sueeeus

I have about ten drafts hanging out around here.  Some go back a few years, even.  This one I started last November, but it mostly still applies.  It seems that my emotional state tends to be somewhat of a broken record, anyway.  So here goes.

I wish I had somebody to talk to right now, but since I’m a blubbering fool, I wouldn’t be able to speak coherently anyway. I do have someone to talk to, several, in fact, and I’m truly grateful — yet I don’t always feel like I’m truly understood.  It would be nice to be understood.

~*~*~*~

It can be a serious character flaw, to want to please one and all.  It would behoove me to grow a backbone.  It could come in handy both in my professional life and my personal life.  Instead of standing tall, puffing out my chest, and deflecting the onslaught with wisdom and grace, I take it, and take it, and keep on taking it.  But later, I have to pay the piper.  It all goes inside and churns away at me so that I find myself short of breath.

I wish I could be like Superman.  The way he soars up, up, and away, closer to the sun, folds his arms across his chest, closes his eyes, and rests and recharges.  Then he’s all strong and rejuvenated, and ready to blaze into action.  Me, I hear the cacophony of demands, wails, criticisms, insinuations, whines, expectations, opinions and complaints, but rather than filter through it and find the nuggets of goodness, I feel as though I’ve got kryptonite shrapnel embedded all through me, and I’m incapacitated so that all I can do is curl into fetal position while I’m kicked around, hoping for it to end, searching my mind and my will for some fragment of strength to hold onto and pull myself up, up, out and away from this mess.

Is it very helpful to be told I should be stronger?  Not much.

I commented to some of my work friends that I should develop a shell to shut these things out, but they almost all said that if I did, it should be selective to only those necessary.   In a way, that’s a heartening thing to hear.  It perhaps supports that there is value and merit in the kindness and softness that exposes my vulnerabilities.

~*~*~*~

What’s in a name?  I’m wanting to change my name.  I didn’t have it changed in the divorce, because I didn’t have any hard feelings toward Gadget at the time, apart from the simple fact that the marriage absolutely had to end.  Mainly, the kids have the same name, so I thought it would be less confusing as we go through life to have the same name.

However.  As time goes by,  and shades of character unveil, I find myself wanting to remove all traces, insomuch as is possible.

I could take back my maiden name, but I hesitate to do that.  I think that I associate it with an identity of who I used to be, rather than who I am.  That was someone from a previous life.  Someone who wasn’t as sure of herself as I’d wished her to be.

It raises the question, ‘Who am I?’  Which prompts the response, ‘24601’.  What if I changed my name to Valjean?

Sueeeus Maximus Valjean.

I kind of like it.  People will think I’m whacked.  Which, maybe I am.  My dead brother would totally get it, though.  He’d dig it.

~*~*~*~

BB has told me several times lately that he wants me to become a vampire so that I “don’t never die”.  It troubles me somewhat that my mortal demise is so prevalent in his thoughts.

~*~*~*~

I do need to be stronger.  I get that.  I just don’t want to be told.  It’s another one of those character flaws.  I’m pretty sure that if I could get rested, I might just be stronger.  It’s so elusive, though, is rest.  Meanwhile, the children call.  I hear the youngest crying.

How one word can represent so many things.

A substantial part of what I do for a living is evaluate things for reasonability.

With interpersonal relationships, I expect reasonability.  I don’t get it, but I expect it.  It would seem that it would be a reasonable expectation.

I had such a busy work day yesterday.  I have to say that I rocked, considering the quantity and diversity of things I had to do.   And I did it all.  I pulled it off.  Sometimes I astound myself, because seriously, I don’t know how I managed it, except that I was in the zone.  And in the midst of the fray, I received an advance copy of the magazine in which my article is published.

It’s just a short article, and it’s been revised so many times I can hardly recognize it any more.  It’s probably crap, mostly, and boring to read.  Even so, there’s no way to explain the magnitude of what that small article represents –how much energy and life was consumed in that project.  My marriage gave up the ghost while that project came to life.

