Info Re: Stoneleaf Festival
(Starring - among other fine and festive acts, our troupe: The Feral Chihuahuas!)
COME SEE US!!!
"The Feral ChihuahuasPresentsKumquatThe Feral Chihuahuas are a sketch comedy troupe committed to providing all original material that delivers a unique viewing experience. The Feral Chihuahuas formed as a group when two different theatre troupes discovered they had similar visions and enjoyed working together. This group of 7 individuals write, direct, and perform their own material and each person brings to the group a different talent as well as a mutual respect for each other. Influences include: Monty Python, Kids in the Hall, Mr. Show, Seinfeld, The State, The Three Stooges, The Family Guy and many others... " - cont.
Rating: Mature
click here for more information about this show
Theatre: 35below (call # at the bottom of the page for directions!)
Ticket prices: $13.50-15.00
Times: Thurs. 6/2 – 8:00 pm; Fri. 6/3 – 8:00 pm, 11:00 pm; Sat. 6/4 - 8:00 pm, 11:00 pm
The Feral Chihuahuas present:
KUMQUAT: A SKETCH COMEDY EXTRAVAGANZA!
- by Any Corren
- continued from above:
"...Often bringing fresh humor from common situations, they also delve into absurdism, existentialism, and draw a lot of their humor from political and social commentary. The Feral Chihuahuas are certainly a different breed, and their mission is to be brave, smart, edgy, and most of all, funny. The material is for mature audiences: contains strong language and adult situations.
Meet The Feral Chihuahuas: Hailing from all sides of the US (okay, actually just the South) they are: Jay Becknell, Tommy Calloway, Rich Gays, Samantha Lovelace, Chris Riddle, Jessamine Stone and Elizabeth Taylor [note: YES, those are all our REAL names. Yes, even the girls. Yes, even Rich. :] What sets The Feral Chihuahuas apart from other groups is that members write and rehearse 45 minutes of new material in three days and present it every Wednesday at a small theatre in downtown Asheville. Although it may seem like a lot of work in a short time, the troupe never compromises their vision while striving to stay fresh and continuing to push themselves.
Excited about their first appearance in a theatre festival, they will be bringing back material from their weekly show, as well as brand new sketches for Stoneleaf audiences."
for performance schedules and ticketing information, please visit
www.stoneleaftheatrefestival.com or call 828.257.4500
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Sorry folks.
Last night I stopped at Charlie’s on the way home and bought a bag of cracklins and a block of butter*. Charlie told me again how much he’d miss me, and gave me my cracklins for free (- it’s his way of bribing me out of a couple of pieces of cornbread, he says, though I know it’s just because he wants to be sweet. He knows I’ll bring him bread for nothing.) I made it home with only having to pull over twice for crying and realized that I’ve been crying on and off, every few hours, for two days straight.
I got to the house, paid a little focused attention to the beasts, and set to clearing out some space in the kitchen, both for decency’s sake and room to cook. I made a dirty martini (my newest trick) and laid out the things for my “mamaw comfort dinner”, and let my mind waffle in between NOT thinking about what’s hurting me so much, and trying to figure it out, in between small tasks and bouts of tears. I kept hearing the voices of my girlies saying “Pick up the phone!” and “Call me if you ever need to talk!” and “Damnit Sam, nobody can help you if they don’t know what’s wrong!” I am learning to be able to tell when I really need to talk to someone and when talking to someone is just another distraction, so when my mind kept returning to Andi, I finally picked up the phone. I won’t go into details, though you can read them for yourself at her blog where she talks very openly about her own struggles and triumphs with life, growing up, daughterhood, motherhood, etc. Her perspective, because of things she has experienced and things she has done, makes her the one friend I have who might understand my own struggle better than any other. My intuition was right, and she not only listened to me, but she HEARD me. I was able to make something clear to her that I’ve never been able to make clear to anyone else, and I felt like there was a glimmer – for the first time in a long time, or maybe even ever – of someone being able to see the real me. The only person I know who has any possibility of understanding the whole of my struggle is my oldest brother. But there’s something about having been in the war together that makes it especially hard to talk about the war. My best friend of many years, someone I speak to all too rarely these days, had a special understanding of the deepest, most dangerous side of me, but I think his was a sense, more than an actual understanding, and as time passed and things between us changed drastically, I think that sense became clouded by the reality of the passing of time. I am not saddened by that loss anymore, only grateful for the time, love understanding that he gave me.
I’ve ached for it all my life, without even knowing what it was really. It’s a need to be seen as all that I am. I am so grateful to be seen as strong and creative, clever and helpful, brave and loving – all the good things that people say they see in me. But I sometimes think that people are unable to see past that and realize that though there is a golden shimmer on the surface of the mill pond, and the mill wheel is always turning, the water there is very dark and deep and full of dangerous things. I know that everyone sees that I hurt, that I have my bad days, and they know why. But I have never felt that anyone truly realized what a weight I carry, what a struggle it is for me to keep that weight up, and that sometimes – and this is VERY hard to say – I want someone to help me carry that weight. I’ve always been so strong that no one – even my own mother – has ever seen the need to baby me. I’ve always been so tough – for myself and others – that no one has ever seen the need to defend me. I’ve always been so brave that no one has ever worried about leaving me alone in the dark, and over the years, I’ve come to understand that this has shaped me into someone who cannot even inspire those things in the people around me.
The other day, Chris and I were discussing our love of the original Pooh series. We started talking about whom we most identified with, and when I put Piglet near the top of my list, he reacted with shock. “Piglet? But he’s always so scared and uncertain!” I replied with “It’s hard to be brave when you’re a very small animal.” And once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I was a very small animal, one who was very, very afraid, and because of the fact that I had no choice but to pretend to be brave and strong, and all the things that I eventually became, that small animal got left behind, completely forgotten, and stuck in a small, secret place inside me. She never left, she never changed, and she still cries whenever I get hurt, despite the fact that I, big strong Sam, can handle anything that comes along. Where do people think all that hurt goes to?
In talking to Andi, so much of that came out. I was able to explain to her what was hurting me so badly yesterday, what inspired that sad rant. It all came down to: If you can’t be certain of your mother’s love, then how can you ever be certain of anyone else’s? No one else owes you love, owes you a life, owes you protection and devotion. Even fathers leave, but mothers are the first to hold you, the first to make any promises to you, even the promise of life. The sadness that comes from knowing that your mother never loved you, never wanted you is inescapable. I think even adopted children must suffer that hollowness, but hopefully some of that is replaced by the devotion of a new mother, who truly wanted you, wanted you more than any other child. To have a mother who didn’t want you and then spent the rest of her life reminding you of that, in some cases extremely, obscenely painfully, is devastating. It shapes and colors everything from the moment of your birth on. You spend the rest of your life seeking something to fill that horrible gap, and maybe, finally come to the realization that nothing will ever be able to, that everyone else will either let you down, or you’ll let them down because you don’t have it in you to love anyone else the way you should if you’d been taught how to love from day one.
No one can fix that. It can never be fixed, and I see that now. When I poured all of this out to Andi, I heard her make connections about what she knows of me and about the true depth of my grief that she, and maybe no one else but Lynda, my beloved therapist, has ever seemed to be able to see. When the tears had wound down she said “Sam, I don’t know what to say…” I said “Andi, when you said ‘Ohhhh…’ and I realized that you suddenly had a better understanding of me, THAT’S what I needed. No solutions – there are none. No explanations – no one understands the situation better than me. What I needed was to be seen as more than just “brilliant” and “broken”. I need to know that when someone is offering me love and comfort, they know exactly who they are offering it to, and exactly why. It may be stupid and selfish, but I also think it’s simple, and if that’s all I’m asking, why shouldn’t I have it? I believe with all my heart that I try to give the same thing in return, to everyone I meet.
So, with Andi’s love (and the makings for a pot of greens and cornbread and a big vat o’ salsa) surrounding me, I let her get on to her shopping spree - just as Stewart called to say he was pulling into the driveway with a delivery of Ben&Jerry’s and PECAN CHEESECAKE (that’s a good therapy tack too, fyi. If you can’t provide insight, bring chocolate. It really is the second-best comfort in any case…) We talked while I made my dinner and he hung about long enough to take home a tub o’ salsa. I went to bed early and for the first night since Sunday, didn’t cry myself to sleep.
Then when I checked my e’s at lunch today, I found these:
Dear Sam,
I wanted to write you and say that I don't know many things about your Mother, but from the way it seems I'm sure this day has a pang for you. I just wanted you to know that you are in my thoughts and I do hope that you are able to be with people who love and care for you today. I also wanted to say, that for a solitary child like you, there is me. I see you. I love you.
I LOVE you. No Sam, I can't understand, but I can care. You are remembered.
-Hannah Bright
- and -
Sam,
I came here tonight to welcome you back to the blogosphere. I enjoyed the rant from last night and was not really expecting to see another one so soon. I'm sorry to know you feel so bad. How can I help? You don't have to kill yourself to make people love you unconditionally. You just deserve it. You, Sam. YOU just deserve it. I knew your Dad was gone and I knew about Robbie. I know how you felt about them both. I know how it is with your Mom. I didn't know they all came together with Mothers Day. How hard it must be for you right now. I'm so, so sorry.
There have been many times in my life when I felt just what you described here. I don't know what to tell you about how to handle it. If I did, I would tell you and neither of us would have to be afflicted by this kind of torture anymore. I stopped crying, except a few short sobs now and then, long ago. I don't know if it's because so many years have passed, that I'm much older and worn out, or if I have just become battle hardened and accustomed to the hurt. But I know I will always cry when I talk about my Daddy, I will always cry when I talk about my baby brother Billy, I will always miss my Mama and I will likely be angry with my late husband until I die. I am angry at myself too. For the way I let it go on so long and other regrets.
I haven't been writing as much lately because I've been having a problem with my blood pressure and have had a headache for more than a week to go with it. Anyway, maybe I will be back to something near normal (for me) in a day or two. I wish I knew what to say. It seems like when you really need the answer nobody knows the answer. All I can say is:
1-Don't knock yourself out to make people love you. I think you do too much. AND I think you get too little return. Bodies are not designed to do all that you've been doing.2-Know inside yourself that you deserve to be loved no matter what any asshole may tell you otherwise, or do to you. You deserve to be loved just because you are you.
3-Don't be hurting like that and not tell me.
4-I will take up for you.
5-Friends are for sharing...even sharing pain.
I hope you feel better soon. It's after 11:00 p.m. now and I'm about to wake you up. I hope I get you. If I don't I'll call again tomorrow.
Love, Carol
- and I realized that if I can TELL people what I need, to be SEEN, to be REMEMBERED, to be CARED FOR, to be STOOD UP FOR, to know that I really am NOT ALONE, there are people out there who will do that for me – because I am who I am, and because I’ve done it for them, and because no matter how bad I feel, I’ll keep doing it for others. And though I can wish them the very best, I don’t have to keep giving my best to the people who don’t care enough about me to see past the shimmering surface. For those of you who are patient and brave enough to look into the deep dark, thank you. I love you. You can always say “I saved Sam.”**
Much love, and less grief, ***
-Sam
*Yes, there are still places where you can buy hand-churned butter by the block – for about HALF the price of store-bought butter – even the store brand.
**I’m WAY more practical than Green Stamps or Marlboro Miles! :)*** and happiest of birthdays to Seamus
Last night I stopped at Charlie’s on the way home and bought a bag of cracklins and a block of butter*. Charlie told me again how much he’d miss me, and gave me my cracklins for free (- it’s his way of bribing me out of a couple of pieces of cornbread, he says, though I know it’s just because he wants to be sweet. He knows I’ll bring him bread for nothing.) I made it home with only having to pull over twice for crying and realized that I’ve been crying on and off, every few hours, for two days straight.
I got to the house, paid a little focused attention to the beasts, and set to clearing out some space in the kitchen, both for decency’s sake and room to cook. I made a dirty martini (my newest trick) and laid out the things for my “mamaw comfort dinner”, and let my mind waffle in between NOT thinking about what’s hurting me so much, and trying to figure it out, in between small tasks and bouts of tears. I kept hearing the voices of my girlies saying “Pick up the phone!” and “Call me if you ever need to talk!” and “Damnit Sam, nobody can help you if they don’t know what’s wrong!” I am learning to be able to tell when I really need to talk to someone and when talking to someone is just another distraction, so when my mind kept returning to Andi, I finally picked up the phone. I won’t go into details, though you can read them for yourself at her blog where she talks very openly about her own struggles and triumphs with life, growing up, daughterhood, motherhood, etc. Her perspective, because of things she has experienced and things she has done, makes her the one friend I have who might understand my own struggle better than any other. My intuition was right, and she not only listened to me, but she HEARD me. I was able to make something clear to her that I’ve never been able to make clear to anyone else, and I felt like there was a glimmer – for the first time in a long time, or maybe even ever – of someone being able to see the real me. The only person I know who has any possibility of understanding the whole of my struggle is my oldest brother. But there’s something about having been in the war together that makes it especially hard to talk about the war. My best friend of many years, someone I speak to all too rarely these days, had a special understanding of the deepest, most dangerous side of me, but I think his was a sense, more than an actual understanding, and as time passed and things between us changed drastically, I think that sense became clouded by the reality of the passing of time. I am not saddened by that loss anymore, only grateful for the time, love understanding that he gave me.
