upless, messy haired, sloppy clothed women with infants and toddlers in tow and sneer. I was the mother who took her kid to the emergency room, but wore make-up, perfume and matched clothing. I remembered to bring a book and things to keep the healthy kid entertained, as opposed to bored and ill mannered. I reveled in the fact that I wasn't tied down and could take a lover if I wanted to. Mostly, I didn't take said lover because the kids and I had our nice little routine and I didn't want a man to disrupt that.
Isn't it funny how when the right guy comes along, the routine suddenly becomes unimportant and/or workable?
So, just when I was getting into the swing of the whole June Cleaver thing, mom falls and busts open her surgical site, setting off the proverbial domino effect. In a nut shell, she fell at home and busted the knee open, nearly bleeding to death. Then a few days later, this time in the hospital, she falls again and fucks the knee up once more. A month or so later, after inpatient rehab, she is sent home. A few days after that, the staples are removed to reveal a gaping wound that never closed up properly and off to the wound care specialist we go (happy Valentines Day!). Here I got the treat of watching the doctor probe the "tunneling" under my mothers leg, and charting his observations (when the doctors and nurses found out I was considering nursing school, they all wanted to educate me). The conclusion to this awful probing was that mom needed a debridement and a wound vac, but in the interim dad and I were in charge of keeping the leg clean. This process involved much saline solution, sanitary napkins and gauze. I can dress a wound quite well now.
Damned if things didn't get worse, because the day before her surgery to debride and apply the vac, she ends up in CCU and intubated, as she had developed pneumonia. I can't tell you how much it sucks to realize the fact that one's parents are mortal in such a manner. To be told that your mother would likely die is something I was ill prepared for, even though I sat next to her on a daily basis and watched the nurses do their work. After all, I had been with her since the first fall, going daily to the hospital to keep her company and advocate for her where it was needed. I had seen her struggle through physical therapy so that she could walk again, so I knew how determined she was to get better.
Blessedly, she remembers very little of that time, but it is seared in my memory forever. When I have the time I will have to seek therapy sessions to deal with it all, I refuse to repeat the year of 1996-1997 when I went through the deaths of family and friends, one after the other, and neglected myself so that I could help others. Never again.
As it stands now, mother has been bedridden since March. I have been in attendance since January and I am, as she is, heartily sick of it all.
Today, for some reason, has been the worst for me. I am so fucking tired of not having a life. I want my life back. I barely see Mike, I am so tired by the time I get home that I have no energy for cooking or cleaning, and the house looks like shit. The fact that the dog is losing his winter coat, and the cat has gone into one of her Emo phases, and is pulling her hair out by the chunk, isn't helping either. God I wish I had carpet, maybe that would make the hair not so noticeable as it is when it collects in the corners.
I still haven't gotten the mani/pedi Mike gave me for Valentines day(a day ruined by the visit to the wound care doctor, but at least the filet was good), because everytime I make the reservation, something comes up with mom and I have to cancel.
I am angry at mom. I can't stand the fact that I am, it's perverse in a way and pointless, but there it is. I'm angry at my sisters, because they have jobs and can't take care of her. I'm angry at myself for being angry at mom and my sisters. I'm just plain angry and sad. This is so fucked up. I can't even go to Ft. Hood to see my niece home from Afganistan.
I just want off of this particular treadmill. I want my life back, so that I can see where that will lead. Seven months of my life has just whizzed by me, one day the same as the day before. I hate it.
I hate that I resent it. I hate that I hate that I resent it, because it is what it is. I'm just sick of it all.
On Monday, mom gets her knee replaced, again...the odds of a rejection are high since she's had a major infection. I dare to hope that she will keep the knee and not have to have the bones fused together. We are both looking forward to the surgery, in a perverse way, even though it will start the whole cycle of pain and PT and misery over again. If she doesn't reject the knee, then perhaps things will eventually return to normal, but I can honestly say that I'm not holding my breath.
It's not that I don't want to be optimistic. I do, but thus far, the whole hope and prayer thing has been for naught.
I am open for surprise, though.
While I Was Away...
The dog hair on the floor multiplied, bunny like, even though the dog was at the boarder's.
Mike missed having me next to him when he went to sleep.
