Memorial Day

generally, when I go "back home" one of the stops I always make is to the cemetery to visit dad and gramma. But not this time. I haven't quite worked it all out in my head-not sure that I need to at the moment, but it was definitely part of letting go...moving forward. This trip has really made me aware that there is less and less for me to go back to. Once my mother has passed, I don't know that I will return. There is less sadness in that though than there used to be...and much more freedom. In the past when I've thought about moving to another country there was always the hook of "I can't leave my family". The truth is that I have already left my family...and they me.

Sister

While I was back, Mom and I drove over to visit my sister in Wibaux. She brought two of her kids along, B and Kat. I haven't seen my sister since I left ND, and only talked to her once, and then only because I wanted to talk to her eldest daughter. When K is in a good mood she is awesome, however when she gets in one of her MOODS, look-out! The night before we were supposed to meet she called screaming and cussing how she couldn't come...no reason given, she just couldn't come and like everything else she always gets left out. The next morning I called her, not feeling like putting up with any crap and just told her we'd be in Wibaux and she needed to get her ass there. And she did, and we had a nice visit...including hamming it up for the camera.

Sadly, K is another one of those folks who spends her time blaming everyone and everything for all that is wrong in her life...and as a result nothing changes. All of her kids but one are in trouble with the law regularly, including the 12 year old, and no one takes responsibility. All of the kids smoke and K blames it on the dad, but does nothing to discourage them when they walk out every five minutes to go have a smoke. The kids sat the table and told stories of beating people up (who, of course, deserved it) and K laughed and proudly proclaimed "that's my kid!", and immediately switched to "That son-of-a-bitch, it's ALL his fault these kids fight." Meanwhile, I can tell you that those kids tell their stories just like K tells her stories of beating people up...but it's all that s.o.b's fault.

I know the hardest part of being a counselor is going to be seeing kids who are smart and talented like my nephews and nieces who have parents who won't take responsibility for providing the boundaries and the protection for these kids to grow up Whole individuals. How is it that we can split an atom but we can't ensure that all children grow up with the perfect opportunities to have everything they need to thrive?

My Favorite, favorite, favorite part of the trip...

So here are the quick directions to ND from here. Take I25 up to Wyoming and eventually jog over to Hwy85, and just keep heading north. The first town you hit in ND is Bowman. In Bowman 85 T's so you have to hang a right...head up a couple of blocks and take a left at the KUM & GO, and you are back on track.

My mom informed me that the Kum & Go chain is going out of business in ND. "Is it because of the name?" I asked. She looked at me quizzically, "What do you mean?"---"Uh, Kum & Go", I point out. "Oh no", keep in mind these are her exact words, "They're going in the hole." I did not point out her un-intended play on words as I am a good daughter.

The Trip

"Welcome to ND, as long as your not a queer" is really what the sign should say. There is only one vet in town now and she is a 'sistah' and there are folks who won't go to her because she is a sistah. And she is not out, but it's a small town so everyone knows. Or thinks they know.

Conversely, I love the sky in ND. I had a friend once who had traveled extesively who said that the ND sunsets rivaled the Hawaii sunsets. I wasn't able to get a sunset shot, but this will do... And then there is the open road. I wasn't looking forward to this long drive, but I was able to rediscover what it was that I used to love about getting behind the wheel. I do love the quiet time to myself...a chance to clear my thoughts and let the breezes of creativity flow. Back when I was early in sobriety (and gas was still cheap) I would go out driving almost every night, and it was one of my favorite times...one of the few times I could quiet the negative voices in my head and Just Be. Like many before me I had a love-affair with the open road, and the starry sky. I was glad to be re-acquainted.

Homeward bound...and here

Home again, home again. I met up with one of my old therapists before I left. She commented that it was nice I was able to come back so I could get perspective on how far I've come. At the moment I was so not digging it as I was ready to strangle my mother (so much for serenity), but now that I've gotten back, she is of course right. The changes in my...way of being may not be as obvious to the people I'm around every day, but for those who haven't seen me in 3 or 4 years, the change is huge.

On a different not, people often ask me "What is there in ND?", and my usual reply is "nothing...although the springs are nice". And for me, each time I go back there is less and less for me to 'go back to'. There is my mother, but I've grown more and more distant from my brothers, many of my friends are gone or our friendships have slowly eroded away, even the town itself is dying a slow erosive death....but there are a few things that I still hold on to...mainly the few friends I still have, and the land (see photos above). Mountains are pretty, I enjoy forests, but the Badlands are in my blood and in my soul...those are what I love and what I long for. But to remind me that ND is no longer my home, in several businesses I saw a magazine...The 'ND Sentinel' I believe it was called...full of republican rhetoric---extolling the virtues of war, 'family values', and the full range of conservative bs letting me know that 'my kind' are not welcome. Thanks, I'll be going now.

