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angry angry angry

Apparently I am no longer allowed to have any needs or emotions over all of this. Not really surprising, but damn, it hurts and it makes me angry.

Why can he not differentiate between me being upset and angry over the circumstances and being angry at him? I do not like being accused of yelling at him and being angry at him for being "unhealthy". I guess that is what we are calling it these days.

I do not want to work on a lawnmower. I am mad as hell that due to him being ill and enormously obese it is falling to me. There are no funds to just take it in to be fixed and even if there were, how would I get a riding mower there. The damn thing is shot and it makes my shoulder and neck hurt like hell to use it and I don't want to have to take care of the yard too.

I am tired of life being something to be endured. I want more than this and then I feel like the scum of the earth for wanting more.

DAMMIT, I AM NOT READY TO SIT AROUND WAITING TO DIE. I am healthy and I am sure as hell not elderly. I want a life again. Is that terrible of me?

Flying leaps of faith

It will work. I'm putting it out there. It. Will. Work. What is needed will be provided...and it will be provided right on time, not too late.

Making this place more and more my home. Odd, since I really thought that as things get worse with Doug's health we would likely move back into town. Surely I wouldn't consider staying out here when I am on my own...would I? Maybe...I just don't know.

Brain droppings

I received word a few weeks ago that a friend from 'that place' has left this life. A person I enjoyed bantering with and quite enjoyed his approval in our interactions in the groups we both belonged to. I recalled his kindness in stepping outside his comfort zone to leave me a message here when I was struggling in the immediate aftermath of mom's death. I was saddened and yet, I understand quite well the choices he made.

I bailed on doing the Artists Way class...I enjoyed it the first session, but I just can't make myself commit to doing it right now. Maybe later on.

The Cash Mob project seems to be taking on a life of it's own and I'm just along for the ride. Pretty cool stuff and like the people I am getting to know better.

Radio interview a few days ago. Good lord, I was nervous...really like Kristen. She made it easier. ha, I think we formed our own political party. Good times.

Good times with Mitsi and Natasha this week as well. I have great friends.

Not too surprised, although saddened to hear that L and her company have apparently screwed over the people that owned the gorgeous venue they were supposedly buying. So sad to hear the place was apparently gutted. This one may be the straw that breaks the camels back and people see L for the narcissist she truly is.

Another loon out of the woodwork, crazy Carlette emailed about a job she thought I would be interested in. What the hell was that all about?

Glad I am finally managing to surround myself with positive friends, not lunatics.

Doug still bad, although not quite as bad as a couple of weeks ago. It was a bad night, though. He woke me up at 4 am gasping for air.

Some days are just treading water...

Making plans for spring...gardens...chickens...and fill the house with friends. It is too dusty and barren these days. I need laughter in my home, not just when I go elsewhere.

A creative journey and some random thoughts

I was supposed to attend the first meeting of the cluster for The Artists Way last night. I didn't make it. It was raining, cold and foggy, Doug has not had a single good day since my last post here and I just could not bring myself to leave.

Still, I began the exercises in the book today. Did the morning pages. It felt slightly awkward at first, but then it didn't. Afterwards I felt good about doing it and less tense than I have been lately. Yet a few hours later and I was at my desk sobbing after a kind email. Don't know where that came from. I don't let loose like that very much any more. I get unreasonably angry a lot lately too. I really wish I could contain that better.

Anyway, back to The Artists Way. I have no idea where this will lead, but I feel compelled to do it. We shall see. I need to set a date to go to Crystal Bridges for my first Artist's Date with myself.

Here I am still seeking the balance...maybe that is what it all about...seeking.

Then and Now

Yesterday and last night were bad. I could tell even before he told me. Much of it was spent in bed. I spent the evening on the sofa with him. Saw him struggle to get up. Struggle to maintain his balance and walk to the kitchen or bathroom. At least his mind was clear enough for us to enjoy watching TV together.

We went to bed at the same time. That is unusual. I lay listening to him breath. Once again hit with realization of how much has changed. He no longer smells like he did. His breathing is erratic, much like his gait. There was a time I knew all those as well as my own. Now, not so much.

I hope someday to be able to recall what was, not what things are now.



Surrealities...

Last week I saw my ex-husband for the first time since 1985. The father of my two birth children. The man I stood with in the church of my youth and pledged my life to at the age of 19 and left at the age of 23. The man that told me I was ruining his life by taking his family away. The man that then walked away. The man that caused me physical harm. The man that tried to kill me. The man that caused me greater emotional and psychological harm. The man that I fought heatedly with. The man that I thought I didn't deserve. The man that told me I was stupid often enough, I believed it. The man that told me I was unattractive. The man that left me dealing with night terrors for two decades. The man that in my mind was still very large and imposing.

I saw a much heavier, but very small man. I spoke with him. I met his wife (number 3). I felt numb.

I recalled for the first time that shortly after we began dating nearly 34 years ago his grandfather died. I accompanied him to the visitation and funeral in the same funeral home where his mother now lay. As I sat initially by myself and then with my son's fiancee (he sent her over to sit with me), I gazed across at my two grown children sitting with the family. My beautiful son and daughter. My son sitting next to the man he does not really know. The man that is his father, but not really. By an act of biology yes, but his father is the man that lives with me. The man that knows when he had chicken pox his fever was so high he hallucinated and he even had pox on the bottoms of his feet, so he carried him to the bathroom. The man that knows he won a state wide stock market competition in fifth grade and went to have lunch with the governor to receive his award. The man that knows he fights demons of his own and has a self-hatred that runs deep. The man sitting next to him has no idea. My daughter that he has denounced due to her sexuality. My beautiful children.