The dust bunnies had an orgy and have now taken over every surface in the house. They also have established colonies under the entertainment center and the sofas.
And...Mike thinks his dick will fall off if he buys sanitary supplies for his step-daughter, so he gave her money and sent her into the store to buy her own. In fact he's so afraid of cross contamination, he let her keep the change.
Mike missed having me next to him when he went to sleep.
The dust bunnies had an orgy and have now taken over every surface in the house. They also have established colonies under the entertainment center and the sofas.
And...Mike thinks his dick will fall off if he buys sanitary supplies for his step-daughter, so he gave her money and sent her into the store to buy her own. In fact he's so afraid of cross contamination, he let her keep the change.
Poetry In Motion....
Where I attempt to write a Sonnet, in the Italian form, using lyrics from my favorite songs. This will be a work in progress, so any updates will be on the same post. Feedback is appreciated.... here are the first 2 lines.
The ebb and flow of tidal fortune
Pushing the day into the nighttime,
*Far Cry, Rush, Snakes and Arrows
Mad About You, Belinda Carlisle
The ebb and flow of tidal fortune
Pushing the day into the nighttime,
*Far Cry, Rush, Snakes and Arrows
Mad About You, Belinda Carlisle
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Reflections, Ruminations and Rush
I have travelled back to New Orleans, for a much needed break from real life, to see Rush in concert and to spend time with old friends. I have to admit, that as much as I miss Mike, the kids and my pets, it's nice to have quiet time and to not be awakened by the wet tongue of my dog on my face.
I've had a great sushi lunch with my best friend, Mary, and for dessert we engaged in a little retail therapy and drove around all of our old haunts. I still remember, with crystal clear clarity, the first time I went to her house so that we could get to know each other better. She was waiting outside, under a tree for me, so that mom could find the place. We had salad, giggled over how "fine" Harrison Ford was (and still is. Some men just age well, although I don't see what he see's in Calista, who reminds me of a bobble head doll.) and just had a ball. We became instant BFF's and we have been through many, many life changing events together. I honestly don't know what I would do with out Mary, she's seen me through so much.
During the ride we talked about wishing to go back, so we could do some things over, or not at all. For example, I'd have joined Color Guard sooner so that I could have made the trip to Ireland with the band, I would have rethought some crushes I had and I would have pursued my dream of singing in a band. I would spend more time with friends that we have now lost, like Jeff Sibley, and I would be more discerning about others.
I also would have invested in Apple and Microsoft.
All of that conversation yesterday stayed with me as I dropped her off at home and headed back to the hotel to change for the concert, and for the rest of the night and into this morning, I've found myself a bit more reflective than I normally am about my youth. There are huge swaths of those years that I'd rather forget, and some that I'd like to go back and see again; I always remember them with a smile and a few tears of nostalgia. Times were so simpler then.
Dinner was a lively affair, the ride to the arena with a bunch of us all packed into Jason's car (Daniel riding in the seatless back) reminded me of nighttime rides through City Park, jumping the bridges in Mary's car our cigarettes hitting and scorching the headliner, laughing so hard that we cried as we fell all over one another so tightly we were packed in.
Spending time with Jason and Kevin has been great, it always is. Tonight I am hoping to spend time with Tedd and Mike as well, that would be almost all of the old middle school gang together again. Middle School was, for me, the best period of my young years, even though at the start of that important time in between elementary and high school, didn't start off the way I remember wanting it to.
I was always an insecure kid for some reason. I have always felt awkward in my own skin. I still do sometimes. I remember being so excited about starting middle school. I talked mom into buying me clogs (which all of the popular girls wore) and designer jeans, just 1 pair and I got my first curing iron so that I could feather my hair. I remember walking into homeroom feeling unusually confident, only to end up feeling deflated when I saw that the cliques had carried over from elementary; cliques I'd never been a part of since I had only attended public school for 5th and 6th grades and so hadn't known any of those girls since kindergarden.
Then I met Jason, Kevin, Jennifer, Juan, Mike, Tedd and the rest of the gang; all a bit geeky like me, all with so many things in common with me. We were, in my humble opinion, the most creative and imaginative kids on campus. We still are, especially Kevin, Jason, Mike and Tedd. These men just bowl me over, the talent that the four of them possess.