Greeting from ND***Updated w Fo-To's

I'm out visiting my friends John and Marsha and Dakota Bell at their farm . (pix to come) It has been a nice trip...and I have enjoyed much good beef. Mom and I are having a nice visit...more on that later. And many more pix to come...all is well in the land of rain and birdies.

All right kids, the last photo (but first uploaded-go figure)is of the draw just up from John and Marsha's house. I had to get some chokecherry branches for my Medicine Woman friend, Elena. Up on top/Lt we have the view from their front step, next a cow-poop in the chokecherry 'grove', and M-J-& Me. I had a wonderful T-bone from one of J&M's neighbors' cow--it was tasty and delicious.

I'm on the road again

I've decided that all of my titles will be song lyrics, at least for the rest of the week. Oh yeah, I won't be able to post because I'll be in ND. Well, I will be taking lots of pictures for to post. When I woke up at 5-frakking-15 I thought it would be funny to take along a sex-toy and take pictures of it at various landmarks. But since I woke up so early, I wasn't sure if it was actually funny or just in-appropriate. And I was slightly sad that I wasn't going to take my motorcycle, which was the original plan (isn't she pretty?), however, my ass is rejoicing that I am not taking my motorcycle. Shower, last minute packing, breakfast....and I'm off....happy trails kids.

Happiness is a warm gun

Growing up, I thought that only Other people got to be happy. And there was this special group of people who were the Others...I didn't know them, I'd never met them, but I knew that they were out there because the TV told me so. I thought the best I could get was maybe A Little Less Miserable, but even that seemed elusive most of my life. I was choked down and held back by the insidious 'If Only's. If Only I was skinny, If Only I had the perfect job, If Only my partner would do/be xyz...endless messages I bombarded myself with, pushing me farther and farther from Real Happiness.

But here I am, happy. If my 20 year old self could meet my 36 year old self, she would probably pop me in the face for being so damn happy. Misery seems to be another label that I attached myself to. It was a big part of who I was. L is supposed to be miserable. To hell with that I say. When I started this journey into happiness, I have to admit that I felt some level of shame (and shaming from others) when people started to notice this positive change in my psyche. Why? Why is it such a bad thing to be happy, to see the good in other people, to be proactive in one's own life? Frak that crap, I will not apologize for feeling good, and doing the things that make me feel good. I hope that all the people I love can find and do the things that bring them joy...without guilt, without shame, and without hesitation.

Trip'n

So, Saturday I leave for my trip to ND to visit Ma. I've been trying to get my shit together, and have done a fairly decent job, but of course there are always those things you just don't think of until the last minute when you don't really have time. So here I am, not having enough time. Or energy.

And there was a time when a thousand miles in the car sounded like an adventure. These days it just feels like torture. Although, I haven't done the trip in a few years, and it's been several since I did it alone, so perhaps I can reclaim my lost love for roadtrips.

And maybe I'll come back w/ photos of the world's largerst holstien cow.

don't get me started

I was just checking out TR's blog (that is my new morning coffee). Anyways she brought up the topic of FAT. What a powerful little 3-letter word that is...and how that little word does paralyze so many of us. I would like to think I have good self-esteem, but I don't. I pretend real hard to make it look like I do, like when I'm teaching women's self-defense and talkin' bout "empowerment" to my gals. But the truth is, I don't. And sooooo much of it is that 3-letter word. I grew up hearing about how fat I was every frakking day. At home, at school...there was no place else I went, so just those two places. By third grade or so I was trying to starve myself because I was so fat, but generally hunger won out, so I never lost any of my big-fat-ness.

Sadly, some number of years back, I was looking at the few pictures I have of myself as a kid, and for the first time I saw that I was not the big tub of lard I had seen myself in my mind as (mind you, I wasn't a waif either, but I certainly wasn't what I had pictured myself as either). Of course by then, I had given up on trying to live a lifestyle that would promote a healthy body weight and I had had some health issues that had helped to add on the pounds, so I had fulfilled the prophecy all on my own in adulthood.