I’ve ached for it all my life, without even knowing what it was really. It’s a need to be seen as all that I am. I am so grateful to be seen as strong and creative, clever and helpful, brave and loving – all the good things that people say they see in me. But I sometimes think that people are unable to see past that and realize that though there is a golden shimmer on the surface of the mill pond, and the mill wheel is always turning, the water there is very dark and deep and full of dangerous things. I know that everyone sees that I hurt, that I have my bad days, and they know why. But I have never felt that anyone truly realized what a weight I carry, what a struggle it is for me to keep that weight up, and that sometimes – and this is VERY hard to say – I want someone to help me carry that weight. I’ve always been so strong that no one – even my own mother – has ever seen the need to baby me. I’ve always been so tough – for myself and others – that no one has ever seen the need to defend me. I’ve always been so brave that no one has ever worried about leaving me alone in the dark, and over the years, I’ve come to understand that this has shaped me into someone who cannot even inspire those things in the people around me.
The other day, Chris and I were discussing our love of the original Pooh series. We started talking about whom we most identified with, and when I put Piglet near the top of my list, he reacted with shock. “Piglet? But he’s always so scared and uncertain!” I replied with “It’s hard to be brave when you’re a very small animal.” And once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I was a very small animal, one who was very, very afraid, and because of the fact that I had no choice but to pretend to be brave and strong, and all the things that I eventually became, that small animal got left behind, completely forgotten, and stuck in a small, secret place inside me. She never left, she never changed, and she still cries whenever I get hurt, despite the fact that I, big strong Sam, can handle anything that comes along. Where do people think all that hurt goes to?
In talking to Andi, so much of that came out. I was able to explain to her what was hurting me so badly yesterday, what inspired that sad rant. It all came down to: If you can’t be certain of your mother’s love, then how can you ever be certain of anyone else’s? No one else owes you love, owes you a life, owes you protection and devotion. Even fathers leave, but mothers are the first to hold you, the first to make any promises to you, even the promise of life. The sadness that comes from knowing that your mother never loved you, never wanted you is inescapable. I think even adopted children must suffer that hollowness, but hopefully some of that is replaced by the devotion of a new mother, who truly wanted you, wanted you more than any other child. To have a mother who didn’t want you and then spent the rest of her life reminding you of that, in some cases extremely, obscenely painfully, is devastating. It shapes and colors everything from the moment of your birth on. You spend the rest of your life seeking something to fill that horrible gap, and maybe, finally come to the realization that nothing will ever be able to, that everyone else will either let you down, or you’ll let them down because you don’t have it in you to love anyone else the way you should if you’d been taught how to love from day one.
No one can fix that. It can never be fixed, and I see that now. When I poured all of this out to Andi, I heard her make connections about what she knows of me and about the true depth of my grief that she, and maybe no one else but Lynda, my beloved therapist, has ever seemed to be able to see. When the tears had wound down she said “Sam, I don’t know what to say…” I said “Andi, when you said ‘Ohhhh…’ and I realized that you suddenly had a better understanding of me, THAT’S what I needed. No solutions – there are none. No explanations – no one understands the situation better than me. What I needed was to be seen as more than just “brilliant” and “broken”. I need to know that when someone is offering me love and comfort, they know exactly who they are offering it to, and exactly why. It may be stupid and selfish, but I also think it’s simple, and if that’s all I’m asking, why shouldn’t I have it? I believe with all my heart that I try to give the same thing in return, to everyone I meet.
So, with Andi’s love (and the makings for a pot of greens and cornbread and a big vat o’ salsa) surrounding me, I let her get on to her shopping spree - just as Stewart called to say he was pulling into the driveway with a delivery of Ben&Jerry’s and PECAN CHEESECAKE (that’s a good therapy tack too, fyi. If you can’t provide insight, bring chocolate. It really is the second-best comfort in any case…) We talked while I made my dinner and he hung about long enough to take home a tub o’ salsa. I went to bed early and for the first night since Sunday, didn’t cry myself to sleep.
Then when I checked my e’s at lunch today, I found these:
Dear Sam,
I wanted to write you and say that I don't know many things about your Mother, but from the way it seems I'm sure this day has a pang for you. I just wanted you to know that you are in my thoughts and I do hope that you are able to be with people who love and care for you today. I also wanted to say, that for a solitary child like you, there is me. I see you. I love you.
I LOVE you. No Sam, I can't understand, but I can care. You are remembered.
-Hannah Bright
- and -
Sam,
I came here tonight to welcome you back to the blogosphere. I enjoyed the rant from last night and was not really expecting to see another one so soon. I'm sorry to know you feel so bad. How can I help? You don't have to kill yourself to make people love you unconditionally. You just deserve it. You, Sam. YOU just deserve it. I knew your Dad was gone and I knew about Robbie. I know how you felt about them both. I know how it is with your Mom. I didn't know they all came together with Mothers Day. How hard it must be for you right now. I'm so, so sorry.
There have been many times in my life when I felt just what you described here. I don't know what to tell you about how to handle it. If I did, I would tell you and neither of us would have to be afflicted by this kind of torture anymore. I stopped crying, except a few short sobs now and then, long ago. I don't know if it's because so many years have passed, that I'm much older and worn out, or if I have just become battle hardened and accustomed to the hurt. But I know I will always cry when I talk about my Daddy, I will always cry when I talk about my baby brother Billy, I will always miss my Mama and I will likely be angry with my late husband until I die. I am angry at myself too. For the way I let it go on so long and other regrets.
I haven't been writing as much lately because I've been having a problem with my blood pressure and have had a headache for more than a week to go with it. Anyway, maybe I will be back to something near normal (for me) in a day or two. I wish I knew what to say. It seems like when you really need the answer nobody knows the answer. All I can say is:
1-Don't knock yourself out to make people love you. I think you do too much. AND I think you get too little return. Bodies are not designed to do all that you've been doing.2-Know inside yourself that you deserve to be loved no matter what any asshole may tell you otherwise, or do to you. You deserve to be loved just because you are you.
3-Don't be hurting like that and not tell me.
4-I will take up for you.
5-Friends are for sharing...even sharing pain.
I hope you feel better soon. It's after 11:00 p.m. now and I'm about to wake you up. I hope I get you. If I don't I'll call again tomorrow.
Love, Carol
- and I realized that if I can TELL people what I need, to be SEEN, to be REMEMBERED, to be CARED FOR, to be STOOD UP FOR, to know that I really am NOT ALONE, there are people out there who will do that for me – because I am who I am, and because I’ve done it for them, and because no matter how bad I feel, I’ll keep doing it for others. And though I can wish them the very best, I don’t have to keep giving my best to the people who don’t care enough about me to see past the shimmering surface. For those of you who are patient and brave enough to look into the deep dark, thank you. I love you. You can always say “I saved Sam.”**
Much love, and less grief, ***
-Sam
*Yes, there are still places where you can buy hand-churned butter by the block – for about HALF the price of store-bought butter – even the store brand.
**I’m WAY more practical than Green Stamps or Marlboro Miles! :)*** and happiest of birthdays to Seamus
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
This is a very sad, hurt, introspective post, and I couldn’t take criticism about what I have to say here, so please don’t read on if you don’t want anything weighty to consider, to read that I have uncharitable, selfish thoughts and feelings sometimes, or feel that I might need to be taken to task for what I have to express here. Please.
I Am Made of Grey
Have you ever cried so hard, so loud, for so long that your howls seem to turn into hollow, ringing echoes? As if all the selves you ever were, or might have ever been are keening in harmony and empathy? In the depths and damps of such chasms of pain, do you wonder if the world is the cavernous space into which you pour your screams, or is it your own arid, empty heart?
My own memories are shipwrecked on a desolate airless moon, where the seasons speed by in days’ time, flickering like time-lapse, either the purest blinding white light, or the blackest, coldest deepest night. There is no grey there but the shadows of scars caused by meteoric blows - vast craters the size of other planets’ living continents, visible even to the single-lensed eyes of the inhabitants of those green lands, light years distant - and the silvery grey substance of the moon itself.
When I howl into that vacuum, I tell myself that the echoes are the sounds of millions of voices joining mine, so that I won’t feel so lost. But when the tears run dry and I have no choice but to tune into the hungry silence, all I hear is my own ragged breathing, and the beat of my castaway heart.
*************************************
This Sunday was mother’s day. It was also the tenth year anniversary of my father’s death. Next Saturday will be 10 years since Robbie died as well. I can’t expect sympathy from people who aren’t near me, or who don’t know how hard this time is for me, but to be abandoned and placed second (third, fourth, fifth) by those who know, who live with me, or see and talk to me every day, is harder than I could have imagined. Left alone with my grief and all the memories, more work than I could handle at the best of times, a wreck of a house, money worries, work worries, the responsibility of a whole household and then some, I am hurt, angry, and feeling like I’ve felt since I can remember: a nuisance, a burden, a used-up convenience. If I’m not being useful or helpful in some active way, then I am invisible – or should be. Who, of those who know me well, hasn’t wondered why I feel this way over and over again? And I honestly can’t blame another soul. No one but myself has been responsible for me – beyond the very basics – since I was born, and not for anything else since I was able to handle the basics. There must be something in me, about me, that makes me so easy to abandon. I wish someone, anyone, even the people that I am most afraid to talk to, the people who are at the heart of who I am – the people who taught me to be able to walk away - could tell me why I can’t be loved completely, the way other people are. I can take the truth, however hard it might be, because it might help me change into someone who can be loved unconditionally. People say I am good, that I do good things, that I am a good person, and that I make the world a better place, why would they lie about that? And if that is true, why don’t I deserve the kind of unshakable, selfless love and devotion that others give to one another? What is it about me?
There are mothers who would give their lives, their souls, every thing and every last penny for their children; there are husbands and wives who would walk through fire for their loved ones; what is it about me that doesn’t inspire this kind of devotion? Why don’t people stand up for me? Why wouldn’t someone close to me put my pain before their own pleasure or safety? I can’t expect everyone to – other mothers have their own children, other lovers have their own spouses, and I have nothing but respect for those who put their own first – but what about my own? Or maybe that’s just it… maybe I truly have no one of my own. Maybe that’s my true birthmark, and I am meant to walk the world alone like Caine. But for what sin? And could I ever atone? It seems that my choices are to continue to try to be as useful and deserving as possible to earn the kindnesses I do receive, and/or accept the truth that I can only ever expect so much love from anyone, even my so-called own, and know that when the chips are really down, and the darkness is deepest, that I can truly depend on no one but myself – no matter how much that hurts.
I suppose I’ll never know how hard one has to work, how good one has to be to earn the true, total devotion of another human being, but I know I would die of grief if I quit trying to find out.
Honestly, sorrowfully, and apologetically,
-sam
I Am Made of Grey
Have you ever cried so hard, so loud, for so long that your howls seem to turn into hollow, ringing echoes? As if all the selves you ever were, or might have ever been are keening in harmony and empathy? In the depths and damps of such chasms of pain, do you wonder if the world is the cavernous space into which you pour your screams, or is it your own arid, empty heart?
My own memories are shipwrecked on a desolate airless moon, where the seasons speed by in days’ time, flickering like time-lapse, either the purest blinding white light, or the blackest, coldest deepest night. There is no grey there but the shadows of scars caused by meteoric blows - vast craters the size of other planets’ living continents, visible even to the single-lensed eyes of the inhabitants of those green lands, light years distant - and the silvery grey substance of the moon itself.
When I howl into that vacuum, I tell myself that the echoes are the sounds of millions of voices joining mine, so that I won’t feel so lost. But when the tears run dry and I have no choice but to tune into the hungry silence, all I hear is my own ragged breathing, and the beat of my castaway heart.
*************************************
This Sunday was mother’s day. It was also the tenth year anniversary of my father’s death. Next Saturday will be 10 years since Robbie died as well. I can’t expect sympathy from people who aren’t near me, or who don’t know how hard this time is for me, but to be abandoned and placed second (third, fourth, fifth) by those who know, who live with me, or see and talk to me every day, is harder than I could have imagined. Left alone with my grief and all the memories, more work than I could handle at the best of times, a wreck of a house, money worries, work worries, the responsibility of a whole household and then some, I am hurt, angry, and feeling like I’ve felt since I can remember: a nuisance, a burden, a used-up convenience. If I’m not being useful or helpful in some active way, then I am invisible – or should be. Who, of those who know me well, hasn’t wondered why I feel this way over and over again? And I honestly can’t blame another soul. No one but myself has been responsible for me – beyond the very basics – since I was born, and not for anything else since I was able to handle the basics. There must be something in me, about me, that makes me so easy to abandon. I wish someone, anyone, even the people that I am most afraid to talk to, the people who are at the heart of who I am – the people who taught me to be able to walk away - could tell me why I can’t be loved completely, the way other people are. I can take the truth, however hard it might be, because it might help me change into someone who can be loved unconditionally. People say I am good, that I do good things, that I am a good person, and that I make the world a better place, why would they lie about that? And if that is true, why don’t I deserve the kind of unshakable, selfless love and devotion that others give to one another? What is it about me?
There are mothers who would give their lives, their souls, every thing and every last penny for their children; there are husbands and wives who would walk through fire for their loved ones; what is it about me that doesn’t inspire this kind of devotion? Why don’t people stand up for me? Why wouldn’t someone close to me put my pain before their own pleasure or safety? I can’t expect everyone to – other mothers have their own children, other lovers have their own spouses, and I have nothing but respect for those who put their own first – but what about my own? Or maybe that’s just it… maybe I truly have no one of my own. Maybe that’s my true birthmark, and I am meant to walk the world alone like Caine. But for what sin? And could I ever atone? It seems that my choices are to continue to try to be as useful and deserving as possible to earn the kindnesses I do receive, and/or accept the truth that I can only ever expect so much love from anyone, even my so-called own, and know that when the chips are really down, and the darkness is deepest, that I can truly depend on no one but myself – no matter how much that hurts.