One of my biggest regrets is that I lost touch with them after middle school. I was the only one in the group that ended up at a different high school, and that was because of where I lived. One street over and I'd have been with them; but after the first year or so of high school, we drifted apart. I remember being hurt over that, and I regret that back then I was too busy trying to be someone I wasn't, I didn't keep up with them.
Life rushed on.
Always searching to fill something that was missing, not knowing what that missing thing was, I strayed away from my dreams or I eschewed them all together, thinking that they were foolish or unattainable. Maybe they were, but I wouldn't know that now, I'm too busy trying to discover myself after all of these years. Depression is so insidious, I really didn't start growing up until my breakdown in 2003, and I am still growing up in a lot of ways.
Which brings me back to this weekend. It's not so much an ennui that I am feeling, or a nostalgia or even sadness. I don't think it's regret, either. It's a combination of all of these. As I write this I am crying, not over how things are now but over how things were. It's not just my 44 year-old self crying either; it's me all of those years ago as well. It's, as my counselor put it, my young self growing up and it's my present self forgiving her for not knowing any better; how could she know any better?
This weekend has surprised me, I wasn't expecting to have these feelings. I'm glad that I am, for years ago, in a different life, I would have repressed them and gone home bitter. I have to keep reminding myself, that I have Major Depressive Disorder and these things happen.
It's a mixed bag. My life up until now, has made me what I am today. Change one little thing and who knows how life would have turned out for me up until this point. I don't regret my children and if I could go back and change anything, then I wouldn't have them. I wouldn't have Mike in my life and I'm not sure that I'd be happy and well. My path was set at birth, and I don't know where it will lead, but I do know that it isn't too late to go back to school and finish my degree. I know that it isn't too late to try the things I wanted to do when I was younger, but was too afraid to do...like having a motorcycle or flying a private plane (I AM going to get my pilot's license!) or even writing, which I (foolishly) abandoned thinking that original ideas no longer existed and I sucked at it anyway. One of these days I will write about that three year period where my depression left me in darkness and my hard fought battle toward the light of normalcy (what ever normal is).
We all have regrets, things we would have done differently, but those choices, those steps off onto a branch on the road shape us into who we are. The magical thing about life is that you can change and that it's never too late to go for it, so to speak. Besides, if I could go back and change things, who's to say I'd be any happier? Perhaps I'd still be in the darkness, and I much prefer the light; even if I get all angsty at times and act like a teenager. I think it makes me a better parent to my daughters,who are in the midst of the horrible teen years. I can, at least, empathize with them and encourage them to pursue their dreams and to not hold themselves back out of fear.
No, this weekend has been good, though the regret over those lost years of growing up with my dearest friends is piercingly sad right now. The sadness will fade, the mourning will run it's course and I will have grown up a little more.
Life is good.
I've had a great sushi lunch with my best friend, Mary, and for dessert we engaged in a little retail therapy and drove around all of our old haunts. I still remember, with crystal clear clarity, the first time I went to her house so that we could get to know each other better. She was waiting outside, under a tree for me, so that mom could find the place. We had salad, giggled over how "fine" Harrison Ford was (and still is. Some men just age well, although I don't see what he see's in Calista, who reminds me of a bobble head doll.) and just had a ball. We became instant BFF's and we have been through many, many life changing events together. I honestly don't know what I would do with out Mary, she's seen me through so much.
During the ride we talked about wishing to go back, so we could do some things over, or not at all. For example, I'd have joined Color Guard sooner so that I could have made the trip to Ireland with the band, I would have rethought some crushes I had and I would have pursued my dream of singing in a band. I would spend more time with friends that we have now lost, like Jeff Sibley, and I would be more discerning about others.
I also would have invested in Apple and Microsoft.
All of that conversation yesterday stayed with me as I dropped her off at home and headed back to the hotel to change for the concert, and for the rest of the night and into this morning, I've found myself a bit more reflective than I normally am about my youth. There are huge swaths of those years that I'd rather forget, and some that I'd like to go back and see again; I always remember them with a smile and a few tears of nostalgia. Times were so simpler then.