To echo sentiments of TR, there are so many things that I don't do because of my body image...like change at the gym/shower at the gym, and I'm certainly never going to put on a bathing suite, which is ok, because I don't swim anyway. But whatever I do, there is always that thought at the back of my mind wondering "how fat do I look?" Frak this shit. Shut the hell up for the love of god, haven't you frakked up enough of my life? Go frak with some republican congressman who is sodomizing little boys!

For my amusement

At breakfast, my budd TR (no, not teddy roosevelt) requested more pix/less talk. So, I had to go through my actual old school photo album to get a picture for another post, and I came across these pictures. Every time I open to this page, I laugh my ass off, so I had to share. This is my best friend Sheila in all of her glory. When we were roommates, we laughed our asses off every day, and this is my reminder of just how funny life can be. Thanks dude.

Crazy is as crzy does

I recently read this book called Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls. The main character is "crazy", I won't get into details, but one interesting quirk is that she can only communicate in quotes from literature...primarily Shakespeare. This book was crack for me...I couldn't put it down, even to study for impending-doom-midterms. I think perhaps I identified a bit to much with the character, although I don't speak in quotes, mainly because I can't remember quotes, but more about my memory later.

(isn't she pretty. No the pix has nothing to do with the post)

The reason I bring up the book is that it really made me think of mental illness in a different light. It particularly made me think of some theory we talked about in Theories class. I can't tell you what the theory is because the way my memory works, I can't really remember names/facts, instead I remember abstract ideas and emotions. So what i remember is that one particular theory that is quite successful with people dealing with schizophrenia involved getting into the the head of the client and really seeing things from their perspective. And supposedly you can really see why the person does what they do once you see their thought processes.

Let's face it, in dealing with people in general, if you try to get into their head, it is generally much easier to deal with people. I work retail, so I deal with people all frakking day long, and it is easy to see every one as an asshole, but if you take the time to engage each person with where they are, you can generally find out that 85% or so aren't the asshole you might otherwise assume. I can't tell you how many times I've found out that someone's spouse has just died, or they just got a speeding ticket, or some other shitty thing---and although it at first seemed like the person was mad at me, they were just hurting, and if you can be present with that, they are usually pretty damn nice when they discover that you aren't just another asshole in a day full of assholes. (and yes, some people are really just assholes looking for someone to abuse, or they are untreated boderlines)

Admit it, when you start interacting with someone new, whether it's a waiter or a person in the next car, your first thought is "asshole", which is really a cover for "I don't want to get hurt by another asshole, so I'm going to put my spikes out in order to protect myself"...and if we think that through, the energy we put out is going to be interpreted as "I'm an asshole, don't frak with me", so we've essentially set ourselves up for an asshole encounter. So my challenge to you is to spend the day expecting that everyone you meet has the potential to have a really great interaction with you. I'll be checking your homework later.

the library is closed

I met a friend for coffee yesterday and after we sat down my friend pointed out that the first gay-boy behind the counter called me "sir", and the second one made a point of saying "lady". I laughed feeling a mixture of pride and annoyance. Really, I look more like a girl with my hair short than I did with it long. When my hair was long I got 'sir'ed at least once a month, but for the 2 years it's been short, this has been my first 'sir'. My favorite 'sir' moment was a number of years back, I went to open the library door and a woman says to me "uh sir" (I ignore her cuz I don't think she is talking to me), she hesitates, and my spidey senses tingle so I look over my shoulder, quizzically at her, as she tentatively says "uh ma'am". Thinking she has finally figured it out, she interrupts my thought process with "uh, whatever. The library is closed."

Back to yesterday, later that evening when I was at the gym, I wondered if the big burly guy next to me had ever gotten "ma'am"ed. And I laughed and dropped my weights. Fortunately no one was injured.

I haven't slept yet, so it's still saturday as far as i'm concerned.

A week from today, I leave for north dakota, and I have made some peace with the trip. I have been up to this point paying lip service to the fact that this might be the last time I get to see my mother, but last night I really 'got it'. You know there is that sense of knowing something in your head, but it's just not the same as feeling it in your heart. I'm ready to go back and make my peace with my mother. And I'm sad, but I'm ok. It's the next right thing.

second chances

My father was a stoic, cowboy-type fellow. Oh yeah, and an alcoholic. (funny thought: I remember one of my classmates in grade schools saying to me, "Your dad isn't an alcoholic. He drinks just as much as my dad.") Anyway, I did my best to follow in my father's footsteps...and I did a pretty damn good job for a while.