I suppose I’ll never know how hard one has to work, how good one has to be to earn the true, total devotion of another human being, but I know I would die of grief if I quit trying to find out.
Honestly, sorrowfully, and apologetically,
-sam
Friday, May 06, 2005
For those of you who might be wondering where the aich-ee-double-hockeysticks I've been and what I've been up to, I can easily sum it up in two words: THEATRE WORLD.
Things in my life have never been dull or still. I usually stay busier than the average Joe (if not the average Jane. Most of the Janes I know are pretty danged busy ladies.), but lately everything has been cranked up a notch, all the way to '11' really.
I think you all know about the comedy troupe I perform with - The Feral Chihuahuas (Stoneleaf Festival (cool, huh?) which is VERY exciting, but also only a few weeks away. We are also performing our regularly scheduled shows every other Wednesday (Thank goddess though, after this week, we'll basically just be doing our Stoneleaf rehearsals on stage). THEN, on top of this, this weekend is the Renaissance Festival. We (myself, Chris and two other members of The Feral Chihuahuas, our good friends Liz and Jay put together a Shakespearean (well, loosely Shakespearean... ;) show called "Periwig" to perform at the faire. In that 30 minute show we do an intro, an ad for Gandalf's 'Plague Be Gone', a strange little piece that breaks the 4th wall, a fantastic "dueling thespians" scene betwixt Hamlet and Antigone (the boys did it for Kumquat this week, with Tommy playing 'Duelling Banjos" on the guitar - it was a RIOT!), and our big show-stopper - a 15 minute production of "A Midsummer Nights' Dream", in which we pull EIGHT victims... I mean, er, volunteers from the audience to play all of our uncast parts (we lost most of our troupe to the plague, y'see...) and perform a MUCH abbreviated version of the entire play - including a catfight betwixt Helena (moi) and Hermia (our Liz), and multiple excellent death scenes for our poor volunteers. (The boys get their fight during Duelling Thespians.)
SO. We've been rehearsing EVERY SINGLE DAY for weeks now. Sunday we had THREE different rehearsals (Kumquat, a run-through of A Midsummer Night with vols from the faire - THANK THEE, GOOD FOLK!!!, and a full run-through of Periwig on Sunday night.) On the other nights we've done both Kumquat and Periwig, and on Wednesday we performed Kumquat. The few nights that we've been unable to meet, we've spent learning lines, working on props, costumes, etc. and on the nights that we have been completely off (only because a principle couldn't make rehearsal), we've gone to see OTHER people's plays.
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Please forgive me for not being more present, more involved, more noticeably in tune. I promise that I have been aware of what's happening in all of your lives. Mama-Norma has come through her diagnosis and surgery with flying colors; baby Bella (Isabella Madison Sitton - MOOOOO!!!!) came into the world big, beautiful and healthy on April 28 - our little spring flower Princess;
life spins in its' circles, and even in my nigh stupidly hectic (but happy and helping) state, I think of you all while I work and whistle, wishing you all good things.
One other bit of news... big news, happy and sad at the same time: on May 4th, I gave my notice at the Library. I will work 'til the end of this month, and then, flower in hand, I will take that leap of faith and trust in myself to make my way with my hands, my head and my heart - once more! The day that 'Bella was born was the day I lost my fear of leaving the security of this good job, and realized that there is more happiness and better health for me if I just follow my heart. The library won't lose me - in fact, they'll have me for free, because I'm going to join the ranks of the volunteers! And I am looking forward to being my own woman again, having a more flexible schedule to do with as I please - see my friends more; work on projects I've needed and wanted to for so long; learn to use my sewing machine; get back into photography wholeheartedly; put more time into my jewelry work and other saleable arts; get my sick body back into better shape; walk the roads and wander the woods and fields (HURRAY!); set up a little ebay business; try as many part-time jobs as I want and need to; visit family; write more; finish Loki's Little Acre (and convert it to a screenplay!); help Chris with his films; knuckle down to the Comedy-grind; clean my house and yard - well the list is fortunately, joyfully endless. What it comes down to is that I can live on Sam-time, and I believe with all my heart that I can make Sam-time even MORE productive and at least as lucrative as TheMan-time - AND I CAN WEAR PAJAMAS AND FLIP-FLOPS 98% OF THE TIME IF I WANT TO! WHEEE! I can work a 14 hour day one day and go fishing the next, if I want to. I can say 'Yes' and 'No' to whomever I please, and if someone has a problem with me, I can walk away and smile and forget that they exist. I can explore the change that the last five years has made in me, and hopefully repair the physical change for the worst.
I don't have to ask for you all to wish me luck - I know you do. Everyone has told me how happy they are for me to have the chance to live my art (art my life? :) on a bigger scale. My patrons and co-workers have said they're proud of me for taking the chance. I doubt they'll ever know how much that means to me. I promised myself that if I left the best job I've ever had, that I wouldn't leave it for less than something wonderful. I'm going to do my damndest to make this jump count. I can still see my patrons and kids when I volunteer - not to mention spend social time with them sans the fear of - for example - getting too squiffy on red wine at the W_____'s house on Friday night, telling all my fave naughty jokes, and then having the whole town talk/it getting put in the paper/getting called on the carpet) the next Monday. *sheesh*
So, let it be OFFICIALLY known: after May 28, I'm a free woman - I have taken on a luscious baby-sitting commitment for the bulk of the summer, 3 days a week, mid-week, but I'll be able to work my art while I do that, too. And the rest is an open field. If you have commissions, ideas, need to "Rent-a-Sam" for a day, for any purpose (for example, Liz is hiring me to help her organize her house, in trade for some sewing lessons...), let me know! I suspect that my calendar will fill up fast! :)
Much love, and many, many hopes and dreams,
(much more like the OLD-)
-s.
Things in my life have never been dull or still. I usually stay busier than the average Joe (if not the average Jane. Most of the Janes I know are pretty danged busy ladies.), but lately everything has been cranked up a notch, all the way to '11' really.
I think you all know about the comedy troupe I perform with - The Feral Chihuahuas (
SO. We've been rehearsing EVERY SINGLE DAY for weeks now. Sunday we had THREE different rehearsals (Kumquat, a run-through of A Midsummer Night with vols from the faire - THANK THEE, GOOD FOLK!!!, and a full run-through of Periwig on Sunday night.) On the other nights we've done both Kumquat and Periwig, and on Wednesday we performed Kumquat. The few nights that we've been unable to meet, we've spent learning lines, working on props, costumes, etc. and on the nights that we have been completely off (only because a principle couldn't make rehearsal), we've gone to see OTHER people's plays.
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Please forgive me for not being more present, more involved, more noticeably in tune. I promise that I have been aware of what's happening in all of your lives. Mama-Norma has come through her diagnosis and surgery with flying colors; baby Bella (Isabella Madison Sitton - MOOOOO!!!!) came into the world big, beautiful and healthy on April 28 - our little spring flower Princess;
life spins in its' circles, and even in my nigh stupidly hectic (but happy and helping) state, I think of you all while I work and whistle, wishing you all good things.
One other bit of news... big news, happy and sad at the same time: on May 4th, I gave my notice at the Library. I will work 'til the end of this month, and then, flower in hand, I will take that leap of faith and trust in myself to make my way with my hands, my head and my heart - once more! The day that 'Bella was born was the day I lost my fear of leaving the security of this good job, and realized that there is more happiness and better health for me if I just follow my heart. The library won't lose me - in fact, they'll have me for free, because I'm going to join the ranks of the volunteers! And I am looking forward to being my own woman again, having a more flexible schedule to do with as I please - see my friends more; work on projects I've needed and wanted to for so long; learn to use my sewing machine; get back into photography wholeheartedly; put more time into my jewelry work and other saleable arts; get my sick body back into better shape; walk the roads and wander the woods and fields (HURRAY!); set up a little ebay business; try as many part-time jobs as I want and need to; visit family; write more; finish Loki's Little Acre (and convert it to a screenplay!); help Chris with his films; knuckle down to the Comedy-grind; clean my house and yard - well the list is fortunately, joyfully endless. What it comes down to is that I can live on Sam-time, and I believe with all my heart that I can make Sam-time even MORE productive and at least as lucrative as TheMan-time - AND I CAN WEAR PAJAMAS AND FLIP-FLOPS 98% OF THE TIME IF I WANT TO! WHEEE! I can work a 14 hour day one day and go fishing the next, if I want to. I can say 'Yes' and 'No' to whomever I please, and if someone has a problem with me, I can walk away and smile and forget that they exist. I can explore the change that the last five years has made in me, and hopefully repair the physical change for the worst.
I don't have to ask for you all to wish me luck - I know you do. Everyone has told me how happy they are for me to have the chance to live my art (art my life? :) on a bigger scale. My patrons and co-workers have said they're proud of me for taking the chance. I doubt they'll ever know how much that means to me. I promised myself that if I left the best job I've ever had, that I wouldn't leave it for less than something wonderful. I'm going to do my damndest to make this jump count. I can still see my patrons and kids when I volunteer - not to mention spend social time with them sans the fear of - for example - getting too squiffy on red wine at the W_____'s house on Friday night, telling all my fave naughty jokes, and then having the whole town talk/it getting put in the paper/getting called on the carpet) the next Monday. *sheesh*
So, let it be OFFICIALLY known: after May 28, I'm a free woman - I have taken on a luscious baby-sitting commitment for the bulk of the summer, 3 days a week, mid-week, but I'll be able to work my art while I do that, too. And the rest is an open field. If you have commissions, ideas, need to "Rent-a-Sam" for a day, for any purpose (for example, Liz is hiring me to help her organize her house, in trade for some sewing lessons...), let me know! I suspect that my calendar will fill up fast! :)
Much love, and many, many hopes and dreams,
(much more like the OLD-)
-s.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
In the midst of a hard, painful, tearful day, there is still this...
I am delighted to say that a few people have accepted my challenge so far! Aunt Sue was first, she sent me 10, so I added 10 more to her list to encourage her to think of 80 more. OurAndi did it in her blog - which I recommend reading just for the heck of it. It's a worthwhile 20 minutes or so a week, I promise. My friend Carol has sent me 50-ish so far, a few amended, and has promised to try to add more (I'm going to see if I can post hers here too, when she's done) and also dear Hannah Bright.
Hannah - who I think is 15 (though her soul, as you will see from her list, is much, MUCH older...), who should, in my opinion be the library's MASCOT, who makes me believe in divine possibilities just by knowing her - gave me permission to print her awe-inspiring, just downright inspiring:
100 Things I Like About Myself:
1. I read at least one book a day.
2. My middle name(Bright) never in my 16 years of being have I encountered another with that middle name but when I do, I'm going to kiss them and ask what is(one of) their favorite
book(s).
3. I LOVELOVE LOVVE words and do all I can to learn more about them(I have read Webster's cover to cover at least 14 times, and study forgone languages whenever possible)
4. I memorize poetry obsessively and to perfection, sometimes spending up to 3 hours on a speech/sonnet/extremely-long-poem
5. When it does not distract others from the music, I lie under the piano when it is being played, it heightens the sound and experience for me(especially if it's Brahms)
6. I read encyclopedias for pleasure(and other non-novels that many people tend to dislike out of a classroom setting - histories, science books, methods . . . other things) obsessively and can never get enough knowledge of . . . well, most anything worth being a scholar on.
7. I am a Christian, and am also very sad about how my beliefs have been skewed by other people who, in regard to their actions, are not.
8. I love Richard Harris(and I cry over his voice).
9. I love Richard Burton(and cry over his voice).
10. I can whistle fairly well.11. I believe in fairies, goblins, brownies, orcs [she even included ORCS!:], changelings, waifs, niyads, ents, polkas and driyads.
12. I LOVE moss.(and most of the things it flourishes on)
13. I love Rudolf Nureyev(I scream over his voice:).
14. I can draw anything (and nothing) fairly well(and am not afraid to try)
15. I dream about things before they happen(and have all my life)
16. I THRIVE off books and poetry of ALL kinds . . . and love to write letters when I have the time.
17. I LOVELOVE LLLLOVE art and give to it whenever possible.(music, books, dance, visual, people)
18. I have read Les Misérables countless times and am not weary of it.
19. I have read MANY books countless times and still adore them.
20. I have beautiful friends, who are like family to me, and I make certain they know it as often as possible.
21. I have failings, and am a flawed human being.
22. I cry when it is warranted(and when it's not)
23. I have never denied(verbally or by my actions) that I have a soul.
24. I ADORE Bjork [!!!].
25. I love weeds. [Dandelion Liberation Front approves! ;]
26. I give flowers(wild and otherwise) to loved ones and complete strangers(and have made gazillions of friends in that way)
27. I sit on my roof in rain and snow as well as sunny weather.
28. I love the way I feel before/after a storm: everything seems sharper, and more alive.
29. I kiss trees.
30. I have ALWAYS admired and respected American Indians, and am proud to be a distant relation(my great-grand mothers on both parent's sides were of different tribes)
31. I love scarves and will wear them with anything.
32. I have goodgood friends who range in the ages of 5 to 87; and I love and treat them all as equal(and sometimes BETTER :D) to(then) my peers.
