December 2004 Archives

Why do I write on my blog? Is it because I crave attention? Does everyone who has a blog or website crave attention? If so, we must all crave it. I don't think that's a pure explanation, though. I write in my blog for the same reasons I write in my diaries--as a catharsis, just to "get it out". Why here? It's another medium, isn't it? It's different. From talking to a friend about something verbally, to chatting about it, to typing it in my computer journal, to writing it in a letter to someone, to writing by hand in my print journal, to asking tarot about it--each is different. Perhaps a girl needs many defenses.

I will admit to having a great need to talk about things. That's in large part due to my sex; that's science. I will also admit to this: I've found a strong tendency to share everything in my life with someone. Every detail! I've already started to change this, starting with my realization that everyone doesn't have to know of every misstep I make. No one else divulges their every mistake, from burning their hand on the stove to being late for work to losing their temper. Once I started withholding such details I realized there are lots of things I don't feel like sharing. I just don't always feel like sharing. I've yet to tell anyone all about my Christmas and what presents I got.

But do I keep a blog because I'm in need of the attention of others? I honestly don't believe I want people to stop by my blog any more than anyone else does. I have asked for comments the times I wanted advice. Comments can be interesting, like finding a note from a friend, a signature in a guestbook. I really enjoy such things. I get a lot of unrequested comments as well. Oh well. I've never responded to them or done anything with them. They're just there.

This, however, bothers TNG when they're about him, and I can understand that. If people were saying things about me, I'd expect him to defend me, or to at least counter them. I never have with my comments. I've always viewed them as harmless: they're just someone's opinion. I still contend this and have no plans to moderate comments from now on. Continue to say what you please; you're entitled, and not subject to my censorship.

However, consider this my one-time reply. I know I've spoken much of TNG, and far more bad than good. I did this because I don't need to vent about good things. As with all my diaries, it's the negative emotions that prompt writing. If you have not already realized this, let me explain that TNG is full of good qualities--else why would I like him so?--and that what I've written on the blog is only my side of the story. Had you read it all from his blog, you'd have seen the picture differently. Believe me that I am aware, more than you are, of TNG's shortcomings, so I have little need to have you reiterate what you believe they are to me. Believe me that his great deeds and qualities are in much greater number than you know. The problems with our relationship were never all him. Mostly, they were a number of things. Looking back I see it was a very unhealthy situation and it came strongly from my end.

I realize I spent much time wallowing around in that drama on this blog. I spent much time tearful and hand-wringing. Oh, everyone, what to do? I appreciate you answering with your care and concern. I must not have made it clear that TNG is someone who is very dear to me. He's been a huge part of my life, he's been my best friend, a close friend. Oh, hey, he's not perfect! You have NO idea how un-perfect I am, either. I'd appreciate no further negative/slanderous comments about him posted to my blog.

I don't know. Perhaps it's unfair for me to speak of troubles with him and then tell you to watch what you say in reply. I can't see censoring myself on my blog anymore than I already do, however. Anything I write about someone is nothing I would have problem with saying "to their face" (my rule of thumb since elementary school--never say anything about anyone that you wouldn't say to their face). I haven't said anything about TNG that I didn't think he already knew. Also, obviously I keep in mind that anyone could read my entries, anyone at all. Aside from that censorship I write whatever I feel like; I consider it a diary of my life's happenings and emotions I keep for myself.

Okay, so I guess what I'm asking is that if you comment on TNG on my blog, keep all of the above in mind. Remember above all that he's a friend of mine.

I learn increasingly that I am strong and capable and can take care of myself. Even more so with all that's transpired with TNG, I've learned this. Don't worry about me. And bless you for visiting and reading my blog. Bless you for your time, and bless you more for your care and concern.

An hour's worth of collaberative effort among the four of us has barely made any carpet visible on the floor. So now the Christmas presents are in piles in four areas of the living room. Mine are under the kitchen table. Most of the trash has made it into bags and boxes, but there are so many bags and boxes full of trash it's hard to tell that it's organized, not to mention all the hidden bits and pieces of paper and tape and metal twisty ties and the like.

Tomorrow I leave to meet my very good friend TNG. We've never been together on Christmas morning, so we decided we're going to wake up one day this week and it's going to be Christmas for us. Also, we get to spend New Year's together (for the first time), thank god.

But I'd better get my son's reading lesson out of the way, then it's time to snuggle up and watch his new video of the Power Rangers his grandma bought for him--he fell in love with it instantly--and fall asleep, bringing my new, legally-enforced weekend with the kids to a close.

YES! Yes! Yes! YES!!!

My grades are in for the Fall 2004 semester, and they are very pleasing to me.

Also, my grade point average is now above what I set for my goal.

Oh yes.

A good Christmas is singing Veggie Tales' Christmas songs ("...a good cucumber like me...") with a chorus of three little off-key voices in the dark in a below-freezing temperature car at 6:30am on your way to work.

No sarcasm.