And all was well and good until he had to go and get sick with cirrhosis. My father was in and out of the hospital from April til September. And it was just me and him, living our little dysfunctional life. Me being bitchy because I was 19 and his soul care-taker...my 'family' couldn't bring themselves to step in and help in anyway...although they could dump their kids on me while they went to fucking-Disneyland. Oops, got off the point there. So, I was bitchy, and my dad was scared. And in all that time my dad couldn't risk the vulnerability of telling me that he loved me, nor could I risk the vulnerability of telling him that I loved him. And it was that he dyed without me telling him how much I loved him or how much he meant to me. And I carry this regret with me every fucking day. And there are certainly many other things I could regret having said or not said, but those things pale in comparison to not saying those simple words, "I love you."

So, here I am about to go visit my mother. And my mother is by no means on her death bed, but realistically, this could be my last visit while she is still alive. So it is that I have the task of figuring out what it is that I need to say to my mother (I do tell her regularly that I love her) in order to quell in future regrets.

Knock, Knock

Last night, I had the privelage of ralfing for the fifth time in my adult life. Thus no posts yesterday. My question of the day is "whose great idea was it to invent stomach flu?" Seriously, who thought this would be a funny joke. Further proof that the Powers That Be, have a sick sense of humor.

Just for fun kids...

Dad was always walking around the house with his big 'ol belly hanging out, so one day I made him pose for me because I just had a flash of him dressed as Rambo. Whataya think? Can you see any family resemblence?

What I was orginally going to talk about instead of gun control

When I went out with the guys to shoot on Sunday, I had a blast. Really, what better way to spend a Sunday morning. And to top it off, after the shooting it was off to Dungeons and Dragons. Yes kids, I am a nerd.

Anyway back to shooting. At one point, 2 of the guys walked up to me with big smiles on their faces and said "You remember the scene from the Matrix where they're firing away with a pistol in each hand...?" And I too got a big smile on my face as I took the offered loaded pistols, one in each hand and unloaded onto the side of the hill. Of course I didn't hit a damn thing, but I gotta tell you, it was FUN! Up until that point when I would shoot the AK, I would carefully and slowly take aim and fire each shot independently, but after the Matrix moment, I was ready to unload. We had just re-set up all of our targets, and when I let loose, I knocked everything down, to the whoops and hollers of my guy friends. There is something very satisfying about having guys be impressed with your shooting ability. And yes kids, I am also a Red-neck. And that's ok.

Ham I am

I have not yet mastered the self portrait as my master, TokyoRosa has, but you have to start somewhere, right? I had to take this photo because, even when I was kickboxing and working out like a mo-fo, I never had that great of arms...And (thank you again TR) right now I am happy with the results I am getting from my workouts. I don't quite know the difference between feeling good about how I look and being vain. Hopefully, it's the former.

legend

A few months back I had a 'reading' done (yes the woo-woo kind). I was hoping to get some information about my great-grandmother. According to the person I spoke to, I WAS my great-grandmother reincarnated. She also spoke of lessons to be learned, but I won't bore you with the details. A few weeks later, I decided to go to another psychic-type to see what she had to say. According to psychic number 2, I was not my grand-mother, but she was with me all the time for purposes that only I need to know.

The reason I had this curiosity about my great-grandmother is that I don't really know much beyond one story passed down from my grandmother...a story that really sets the tone for the wounds handed down from mother to mother. When my grandmother was in second grade, her mother came to the school-house one day and brought my grandmother out to the playground. She knealed down and told grandmother, "You are old enough to take care of yourself now. I'm going back to my people (the Cherokee People)." With that, she stood up, turned around and started walking. My grandmother stood there motionless and watched as great grandmother's head disappeared over one hill, and then another, until she finally disappeared over the last hill on the horizon.

So, I wonder often, what ever became of her? Did she ever wonder what became of her children, her children's children, and her great-grandchildren? I don't waste my times with wondering how my life would have been different had she stayed. I have the life I have, the only thing that matters is what I do with it. I can direct my future, but I can't change the past, but I can't help wondering what happened to this nameless woman who gave me life.

Gun control is using both hands

I hate that slogan. But at the same time, it always makes me laugh. I support the right to 'bare arms', however I do believe in waiting periods and keeping guns outta the wrong hands. As I was driving off to meet my new buddy Morti, to go shoot with him and his friends, I was trying to figure out what "right hands" meant to me. There was a long mental dialogue, but what I finally came around to was that if you hadn't grown up on a ranch, then you didn't have the necessary respect required to handle firearms. At the moment, I have decided that if you have been in law-enforcement and aren't a prick, or if you were in the military aren't suffering from a psychosis, than you too can have a gun.

