sueeeus

a little bit of goth

• For the record, I’ve been sick since October 3rd.
• It’s beyond old.
• I’ve dragged the family in to see the doctor twice, and we have cascading colds.
• Tomorrow is flu shot day at work.  I almost think there’s not much point in bothering with it.
• I just had an apple so my ears hurt.  Cross reacting food allergies exacerbated by already hyperactive histamine.  Stupid.
• Stupid, stupid, stupid.
• Still coughing.
• Did I say stupid?
• Boo
• In other news, it was fun to play dress up for Halloween!
• LB was the cutest astronaut, and BB was a nicely dramatic scream.

trick or treat

• LB wasn’t so enthused about trick or treating until he realized he was given free rein to ring doorbells.
• The biggest drama?  Where did that blue binky go?  We’re down to the lone survivor from the emergency stash.
• Blogging by bullets.  Pathetic.

In many ways I am a simple person.  I am blessed to have a toolbox filled with many assorted items, but I am master of none.  Sometimes Oftentimes  I yearn to manifest excellence.  I’m not selling myself short.  I have very high standards, and am a perfectionist at that, so the realization of excellence is no small thing.  I can say that I am very good at many things, but excellent?  Alas, no.  (I do have a book that I plan to work through, called How to Do More Great Work, and hopefully it will help propel me, or at least inspire me.)

Where am I going with this?  I have no idea.

Oh.

Something I say in my online dating profile is that “I am inspired by good conversation, warmth, sharp wit and an animated spirit. I am thrilled by excellence in any form. I thrive on creativity.”

Recently I’ve been blessed with some amazing conversation that does, in fact, reflect all of those attributes.  Warmth.  Sharp wit.  Animated spirit.  And it has been thrilling, to say the least.  Inspiring, even.  The most marked manifestation happens when conversing via instant messenger chat.  Words are flying as fast as the fingers can type.  And the curious thing is, when they arrive, often they are the same words (not verbatim, but the same concepts, in each others’ speech style), so the thoughts being expressed have this sweet synchronicity.  It’s like a sensation of deja vu, when the words appear on screen.  You know that the person on the other side couldn’t possibly have read your words, then formulated and typed a response in so short a time.  We are left scratching our heads in wonder and bewilderment.  Then I realize I have a silly grin planted firmly on my face.

It’s a very sweet thing, this sense of synchronicity.  It’s like looking in the other person’s face and seeing oneself.  Knowing that other person sees inside and knows what and who they see.  A peaceful feeling descends.  A feeling of being home.

That alone is enough to make me think, “pinch me, I must be dreaming, this can’t be real.”

And then.

There is the dimension of touch.  A simple touch, the most innocent contact, and warmth emanates where fingers meet face or hand meets shoulder.  Eyes close.  Peace descends.  Tranquility surrounds.

Again, I shake my head, tousle my hair, and think, “pinch me, I must be dreaming, this can’t be real.”

But it is.

It’s real.

I’m awake.

I’m not dreaming.

I am humbled.

And profoundly blessed.

~*~*~*~

The saga unfolds. Unexpected, but most truly welcome.  What shall the future hold? There has been Gadget. There has been Skills. Now, there is Spock.  And hopefully much more to come.

Fascinating is a word I use for the unexpected.
— Spock, “The Squire of Gothos”, stardate 2124.5

Change We Must

… Spock, “Let That Be Your Last Battlefield,” stardate 5730.2 …

not so comfortably numb

I woke up with a sore throat and a screaming headache, and did a sinus flush to try to clear out the gunkies.  I was so distraught that this sore throat continues to make my life miserable, and spent some time re-assessing whether I should drag my sorry self back to the doctor, but the headache has improved a bit and I’m not hacking up as much or coughing as much, and the throat pain is at bay for now, so I think I’m starting to get better.  My neck aches now, though.

Oxycodone makes me itch.  It’s a seven year old prescription, so I’m surprised it does anything at all.  One pill left.

So Gadget is out there, somewhere, saying I Do to a twenty seven year old today.

I remember the day I said I Do.  I had a screaming migraine.  I was 38 and three days past the most traumatic and horrific miscarriage of my life.  And I was thinking “I do NOT” in my head the whole time.  But I went ahead and said it anyway.  Coward.  So what was I thinking?  That I don’t want to have bastard children.  Social pressure.  Imagined social pressure.  And so it goes.  I’ve paid the piper, again and again for that moment of cowardice.