I recall hopes and dreams and dread that ran underneath it all. A current, dark and still and deep. I recall tears and rages and anger. Mine and his. I recall babies being born and held close. I recall outings, good and bad. I recall times with my family and times with his. I recall the times I behaved badly. I recall the night of clarity when I knew I could no longer continue to live a lie. A lie of a perfect little happy family. I recall finding out 6 months after leaving him that he is dating his former girlfriend. I recall finding out he fathered a child with her while married to me. She was married to someone else at the time as well. His name was Steve. He committed suicide. I recall the sadness of the years alone after the divorce and before I learned how to be happy. I recall the children confused over seeing him for the first time in years when they were 10 and 12. My daughter told her daddy that she had forgotten she ever had another daddy. He told her he had forgotten as well. Then not again until my daughter was in her early 20's. My son not until the last few weeks. My children are so beautiful.

Through it all, I am mostly numb. I have my moments of anger, though. He is not a good person. He is not there for any of his children. He is not there for his sister or her family. In a purely selfish flash, I realize I am angry that he is well. Working, living his life and by all appearances doing well. My husband is dying. I am angry. My children are so beautiful. I am overcome as I look at these adults. My children.

It is still rather surreal. Most surreal of all? When he told me he had forgiven me long ago. My children are such beautiful adults. I have come full circle.

The furies

Not here much these days. Skimming the surface on Facebook and occasionally a bit deeper on http://overtlyblonde.tumblr.com/ ....generally speaking though, just skimming the surface.

Last night the furies beset me. I feel I am in the very same situation with Doug as I was with my dad a year ago. Not that acute yet, but getting there. The nights of being asked the same question 9 times in under 2 hours. The watching as he obviously loses what he was attempting to do as he walks across the floor. He is still able to do some of his graphics work, but I think the time for that is limited. I am sad. I am angry. I am lonely. I have many friends, but it is difficult to let them fully in. Most of all, I just need to be held sometimes. Someone to pat my head and say 'there, there, everything will be alright." Even though it won't....

I disconnect. I withdraw. I have to or I will be a screaming, ranting, raving fury. Throwing things. Blazing out....God help me if it is ever unleashed.



Words (Facebook 'note' from 01/08/2011)

Words are powerful. Words convey emotion or the lack thereof. Words begin battles, peace accords, marriages...nearly every action we take is presaged by words, be they spoken, written or merely thought.

Spoken and written words are particularly potent. Spoken words in the case of the bullied child or adolescent can leave life long scars. They can lead to suicide as was so sadly shown to us in so many instances this past fall.

Spoken and written words by people placed in positions of power by election to governmental office or stature within the government or political scene have a unique power.

They are looked upon by adherents to that parties beliefs as wise, considered, and often as a call to action. This can be a good thing in motivating the general populace to be informed and involved. It can also be a very, very dangerous thing and a thin line to walk.

My personal belief says that the thinly cloaked rhetoric of recent years was calculated. It was intended to 'fire up' the base and damn the consequences.

These words, when coupled with imagery that invokes weapons is beyond reprehensible.

We all need to consider our words carefully. Lives hang in the balance.

The Color of The Sky

A frequent, sarcastic rejoinder from a co-worker is "what color is the sky in your world?" This led to some thought, then a conversation with my LeaLea after he repeated it a few days later.

I do tend to live in my own little world. I always have.

I march to my own drummer. I explore different places via books, documentaries and surfing the web.

Music transports me and allows me to fly.

I am passionate about things that catch my fancy. I am compassionate and yet, I am pragmatic.

I believe in dreams that do come true.

I believe that surely, sooner or later, hard work will pay off.

I believe in synchronicity. I do not accept that life is random.

I believe in love and happiness and the joy of walking barefoot in the mud.

I believe in laughter and I believe in tears.

I believe I can hold the hand of a friend that is many hundreds or even thousands of miles away.
I believe in connections.

I believe electricity is not just something that powers the machinery of daily life.

I believe the path less traveled is the way to go.

I believe in the timeless and the unfathomable.

I believe that laughter and a smile are more stunning than the most priceless of gems.

I believe in choosing happiness even when faced with losing everything.

I believe in the magic of the first snowfall.
I believe in the innocence of a child's eyes. I also believe in the timeless wisdom glimpsed in yet another child's eyes.

I know love beyond measure.

In my world, the sky is the bright cerulean blue of a perfect summer day. In my world, the sky is the silver of moonlight shining on the lawn under a full moon...beckoning me to come and dance. In my world, the sky is the gray of a rainy day, brightened by my pink umbrella and the knowledge that sunshine follows rain. In my world the sky is the sullen color of a bruise, followed by the magnificent fury of a thunder storm. In my world, the sky is the searing near white of a scorching hot summer day. In my world the sky is the blackest of nights, lit by a million twinkling stars.

In my world....the sky is mine to paint as I choose.

Maybe this is balance?

This year is so strange. Doug's health is much worse. A lupus flare going into the 7th week and decreasing stamina. Two major snow storms that were stunningly beautiful, yet left us stranded on yonder mountain. Earthquakes, nuclear crisis, war on many fronts, including our own citizens when you look at the bizarre legislative landscape.

And yet, a group of incredible and diverse friends. Some of the strongest friendship bonds forged in many a year with local people. Strength and wisdom from online friends that have been here for me and vice versa for many years now. Last, but certainly not least, a job at long last that truly feels like home. Working with part of my tribe. Work that I love. New friendships and some volunteer activity as I can fit it in. 

Maybe this is balance? The good there to keep me from being mired in the suck of Doug continuing to get worse.

Or perhaps just the insomnia induced ramblings of a seeker of balance and a life fulfilled.
 

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