33. I have never been made ashamed of "weird" things I do, say, or wear by people the truly care about me.
34. There are chapters in my life that are seldom read and certainly not aloud, and that's O.K.
35. I have withstood hurtful things from people who could love me.(though, how can I say this knowing you will read it Sam? YOU who have had hell to crawl through and ended up blooming in spite of it all, and the truth is, I have a wonderful, awesome family, but my cousins HAVE thrown mud/rocks/branches at my on different occasions(all because I didn't want to play Truth or Dare), at every(and I mean EVERY) social gathering they tell me(most of the time in front of others) how ugly I am, my lips are paper-thin, my hair is thin and non-colored, my legs are so short, I am a midget, I am so short they could use me as a prop, my arms are chubby, my teeth are bucked(I had BRACES for heaven's sake!), my IQ is ssssssoooooooo low(they know that's not true hehe), my eyes are too small and SO close together, my ears are bigger then Dumbo's, my chest is out of proportion with the rest of my body(oohhh it burns me up!), my butt is huge, my stomach is HUGE, you get the picture. All of these things they say in one setting, and more, they seem to be inventing new wrongs every time I see them, I have tried talking with them about it but they always turn it into "Hannah, CAN'T you take a JOKE?!" but they never laugh. I'm over-reacting, I know and I'm sorry. When I THINK of what some of my FRIENDS not to mention people I don't know have to DEAL with I could just kill myself for whining over a few curt remarks, but it gets tiring.)
36. I am in a jazz band.
37. I love(LOVVVVVVVE) philosophy, and often will walk out among the stars and dew in a muddy soccer field and scream to the sky - alone: "WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT, ALFIE?!!!"
38. I make up words and phrases to describe things, and have heard strangers using them.
39. I don't watch T.V. at all or listen to any other radio station but NPR.
40. Despite a frequent addiction to day-dreaming; I am capable of firm and decided action.
41. I want to live in Estonia one day(even if it's only for a few months).
42. The reason I am considering nursing as a profession is because of a Snowdon photograph.
43. I have a deep respect for water, and it is one of my favorite elements.
44. People have opened up to me with problems they have said they share with no one else.
45. I love my brother and talk to him about a lot that goes on in my life and the world, and he(although 9) usually understands.
46. I sing in many "inappropriate" places.
47. I name things I use. My bike, my roller-skates, my pens, my guitar, our piano, our van, my coffee cups . . . etc.
48. I believe in the phrase "to thine own self be true" and try my utmost to keep to up. I am also passionately honest with other people.
49. I blow kisses constantly.
50. I understand that the quality of death, like that of life, must be of an infinite variety and color.
51. I can speak conversational Farsi.
52. I can speak conversational French.
53. I cook some mean scones [Andi could've added this one too! :]
54. I have read all of Shakespeare's works.(the complete sonnets, plays, everything)
55. I have INCREDIBLE friends who love and enjoy(most) of the things/people I do.
56. Despite contrary belief I am not a feminist, but I do believe in equality of the sexes.
57. I LOVVVVVVE all kinds of tea and coffee, and will make it whenever the opportunity arises.
58. I don't have a problem with inter-racial(I hate that term, it sounds so CLINICAL) marriages.
59. I dance around the bathroom when I'm brushing my teeth.
60. I love to listen to stories, true and untrue, especially if an elder is the teller.
61. I have lots of foreign friends, who have told me they feel more comfortable with me then any other American they have contacted while here.
62. I loved vintage before vintage was cool(and I MEAN THAT!)
63. I try to see beauty in "dappled" things.
64. I hate excuses and try my best not to make them for myself.
65. I have scars, and that is O.K. with me.
66. Fear drives the world(and me), I know that, and try to be unafraid.
67. I have, at one time or another, lent everyone I know(and some I don't) grace.
68. I have the ability to laugh at myself.
69. Mary Shelley is (one of) my hero(s).
70. I have been named "the grammar nerd" by a college English teacher.(though I'm probably slaying everything I have learned here)
71. Befriending dirty, "ugly", homeless, junkie, sluttish people doesn't scare me.
72. I am fluent in sign language and have used it on countless occasions.
73. I have defended myself and friends as well as broken up physical and verbal fights and (have also) never lost(I had to slap a prostitute once though).
74. I wear mis-matching clothes.
75. I hate prom and everything having to do with it.
76. I love the city. I love the lights, the sounds, the metropolitan vibe...there is so much energy, life...filth, corruption, anger, blood...with all that said, I have never lived in a city and would die for my family's farm.
77. I celebrate Mardi Gras every year(usually by myself or with Isaac)
78. I have a love/hate fascination with carnivals of all kinds.
79. I have read the Bible from cover to cover.
80. I have also read "The Origin of Species" "The Feminine Mystique" "the Koran" and other various religious writings, have weighed and measured their ideas, and come to the conclusion that the Bible is absolute truth.
81. Although I believe people are as diverse as leafs, most of our struggles/emotions/reactions are akin to one another, and are not at all different.
82. I can surf well.
83. I believe that how you relate to people is one of the most important things in life.
84. I have been accused of pointing out how stupid "everyone" is all the time, and responded with "Wait, I haven't told you how stupid I am yet!"
85. I believe you should not reject what you don't understand, for with understanding there may be acceptance.
86. I play dress-up.
87. I have had near-death experiences, and come out better each time.
88. I can dance well.(9 years of Ballet, I SHOULD be able to!)
89. Not many things impress me.
90. My kittens.
91. My tear-bottle.
92. I go barefoot a lot.
93. I can sleep well in uncomfortable places.(on rocks, sticks, in wetness, etc.)
94. I am a Southerner, not a red-neck, and could care less about the flag.
95. I have never had a crush on a guy before, and am glad. All the men I love are dead.
96. Guys and girls find it easy to relate to me, and(most of the time) I to them.
97. I am (by Barry's definition) a "walking paradox".
98. I have done/said things, been laughed at, and continued because whatever it was made me happy.
99. I love mud puddles.
100. I appreciate and treasure Sam Lovelace's friendship(and ALL she does for me right down to smiling!) and love her this *spreads arms as wide as they will go* much! :)
Love is the most beautiful of frustrations because it is beyond the power to express. I love you, Hannah Bright"
Yes, she's a real girl, and I am lucky to know her. I can vouch for many of the amazing things on her list, and though some are surpises(farsi?! surfing?! wow!), none are shocking. I'd be proud to be just like her when I grow up, and I am proud to know her now. Thank you for all your band-aids, Hannah Bright! I love you too!
Keep making those good lists folks - you might even surprise yourselves!
much love,
-s
I am delighted to say that a few people have accepted my challenge so far! Aunt Sue was first, she sent me 10, so I added 10 more to her list to encourage her to think of 80 more. OurAndi did it in her blog - which I recommend reading just for the heck of it. It's a worthwhile 20 minutes or so a week, I promise. My friend Carol has sent me 50-ish so far, a few amended, and has promised to try to add more (I'm going to see if I can post hers here too, when she's done) and also dear Hannah Bright.
Hannah - who I think is 15 (though her soul, as you will see from her list, is much, MUCH older...), who should, in my opinion be the library's MASCOT, who makes me believe in divine possibilities just by knowing her - gave me permission to print her awe-inspiring, just downright inspiring:
100 Things I Like About Myself:
1. I read at least one book a day.
2. My middle name(Bright) never in my 16 years of being have I encountered another with that middle name but when I do, I'm going to kiss them and ask what is(one of) their favorite
book(s).
3. I LOVELOVE LOVVE words and do all I can to learn more about them(I have read Webster's cover to cover at least 14 times, and study forgone languages whenever possible)
4. I memorize poetry obsessively and to perfection, sometimes spending up to 3 hours on a speech/sonnet/extremely-long-poem
5. When it does not distract others from the music, I lie under the piano when it is being played, it heightens the sound and experience for me(especially if it's Brahms)
6. I read encyclopedias for pleasure(and other non-novels that many people tend to dislike out of a classroom setting - histories, science books, methods . . . other things) obsessively and can never get enough knowledge of . . . well, most anything worth being a scholar on.
7. I am a Christian, and am also very sad about how my beliefs have been skewed by other people who, in regard to their actions, are not.
8. I love Richard Harris(and I cry over his voice).
9. I love Richard Burton(and cry over his voice).
10. I can whistle fairly well.11. I believe in fairies, goblins, brownies, orcs [she even included ORCS!:], changelings, waifs, niyads, ents, polkas and driyads.
12. I LOVE moss.(and most of the things it flourishes on)
13. I love Rudolf Nureyev(I scream over his voice:).
14. I can draw anything (and nothing) fairly well(and am not afraid to try)
15. I dream about things before they happen(and have all my life)
16. I THRIVE off books and poetry of ALL kinds . . . and love to write letters when I have the time.
17. I LOVELOVE LLLLOVE art and give to it whenever possible.(music, books, dance, visual, people)
18. I have read Les Misérables countless times and am not weary of it.
19. I have read MANY books countless times and still adore them.
20. I have beautiful friends, who are like family to me, and I make certain they know it as often as possible.
21. I have failings, and am a flawed human being.
22. I cry when it is warranted(and when it's not)
23. I have never denied(verbally or by my actions) that I have a soul.
24. I ADORE Bjork [!!!].
25. I love weeds. [Dandelion Liberation Front approves! ;]
26. I give flowers(wild and otherwise) to loved ones and complete strangers(and have made gazillions of friends in that way)
27. I sit on my roof in rain and snow as well as sunny weather.
28. I love the way I feel before/after a storm: everything seems sharper, and more alive.
29. I kiss trees.
30. I have ALWAYS admired and respected American Indians, and am proud to be a distant relation(my great-grand mothers on both parent's sides were of different tribes)
31. I love scarves and will wear them with anything.
32. I have goodgood friends who range in the ages of 5 to 87; and I love and treat them all as equal(and sometimes BETTER :D) to(then) my peers.
33. I have never been made ashamed of "weird" things I do, say, or wear by people the truly care about me.
34. There are chapters in my life that are seldom read and certainly not aloud, and that's O.K.
35. I have withstood hurtful things from people who could love me.(though, how can I say this knowing you will read it Sam? YOU who have had hell to crawl through and ended up blooming in spite of it all, and the truth is, I have a wonderful, awesome family, but my cousins HAVE thrown mud/rocks/branches at my on different occasions(all because I didn't want to play Truth or Dare), at every(and I mean EVERY) social gathering they tell me(most of the time in front of others) how ugly I am, my lips are paper-thin, my hair is thin and non-colored, my legs are so short, I am a midget, I am so short they could use me as a prop, my arms are chubby, my teeth are bucked(I had BRACES for heaven's sake!), my IQ is ssssssoooooooo low(they know that's not true hehe), my eyes are too small and SO close together, my ears are bigger then Dumbo's, my chest is out of proportion with the rest of my body(oohhh it burns me up!), my butt is huge, my stomach is HUGE, you get the picture. All of these things they say in one setting, and more, they seem to be inventing new wrongs every time I see them, I have tried talking with them about it but they always turn it into "Hannah, CAN'T you take a JOKE?!" but they never laugh. I'm over-reacting, I know and I'm sorry. When I THINK of what some of my FRIENDS not to mention people I don't know have to DEAL with I could just kill myself for whining over a few curt remarks, but it gets tiring.)
36. I am in a jazz band.
37. I love(LOVVVVVVVE) philosophy, and often will walk out among the stars and dew in a muddy soccer field and scream to the sky - alone: "WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT, ALFIE?!!!"
38. I make up words and phrases to describe things, and have heard strangers using them.
39. I don't watch T.V. at all or listen to any other radio station but NPR.
40. Despite a frequent addiction to day-dreaming; I am capable of firm and decided action.
41. I want to live in Estonia one day(even if it's only for a few months).
42. The reason I am considering nursing as a profession is because of a Snowdon photograph.
43. I have a deep respect for water, and it is one of my favorite elements.
44. People have opened up to me with problems they have said they share with no one else.
45. I love my brother and talk to him about a lot that goes on in my life and the world, and he(although 9) usually understands.
46. I sing in many "inappropriate" places.
47. I name things I use. My bike, my roller-skates, my pens, my guitar, our piano, our van, my coffee cups . . . etc.
48. I believe in the phrase "to thine own self be true" and try my utmost to keep to up. I am also passionately honest with other people.
49. I blow kisses constantly.
50. I understand that the quality of death, like that of life, must be of an infinite variety and color.
51. I can speak conversational Farsi.
52. I can speak conversational French.
53. I cook some mean scones [Andi could've added this one too! :]
54. I have read all of Shakespeare's works.(the complete sonnets, plays, everything)
55. I have INCREDIBLE friends who love and enjoy(most) of the things/people I do.
56. Despite contrary belief I am not a feminist, but I do believe in equality of the sexes.
57. I LOVVVVVVE all kinds of tea and coffee, and will make it whenever the opportunity arises.
58. I don't have a problem with inter-racial(I hate that term, it sounds so CLINICAL) marriages.
59. I dance around the bathroom when I'm brushing my teeth.
60. I love to listen to stories, true and untrue, especially if an elder is the teller.
61. I have lots of foreign friends, who have told me they feel more comfortable with me then any other American they have contacted while here.
62. I loved vintage before vintage was cool(and I MEAN THAT!)
63. I try to see beauty in "dappled" things.
64. I hate excuses and try my best not to make them for myself.
65. I have scars, and that is O.K. with me.
66. Fear drives the world(and me), I know that, and try to be unafraid.
67. I have, at one time or another, lent everyone I know(and some I don't) grace.
68. I have the ability to laugh at myself.
69. Mary Shelley is (one of) my hero(s).
70. I have been named "the grammar nerd" by a college English teacher.(though I'm probably slaying everything I have learned here)
71. Befriending dirty, "ugly", homeless, junkie, sluttish people doesn't scare me.
72. I am fluent in sign language and have used it on countless occasions.
73. I have defended myself and friends as well as broken up physical and verbal fights and (have also) never lost(I had to slap a prostitute once though).