But I have my boys!  My world!

the bird

I’ve been sick all week.  Trying hard not to let it take hold.  I even took all of us to urgent care on Tuesday, to get checked out.  We got the all clear, but got one prescription for LB for the pink eye that was making the rounds, just in case.  So who gets pink eye?  Me.  Followed by BB.  LB has a runny nose and a cough.  BB is a bit stuffed up.  And I’m a complete mess.  I took a sick day on Friday, which is just as well because BB got kicked out of daycare the minute they noticed his rosy eyes.  It’s funny how such a ruckus is made over pink eye.  Whatever version we have doesn’t even hurt.  It’s nothing compared with the sore throat that has persisted all week.  I’ve been drinking lemony tea, gargling with cayenne pepper and vinegar, sucking on menthol throat drops, popping the ibuprofen like it’s going out of style, and even working my way through the remnants of my ancient prescription painkillers.  Thank GOD the boys don’t have the sore throat.  I wouldn’t know how to help them and it would break my heart to know they had to just suffer through it.

So this is the big wedding weekend for Gadget.  His daughter and stepson are here from Kentucky, having arrived on Tuesday.  His twin and significant other arrived yesterday from New York.  I’m not sure who else is here, but rumor has it that it’s a big wedding, with 200-300 guests.  Gadget mentioned something months ago about the boys having a role in the ceremony.  I started trying to make some plans a few weeks ago, so that the kids could see that side of their family.  It turned out that Friday was a no-school day, so I told Gadget that I could actually bring the kids over on Thursday after work.  That way they could spend some time with their siblings.  They’ve never even met LB.  “We’ll see….” is what I got from Gadget.  I tried to solidify plans as the week progressed.  He finally said “No, don’t bring the kids over until around 4pm on Saturday.”  Why not Thursday, I asked.  Gadget said he wouldn’t even be home until 9:30pm Thursday, and his kids wouldn’t babysit.  WTH.  I wasn’t asking them to BABYSIT.  And at 16 and 21, are they not responsible enough to spend a few hours with my boys, their BROTHERS, unaccompanied?  WTH?  So it comes out that there is some function on Saturday for the over 12 crowd and there is nobody to watch the little kids.  He pretty much declares that I should bring them over at 4 on Saturday and pick them up Sunday.  I told him I’m not a taxi service.  My window of helpfulness was Thursday evening.  If he couldn’t work with that, then figure it out his own.  I thought I was very clear.

Fast forward to today.  Saturday.  3:54pm.  He texts me.

Him: Are you bringing the kids?

Me: I’m sick.

Him: That’s ok two can play your silly game. I knew you would pull some crap like this, but whatever.

Me: What game.  I’m sick.  U can come get them if you want.

Him: Whatever

Me: I’ve been waiting for you to communicate about how u want to handle the boys and haven’t heard a word.  What do u expect?

Him: At least I didn’t make up something. To be at least civil and not make up a lie not to do something. I wanted to bring the kids here to spend time but everything didn’t  work out that way but I have talked to you and you wanted nothing to do with anything so there you go.  You got all mad. You’re just pissed.

Me: U told me when u wanted them here.  I told u what worked for me-Thurs. I told u to figure out a plan.  Did u? And I DON’T LIE.

Him: If I have to pick them up then  they won’t be back until u pick them up on Wed.  When I say I don’t have fuel I’m not making it up.

WTH.  He didn’t even TRY to figure out an alternate plan.  He thinks it’s appropriate that I drop everything, drive an hour each way, and drop the boys off at the time he edicted.  His family members live North of me.  He lives South of me.  He could coordinate with someone to pick up the boys on their way.  He’s asked my dear friend’s husband to photograph the wedding.  He could ask them to bring the boys.  He had several options he could have explored, yet he did nothing.

So, here I am, sicker than hell, can barely swallow or breathe, and I just break into sobs.  Right in front of BB.  So then I have to tell BB that I’m crying because his dad thinks I’m lying about being sick.  Not to mention, my beautiful angel of a boy has been excited and looking forward to seeing his relatives.  And I had to tell him, no, you can’t go see them Thursday.  Or Friday.  And it doesn’t look like he’s coming to get you now.

