Tag Archives: mind

Pretty F***ing Awesome

I am pretty fudging awesome. Nope, I haven’t done anything specifically magnificent. I didn’t fix world hunger or cure cancer. I haven’t yet figured out how to end homelessness or stop the Kardashians from taking over the planet with their whiny diabolical plot. I have managed to just be me.

At some point, when you are faking normalcy and confidence, you stumble upon the actual thing. Bit by bit. Piece by piece. I am not completely confident in all things life related. I still leave dishes in the sink from Sunday night’s dinner only to be washed on Tuesday when I actually have the courage. I still eat sugar when I say I shouldn’t. I still think the whole room is staring at me finding flaws like: over sized boobs, disproportionate butt, possible Santa belly (sigh). I still get overly excited by stupid things like Sponge Bob and zombies. I’m flawed (severity depending on the day and the outfit), but I have managed to finagle my way to okay with that.

Not sure how or when it happened. Not quite sure I give a shit. I just know that I am finally through crying over spilled, spoiled homogenized milk. I am now delighted by the very real possibility that I am okay. I am okay. It feels good to say that–err write that–without abandon. I am okay…and on top of that I am pretty effing awesome!


Wits Meet The End

I am almost positive, when I was a teenager, my mother wanted to leave me on a far away street corner like some stray cat. I am almost positive that she, too, stood at the sink full of dishes I could have easily done and muttered under her breath about selfish kids. I am pretty secure in thinking that there were days on her way home from work she almost veered off the road to purposefully land in a ditch, hit her head on the steering wheel and fall into the (best) worst  coma only to wake up after I was moved out and grown (ok…maybe that is just me). I am sure of these things mainly because those are the thoughts in my mind on any given day. Wits….meet the end.

I love my children. The Girl has the spirit of a servant. Her heart is so big and so loving it could have only come from God. Her wisdom surpasses her 12 years.  The Boy, he’s pretty special too. He’s special from the inside–the place where only few people can see. His love is measured deeply and it is kept locked away in a tiny vault…secure within himself. He protects those he loves as if his life depended on it. Those are my kids. I love them. Lord knows I do, but I swear I wanna drop them off at the nearest fire station with a sign that says “Free & Potty Trained….Please Take One“.

I stood at the sink, washing a billion dirty dishes, complaining under my breath about my children being selfish, argumentative, rude and selfish (yes, I said it twice). I know what you’re thinking. You are saying to yourself one of two things: (1) I totally understand where she is coming from, or (2) That’s her fault. Unfortunately, you may be  correct on the latter.

After The Split, I checked out. I began picking my battles sparingly and literally throwing my hands in the air. Argue about washing the dishes? Nope. That would mean they would do a half ass job and I would have to re-wash them anyway. Get in between sibling arguments? No thank you. That would mean I would have to actually listen to both ridiculous sides. Repeat myself 900 times for them to either: (a) pick up their rooms/dirty clothes/wet towels/trash/dinner plates, (b) take a shower, (c) read a book, (d) all of the above? I’m good. Thanks.

I am a mom, so naturally, I do those things anyway. I repeat myself,  yell, punish, make them clean…I do those things. But sometimes it gets to be too much to–well–nag. His main concern is expensive shoes. Hers is anything apparel related. Neither one has any concern about real things like starving children or homeless people. Neither one has an interest in how the house is being magically run or how gas suddenly appears in the gas tank or how the dishes end up in the dish drainer ready for use. They. Just. Don’t. Care. So….I don’t either.

I stood at the sink, sloshing sudsy water all over, apologizing to my poor, poor mother. I stood there wanting to lock them in the garage only opening the door to slide in their meals. I stood there, hands submerged in boiling hot water, hating The He for only being responsible for himself. He has a dishwasher. He doesn’t have to listen to arguments or drown out the thundering sound of The Boy running from one end of the house to the other, pretending to be a running back–dipping and dodging. He never has to argue with The Girl (she will make a hell of a lawyer one day if nothing else) about why she can’t go to Rainbow and buy yet another pair of boots (that will end up under the couch no doubt). He doesn’t have that burden. I do. And I stood there, at the sink frustrated, annoyed, guilty, and in need of a break. After the last pot was clean, I stopped The Boy on his 500th run through the kitchen (invisible defenders in tow) and asked if they would like to get out of the house. Starbucks was as good a place as any to get out and gain some perspective.

