November 2002 Archives

Anyone who would claim that I'm mean, or capable thereof--and there would be one or two such persons on this earth--doesn't realize the enormous amount of justification it takes for me to even speak up. They have no idea how much pain and pent up emotion it takes for me to get to the point of standing up for myself. They have no idea the turmoil I feel afterwards, the amounts of guilt I carry for not being "nice".

This evening I angered a friend. Logic tells me I was justified, and surely I was. However, I didn't respond to him nicely; rather, I told him just what I thought. I took satisfaction in angering him. For that I am deeply ashamed. You hurt me so I hurt you? I don't believe in that.

I believe in being nice. Always. To everyone. To the utmost, all the time, no matter what, 100%. I saw what looked to be rude and inconsiderate treatment and I spoke my mind, upsetting someone. Knowingly. It's not a matter of whether or not he "deserved" it. There is no reason for me to be unkind. I didn't have to handle things as I did. What I did was revengeful. That's not me. Not me at all.

And so I feel awful. Truly awful.

Where'd all this lingerie come from?

It's a weird evening, having just come from dinner with my "real" Dad and my ex husband. My ex gave me a ride home to help me with my car and we had a chat, for the first time since I left, about whether or not we could (or should) get back together. Just talking with him his weird. This friendliness is weird. But that topic--most bizarre.

I've come home, alone, to clean before Dad visits. I'm going through some old boxes Mom insisted I take out of her garage and into my home, which I did but never really unpacked. My ex and I moved so many times in our marriage, and never well. Things were always thrown into boxes here and there and lost. Some roosted in Mom's garage only for me to discover this very night.

Oh wow, the memories.

But some of this--I mean, I guess this was mine? I could swear I've never seen this stuff before. I don't mean to disappoint my male readers, but I just didn't have a lingerie-wearing sort of marital sex life. So where'd all this lingerie come from?

I wonder if what I'm feeling is real.

I had something specific in mind when I had this thought--something that's been on my mind this morning--but I don't think that can be shared. I say it, however, because it applies to other things. I do sometimes wonder if what I'm feeling is real. Is life real? Is love real? I know it is, but I have my moments where it just seems I'm looking through a picture box.

Sometimes I feel that I've woken up into someone else's life. To a small extent, I have. It just doesn't seem that it can be me who is the mother to three kids. That, I tell you, is not possible. I'm not ready. This can't be me, here, all on my own!, alone and often overwhelmed. Can't be.

Comments by MB (This story cracks her up every time she tells it. It makes as little sense to me as it does you, believe me. What follows is a direct quote.):
My sister was on the computer and something happened and she said, "It's your fault! You told me to--Give me my loli--my what?!--my water bottle."

Comments by MS: "No, I don't know any stories."

Comments by J: "Toys."

So much for the wisdom of children!

I'll try to keep this short.

Last night I went to see a band I love play live, right here in my very own town. Oh, 'twas fantastico! Another band was there as well.

I decided, I *must* have the CD of the band I went there to see, Anything but Joey. Must have it! I go to the promotional table and ask to buy a CD. I pay for it, pick it up, and the guy selling it to me looks me directly in the eyes and says with a charming smile, "I hope you enjoy the music, and enjoy the show." I return his smile and tell him I will. Then I look down at the CD in my hand-- and it's the wrong one. Wrong band! This is the "other" band. Oh my. Oh NO! My mind races. How do I get out of this? I'm out of money, and I'm not about to look back into the eyes of this guy, who is probably a band member, and say, "Oops, you know what? I don't want *your* CD."

(That's basically the end of that story--how embarrassed am I!--so I hereby relieve myself of my "keep it short" obligation.)

So what did I do? I walked away. Went home, got more money, returned, and approached the table again. Now the Anything but Joey band members are sitting there. Oh man. I'm a wee bit star struck. I buy their CD... and here's my chance! I'm standing in front of THE band. I can chat with them. They're looking at me, I'm looking at them, and all my intelligence and wits and charm went out the window. My one and only chance, face to face, with Anything but Joey, in a venue that's small enough for me to speak with them at leisure, and I say, "That was a good show." (or something equally lame) *sigh*

SO, I saw Anything but Joey up close and personal, bought two CDs (one of a band I've never even heard). I spent way more money than I would have told you I could afford, but man, there are good tunes coming out of my speaker today!