Still sobbing, I check the clock and call my friend.  Luckily, they’ve not left yet, so they come over and get the boys.  Solution.

The man is incompetent.  And an ass.  Check out the reflection.  It’s ludicrous that I would make up a story and lie.  That he could even conceive such a notion speaks volumes as to how deeply he knows the essence of ME.

Un-flipping-believable.  I am *this* close to incorporating the f-bomb into my vocabulary.  I was recently able to produce the gesture depicted above, albeit still with a smile, and not directed at the ex.  That one was directed at my geeky friend, who I shall call Sailor.  I think he’s trying to toughen me up.  He shares his drama and I attempt to give him a rational female perspective.  I share my drama, and he offers his crude male perspective.  Basically, he says I should stand up for myself and take Gadget to the cleaners by going after max child support and daycare contributions.

Thus far, no man I encounter seems to understand my idea of the high road.  I don’t get it.  They almost unanimously share tales of child support woes.  Maybe it just kills them to see that they, being the nice guys they are, get shafted, yet Gadget, being the apparent ass that he is, gets to skate.  Gadget, as we all know, thinks he is being shafted.

I’m tired of trying to explain it to anybody.  I don’t want to hurt him.  I don’t want to make his life miserable.  I’m not vindictive.  I just want him to step up and be a man.  Good Lord.  Just. Be. A. Man.

And I hope and pray with all the hope and earnestness that I have in my heart that I can live long enough to raise my children, because if they had to be raised by him, they would have a tough road, without good and honorable examples and guidance.  I don’t want them to think it’s okay to lie.  Or to be selfish.  Or self-serving.  Or materialistic.  Or lazy.

So I guess I better step up my game, as far as taking better care of myself goes.  I have young lives to help shape.

I have too much work to do.  My work / life balance is awry.  It has been forever, but it’s even worse now.

When others know you are competent, capable, and dependable, they come knocking on your door.  I once used pregnancy and maternity leave as an excuse not to take on a particular task.  It was a genius and rare opportunity, to have a card like that to play.  Little did I know that a year later the same task reared its head, and I had no more babies to help me steer clear of it.  I should have known it would be waiting for me. This is corporate America, after all, where some projects take years, YEARS, to complete.  So I did it.  And saw it through.  And there was much joy and celebration in the land.  But sometimes, endings are only beginnings.  The original task is complete, but now there is the responsibility of the sustaining tasks.  And I am, by default, the expert.

I don’t mind, really, being considered an expert, and being called upon for various matters.  Many of the the new things are quite interesting.  The problem is that I have a ‘day job’.  I have a full time workload before any of the special projects come into play.

Day tight compartments.  That’s a technique I learned from Dale Carnegie training.  Rather than let the big picture cripple me, portion the expectations into daily compartments, and focus only on one day at a time.  This day.  Today.  Now.  I can do this much.  I will do this much. I must do this much.

By this time, a week from Friday, it will all be behind me, and I will have accomplished all of it.  And there will be joy and celebration in the land.  As for today?  I have a LOT to do, and better get to it!

boring

• I worked seventeen hours yesterday.
• In addition to gracing the workplace with my presence, I earned $4k of cold hard cash for my company in exchange for ten hours of my time.  Oh but wouldn’t it be sweet to be able to take that home!
• I stopped cold turkey with the Zoloft on Saturday.
• It probably wasn’t the best idea to go cold turkey, but I was on such a low dose (25mg) that I wasn’t even sure it was doing anything to me or for me.
• Based on how I felt yesterday, I think it’s safe to say that it was, in fact, doing something to me and for me.
• I had quite a few ups and downs yesterday.  Tears.  Anxiety.  Loss of focus.  Dizziness.  Loopiness.  Clumsiness.  Frustration.  Muscle aches.  Headache.  Blurred vision.  Irritability.
• Oh sure, possibly I had cause for all those things, aside from withdrawal.  I did have a very long and taxing day.
• Not to mention the whole man scene.
• I like being a strong and capable woman, but it sometimes seems like a handicap.
• Where are the men who aren’t intimidated by strong and capable women, and who have the heart and soul and emotional fortitude to embrace, protect, honor, respect, appreciate and otherwise care for such women?
• I’m not really a man.  I just play one in real life.
• For someone whose life dream was to be a housewife and doting mother, I sure seem to have missed the boat.
• It kind of bothers me that nobody has ever wanted to take care of me.  What’s up with that?  I’m a carer.  It’s my nature to want to nurture.   So why does it seem that nobody, and by nobody I mean no man, has wanted to care for me?  What ever happened to ‘do unto others as you would have done unto you’?
• Sometimes I wish I could just sink into a man and let him be the man, so I can rest.
• Because I am so very tired.