Volumes of life, my life and breath, reduced to a few pages.  It’s small, probably trivial to most, but it means something to me.  I have a small sense of pride and accomplishment.  I worked so hard.  And then I got to write about it, for the world to see.  These things don’t happen every day.  There are only so many writing opportunities in my sphere.    (Actually, I write all day, every day, in one form or another, but it’s not the stuff for glossy print.)

The moments in the spotlight are few and far between, and I don’t seek the spotlight anyway.  I did get a moment of glory, way back when, though.  It was exciting, but in all honesty, I didn’t think I did anything that remarkable.  I was just doing my job, and my team happened to be involved in something that got a lot of attention at the time.

Even so, it’s kind of fun to have this yellowed newspaper article stashed away in my memorabilia.  Few and far between, indeed.  Twenty years span these two accomplishments.

All in all, I think I’ve done well for myself.  It’s not the career I intended –how many years I obstinately refused to call my job a career!  Only in the past few years have I acknowledged that it is, after all, a career.  The better part of my life.  Twenty four years.  It’s turned out well;  I am so fortunate, so blessed!  I’m as high as I can go.

I think that means that I have arrived.

Yay me.

Words of wisdom uttered by my mother. I don’t remember the context of those words, or why she’d use them, but she used them enough for me to associate them with her, even though it is a quite common phrase.

I am ultra sensitive. I always have been. I am happiest when those around me are happy. Like a chameleon, I reflect the moods of those I am near. It’s not necessarily a good thing. I’m empathetic. It can be a good thing, but it’s not always constructive. It could be constructive if I would remain vigilant and understand but not react to the emotions around me. But often, I’m not vigilant, and when that happens, then it doesn’t serve me (or anyone) well at all. My own fault.

It would serve me better to be a beacon. A light shining brightly, impervious to its surroundings. I have light within me. A fantastic light. I should let it shine brightly. As the children’s song goes. Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

In so doing, I might just shield myself from the misperception of words and emotions wielded by those around me. And for the onslaught of words and emotions that are deliberate and not misperceived, I can just consider the source, and keep on shining.

Oh, if only I had the presence of mind and discipline of emotion to hold on and ride the wave of effervescent new love, never to let go. If only. It’s so glorious, to be distracted from the confines of everyday life and whisked away to new levels of thrill. Such a fantastic high.

I wish I knew how to hold on to that, and not let the other things take root. The nits, the picks, the responsibilities, the obligations, the necessities. Not to mention the blind sided attacks of emotion, mood swings, embittered exes. The small things that turn into monumental things, like missed communications and mis-communications. Assumptions here and there. Careless! Taking things for granted. How deftly these things can creep in and take hold! One must remain vigilant, in order to keep the home fires burning strong.

Picture a potter at the wheel. The wheel spins, and the artist has the clay under control, taking shape, a beautiful form. Such a fine, fine balance, because if the artist falters for even a moment, what was a work of beauty, exquisite in form, is suddenly ruined. Ruined, in the blink of an eye. Thank God my life isn’t necessarily that extreme, and nothing is truly ruined. Oh, but there is often much damage control to be run, and the running thereof is nothing short of exhausting.

These are the four agreements. Be impeccable with your word. Don’t take anything personally. Don’t make assumptions. Always do your best. These are the things I try to remind myself, to keep myself in check.

I’m trying to be a good parent, a good role model, a good example, a good friend, a good partner, a good person. I don’t make everybody happy all of the time. I wish I could. It makes me happy, for those in my sphere to be happy, and to know that I contribute to their happiness.

Happiness should be easy. It’s all about love.

But sometimes it doesn’t seem easy at all.

Sometimes.

Maybe it’s because I am just. so. tired.

Orchids - Commissioned for my birthday by one sister and lovingly arranged and delivered by the other. Exquisite.