My preference is still for ranch-folk to be the primary gun holders. The thing is, we grow up really getting how dangerous things can be...we know the story of the neighbor who looses a hand in an auger, or...gets shot 'accidentally'...and because we know these people, the dangers are REAL. Also, when we are kids, dangerous things are taken seriously, not so dangerous things aren't. My friend Tokyorosa was just discussing how kids should be sent out a little more often without helmets (that is the edited, "I'm sleepy" version). The point being that ranch kids get brought up in a rough-and-tumble sorta style, and they get when things are dangerous, versus the kids who are get "oh! look both ways before you cross the street...or you'll die" type of constant sheltering where everything is of equal danger to the point that they become desensitized to all levels of potential danger. Add to the mix a weekend spent in front of a video screen "shooting" things, and we have a recipe for disaster when this kid picks up a real gun.

If you don't truly understand consequence and risk, then you have no business picking up a gun. There is no test to determine these traits, so once again, my answer to gun control is letting only folks who grew up on a ranch have guns.

closure

So, at the end of the month I go back to ND to visit my mother. I wouldn't mind the trip so much were I able to take enough time off to actually have a vacation as well, rather than just have another time-off-of-work-to-go-visit-relatives. But I the thing is, I might not get another chance to see my mother. It's not like she has some impending-doom type illness, but the truth is that her health isn't that good. So this is my opportunity to go back and see my mother and say to her whatever it is I need to say in order to not have any regrets if it is indeed my last visit with her. With my father, there was a long, slow, painful death, and yet we still, neither of us, said the things we needed to say. I have that opportunity. Perhaps I just don't want to face the reality of the fact that this could be my last chance for closure. As much as my mother sucks my soul, I don't know that I'm ready to be parentless.

silence

I have this strange quirk, well, I have many strange quirks, but there is one in particular I was thinking about. When I lay down to rest/sleep, my mind becomes suddenly very active. My thoughts flip around like an ADD 12-year-old boy with a remote control, and then I settle on some obscure channel I've never heard of. Eventually this renegade channel will lead me back to some memory. I'll keep the programming to myself, as you don't need to know what odd thoughts lurk in my head, but I will share the memory-which btw, has no discernible relation to the program, although it was triggered by said program.

{{{Seriously, if you have a weak stomach, don't read on}}}

I'm probably 12, it is the middle of winter. One of our old cows had slipped on some ice down in one of the draws and broken her hip. Dad and I drove the bumpy path through the frozen-over hay field in silence to where the cow lay sprawled in the snow next to the tree line. When we got there she was munching on some of the hay my dad had brought out to her for the last week. Dad told me to wait in the pickup while he tried to get her, one last time, to stand up. After several minutes of coaxing, pushing, and 'spooking', the old girl was still in the same position, with the same unconcerned look upon her frosty bovine face.

Dad stalked back to the truck and grabbed the sledge hammer from the back, looking a little more impassive than usual. I new what was coming but I couldn't tear my eyes away. My father drew back the sledge hammer, and swung for her forehead with his powerful arms. Before he struck I closed my eyes tightly. The loud, wet "Thock" echoed through the draw. I couldn't help but open my eyes again. Now was actually trying to get up but her paralyzed hind quarters kept her glued in place. Her now wide eyes rolled wildly as she struggled in pain away from the one inch deep circular dent in her skull. My dad drew the hammer back again. I shut my eyes again and tried to plug my ears against the second hit that sounded more like a "Crack" this time, closely followed by what was somewhere between a moo and a scream. And still another "crack", and another, and finally another. And dead silence. True 'dead' silence.

A few posts back, I discussed how I can't remember the sound of my dad's voice. Sadly, I can't forget the sound of that cow's death.

Would you like to join me in my quarters for some toast?

How sad is this? Of the many romantic encounters I have had, I have never initiated a single one. Seriously, how are you ever going to get what you want if you don't go out and get it yourself? So, here I am in my mid 30's and I have no idea how to go about asking someone out on a date. I have no tried-and-true pick-up lines...because I've never used one. I was thinking maybe I should hang out with some teenage boys in order to find out what has worked for them...and what has gotten their faces slapped. Fortunately, I don't know any teenage boys.