plunge

I had to do a little public speaking yesterday.  I was on the agenda for an international business conference during which I led a software training session.  Basically.  I’m not very comfortable in front of a crowd, but I figured that the audience would most likely be predominantly male, so why not dress to distract.  If my presentation skills faltered, they’d likely be more forgiving, right?  Right.

peek-a-boobage

So I wore a very low cut blouse.  Very. Low. Cut.  There was a peek-a-boo risk.  Oops, did I just flash some boobage?  Oops.  Pardonez moi.

so close and yet so far

Even my little one was drawn to my ample bosom.  Something that NEVER happens.  He rejected me from the get-go, just like his brother. Such a waste.  Sigh.  But I digress.

dolled to dazzle

So I dolled myself up and set out to dazzle.  (Note the reflection in the shower door shows the tunic and low slung belt.  –I had to keep the cardigan on because the blouse is a slinky nightclub sleeveless number, which is not quite business professional appropriate…)

I am pleased to report that it worked like a charm.  I entered the conference hall, scanned the crowd, and confirmed that I was the only woman in the room.  And wouldn’t you know, the men were engaged and animated during the nearly 2 hour session, and afterward several made a specific point to shake my hand, thank me for a fine presentation, and introduce themselves.

Yes, I was chuckling inside.  It totally worked, this sex appeal jazz.  An ego boost like that feels pretty good, once or twice a decade.

I’ll take it!

I actually did do a good job, all told.  I walk the talk, and am not just a statistic of a woman who gets to hold a man’s spot in the corporate world to satisfy government equal opportunity laws.  Even so, the visual effects don’t hurt.

In the interest of documentation, I’m just going to make a stupid post about repeat behavior.  So, it’s Gadget’s weekend again, coming up.  I started the coordination process on Monday.  Yes he wants to see the kids, no he won’t or can’t come get them.  Sure, I can drop them off at his house.

One of my friends speculates that he does this purposefully to try to force me to use some of the pittance of child support that he pays me, so that he gets something for it.  I wouldn’t be surprised.  He lives about an hour from me.  What does that end up costing in gas, to and from?  I think about 5 gallons, so 10 gallons after the pickup.  That’s about $30 every two weeks.  Not to mention the 4 hours total drive time, there and back and once again.

Mostly, I think he just wants to make my life difficult.  Not let me make any plans.

It’s so ridiculous.  I’m still going to ride the high road.  Yes, it looks like I’m letting him walk all over me, and yes, it gets wearisome.  But I’m not interested in blowing up in front of my kids, and I am interested in them having a positive relationship with their dad.  I’m not interested in playing any games or trying to make him hurt.  I’m not interested in reducing myself to his level.

So.

Same-o, same-o.

Every day I thank God that I am not married to him.  If I ever marry again, or even have any kind of a relationship, I don’t want a black hole that sucks the life force out of me, not making enough or any effort to replenish or nourish or build me or us up.

I don’t even want to begin thinking about the message he sends his kids when he marries another woman who has four young kids, and he spends all his time with them.  Of course those children need and deserve much love and attention, but does he not see that his kids might feel as though he doesn’t love them enough or as much, or worse, that it’s their fault, or that they’re not as good as the other kids?  God forbid, and I so want to shield them from that perception.

I wish he would grow up and start paying attention to the bigger picture.

twilight

Tonight I wrote ‘Dear John’ letters to all my men, releasing them from my snare.  This meeting and dating business is too overwhelming for me.  I am a sequential person, when it comes to men, and this juggling of men is just exhausting.  I can’t do it.  I need to focus and re-focus then re-focus again on my little men, so that I can keep their interests front and center.

front and center

Front and center. They are my world. As they should be.