I spent 25 driving minutes, probably two gallons of gas, and $11 on some peace. I suppose that’s better than a bag of heroin or a clepto-spree (neither of which I have ever participated in, let the record show). It allowed me some breathing room. I guess that’s all I really needed anyway. Some room to breathe, a little perspective and some quality quiet time with The Them. Wits met the end. They shook hands and reluctantly departed. I am pretty sure they will meet again…some day.


A Lesson Never Learned (sigh)

I suck. A negative comment, yes, but bare with me here. While I do have many great qualities, I also have some pretty sucky flaws. The problem with actually acknowledging the great and the sucky is that I am painfully well aware of each. *sigh* Especially when I am wallowing in the sucky–train meet wreck, wreck meet helpless onlooker.

For the past few days I have noticed a behavioral pattern that can only be attributed to the closing. You say you are fine. People ask you are you better. You say you are happy because, well, you pretty much are, but then something comes along–sneaks in the back door–and knocks you to your knees. You saw it coming (the train). You knew it was coming and you thought you were okay until (the wreck)….

I attempted to cover bases with buying salad stuff, fruit and veggies. I tried to react in a responsible manner. I really, really did. I made my lunch and snacks the night before. I made my cucumber/lemon/mint water and chugged it down obediently. I ran (3) miles one day and biked (5) the next. I made room for the responsible. But then….I found myself eating Froot Loops at 11pm. I suddenly had to have a Reeses pumpkin. Dunkin Donuts was a great idea. That old love/hate relationship came slip-sliding back in, gripping me by the throat. Food is not my friend.

This morning I managed to scarf down a pumpkin doughnut, a glazed doughnut, and a Boston creme with a side of creamer laced coffee. *sigh* I knew what I was doing when I pulled through the drive-thru. I knew what I was doing when I sat down at my desk and politely laid out a napkin. I knew what I was doing, yet….I didn’t stop (the helpless onlooker). When I was finished eating, I raced to the bathroom to brush my teeth–I guess the oral equivalent to taking a shower after a shameful sexual encounter. My knees went weak and I literally knelt in front of the sink, guilt/shame weighing me down. I suck.

Perhaps those words are a little too harsh. I am human, after all. I do have feelings (to the surprise of others). I won’t melt when water hits (I’m melllltiiiiing). I just have a problem with fighting the irresponsible emotional side of self. Blame it on the Gemini I guess. One twin, usually the weaker one, wins in situations like this. Perhaps the stronger twin is just tired of fighting. I can imagine her throwing up her hands, saying eff it and walking away. The weaker twin feels like she won, but really all she did was create another problem. I guess I don’t suck. It’s the weak twin who sucks. When the course on emotional dealings was taught, she missed the class entirely…she was probably in line at McDonald’s. *sigh*


Freestyle Friday: First Date


Today marks a major accomplishment. I am going on a date. Yes, an actual date with dinner, movies, make-up and everything. I have been on dates before, since the split, and they have been okay. One dude bought me drinks and dinner and we sat talking for hours. Another guy tried to lay his head on my shoulder–ummm, no. This one dude stood me up so I guess that can’t be considered as an actual date, and the last guy made me laugh and feel so comfortable I did not want the night to end. All of those experiences were nice, sure, but nothing is going to beat this.

Nothing is going to beat coming home, slipping into the shower, smelling great and looking better. Nothing will beat jamming to some awesome hype music, waiting to be seated and enjoying dinner. Nothing can beat standing in the movie ticket line, finding a seat, and hunkering down for a thrilling two hour ride.  Nothing beats doing all of that….alone.

Yup, alone. I am taking myself out on a first date. It was not exactly what I was anticipating for my first date. I had actually bought tickets to the symphony but seeing how they can’t get it together (strike situation) going to dinner and a movie (Gone Girl…yay!) is the next best thing.

It is important (so I have heard) to date oneself. I am finding that out. I have never been afraid of doing things alone, but purposefully having my mind set on making plans for me and only me is new. Getting dressed up, treating myself as if I am on an actual date (minus the out loud pleasantries–I don’t want to seem too bat shit crazy) is an entirely new experience. I have actually been excited for it since Wednesday. It has given me a chance to look forward to getting better acquainted with a VIP….me. Can’t go wrong with that 😛


Queen To Be

Confidence has never really been my strong suit. At one point, I think I had some but it was fleeting. I never think I am pretty enough, I  never thought I was skinny enough, and I never really believed I was smart enough. I suppose it could be said I just never really felt like I was enough….of anything. This morning, with the help of a big booty and a tribal print dress, all of that changed.