74. I wear mis-matching clothes.
75. I hate prom and everything having to do with it.
76. I love the city. I love the lights, the sounds, the metropolitan vibe...there is so much energy, life...filth, corruption, anger, blood...with all that said, I have never lived in a city and would die for my family's farm.
77. I celebrate Mardi Gras every year(usually by myself or with Isaac)
78. I have a love/hate fascination with carnivals of all kinds.
79. I have read the Bible from cover to cover.
80. I have also read "The Origin of Species" "The Feminine Mystique" "the Koran" and other various religious writings, have weighed and measured their ideas, and come to the conclusion that the Bible is absolute truth.
81. Although I believe people are as diverse as leafs, most of our struggles/emotions/reactions are akin to one another, and are not at all different.
82. I can surf well.
83. I believe that how you relate to people is one of the most important things in life.
84. I have been accused of pointing out how stupid "everyone" is all the time, and responded with "Wait, I haven't told you how stupid I am yet!"
85. I believe you should not reject what you don't understand, for with understanding there may be acceptance.
86. I play dress-up.
87. I have had near-death experiences, and come out better each time.
88. I can dance well.(9 years of Ballet, I SHOULD be able to!)
89. Not many things impress me.
90. My kittens.
91. My tear-bottle.
92. I go barefoot a lot.
93. I can sleep well in uncomfortable places.(on rocks, sticks, in wetness, etc.)
94. I am a Southerner, not a red-neck, and could care less about the flag.
95. I have never had a crush on a guy before, and am glad. All the men I love are dead.
96. Guys and girls find it easy to relate to me, and(most of the time) I to them.
97. I am (by Barry's definition) a "walking paradox".
98. I have done/said things, been laughed at, and continued because whatever it was made me happy.
99. I love mud puddles.
100. I appreciate and treasure Sam Lovelace's friendship(and ALL she does for me right down to smiling!) and love her this *spreads arms as wide as they will go* much! :)
Love is the most beautiful of frustrations because it is beyond the power to express. I love you, Hannah Bright"
Yes, she's a real girl, and I am lucky to know her. I can vouch for many of the amazing things on her list, and though some are surpises(farsi?! surfing?! wow!), none are shocking. I'd be proud to be just like her when I grow up, and I am proud to know her now. Thank you for all your band-aids, Hannah Bright! I love you too!
Keep making those good lists folks - you might even surprise yourselves!
much love,
-s
Saturday, April 16, 2005
I Challenge Everyone to Do This.
(LJ folks:You don’t have to do it here – though I’d LOVE to read folks’ lists. Blog readers – e them to me!) Be honest, and don’t worry about “bragging”. I don’t know a single person who doesn’t deserve to brag at least a little. And for those of you who might have a bad opinion of me (and I know that some do, and I can honestly understand why). I didn't do this for the purpose of bragging - I did it because I needed to, and I posted it to encourage others to do so.
100 Things I Like About Myself:
When I go to Google, I automatically (unthinkingly) click “Images” first.
My elegant, often unbelievable name: Samantha Louanne Lovelace.
My own sort of Geekism, which I usually think of as somehow inferior, is actually true Old School Geekism, pre-computer, pre-con, pre-game. I am an art*/knowledge/language/
hedonistic nerd, who also happens to love and respect all this “new-fangled” Geekism, too.
People find it easy to be honest with me, even if they think that what they need to say might hurt.
I can’t keep a secret.
I cook good soul food.
My taste in much music and many films is unashamedly cheesy.
I feel comfortable with children.
I love things that are bent, broken, mottled, freckled, speckled, spotted, strange – things that are often unloved by most everyone else. Even things that are often broken and completely unusable, but still beautiful, I turn into art.
I like to try new things.
My tattoos make me feel strong and happy.
I can often make the very best of very bad things.
I try to see the good in bad things, and often can.
As much as the past hurts me, I still love the person that I am, and admire my own strength.
I draw kindness from good people.
My bizarre and festive fashion “sense”.
The fact that my birthdays are month-long events, and that people look forward to being included in the fun.
My very deep and ingrained “Southerness” – I suppose it is the heart of what grace I have.
I am – despite popular opinion and even possible evidence – very logical and practical.
My love for all animals, but especially “weird” ones.
My passion for boys, Orc and otherwise.
My ability to love ‘the monsters’ (Frankenstein, Roy Batty, the Orcses, Tobie, etc.)
My odd face.
My hands. The way they look, their sensitivity, all that they can do.
My very strange and intermittently eerily accurate mnemonic ability (yes, sometimes I even remember things that haven’t happened yet)
Despite their origins, my hyperawareness and hypervigilance.
The intrinsic artistic nature of my entire being.
My ability to create so easily.
The fact that I recognize some good things about myself.
The fact that I recognize some bad things about myself.
My ability to empathize.
The fact that I really DO like long walks on the beach.
I can draw anything.
I enjoy honestly flattering people, even strangers.
The extra wonderful fact that cool, intelligent, strong, amazing women love me and are drawn to me.
When I go to “ethnic” restaurants, I do my best to speak/practice their language a little (which I actively attempt to learn bits of in my spare time).
I think bugs, even spiders, are really cool.
I like to organize things.
I can’t resist cute baby anythings.
I like boy clothes.
I am “cute”.
My scars (and the scars of others) are beautiful to me.
I am not shy about trying any new cuisine.
I am “old-fashioned” in a lot of ways.
I press dozens of flowers every year, and on every trip I take, then make them into bookmarks.
I think girls are wonderful, pretty, special, and as unique as flowers.
It makes me happy to make girls feel extra-special, extra-pretty, and stronger.
One day, I vow to live in a place and situation where I’ll never have to wear anything but pajamas and flip-flops if I don’t want to.
I don’t play video games.
I gave up TV eight years ago.
I quit smoking two years ago yesterday (04/15).
I sing pretty much constantly.
My sketchbooks and journals could fill a small storage space.
I think Bjork is the coolest human alive (that I know about).
I think most of my friends tie for second-coolest human alive (and that birds of a feather flock together).
I feed the rabbits in my yard, and leave nest-stuff for the birds every year.
I ‘art’ obsessively.
Storms make me veryvery happy.
I still miss my ex-husband. I especially wish I could discuss the latest movies with him.
I reallyreallyreally love hot tea.
I don’t actually think that people are generally so very different, and I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.
Sometimes I like the “bad” things about people so much that I’d rather them stay that way than change so that I could be around them more.
I miss my grandma.
I have a lot of heroes.
I make GREAT salsa.
I like to be sparkly, I like sparkly things.
I am both veryvery silly and veryvery serious, and I don’t think that’s bad.
I’m both a BIG girl and a SMALL person.
Rubbing my face on kitty bellies works better at relieving my stress than any drug.
I make insecure men mad.
I make secure men happy.
I challenge people to be more – whatever they are, whatever they want to be – directly and indirectly.
People say that I am the most capable person they know.
People say that I am the sanest person they know.
I’ve been through hell and I’m still a good person.
I trust people more than I should.
I make up words, and people “steal” them.
I’m good at lots of things.
I’m excited that there’s still so much for me to see and learn.
“Shy” is a word that is seldom used to describe me.
I’ve had to physically defend myself and others many times, and I have never hit a girl and I have never lost a fight.
I’m a good dancer.
I am known for speaking my mind.
I’ve faced a lot of my fears.
I inspire people.
Motherhood is not for me, I know exactly why, and that’s ok.
I am a great babysitter.
When a movie is based on something else (comic or book), I can avoid comparison, and enjoy the movie for what it is.
I am not a snob about books, movies, etc. – though if someone tries to get snarky on me, I can go there.
I am very (veryvery) sharp-witted. I never think “Oh! I wish I’d thought of that - (fill in snappy comeback)!” an hour later.
I am brave in many ways.
I am really into good hygiene.
My house is never too very messy and things are pretty well organized, despite the fact that I am a terrible pack-rat.
I am less of a pack-rat than I used to be.
Although I am sentimental, I can also let things go. I have learned to lose things and cope.
I exaggerate AND procrastinate.
I’m bad at paperwork and other red-tapey things.
I want to make/see the people around me happy.
I have survived horrible things and still am not bitter, cynical or jaded.
I can think of at least 100 things that I like about myself!!! :D
MAKE A LIST! Send it to me, if you want to!
Much love,
-s
*art = visual, photog, film, music, dance, etc. – all to me.
(LJ folks:You don’t have to do it here – though I’d LOVE to read folks’ lists. Blog readers – e them to me!) Be honest, and don’t worry about “bragging”. I don’t know a single person who doesn’t deserve to brag at least a little. And for those of you who might have a bad opinion of me (and I know that some do, and I can honestly understand why). I didn't do this for the purpose of bragging - I did it because I needed to, and I posted it to encourage others to do so.
100 Things I Like About Myself:
When I go to Google, I automatically (unthinkingly) click “Images” first.
My elegant, often unbelievable name: Samantha Louanne Lovelace.
My own sort of Geekism, which I usually think of as somehow inferior, is actually true Old School Geekism, pre-computer, pre-con, pre-game. I am an art*/knowledge/language/
hedonistic nerd, who also happens to love and respect all this “new-fangled” Geekism, too.
People find it easy to be honest with me, even if they think that what they need to say might hurt.
I can’t keep a secret.
I cook good soul food.
My taste in much music and many films is unashamedly cheesy.
I feel comfortable with children.
I love things that are bent, broken, mottled, freckled, speckled, spotted, strange – things that are often unloved by most everyone else. Even things that are often broken and completely unusable, but still beautiful, I turn into art.
I like to try new things.
My tattoos make me feel strong and happy.
I can often make the very best of very bad things.
I try to see the good in bad things, and often can.
As much as the past hurts me, I still love the person that I am, and admire my own strength.
I draw kindness from good people.
My bizarre and festive fashion “sense”.
The fact that my birthdays are month-long events, and that people look forward to being included in the fun.
My very deep and ingrained “Southerness” – I suppose it is the heart of what grace I have.
I am – despite popular opinion and even possible evidence – very logical and practical.
My love for all animals, but especially “weird” ones.
My passion for boys, Orc and otherwise.
My ability to love ‘the monsters’ (Frankenstein, Roy Batty, the Orcses, Tobie, etc.)
My odd face.
My hands. The way they look, their sensitivity, all that they can do.
My very strange and intermittently eerily accurate mnemonic ability (yes, sometimes I even remember things that haven’t happened yet)
Despite their origins, my hyperawareness and hypervigilance.
The intrinsic artistic nature of my entire being.
My ability to create so easily.
The fact that I recognize some good things about myself.
The fact that I recognize some bad things about myself.
My ability to empathize.
The fact that I really DO like long walks on the beach.
I can draw anything.
I enjoy honestly flattering people, even strangers.
The extra wonderful fact that cool, intelligent, strong, amazing women love me and are drawn to me.
When I go to “ethnic” restaurants, I do my best to speak/practice their language a little (which I actively attempt to learn bits of in my spare time).
I think bugs, even spiders, are really cool.
I like to organize things.
I can’t resist cute baby anythings.
I like boy clothes.
I am “cute”.
My scars (and the scars of others) are beautiful to me.
I am not shy about trying any new cuisine.
I am “old-fashioned” in a lot of ways.
I press dozens of flowers every year, and on every trip I take, then make them into bookmarks.
I think girls are wonderful, pretty, special, and as unique as flowers.
It makes me happy to make girls feel extra-special, extra-pretty, and stronger.
One day, I vow to live in a place and situation where I’ll never have to wear anything but pajamas and flip-flops if I don’t want to.
I don’t play video games.
I gave up TV eight years ago.
I quit smoking two years ago yesterday (04/15).
I sing pretty much constantly.
My sketchbooks and journals could fill a small storage space.
I think Bjork is the coolest human alive (that I know about).
I think most of my friends tie for second-coolest human alive (and that birds of a feather flock together).
I feed the rabbits in my yard, and leave nest-stuff for the birds every year.
I ‘art’ obsessively.
Storms make me veryvery happy.
I still miss my ex-husband. I especially wish I could discuss the latest movies with him.
I reallyreallyreally love hot tea.
I don’t actually think that people are generally so very different, and I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.
Sometimes I like the “bad” things about people so much that I’d rather them stay that way than change so that I could be around them more.
I miss my grandma.
I have a lot of heroes.
I make GREAT salsa.
I like to be sparkly, I like sparkly things.
I am both veryvery silly and veryvery serious, and I don’t think that’s bad.
I’m both a BIG girl and a SMALL person.
Rubbing my face on kitty bellies works better at relieving my stress than any drug.
I make insecure men mad.
I make secure men happy.
I challenge people to be more – whatever they are, whatever they want to be – directly and indirectly.
People say that I am the most capable person they know.
People say that I am the sanest person they know.
I’ve been through hell and I’m still a good person.
I trust people more than I should.
I make up words, and people “steal” them.
I’m good at lots of things.
I’m excited that there’s still so much for me to see and learn.
“Shy” is a word that is seldom used to describe me.
I’ve had to physically defend myself and others many times, and I have never hit a girl and I have never lost a fight.
I’m a good dancer.
I am known for speaking my mind.
I’ve faced a lot of my fears.
I inspire people.
Motherhood is not for me, I know exactly why, and that’s ok.
I am a great babysitter.
When a movie is based on something else (comic or book), I can avoid comparison, and enjoy the movie for what it is.