I want a man who is devoted to me. I don't believe a man in a relationship can never admire the looks of another woman--far from it. But I should be enough. There should be no incessant trolling of online profiles, a never ending list of cute young girls messaged and flirted with. I have had two boyfriends who did this.

So I finally saw The New House that my ex and kids are always talking about. I had wanted to immaturely pout and avoid it, but I sucked it up, toured the place, and praised appropriately. I also smiled through talk of their new school.

Last night was our second annual "TNG surprises me with a gourmet dinner" night. He's quite good at selecting a menu and preparing a delicious four course meal. Oh man. Wait until you see the pictures. I get hungry just thinking about it.

More soon.

What I really hate is the way he causes me pain--inadvertently like this--and all I want is to run to his arms for comfort. It's sick. It's pathetic. I know of no solution but the obvious, to get him out. "Old habits die hard," they say.

Why is it, even, that I'm so independent and happy and healthy and strong until he comes around? Gradually I weaken, gradually I become dependent and emotional and pathetic. I hate myself like this. I know of no solution but the obvious, to get him out.

And then I can't! I can't because I'm dependent and emotional and pathetic, and all I want is to run to his arms for comfort.

I want to get him out, and then run to his arms for comfort.

Elbows on my desk, I lower my head between them and cry. My shoulders shake, loosening my damp hair to fall around my cheeks. Fresh from the shower, cleansed and pretty, I don't even know why I'm crying. Is it this song? "Why do you look when you've already found me? What did you find that could leave you walking by?" Is it depression? I only know that I feel this way, full of tears and sadness. There are way too many remembrances of past pain, far too many. All the scars, all the emotion scathed inside me, hidden carvings. "Where can I go that your pictures won't haunt me?" I think today, my body upheaves them. And I cry, and I remember, and I don't want to go back. Do I have any say in this? I don't want to go back.

So, so much is going on this is the first moment I've had to sit and write, and I cannot contain it all in one entry. Quick overview:

>>School semester is ending Friday. I seem to have miraculously earned a B in my Senior Seminar class, which is miraculous because the professor doesn't like me, graded me harshly on my paper, and I turned in my portfolio late. I expected to flunk.

>>I anticipate making As in my remaining classes.

>>I finished makeup work from an old course (Quantity Foods, the one that had me volunteering in a kitchen every week). This should bring my grade from a C to an A.

>>I've made an enormous decision. I am going to pursue military as my first choice in dietetic internship. I figure, instead of going approximately $20,000-30,000 further into debt to put myself through an internship (and still be without a job), I should consider going the route of no additional debt but rather being paid $34,000 with a guaranteed job, not to mention full, no-cost health care, free housing, and other benefits. The Army, Air Force, and Navy each take about 5 students per year. My commitment to the service would be 3 years, which includes my nine month internship.

>>On a sad note, my attorney has advised it would cost me $2000-3000 to fight my children being pulled out of school mid-year; $1,627 minimum. He advised against it. I cannot bear to make a decision about their welfare based on money, but the kids want the move and I don't have the money. They won't be irreparably damaged by this move, not by any means, and would possibly have been resentful, angry, and stressed if I had fought it. If they, too, didn't want the move, you can be darn well sure I'd find a way to finance the fight. As it is, my kids are moving away, I won't be able to see them often and not without considerable time, expense, and careful planning, and this pains me too much to write about.

>>TNG is visiting; a lot could be said about that. For now I'll simply mention that he's been helping out. He's doing dishes, taking care of the kids, cooking, taking out the trash, etc. Equally importantly, he's served me with comforts, giving massages, holding me when I cried, listening, making me laugh, and being fun. He's been a big help, a big relief, much comfort, much happiness. And the other night he surprised me with something so wonderful it made me cry. How often is one so blessed with happiness that they cry?

My Christmas List

Movies:

• Supersize Me
  
• Spiderman 2
  
• Shrek 2
  
• Peter Pan (2003)
  
• Spirited Away
  

Music:

• Iron & Wine's Sea & The Rhythm
  
• The Be Good Tanya's Blue Horse
  

Books:

• The Gallery of Regrettable Food
  
• Krause's Food, Nutrition, and Diet Therapy
  
• Classics
  

Specific Others:

• A winter coat
  
• White cotton socks
  
• a clown knife fish
  

Miscellany:
athletic/yoga/lounge pants, bellydance stuff, bras and panties, candles, cheap jewelry, chocolate, clothes, coffee, Kahlua, makeup, pajamas, shoes, things that come from other countries, things that smell good (incense, room sprays, potpourri, etc.), wine and wine-related things

Food!:
Fudge Shoppe Merry Mint Patties. Honey. Double Stuf Oreos. Popcorn.

I thought ordering a pizza was a good idea, so I could concentrate on the kids and cleaning and getting our Christmas tree up. Whoa nelly, not a good idea. For the money I just spent I could've bought and cooked lots of dinners.

Roommate Steve is gone. How sad. Deployed to Iraq and moved out.