This morning driving to work, I noticed a woman–healthy in size–walking down the street. Her purse on her shoulder, her over-sized butt bouncing beneath her brown/orange/white tribal print dress…she reminded me of a woman. A real woman. The kind of woman those old statues encased in glass under museum lights resemble. She reminded me of birth. She reminded me of work. She reminded me of strength and hope and love and fire and power. She was a woman…just like me.

I drove past wondering if she knew what I knew. With every step she held power. She was born powerful. It dawned on me that I was her, too. I hold (and have held) life within my body. Life. I hold warmth and love and strength and hope and fire and power within every fiber of my being.

I can’t say today I am brimming with confidence, but I am walking a little straighter. I am walking with recognition of the place I hold upon the Earth. Perhaps the knowing of power is just the catalyst needed to believe in it and exude it daily. I am a queen. I have always been. I was born royal.


Falling Into The Run Away

After an argument with The He one Saturday afternoon, I began to experience a myriad of feelings…none of which were good. More and more these days, when I feel engulfed in those emotions of raw anger, bitterness, sadness and temper tantrum I often feel as if I am drowning…literally. Breath becomes shallow or non existent and I feel panicky. Trapped by water on all sides and there’s no way out. Except……maybe one.

In school, I hated running. In middle school particularly. Every Monday we would slip into our black shorts and gray tees and take it to the track. Four laps equaled a mile….and a straw. The objective was to get (4) straws. I usually got (2). I hated running. Fast forward to the glorious days of short skirts, go-go boots, and flag poles. We had to run and I hated that too. Super fast forward to September 2010 when my spirit was ill and apparently my marriage was too. I decided to step outside of normal and take on a challenge in which I could only make waves. I was going to run.

Running soon became that thing. You know, that thing you do when the world is closing in? It shuts the world out and turns the volume down. It creates a space no one else can enter, even if there are hundreds of people around. It’s….that thing.

Running is that thing for me. So often I feel panicky and breathless and so often I picture myself pounding the pavement. On Saturday, I did just that. I pictured myself running. Running far. Running steady. Running….away.

When I vented to Trinidad about the argument (which I sorta can’t remember now), we began talking about what made us feel stronger, calmer, capable, confident. Running does it all for me. I suffer from sadness–a pretty deep sadness on most days–but when I run…it lifts. The clouds part and the world is right again. I can see why people become addicted. I can see why people spend hours and money to do something that takes it’s toll on the body later. It’s that thing. It’s that thing to grab for…to fall for…to chase….


I Get It

Ok, so I get it. What the ‘it’ is I am not quite sure it can be explained, but you know it when you feel it. The moment when just about every recent (or past) experience clicks–that is the beginning of the ‘it’. Everyone’s ‘it’ is different. For some it is about relationships, others it is about employment or even spiritual things. Everyone has a click and everyone has an ‘it’…this morning I just got both.

I was flipping through some messages and photos on (where else) Facebook and then it clicked. The order of events, the things that have been done and said, the journey in which I have been forcefully made to trek is but a snapshot of the bigger picture. I mean sure, we all know this once we reach a certain age or have one too many drinks (or puffs) and we suddenly understand that life is much bigger. But when you see the puzzle pieces beginning to make sense of the picture it you get it. You nod your head in silence, look to the sky and say ‘I get it’.

It is still a little fuzzy and there are some pieces missing, but I am getting it. Most things are only temporary. They seem like they will drag on forever, but they generally only last a short while. Things are moving slowly into place and the fog is lifting just a tad. To be quite honest with you, I have no idea what I am doing 100% of the time. I don’t know what I want, who I want, where I want, why I want, or how I want. I don’t know where to go or what to do or how to say it or why I am anywhere I am. It seems to be a gigantic blur from which I have no means of escape.

All of that probably sounds kind of depressing, but for me it is happiness…peace. The observation as noted above is just the tip of the ‘it’. When one can recognize said things, it moves them into a different part of the journey–the part of Understanding. With understanding comes peace (at least in my book it does) and with peace comes breath. Lord knows I am looking forward to finally catching my breath.


Mind Games Pt. II

Eh-hem. Ladies and gents, I am sorta embarrassed to announce that yes…..it was indeed all in my head. *sigh*

As it turns out (or at least I am taking a giant leap in assuming), the hot, steamy love affair with Cutie #1 was all in my head. I mean, ok, we already established that 85% of it was in the squishy bits between the ears, but the other 15% was full of possibility. Yea, so I think the possibility percentage is now a big fat 0.