I am not a snob about books, movies, etc. – though if someone tries to get snarky on me, I can go there.
I am very (veryvery) sharp-witted. I never think “Oh! I wish I’d thought of that - (fill in snappy comeback)!” an hour later.
I am brave in many ways.
I am really into good hygiene.
My house is never too very messy and things are pretty well organized, despite the fact that I am a terrible pack-rat.
I am less of a pack-rat than I used to be.
Although I am sentimental, I can also let things go. I have learned to lose things and cope.
I exaggerate AND procrastinate.
I’m bad at paperwork and other red-tapey things.
I want to make/see the people around me happy.
I have survived horrible things and still am not bitter, cynical or jaded.
I can think of at least 100 things that I like about myself!!! :D
MAKE A LIST! Send it to me, if you want to!
Much love,
-s
*art = visual, photog, film, music, dance, etc. – all to me.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
I will NEVER stop trusting, NEVER stop skipping and singing wherever I go, NEVER stop enjoying the flowers, the sun the rain...
Find a better hobby, folks...
There are some cowardly, pathetic, embittered, spiteful, petty, insipid, hateful, two-faced busybodies in this world, and apparently, at least a few of them read this blog. Let me say right off the bat that this is not the kind of thing I would say in this very public forum about anyone I know (no, Andi, it’s not YOU! ;), so let me also add “anonymous”* to my list of hurt and angry adjectives. If I knew who they were, I’d more than likely not have anything to do with them, therefore saving them the trouble of having to be involved in my horrible, sordid, useless, annoying life, and save me the trouble of having to lower myself to their level to say how little I appreciate them using this sacred space that contains the outpourings of my heart and mind against me and other innocent people.
If, however, these were people I knew, and they were brave and self-aware enough to actually speak to me in person about the problems they have with me and any of the things I say here, then I would tell them what I thought about the methods to their madness**, and how unkind it is to use assumptions about what I write here to emotionally bludgeon me and others as well***. I wouldn’t waste my time posting blogs about it, I'd wait for the right time, and deal with it as directly and diplomatically as possible.
I can’t even begin to imagine why they would do this to someone they call a friend****, and I suppose that’s between them and the people who call them friend, but I have plenty of guesses why they might come here and read what I’m sure they think of, if they truly dislike me so much, as drivel, then turn around and try to use it as a weapon in multiple ways*****. I went to high school; I remember this methodology all too well. In order to be aware of this blog, they must also know me, and know that I trust them to some extent, and that’s terrible******. I admit it, I am way too trusting. But thank god SOMEbody is. I’m glad that these folks are too cowardly to show their true feelings to me, because then I would be angry and find it harder to treat them like I treat everyone that I don’t know for sure is an ignoranus*******. I may be self-centered (which is – or should be - a perfectly normal state for anyone who isn’t a parent), but I try to give people the benefit of the doubt and assume that everyone has good intentions, and that I am not wasting my time by trying to be nice to them. In fact, I try to find a soft spot in my heart for those who are hardened and hurt, because I know there’s usually a reason for that********, and I feel sympathy for them. If growing up in my family wasn’t able to kill my ability to trust, then this incident certainly won’t, and I really think, when it comes right down to it, that this attitude is a BIIIIG part of the problem. I think that some people are so unhappy in their own disappointing lives********* that they can’t bear to see anyone else making a better go of it than they do. They feel compelled to try to knock people down to what they think of as their level. I could be wrong. I could just be the terrible person they think I am, and deluded, but I trust my friends who I know are good people, and who tell me always how much they love, respect and admire me. I wish this anonymous, acrimonious lot had friends like mine – I think that’s a BIIIG part of the problem too. There’s also the fact that I trust my own judgment – at least regarding myself. If I thought I were the be-all/end-all proverbial donkey’s knob, then I can see how folks might want to knock me down a peg, make me less “popular”, or make potentially bad relationships even worse (that’s extra-shoddy, because that stands to hurt more than just me. UN-cool.) But I have plenty of flaws and problems. And I’m not shy about admitting them, or discussing them openly, as all my friends and readers – anonymous or otherwise – well know. I know that deep down, despite all my flaws (some of them quite huge and noticeable), I am a good person, with the best intentions, and that I have a lot of love for myself, my friends, and the world in general. Yes, one of my many imperfections is that, if I am hurt or angry, I want to talk about it, and share it with people who either care about me, or who might sympathize. But I try very hard to be as gentle and honest as possible when doing so, because I know that my perception, as well as the perceptions of others is limited, and that I might not have the whole story. I try very hard not to write anything here or say anything out loud that could make the situation worse. And attempting to lie here would be like standing in the middle of wherever you’re most unpopular wearing a sign that says “SHOOT ME”. People would definitely notice it, and definitely call me on it – at least I hope they would… the public forum helps to keep me honest and realistic.
Nobody has to like me. That’s perfectly all right. I work well as a Universe of one (well, one plus dog...) Everyone is welcome to his or her opinion, even if that opinion is that I am a worthless piece of drek. But if someone doesn’t like me, they need to either stay away from me and ignore me, or if for whatever reason they are forced to interact with me, then they can offer me the minimum of input, and I will treat them with as much respect and care as I would any stranger in need of my assistance. If they feel enough hatred for me to read my blog and try to use what I write to hurt me and other people, then they need to go ahead and tell me how they feel, get it out of their system, and move on to filling the hollow space in their life that disgusting, terrible ME is currently occupying, and do something to make themselves a better, happier person. If there is really a problem between myself and anyone else, then I sincerely hope that they and I are adult enough to deal with it in our own good time, and even if I did write something terrible about someone here, slanderous or otherwise, how could it ever hurt them if they didn’t know about it? (Are these people looking my mother up to tell her about all my complaints too? Those at least are true.) I would certainly question the motive of the person who brought me the news as much as I’d question the person who allegedly did me wrong. A real hero and a real friend would try to protect the victim from the attack, and confront the bad person (me, in this case) who had the audacity to do this to them. My motive – for saying something hurtful about someone in this public forum – would at least be obvious, and I am brave enough to be straightforward, NON-anonymous, and be available to explain myself to whomever I might have hurt.
Let me make it clear that I am writing this in full awareness of the non-anonymous, otherwise innocent people who might be reading my this page – I’m pretty sure you know who you are. I hope that you can understand why I felt the need to express this particular sentiment in this particular place, and I want you to know that I appreciate you being honest with me, your willingness to try to see my perspective, your understanding and your acceptance of my apology. I respect anyone brave enough to confront their dragons, even if their dragon is me. I am willing to accept any and all backlash from this, simply because it is my right to express myself here. I know you understand that because you told me so. Thank you.
Folks, question your own motives. Protect your friends. Confront your dragons. And instead of hating someone for loving life, learn to love your own. Here are some hopefully helpful antonyms for some of the harsh words I’ve used here tonight:
acrimonious: pleasant
cowardly: brave
pathetic: admirable, heartening, magnanimous
embittered: mellow, glad
spiteful: kind
petty: important, generous
insipid: exciting, full of life
hateful: lovable
busybody: someone who likes their own life enough to mind their own business.
If this isn’t YOU I’m talking to, you’ll KNOW it.
-s
*cow·ard·ly [ków?rdlee] adj
not brave: caused by a lack of courage, or lacking courage
cruel and spineless: showing meanness or cruelty to those who are weaker and fear of those who are equal or stronger
**pa·thet·ic [p? théttik] adj
pitiful: provoking or expressing feelings of pity
contemptibly inadequate: so inadequate as to be laughable or contemptible (informal)
***hate·ful [háytf?l]
spitefully malevolent: characterized by malevolence or spite
evoking feelings of hatred: eliciting feelings or reactions of hatred, detestation, or abhorrence
****bus·y·bod·y [bÃzzee bòddee]
n prying person: somebody who tends to meddle with other people’s business (informal)
[Late 16th century. Via French pathétique from, ultimately, Greek path?tikos “sensitive,” which was formed, ultimately, from pathos “feeling” (source of English pathos). The underlying sense is “moving, arousing emotion.”]
*****spite·ful [sp?tf’l] adj
vindictive in petty way: full of or showing petty maliciousness
******two-faced
adj 1: marked by deliberate deceptiveness especially by pretending one set of feelings and acting under the influence of another; "she was a deceitful scheming little thing"- Israel Zangwill; "a double-dealing double agent"; "a double-faced infernal traitor and schemer"- W.M.Thackeray
*******both stupid AND an a-hole.
********em·bit·ter·ed [em bÃtt?rd] adj
feeling bitter: having become bitter, for example, because of hardship, injustice, or neglect
********pet·ty [péttee]
adj
insignificant: of little importance
narrow-minded: narrow-minded in nature
mean: spiteful in character
of relatively little importance: subordinate in rank or importance
[14th century. From Old French peti , a variant of petit “small,” of unknown origin.]
*********in·sip·id [in sÃppid] adj
dull: dull because lacking in character and lively qualities “that insipid languor that results from the removal of all passions from the mind”David Hume
[Early 17th century. Directly or via French from late Latin insipidus “tasteless,” from sapidus “having a flavor.”] -in·si·pid·i·ty [ìnsi pÃdd?tee], n -in·sip·id·ly [in sÃppidlee], adv -in·sip·id·ness, n
Find a better hobby, folks...
There are some cowardly, pathetic, embittered, spiteful, petty, insipid, hateful, two-faced busybodies in this world, and apparently, at least a few of them read this blog. Let me say right off the bat that this is not the kind of thing I would say in this very public forum about anyone I know (no, Andi, it’s not YOU! ;), so let me also add “anonymous”* to my list of hurt and angry adjectives. If I knew who they were, I’d more than likely not have anything to do with them, therefore saving them the trouble of having to be involved in my horrible, sordid, useless, annoying life, and save me the trouble of having to lower myself to their level to say how little I appreciate them using this sacred space that contains the outpourings of my heart and mind against me and other innocent people.
If, however, these were people I knew, and they were brave and self-aware enough to actually speak to me in person about the problems they have with me and any of the things I say here, then I would tell them what I thought about the methods to their madness**, and how unkind it is to use assumptions about what I write here to emotionally bludgeon me and others as well***. I wouldn’t waste my time posting blogs about it, I'd wait for the right time, and deal with it as directly and diplomatically as possible.
I can’t even begin to imagine why they would do this to someone they call a friend****, and I suppose that’s between them and the people who call them friend, but I have plenty of guesses why they might come here and read what I’m sure they think of, if they truly dislike me so much, as drivel, then turn around and try to use it as a weapon in multiple ways*****. I went to high school; I remember this methodology all too well. In order to be aware of this blog, they must also know me, and know that I trust them to some extent, and that’s terrible******. I admit it, I am way too trusting. But thank god SOMEbody is. I’m glad that these folks are too cowardly to show their true feelings to me, because then I would be angry and find it harder to treat them like I treat everyone that I don’t know for sure is an ignoranus*******. I may be self-centered (which is – or should be - a perfectly normal state for anyone who isn’t a parent), but I try to give people the benefit of the doubt and assume that everyone has good intentions, and that I am not wasting my time by trying to be nice to them. In fact, I try to find a soft spot in my heart for those who are hardened and hurt, because I know there’s usually a reason for that********, and I feel sympathy for them. If growing up in my family wasn’t able to kill my ability to trust, then this incident certainly won’t, and I really think, when it comes right down to it, that this attitude is a BIIIIG part of the problem. I think that some people are so unhappy in their own disappointing lives********* that they can’t bear to see anyone else making a better go of it than they do. They feel compelled to try to knock people down to what they think of as their level. I could be wrong. I could just be the terrible person they think I am, and deluded, but I trust my friends who I know are good people, and who tell me always how much they love, respect and admire me. I wish this anonymous, acrimonious lot had friends like mine – I think that’s a BIIIG part of the problem too. There’s also the fact that I trust my own judgment – at least regarding myself. If I thought I were the be-all/end-all proverbial donkey’s knob, then I can see how folks might want to knock me down a peg, make me less “popular”, or make potentially bad relationships even worse (that’s extra-shoddy, because that stands to hurt more than just me. UN-cool.) But I have plenty of flaws and problems. And I’m not shy about admitting them, or discussing them openly, as all my friends and readers – anonymous or otherwise – well know. I know that deep down, despite all my flaws (some of them quite huge and noticeable), I am a good person, with the best intentions, and that I have a lot of love for myself, my friends, and the world in general. Yes, one of my many imperfections is that, if I am hurt or angry, I want to talk about it, and share it with people who either care about me, or who might sympathize. But I try very hard to be as gentle and honest as possible when doing so, because I know that my perception, as well as the perceptions of others is limited, and that I might not have the whole story. I try very hard not to write anything here or say anything out loud that could make the situation worse. And attempting to lie here would be like standing in the middle of wherever you’re most unpopular wearing a sign that says “SHOOT ME”. People would definitely notice it, and definitely call me on it – at least I hope they would… the public forum helps to keep me honest and realistic.