And of course, there is the slight dilemma of not knowing exactly what it is that I want. I know I want a girl that I find attractive, I want someone who is fun and smart (oh, I just remembered, I want a cowgirl...at least I have something concrete)...those things are a bit vague though. But part of the trouble with always being the pursued and never the pursuer is that you don't learn to look for what it is you're looking for. Deep, I know. (gimme a break, with the exception of tokyorosa, all y'all were in bed snoozing while I was at the gym this morning)

AND, there is yet another dilemma...I don't really have the time or energy for a full-on LTR. I joke that I want to play the field...but it's not too far from the truth. I've said this for several years now, but it still holds true; I would really like to learn how to date. Real-date, not lesbian-date where you rent the U-haul on the second date. I would just like to slowly get to know someone, and if it's not working for whatever little reason, STOP!!!!!

Which leads us into dilemma #4. I've developed little crushes on a number of my friends/acquaintances/and one personal trainer. And I know that part of it is a) I just want more intimacy in my life, which could easily be remedied by deepening my friendships, and b) that I really would just like to get laid...and sometimes, Mr Bendy just isn't enough.

awww, pish

While I was with a group of folks last week, one of them started discussing how someone she met from our circle had told her that she needed to clean-up her language in order to set a good example. Specifically, I believe the statement was "Once the F word or the S word comes out of your mouth, nobody is going to listen to anything else you have to say." I have no way of knowing for certain, but I am pretty sure the comment was directed toward me. And I know that there are indeed people out there who are all 'prim and proper' and will think less of me and what I have to say based on the fact that I swear.

But here's the deal. I am much more willing to take seriously someone who is being genuine. Prim & Proper often says the 'right' thing, but Prim & Proper also often says the un-genuine thing. When I am interacting with folks, I much more inclined to give credence to the person who is willing to swear. Now, I'm not talking about the person who is just swearing to shock everyone around them, or swearing because they have anger issues and feel the need to lash out to everyone who is listening...instead I am speaking of the person who uses the F and the S as emphasis, or as an explicative, and there is a difference (although Prim & Proper would argue otherwise). I respect people who can say 'shit' when they mean 'shit', and say 'that really fucking sucks' when it really fucking sucks. Many years ago I had a therapist back home who would on occasion use 'shit' in the appropriate context, and I gotta tell you, the things she said to me had much more credibility than things coming from my other therapists.

But that's me. Not everyone, particularly Prim & Proper, will feel the same way. But that is the beauty of us humans; We all have our own needs, and our own way of being and interacting. Regardless of swearing-status, I don't think the Prim & Propers would be coming to see me in a professional capacity anyway, so I will save my poetic reverie for my peeps. And in the mean time I will learn from my new friends all of the appropriate UK swears so I can be a well-rounded multi-cultural swearer.

Funny Story

A little over a year ago I was in an almost 4 year relationship. I was in a relationship that was feeling rather stagnant, and had been feeling that way for quite some time...and I was feeling pretty crappy about it...and the big problem was that my partner at the time seemed to think that our relationship was just fine. I have heard way to many friends tell this story; My partner and I had this great relationship, and then one day, out of the blue, she broke up with me. And I gotta tell you, I was completely unwilling to be one of those assholes.

So, I concocted a plan for us to go to couples counseling, in hopes we can both get on the same page. And when I initially made this plan, there was still a thought in my head that maybe there was something wrong with me and therapy would help me to appreciate my relationship (keep in mind that I was in individual therapy as well). Well, after a number of months of working on communication, my now ex, started to see that things weren't as perfect as we were pretending. During one session in June, ex actually brought up the idea that maybe we shouldn't be together. On the drive home she asked me what I was thinking. "Maybe it is over" I said tentatively. "So, we should break up?" she responded. "I think so." And that was our break up. There were a few tears of sadness, but no big deal. Smooth sailing. It was the most pleasant break-up I have ever had.

Now you may be asking yourself, "where is the funny part?" Glad you asked. Our counselor Roberta (this part is funny because I had an unpleasant ex situation with a 'Roberta'), where was I? Oh, yeah, Roberta is awesome. I will continue to use her services whenever I manage to find myself in relationships again. The funny part comes in that I love to recommend Roberta because she was so great; the only problem is that people are a little skittish to use a therapist that I went to to break-up with my partner with. But here's the deal; Roberta really did help us with our relationship. We learned to communicate better, we learned to understand one anothers' perspective, and we learned to like each other even when we came to the realization (all by ourselves, without any prompting from Roberta) that we just weren't compatible as lovers. Most of Roberta's couples clients don't wind up breaking-up, but there is a time to let dead-dogs lay, and for us, it was that time, and Roberta let us do what it was we needed to do to get there. So, if I ever recommend my couples couselor, don't freak out because she didn't save my relationship. Instead, she saved both the ex and I.