No, I never did actually talk to him and yes, this whole thing is a little weird, but I have decided to cut my losses anyway. Listen, at the rate of sounding like a complete narcissist, I am actually pretty amazing. I have issues, I do, but overall I am pretty much the shit. Yea. It’s true. I cannot possibly keep running around having torrid love affairs in my head with a guy who barely speaks–I am so much better than that.

Thankfully, this little mind game session has taught me a very valuable lesson. You don’t have to put up with anything you don’t want. Period. Well, that and you will know when someone is interested in you. They leave little clues like, oh I dunno, saying ‘hi’ and actually having a flirty conversation.

It is unfortunate I have to break up with him though. We never even got to first base. Oh well…I hope he doesn’t take it too bad 😛


Oscar The Grouch

Ok, so some days call for miniature pity parties–especially when hormones, a reoccurring injury, and a wedding invitation are afoot. It happens. No one is perfect.

As I commence to having a 10 minute pity party, I asked a friend of mine why no one is even tempting to look in my direction (correction: there was an old barber guy who called me baby once). After a few moments of silence, she responded with the dreaded 4 words no one likes to hear: Can I be honest? Uh-oh.

She said, “You don’t give off….’hit on me’. You give off ‘don’t you say one word to me or I’m going to cut you’.” Apparently, the energy I give off (in waves obviously) is that the human race is a bother to me and it disrupts my space. If this is the case, it means I am putting up walls and armoring up to shut people out. The fact I can recognize the train wreck before it happens is a sign of growth–but, err, how does one correct it?

Have you ever had a mental out of body experience? Things are happening, you see them happening in slow motion, but you have no idea how to stop them there things? Well, the walls are being constructed and the armor is being slipped on and I feel incapable of stopping any of it. What to do? What to do?

Yesterday, I ended the 10 minute pity party with an apple & dark chocolate. I knew not what to do. I suppose I will just try to consciously not be so Oscar the Grouch like and more reformed Grinch (you know when his heart grew 3 sizes that day). It may take a few glasses of wine, but I can make it happen 😛


Mind Games

Remember the whole Heels & Lip Gloss thing? Yea, so, I have come to the conclusion it is all pretty much in my head. Silently, I am having this whirl wind love affair with a guy who probably thinks I’m nuts for giggling whenever he walks into the room. I mean, sure, his arms have man veins and his hands look all strong and junk and yes he’s tall and he definitely looks dashing in a uniform…but what else is there?

I know this dude not. He could be a complete asshole or a wimp or a dog, yet when he walks into the room or speaks to me (as if I am his school teacher, mind you) I can’t help but blush. Hell…I’m smiling right now! But it is indeed all in my head.

I am uncertain if he really knows of the attraction–I doubt it. When we do happen to share the same space there is tension in the air, not a negative tension–more like a shy kind of what-do-i-say tension. But perhaps that is all in my head too! Maybe when he is waiting for the microwave or looking in my direction he is thinking about how random I am or wondering why I laugh so loud or why I seem to find menial tasks to do in the kitchen. (Seriously–does it take 10 minutes to wash a fork?) Either way you slice it, it seems to be all in my head and that’s ok. A girl’s gotta have something to look forward to, right?

In all honesty, it is fun. It is an escape from the reality which is my life. For just a little while I get to be the object of someone’s pretend-all-in-my-head affections. As it stands now, if he did ask me out I would probably hold my breath until I turned blue. What would I do? What could I say? How would I handle it? In my head he overhears me talking about taking in a Braves game and asks me if I would like to go this weekend. Of course I answer with a surprising sexy cool laced with “this is purely platonic” answer. In my head we never seem to talk on the phone or go out on an actual date but he does ask. In reality, when we are sharing space I never say a word. I fumble and speak quickly. So, just imagine if he actually flirted with me for real and did, indeed, ask me out on a date. (Do people do that anymore or is it just penis pics and phone sex?)

Silly, I know, but it’s keeping my silly self entertained. It keeps me giggling and smiling and imagining something better. It keeps me in heels and preparing what to wear the night before (as opposed to 15 minutes before having to leave for work). I have found the joy in pencil eyeliner and playing with eye shadow again. No, a man, imaginary attraction or not, should have no bearing on how good I feel about myself (which it doesn’t really…I am pretty kick ass if I do say so myself. Let’s all clap for growth), but it makes finding the new me a little more fun. Who can argue with fun?