Nobody has to like me. That’s perfectly all right. I work well as a Universe of one (well, one plus dog...) Everyone is welcome to his or her opinion, even if that opinion is that I am a worthless piece of drek. But if someone doesn’t like me, they need to either stay away from me and ignore me, or if for whatever reason they are forced to interact with me, then they can offer me the minimum of input, and I will treat them with as much respect and care as I would any stranger in need of my assistance. If they feel enough hatred for me to read my blog and try to use what I write to hurt me and other people, then they need to go ahead and tell me how they feel, get it out of their system, and move on to filling the hollow space in their life that disgusting, terrible ME is currently occupying, and do something to make themselves a better, happier person. If there is really a problem between myself and anyone else, then I sincerely hope that they and I are adult enough to deal with it in our own good time, and even if I did write something terrible about someone here, slanderous or otherwise, how could it ever hurt them if they didn’t know about it? (Are these people looking my mother up to tell her about all my complaints too? Those at least are true.) I would certainly question the motive of the person who brought me the news as much as I’d question the person who allegedly did me wrong. A real hero and a real friend would try to protect the victim from the attack, and confront the bad person (me, in this case) who had the audacity to do this to them. My motive – for saying something hurtful about someone in this public forum – would at least be obvious, and I am brave enough to be straightforward, NON-anonymous, and be available to explain myself to whomever I might have hurt.
Let me make it clear that I am writing this in full awareness of the non-anonymous, otherwise innocent people who might be reading my this page – I’m pretty sure you know who you are. I hope that you can understand why I felt the need to express this particular sentiment in this particular place, and I want you to know that I appreciate you being honest with me, your willingness to try to see my perspective, your understanding and your acceptance of my apology. I respect anyone brave enough to confront their dragons, even if their dragon is me. I am willing to accept any and all backlash from this, simply because it is my right to express myself here. I know you understand that because you told me so. Thank you.
Folks, question your own motives. Protect your friends. Confront your dragons. And instead of hating someone for loving life, learn to love your own. Here are some hopefully helpful antonyms for some of the harsh words I’ve used here tonight:
acrimonious: pleasant
cowardly: brave
pathetic: admirable, heartening, magnanimous
embittered: mellow, glad
spiteful: kind
petty: important, generous
insipid: exciting, full of life
hateful: lovable
busybody: someone who likes their own life enough to mind their own business.
If this isn’t YOU I’m talking to, you’ll KNOW it.
-s
*cow·ard·ly [ków?rdlee] adj
not brave: caused by a lack of courage, or lacking courage
cruel and spineless: showing meanness or cruelty to those who are weaker and fear of those who are equal or stronger
**pa·thet·ic [p? théttik] adj
pitiful: provoking or expressing feelings of pity
contemptibly inadequate: so inadequate as to be laughable or contemptible (informal)
***hate·ful [háytf?l]
spitefully malevolent: characterized by malevolence or spite
evoking feelings of hatred: eliciting feelings or reactions of hatred, detestation, or abhorrence
****bus·y·bod·y [bÃzzee bòddee]
n prying person: somebody who tends to meddle with other people’s business (informal)
[Late 16th century. Via French pathétique from, ultimately, Greek path?tikos “sensitive,” which was formed, ultimately, from pathos “feeling” (source of English pathos). The underlying sense is “moving, arousing emotion.”]
*****spite·ful [sp?tf’l] adj
vindictive in petty way: full of or showing petty maliciousness
******two-faced
adj 1: marked by deliberate deceptiveness especially by pretending one set of feelings and acting under the influence of another; "she was a deceitful scheming little thing"- Israel Zangwill; "a double-dealing double agent"; "a double-faced infernal traitor and schemer"- W.M.Thackeray
*******both stupid AND an a-hole.
********em·bit·ter·ed [em bÃtt?rd] adj
feeling bitter: having become bitter, for example, because of hardship, injustice, or neglect
********pet·ty [péttee]
adj
insignificant: of little importance
narrow-minded: narrow-minded in nature
mean: spiteful in character
of relatively little importance: subordinate in rank or importance
[14th century. From Old French peti , a variant of petit “small,” of unknown origin.]
*********in·sip·id [in sÃppid] adj
dull: dull because lacking in character and lively qualities “that insipid languor that results from the removal of all passions from the mind”David Hume
[Early 17th century. Directly or via French from late Latin insipidus “tasteless,” from sapidus “having a flavor.”] -in·si·pid·i·ty [ìnsi pÃdd?tee], n -in·sip·id·ly [in sÃppidlee], adv -in·sip·id·ness, n
Friday, April 08, 2005
Some INCREDIBLY shocking* results from some online quizzes I took tonight:
yeah!
*They didn't have a "How Sarcastic Are You" quiz.
You scored as Punk/Rebel.
What's Your High School Stereotype? created with QuizFarm.com |
You scored as Peter Pan. Your alter ego is Peter Pan. You are a child at heart. Anything you believe is possible, and you never want to grow up.
Which Disney Character is your Alter Ego? created with QuizFarm.com |
| You scored as Existentialism. Your life is guided by the concept of Existentialism: You choose the meaning and purpose of your life. “Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.” “It is up to you to give [life] a meaning.” --Jean-Paul Sartre “It is man's natural sickness to believe that he possesses the Truth.” --Blaise Pascal More info at Arocoun's Wikipedia User Page...
What philosophy do you follow? (v1.03) created with QuizFarm.com |
You scored as Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Congratulations! You are obsessive-compulsive! You know nothing curbs images of mutilating your mother like a good counting/checking/washing ritual... wait, DID you forget to turn off the stove???
Which mental disorder do you have? created with QuizFarm.com |
yeah!
You scored as Charlies Angels. You are a kick ass girl! You and your friends are intimidating!
What Chick Flick is just like Your Life? created with QuizFarm.com |
You scored as Marijuana. The most beautiful, chill drug out there. You want something that's not too harsh on your body, and soothes the soul. It's also not addicting, so smoke it up, baby! And never have to go through withdrawls.
What's your ideal drug? created with QuizFarm.com |
You scored as Bjork. You are the strange and elusive Bjork. A recovering drug addict, sometimes your lyrics are quite insane. You really need to tour the US soon.
Which angry female artist are you? created with QuizFarm.com |
*They didn't have a "How Sarcastic Are You" quiz.
Friday, April 01, 2005
"One by one they fall, it always breaks me down...*"
Well, just when you think you might be starting to get a grip on things, it rains !#$% axle grease...
Wednesday night as Chris and I were driving back home from rehearsal something happened. Something broke, and I think it was me. I'm not sure exactly what triggered it. I was very tired, I'd had a couple of drinks, and the motion and sound of the car on the road, combined with the effect of the world spinning past my window has always inspired me or made me contemplative.
I started thinking about the rant I wanted to write the next day. I wanted to talk about how my childhood wasn't all bad, and so I started thinking back, trying to remember the good times. As I said yesterday, the problem with this new clarity is that it is that unusual "Sam-brand" clarity, that comes with smells, sounds, feelings - total recall, and the fact that the few good things that I could remember were surrounded by so much pain and misery that I was almost instantly crippled, first by recall, then by hysterical tears. I found that every good memory I could muster was either preceded or followed by (or entirely intertwined with) some bad connection - for example, the memory of my almost surreally wonderful fifth birthday was followed by the thought of every other thing that happened that year - and it was a very bad year, and yet still nothing compared to the horrors of my sixth year (there are a few funny stories from that year, but looking at them realistically, they were all centered around shocking cases of neglect, which I suppose in comparison to brutal mental and emotional abuse DOES seem pretty funny. Jesus Christ.) - and so it goes. Once I'd started down this grim memory lane, I couldn't stop. My mind dragged me through one horror after another, and instead of it being just a story memory, I found myself THERE again, remembering every sensation, smell, sound, and emotion. I tried to tell Chris how it felt to have this knowledge, this inescapable experience as an entire childhood (not just one or two or even ten - or even one hundred isolated events). And worse, how it feels to have seen your siblings, almost all younger than you, go through the same things.
I found that once I'd run out of tears and started dry-heaving, I first resorted to a sort of catatonic stupor, and then when my brain began to wake up, it immediately turned to its' oldest comfort - business. I began to think of a million things at once (fortunately - or un- my standard mode), a sketch I wanted to write, another I wanted to re-write, jewelry commissions I needed to do, etc. Of course one track of my million-track mind was also watching me do this, completely aware of my distraction technique, as well as all the other tracks - including the things I was trying so hard not to think about. Yes, I did think "Wow. I've got a pretty amazing brain..." but I also thought "Wow. This is scary..." And then I just went on to cope until I fell asleep. Things have been different since then. I feel like a human soap bubble. I feel like memory-wolves are stalking me. I feel totally lost and as if I am made up of nothing but pain. I can't sleep normally - I have to be in strange places, like the foot of the bed, the floor, or the couch, and I can't be under the covers. This is definitely an "easy flight" reaction - looking for someplace where I can feel safe, or escape easily. I feel tender all over, and I DEFINITELY don't want to be touched. Poor Chris.
And that's where it stands. I was finally able to talk about it in the light of day when I opened up in an e-mail to a close girlfriend (which, ironically enough, she never recieved) but I saved one draft of it, and she said it was ok to re-post some of it here.
None of you may care - and that's ok. I really can't blame you. But it helps me if I can spell/think it out. Something about the 'in-black-and-white' factor and the 'saying it out loud' factor makes it more real.
Here is the pertinent excerpt from my e to Andi.
"I've started to have total recall of my past, and it is kicking my ass. As much as I've always known what happened, I still didn't really remember it... Or I should say, I remembered it like a story that happened to someone else. All those years are finally starting to hit me like: "Shit. This all happened to ME." And it's !#$%ing me up very badly. I've realized a lot of pretty brutal things lately, past, present and future, and I'm truly stunned at how badly prepared I am to deal with all of it. I really get the feeling that I shouldn't be talking about it, if only because that makes me think about it even more, and I've also realized that it's something that can never be repaired. The part that can be repaired (hopefully) however, I think requires my talking about it, so I hope you will all bear with me. It's not the past that I need to talk about, but the overall fact that the only good memories I have for the first, say, 15-17 years of my life or so are (mostly) of hiding successfully, or of the few rare moments of charitable reprieve from the horrors. The times I've always thought of as the 'ok' times, are really just bridges where my memory was blank. I told Chris in the midst of a really bad breakdown last night that every moment of my childhood that I looked back on was like a flash from a bad horror movie. Even the "good" ones turned out, in the light of my adult, aware perspective on the bigger picture, to be sadder than any sane person could bear. Good thing I'm not sane, huh? *ha ha* :[
that's the problem, ultimately. I've realized that no sane person could take even SOME of the things I've experienced and live decently, much less ALL of it, and that the only reason I have is because I am just so !#$%ing strong. The problem is, I'm running out of strength. I've been sapped and sapped and sapped, and now I am finding that nothing can renew my strength fast enough. What's kept me from being another raving baglady or serious junkie has been my sheer force of will, and it's fading. I can feel it and see it everyday. I want to say that my love for my friends and their love for me is enough, but it isn't. Please don't take that the wrong way Andi, but I think if you really think about it, you can understand what I'm saying. Maybe if there were more connection, more time, more sharing, it would make a difference, but maybe it wouldn't. I don't know - and I certainly don't blame anyone but myself for any of that. I am responsible for the renewal of my spirit, and for how much love and goodness I soak up. I just didn't realize until very recently that I was running on patch-jobs and temporary charges. I think it's just that the horrible, terrible weight of the past has finally caught up with me.
The catch 22 situation with my health and my job is a huge factor too. I think my deep injuries have contributed seriously to my physical health problems, and that my health problems have contributed seriously to my inability to re-charge. Same goes with my job. Now I'm stressing over the fact that if I stay, I'll be sick and caged and miserable, and if I leave, I'll be broke and a burden and miserable.
There are no short, easy answers. I've had the best therapy; no one that I have ever known has worked harder and longer to defeat this kind of thing than I have. I've tried all the things that Buffy* (for example) might suggest, and the pure, simple fact of the matter is that there is more there than anyone, even my badass self, can handle.
I do know now that the reason I stay so busy, I work so hard, I create so prolifically, I burn midnight oil and two-ended candles like nobody's business (not to mention drink, smoke, flirt, etc.) is because it is all a distraction from this simple, brutal - and inescapable truth. The hard thing there is that my ability to distract myself from it (and indeed, my desire to do so, just because of the whole addiction/denial/putting-off-the-inevitable factor) is fading fast. I just don't know what I'm going to do Andi."
I'm really sorry that I can't be more hopeful right now, y'all. Believe me, I want to. And obviously, I haven't given up yet. I promise, you'll know beyond a shadow of a doubt when I have. I think my job right now is to just keep from exploding or breaking down, and try to figure out how I can re-charge my batteries. I know I can handle this, I have for 37 years already. But if I'm going to make it for another 37, I have to figure out how to renew my strength. If I can't, and soon, then it'll be all over but the crying - and anyone who might have the gall for saying I'm selfish to even say such a thing, needs to take a short stroll through my memories and then, before they apologize, they need to commend me on how I've even made it this long. 'Fact of the matter is, I've actually gotten to a place that I've never been to before, and that's a place where I just don't care. Nothing seems to be enough to give me hope right now, nothing seems to be able to shore up my will - not even the desire to keep those hateful, irresponsible, insane, selfish bastards who did this to me - to us - in the first place from WINNING. That's a very new place for me.
I've asked you all not to give up on me before, but now I have to say that if you do, I can't blame you. If you don't, I will be grateful, because I've discovered that I need more love than I ever thought I did; but ultimately, it may not make any difference, and I am more sorry about that than anyone.
MUCH everything,
-s
*from my favorite song by The Screaming Trees
**my very wise, level-headed sister-friend who is also a counselor.
Well, just when you think you might be starting to get a grip on things, it rains !#$% axle grease...
Wednesday night as Chris and I were driving back home from rehearsal something happened. Something broke, and I think it was me. I'm not sure exactly what triggered it. I was very tired, I'd had a couple of drinks, and the motion and sound of the car on the road, combined with the effect of the world spinning past my window has always inspired me or made me contemplative.