The night after I doubled over in pain, I was doubled over in laughter. Life is fair. I am looked out for and cared for.
- - - - -

How do I take care of the children?

Sometimes the pain literally doubles me over.

I told myself today that I'm not going to feel any better if I don't give myself something to feel good about.

I know what I need to do. Doing it..well, I've tried, had some success, and what do you know, feel a bit better.

I had the blessing of having my groceries carried to my car by a mentally challenged person. He brought a smile to my face. Shook my hand and told me his name. I gave him mine. "Mandy," he said, thoughtful and serious. "I'm going to try to remember that."

I can't decide if it would truly be in my best interest to let a friendship go. And even if it is, what if I can help him somehow? It would all be worth it, to me, if I were or could be any sort of help... but I know not and probably will never know.

Why do I even think about it?

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

"'When you want something, all the universe conspires to help you achieve it."

Sometimes I feel I am really experiencing Life. This was my weekend.

Why do we yearn for the meadows?

Don't we know that it does no good if the sun always shines, if the rain never comes? We'd lose so many other cherishables if we could hold too tightly to the one at which we gaze. We can't be afraid to let go and let Life lead.

And yet as perfectly balanced as life has been throughout the ages with its love and hate and peace and war and life and death and waxing and waning, I don't trust it to balance things for me. I fear perhaps it doesn't know best. I feel panic when the sun sets.

By the River Piedra, I Sat Down and Wept
by Paulo Coehlo

ÏBut we must never forget that spiritual experience is above all a practical experience of love. And with love, there are no rules...The heart decides, and what it decides is all that really matters.Ó

I saw magic this morning.

Three deer crossed the road in front of us, J. and I, on the way to my mother's. The fourth stood on the other side of the fence. We stopped and waited. He waited. He finally ran a bit further afar in the field--and jumped the fence.

He didn't just jump. It far surpassed the normal physics of a "jump". He was suspended in air. He seemed to decide he wanted over the fence, and Air lifted and transported him thus.

As J. said with much excitement, in three-year-old speak, "Did you see the deer? Did you see the deer?! He jumped the fence--and then he jumped back--and wow! That was amazing!"

"How does a duck go to sleep--tell me how? How does a duck go to sleep?
It tucks its bill right under its wing, and doesn't worry about a thing.
That's how a duck goes to sleep."

*Shrek: Oh yeah?! Well if I treated you SO bad, how come you came back?
Donkey: Because that's what friends do--they FORGIVE each other.

*Also relates to "My sleeves are wet with tears" entry.

My definition:

A person is open-minded who is willing to listen to all arguments; who is willing to examine all evidence; and who would accordingly change their own position.

I don't believe having a firm opinion of your own, in and of itself, makes one "closed-minded".

Closed-minded people tend to adamantly reiterate the same tired arguments while insisting that every one else is wrong, or asserting that they should believe the same.*

I wish there were more truly open-minded people in this world, and less claiming to be so.

*(A stereotype that is not all encompassing; anyone failing to meet the above definition of open-minded stands to bear the label of closed-minded, which I feel is a negative label)

Must silence be interpreted as "I don't care", or is it possible a friend only means "This isn't my cup of tea"? Should it matter if a friend doesn't ask, doesn't seem to want to know? Can a friend be a friend who doesn't want to see your tears, who suspects but turns their head? Should leeway and grace be granted, aknowledging that people are different, each with their own niche, or is someone who is not there when you most need help, who offers no aid, no listening ear, no comfort, no sympathy--is this a friend at all? And if not, is it someone worth keeping around for that niche? Should the friend be kept for what you can offer them even if they don't give equally in return? Or could it be that what they give is being pigeon-holed by your own definitions of friendship, that perhaps they do give equally, just not as you expect?

Does it seem I'm overanalyzing? Shall we say, I'm sad, the friend doesn't care, go on?

Does any of it matter? Does friendship matter?

This is not what I am crying about.

What am I crying about? Maybe you could ask me. Make me feel like someone cares, that I'm not so utterly alone. Would you do that for me? Be a friend.