Dinner was a lively affair, the ride to the arena with a bunch of us all packed into Jason's car (Daniel riding in the seatless back) reminded me of nighttime rides through City Park, jumping the bridges in Mary's car our cigarettes hitting and scorching the headliner, laughing so hard that we cried as we fell all over one another so tightly we were packed in.
Spending time with Jason and Kevin has been great, it always is. Tonight I am hoping to spend time with Tedd and Mike as well, that would be almost all of the old middle school gang together again. Middle School was, for me, the best period of my young years, even though at the start of that important time in between elementary and high school, didn't start off the way I remember wanting it to.
I was always an insecure kid for some reason. I have always felt awkward in my own skin. I still do sometimes. I remember being so excited about starting middle school. I talked mom into buying me clogs (which all of the popular girls wore) and designer jeans, just 1 pair and I got my first curing iron so that I could feather my hair. I remember walking into homeroom feeling unusually confident, only to end up feeling deflated when I saw that the cliques had carried over from elementary; cliques I'd never been a part of since I had only attended public school for 5th and 6th grades and so hadn't known any of those girls since kindergarden.
Then I met Jason, Kevin, Jennifer, Juan, Mike, Tedd and the rest of the gang; all a bit geeky like me, all with so many things in common with me. We were, in my humble opinion, the most creative and imaginative kids on campus. We still are, especially Kevin, Jason, Mike and Tedd. These men just bowl me over, the talent that the four of them possess.
One of my biggest regrets is that I lost touch with them after middle school. I was the only one in the group that ended up at a different high school, and that was because of where I lived. One street over and I'd have been with them; but after the first year or so of high school, we drifted apart. I remember being hurt over that, and I regret that back then I was too busy trying to be someone I wasn't, I didn't keep up with them.
Life rushed on.
Always searching to fill something that was missing, not knowing what that missing thing was, I strayed away from my dreams or I eschewed them all together, thinking that they were foolish or unattainable. Maybe they were, but I wouldn't know that now, I'm too busy trying to discover myself after all of these years. Depression is so insidious, I really didn't start growing up until my breakdown in 2003, and I am still growing up in a lot of ways.
Which brings me back to this weekend. It's not so much an ennui that I am feeling, or a nostalgia or even sadness. I don't think it's regret, either. It's a combination of all of these. As I write this I am crying, not over how things are now but over how things were. It's not just my 44 year-old self crying either; it's me all of those years ago as well. It's, as my counselor put it, my young self growing up and it's my present self forgiving her for not knowing any better; how could she know any better?
This weekend has surprised me, I wasn't expecting to have these feelings. I'm glad that I am, for years ago, in a different life, I would have repressed them and gone home bitter. I have to keep reminding myself, that I have Major Depressive Disorder and these things happen.
It's a mixed bag. My life up until now, has made me what I am today. Change one little thing and who knows how life would have turned out for me up until this point. I don't regret my children and if I could go back and change anything, then I wouldn't have them. I wouldn't have Mike in my life and I'm not sure that I'd be happy and well. My path was set at birth, and I don't know where it will lead, but I do know that it isn't too late to go back to school and finish my degree. I know that it isn't too late to try the things I wanted to do when I was younger, but was too afraid to do...like having a motorcycle or flying a private plane (I AM going to get my pilot's license!) or even writing, which I (foolishly) abandoned thinking that original ideas no longer existed and I sucked at it anyway. One of these days I will write about that three year period where my depression left me in darkness and my hard fought battle toward the light of normalcy (what ever normal is).
We all have regrets, things we would have done differently, but those choices, those steps off onto a branch on the road shape us into who we are. The magical thing about life is that you can change and that it's never too late to go for it, so to speak. Besides, if I could go back and change things, who's to say I'd be any happier? Perhaps I'd still be in the darkness, and I much prefer the light; even if I get all angsty at times and act like a teenager. I think it makes me a better parent to my daughters,who are in the midst of the horrible teen years. I can, at least, empathize with them and encourage them to pursue their dreams and to not hold themselves back out of fear.
No, this weekend has been good, though the regret over those lost years of growing up with my dearest friends is piercingly sad right now. The sadness will fade, the mourning will run it's course and I will have grown up a little more.
Life is good.
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