Falling from Grace

Some people annoy me. Like, a lot. I wish I could say otherwise, because I try hard to be a good 'Buddhist', and here I am going into the helping profession, and because of my annoyance, I am not the most loving person to said-annoying-person. Why this is particularly on my mind is because there is an 'instance' in mind. Person X was talking about something we have in common, as she often does, and I jumped in and commented on it when someone asked for details of this commonality. When I spoke of it, I was speaking more about myself than her, and believe she took offense...but because person X annoys me, I didn't bother to mention that it was my experience. As a result, I am feeling an unspoken friction. And at the moment I knew that I was antagonizing X. And I would like to right it, but at the same time I DON'T WANT TO. Perhaps that is the part that bothers me the most. And I'm not exactly sure how to make it better..."Hi so-and-so. I'm sorry you annoy me and as a result I unintentionally say things to annoy you back". I don't think that that is the way it works.

It's hard being conscious sometimes. But I'll take it over the alternatives.

Patriots

After going to the gym, TokyoRosa and I discussed helping stabalize the Economy by goin' shoppin' with our tax rebates. I had already started by purchasing a "cheap" digital camera. It takes sucky night-time pictures I'm afraid, but I will make the most of it, before I loose it.

There are my budies Yoda and Buddha having a telepathic chat. Next stop: CycleGear for some mesh summer riding pants for my trip back home to visit Ma. We also helped the economy by getting coffees. Unfortunately I forgot to say 'decaf' so I am staring at my computer instead of getting enough sleep to be prepared for when I wake up at 6-frakking-am. But all is well.

How 'bout we embrace a good cup of coffee instead?

My best friend Sheera was telling me the story of going to a friends birthday party...I'll spare you the details, but the punch line was "People! Can we stop embracing our mental illness, please?" And I will add to that, "physical, mental, or emotional illness."

See, the dilemna comes in when we (here we go again) embrace our label. When we start defining ourselves by what is 'wrong' with us, we're just in for a world of hurt. And lets face it, if all we are is what is 'wrong' with us, there is no room for the good stuff. When we become our illness/disorder/dysfunction, we cease to be present for ourselves and for our loved ones...this is what the self-help movement has done for us. It has taught us that we are our problems, and that is all that really matters...does anyone besides me and Sheera think that this is fucked up???

It has also perpetuated another phenomenon. The phenomenon of 'my pain is worse than yours and because I am empowered now, I can say and do anything to you that I want without regard to your feelings, because I'm not going to be hurt anymore.' Ok, so being empowered has nothing to do with trampling all over everyone else. Empowerment is about being strong enough that you don't have to attack another person before they attack you. Empowerment is about having respect for yourself, AND YES, respect for others. Empowerment is an inner strength that doesn't lash out, but instead it is a quiet calm energy that exudes stability and maybe even a bit of kindness.

When I hear someone take ownership of their diagnosis, I just want to shake them, and yell at them, "Don't you see? You are killing yourself?" And I have watched people literally kill themselves by their attachments to their illness...one friend in particular who seems to be haunting Sheera, had "my fibro" and "my depression" and "and my PTSD", and she had "my cabinet full of meds". The last year of her life, she had a very strong need to show everyone just how much pain and suffering she was enduring, and of course she had to medicate all of that pain and suffering. And that last year she had ceased being a person, and as a result I could not be around her. My only consolation is that she died peacefully at her writing desk with her coffee cup in hand.

And before anyone gets too excited, let me just say that I have been diagnosed with fibromyalgia, and PTSD, and Bipolar II, and I had a very fucked up childhood (think; Sybil-lite); so I don't make these statements as an outsider. I make them from a place of having wallowed in the mire of victim-hood. Fortunately I had a very big pain-in-the-ass therapist point out to me that I was embracing victim hood...and it has been a long climb, but I have gotten myself out of that pit...and yes, every now and then, I do dive back in head-long, but these days I spend much more time out of it, than in it. And more importantly, I AM more than the sum of my 'issues'.

more on settling

This program was previously recorded on another site in response to a couple of posts in regards to getting involved in dysfunctional relationships:

I recently had a BFO about my previous two relationships. These women both seemed very functional on the outside...and they were very functional in their everyday lives (and certainly the most functional women I had ever been with...and to my credit, I was the most functional I had ever been), but from my experience both had some relationship issues that they were in denial about (and obviously I had some relationship issues as well, otherwise things would have worked out a bit different). Anyway, one night when I was doing the wide-awake-at-2am thing, I had a flash of our therapy sessions, and in both cases what these women said basically amounted to: *I* don't have any issues, the reason we are here is because of Lu Ann's abuse issues. And I took that on (and I'm not saying that I don't have issues, just that the problem with *our* relationship wasn't limited to "my issues")...and if I brought up their "issues" which I believed were affecting *our* relationship, there was a complete denial..."nope, the only thing wrong with this relationship is that I can't touch Cowgirl's ass".

My picking has improved, but I still have some work to do. And, at least for me, it comes down in large part to the issue of settling. I know what I want, but then when something (someone) comes along who doesn't fit my picture of what I want, I just say, "well, at least she is(n't)" fill in the blank. We have a right to be picky, because we do deserve the best...whether we believe it or not.

Stay tuned for a chat about attachment to our "issues"...

Thoughts inspired by breakfast with Simu

A few months back my roommate accused me of being a Morning Person. I was quite taken aback. How dare she?

Why is it I was so offended by the thought? But when I examined her statement, I had to admit that it was true; I had indeed turned into a Morning Person. I mean I'm certainly not a night person...I would be happy to go to bed at 8pm most nights if I could actually go to sleep. The truth is, I love the first peaceful, mindful deep breath I take in the morning. I love the quietness of my surroundings. I love the lightness of not carrying the shielding that comes from interacting with angry (wounded) people, with emotional vampires, and near-death experiences at the hands of un-conscious drivers.

I AM a morning person, but it was very hard to let go of my attachment to being Not-A-Morning-Person. And why was it that I was so opposed to letting go of this label? Because it went along with other labels I had become accustomed to. I have a long standing habit of thinking of myself in a certain way, a way that doesn't really serve the way that I want to be. Those certain ways include but are not limited to; angry, depressed, tough, and angst-ridden. And I have to admit that it has been a challenge learning to live without these things (even though I don't want them anymore) because they have been a part of me for so long...so I have had to learn new habits...habits that go against my previous nature. It is scary to become this new person...a person that at one time I would have thought of as weak. But what I am discovering is that it takes a strong person to walk around without the rusty, clunky armour of these labels.

Life is too short for bad coffee

Why do we drink the last drop of that shitty cup of coffee? Why do we remain friends with people we can't really even say we like? Why do we stay in relationships with partners who don't bring us joy? Because we have learned to settle.

This last birthday, a few days after my partner of nearly four years had moved out, I sat under my favorite tree enjoying a good cup of coffee and the sunrise. In the past I have had a tendency to find everything wrong with the day on my birthday...primarily because of misdirected expectation...mainly the expectation that on my birthday nothing should ever go 'wrong'. But on this particular birthday as I sat enjoying everything about the moment, I made a conscious decision that I wasn't going to settle. The truth is, that four year relationship had been empty for me for a long time, but I stayed-waiting for things to miraculously change. And in my life in general I was living in fear...fear of being poor, fear of not having enough, fear of what people thought of me. But that morning, for whatever reason, I was able to transcend my attachment to my fears and my dysfunctions and start living the life that I want to live.

Now all of this doesn't mean that my life 'perfect' whatever the hell that means. I still get grumpy, things happen in my life that I'm not thrilled about, but I am able to be more present in my life. And by being more present, I can enjoy life so much more...experiences, people, feelings...I can actually take notice and enjoy these things. And the flip side is that I notice more readily the things that I don't enjoy AND I can take action and find a way to transform or remove these things from my life. I have learned to have appreciation for all of the good things in my life...and have learned to appreciate myself...to appreciate myself enough to not settle.

When I grow up...

Last night during break a couple of my classmates were discussing american socialization (said classmates are both from Europe). The discussion was about american school children when asked "What do you want to be when you grow up?" respond with "a millionaire", rather than the age old "fireman" or "policeman".

So, I thought back on what it was that I wanted to be when I was a child. I didn't have a name for it, but what I wanted to be was my dad. I wanted to be old enough to go to the bar and get drunk whenever I wanted, and I didn't want to ever have to leave the ranch...unless it was to go get booze. I wanted to break horses, round up cattle, and fix fence and never have to deal with another soul. That was my dream for when I grew up.

But then we got foreclosed on when I was 13 and lost the ranch. And fortunately I got sober when I was 23. So I have had to re-think what it is I want to be when I grow up. It's taken a long while, but recently I've figured it out. In fact about 2 hours it came to me very clearly. I want to be me when I grow up.