I started thinking about the rant I wanted to write the next day. I wanted to talk about how my childhood wasn't all bad, and so I started thinking back, trying to remember the good times. As I said yesterday, the problem with this new clarity is that it is that unusual "Sam-brand" clarity, that comes with smells, sounds, feelings - total recall, and the fact that the few good things that I could remember were surrounded by so much pain and misery that I was almost instantly crippled, first by recall, then by hysterical tears. I found that every good memory I could muster was either preceded or followed by (or entirely intertwined with) some bad connection - for example, the memory of my almost surreally wonderful fifth birthday was followed by the thought of every other thing that happened that year - and it was a very bad year, and yet still nothing compared to the horrors of my sixth year (there are a few funny stories from that year, but looking at them realistically, they were all centered around shocking cases of neglect, which I suppose in comparison to brutal mental and emotional abuse DOES seem pretty funny. Jesus Christ.) - and so it goes. Once I'd started down this grim memory lane, I couldn't stop. My mind dragged me through one horror after another, and instead of it being just a story memory, I found myself THERE again, remembering every sensation, smell, sound, and emotion. I tried to tell Chris how it felt to have this knowledge, this inescapable experience as an entire childhood (not just one or two or even ten - or even one hundred isolated events). And worse, how it feels to have seen your siblings, almost all younger than you, go through the same things.
I found that once I'd run out of tears and started dry-heaving, I first resorted to a sort of catatonic stupor, and then when my brain began to wake up, it immediately turned to its' oldest comfort - business. I began to think of a million things at once (fortunately - or un- my standard mode), a sketch I wanted to write, another I wanted to re-write, jewelry commissions I needed to do, etc. Of course one track of my million-track mind was also watching me do this, completely aware of my distraction technique, as well as all the other tracks - including the things I was trying so hard not to think about. Yes, I did think "Wow. I've got a pretty amazing brain..." but I also thought "Wow. This is scary..." And then I just went on to cope until I fell asleep. Things have been different since then. I feel like a human soap bubble. I feel like memory-wolves are stalking me. I feel totally lost and as if I am made up of nothing but pain. I can't sleep normally - I have to be in strange places, like the foot of the bed, the floor, or the couch, and I can't be under the covers. This is definitely an "easy flight" reaction - looking for someplace where I can feel safe, or escape easily. I feel tender all over, and I DEFINITELY don't want to be touched. Poor Chris.
And that's where it stands. I was finally able to talk about it in the light of day when I opened up in an e-mail to a close girlfriend (which, ironically enough, she never recieved) but I saved one draft of it, and she said it was ok to re-post some of it here.
None of you may care - and that's ok. I really can't blame you. But it helps me if I can spell/think it out. Something about the 'in-black-and-white' factor and the 'saying it out loud' factor makes it more real.
Here is the pertinent excerpt from my e to Andi.
"I've started to have total recall of my past, and it is kicking my ass. As much as I've always known what happened, I still didn't really remember it... Or I should say, I remembered it like a story that happened to someone else. All those years are finally starting to hit me like: "Shit. This all happened to ME." And it's !#$%ing me up very badly. I've realized a lot of pretty brutal things lately, past, present and future, and I'm truly stunned at how badly prepared I am to deal with all of it. I really get the feeling that I shouldn't be talking about it, if only because that makes me think about it even more, and I've also realized that it's something that can never be repaired. The part that can be repaired (hopefully) however, I think requires my talking about it, so I hope you will all bear with me. It's not the past that I need to talk about, but the overall fact that the only good memories I have for the first, say, 15-17 years of my life or so are (mostly) of hiding successfully, or of the few rare moments of charitable reprieve from the horrors. The times I've always thought of as the 'ok' times, are really just bridges where my memory was blank. I told Chris in the midst of a really bad breakdown last night that every moment of my childhood that I looked back on was like a flash from a bad horror movie. Even the "good" ones turned out, in the light of my adult, aware perspective on the bigger picture, to be sadder than any sane person could bear. Good thing I'm not sane, huh? *ha ha* :[
that's the problem, ultimately. I've realized that no sane person could take even SOME of the things I've experienced and live decently, much less ALL of it, and that the only reason I have is because I am just so !#$%ing strong. The problem is, I'm running out of strength. I've been sapped and sapped and sapped, and now I am finding that nothing can renew my strength fast enough. What's kept me from being another raving baglady or serious junkie has been my sheer force of will, and it's fading. I can feel it and see it everyday. I want to say that my love for my friends and their love for me is enough, but it isn't. Please don't take that the wrong way Andi, but I think if you really think about it, you can understand what I'm saying. Maybe if there were more connection, more time, more sharing, it would make a difference, but maybe it wouldn't. I don't know - and I certainly don't blame anyone but myself for any of that. I am responsible for the renewal of my spirit, and for how much love and goodness I soak up. I just didn't realize until very recently that I was running on patch-jobs and temporary charges. I think it's just that the horrible, terrible weight of the past has finally caught up with me.
The catch 22 situation with my health and my job is a huge factor too. I think my deep injuries have contributed seriously to my physical health problems, and that my health problems have contributed seriously to my inability to re-charge. Same goes with my job. Now I'm stressing over the fact that if I stay, I'll be sick and caged and miserable, and if I leave, I'll be broke and a burden and miserable.
There are no short, easy answers. I've had the best therapy; no one that I have ever known has worked harder and longer to defeat this kind of thing than I have. I've tried all the things that Buffy* (for example) might suggest, and the pure, simple fact of the matter is that there is more there than anyone, even my badass self, can handle.
I do know now that the reason I stay so busy, I work so hard, I create so prolifically, I burn midnight oil and two-ended candles like nobody's business (not to mention drink, smoke, flirt, etc.) is because it is all a distraction from this simple, brutal - and inescapable truth. The hard thing there is that my ability to distract myself from it (and indeed, my desire to do so, just because of the whole addiction/denial/putting-off-the-inevitable factor) is fading fast. I just don't know what I'm going to do Andi."
I'm really sorry that I can't be more hopeful right now, y'all. Believe me, I want to. And obviously, I haven't given up yet. I promise, you'll know beyond a shadow of a doubt when I have. I think my job right now is to just keep from exploding or breaking down, and try to figure out how I can re-charge my batteries. I know I can handle this, I have for 37 years already. But if I'm going to make it for another 37, I have to figure out how to renew my strength. If I can't, and soon, then it'll be all over but the crying - and anyone who might have the gall for saying I'm selfish to even say such a thing, needs to take a short stroll through my memories and then, before they apologize, they need to commend me on how I've even made it this long. 'Fact of the matter is, I've actually gotten to a place that I've never been to before, and that's a place where I just don't care. Nothing seems to be enough to give me hope right now, nothing seems to be able to shore up my will - not even the desire to keep those hateful, irresponsible, insane, selfish bastards who did this to me - to us - in the first place from WINNING. That's a very new place for me.
I've asked you all not to give up on me before, but now I have to say that if you do, I can't blame you. If you don't, I will be grateful, because I've discovered that I need more love than I ever thought I did; but ultimately, it may not make any difference, and I am more sorry about that than anyone.
MUCH everything,
-s
*from my favorite song by The Screaming Trees
**my very wise, level-headed sister-friend who is also a counselor.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
-kinda' continued from yesterday's "Grey"...
Sometimes I fear that I’m just running around in circles. I know a lot of people in my family, and maybe even some of my friends think or wish that I would/could just let it all go, just forget the past and all the hurt and be happy. I know when I was about to go into therapy my mom said “Y’know, there’s this new kind of therapy where you just start from today and go forward, you just forget the past!” Then, when I’d been diagnosed and was about to enter River Oaks for treatment (following a breakdown I had on the trip home from my last visit to her house, “strangely” enough), she said, “It’s just a vitamin deficiency!” God, save me from that kind of guilt and desperation. If only our (humans’) faith and will was as strong as our denial sometimes…
Another family member told me fairly recently (last fall, I think) that my mom has “erased” me; that she says I don’t exist anymore. I know that the experiences that caused me so much pain and left permanent scars on my psyche, my body and my life don’t exist to her. She insists that those things never happened, that my memory is faulty, or that I am just lying to hurt her, and she is able to maintain that “truth” no matter what. In a way, I envy her the ability to make the things that hurt her and me just go away – including myself. I just have a hard time believing that it’s really possible. These things are such an intrinsic part of our lives. Whether we like it or not, they are a big part of what makes us who we are. I don’t know. Maybe she’s just stronger than me. Somehow though, that doesn’t ring true either. It may just be my perception – though I know that my friends, some of my family, the volunteers I lecture to at Steps to Hope, and the mental health professionals I’ve dealt with over the years say that I am the strong one, because I am brave enough to face the pain, the past and the truth. I think that when you don’t deal with the past, new pain comes from those old, untreated wounds. As much as the memories of the past hurt, none of that hurts as much as being a motherless child, or knowing that your mother says you don’t exist. That’s an injury that is new every day. Seeing my siblings struggling for sanity and healing in their own ways, knowing that they’ll be having their own struggles for the rest of their lives, and knowing that the damage our families did to us will always be an obstacle to our being a real family in our own rights. I struggle to be peaceful, and to try to wish people – even the people who hurt me – nothing but good, but I am who I am, and I think there will always be a part of me who wishes that I could just have one good go at beating my mother’s ass until I’m too tired to go on, and then when I’ve rested, resurrecting dad, grandpa and grandma and having a go at each of them until I feel better too. Yes, I know that it’s some pretty bad anger when you want to bring your loved ones back from the dead just to beat their asses, but hey, I’ve thought worse.
I can’t help but wonder what mom thinks about all of this. Can she really have forgotten everything that happened? Does she ever have dreams about it? Do everyday things ever trigger her memories of those times? Does she have panic attacks for “no reason”? Does she need “drugs” (prescribed or otherwise – the internet, reading, etc) to give her a cushion from the past? And I wonder about dad too. Did he feel guilt over the terrible things he did? He never hurt us, but he left us with people who did. He neglected us, let us slip through the cracks. For years, my feelings toward dad were untouchable. He was the good one, and that was that. But time and truth – and talking to my siblings about their feelings – told the real story. He could have done so much more for us. He could have taken us out of the hell that was our life with mother, and he could have taken better care of us when he had us. Sometimes I think that he chose death as just one more easy way out of his responsibility to us and to his mistakes in the past. One significant difference between him and mom is that I believe that dad loved us all. I think mom only ever cared for my oldest brother. In a way though, that almost hurts worse, because it’s easier to understand how someone who never loved you could hurt you. I’m sure mom believes that I think she’s the only villain in this sordid tale, but nothing could be further from the truth. As much as it hurts, I’m glad that I have a more realistic view of my other family members than I did when I was younger. I’d rather have pain and the truth than a false sense of happiness based on lies – and other people’s pain – any day (who’s the stronger one?). And it probably seems odd, but I can identify with mom’s perspective more than I can with any other adult (not siblings and cousins, I mean) in the family. I am more like her than I am any of the others, and I have spent more time thinking about the “why’s” and “how’s” of my relationship with her than any of the others. In a strange way, I feel more sympathy for her than for any of our other “grown-ups”. It’s sad and sickeningly ironic that none of this will ever matter.
One of the hardest things that I am going to have to learn to accept is that, ultimately, none of this will ever matter. With dad dead, and myself dead to mom, I have no choice but to try to stop wondering about their thoughts, feelings, reasons and deeds, and just accept that they were – and are – only able to love themselves and us so much. The end. As selfish as it may seem, I have no choice but to focus on my own raisons d’etre and try to heal without their help. That’s definitely nothing new, but that doesn’t change the fact that I will always miss them, or at least the dream of them. It would be so much easier if we could help each other, those of us who are left, but I know that’s no more than a dream either. It’s time to face up to the fact that I have been alone in this since I was born, and though my siblings suffered too, they were alone in their own way as well, and that, to some extent, we always will be. Chris loves me, his family loves me, and I love them, but there will always be a kind of wall. I won’t walk away from new friends and “family” because of this – that would be stupid, and that’s one thing I’m not – but I have to learn to love myself enough to fill in the empty spaces, because the fact of the matter is that no one else will ever be able to.
So many things are affected by the shadows of my past. The way I watch movies and listen to music; the reason I love the clothes and art and landscapes that I do; my dreams, my beliefs, and the way I judge people. I have noticed that I am harder on any of my friends who are parents than anyone in our circle. I am very quick to anger when I feel that a friend is being a neglectful parent, even if only in thought if not deed. I know that I have huge obstacles to overcome if I am ever going to be the person I want to be, and that makes me angry too. These days, it seems that it all comes down to a whole lot of anger. That sucks – but it still beats hopelessness. I just wish that I could make people see these things about me, so that they can understand my judgmental nature*, my temper, my “moodiness” and obsession with the past, and be patient with me while I am trying to grow and change.
God, I feel like THE eternal teenager. Ugh. :)
At the very least, I can lay my head down each night, knowing that I am not hiding from the pain and the truth (which, unfortunately, are the same thing sometimes), that I am trying to become a better person and hopefully make the world a better place in the meanwhile, and that I am not passing this madness on to another generation. I may be sad, I may be impossible to live with sometimes, impossible to love at others – and to quote Miss Celie: “I’m pore, I’m black, I may be ugly and can’t cook… But I’m here." – I’m here. And to quote the author, Ms. Walker: “Don't wait around for other people to be happy for you. Any happiness you get you've got to make yourself.” Amen!
I’ll leave you all with some more incredibly relevant quotes from this favorite author of mine, and a promise of more ponderings when I can handle it.
“Being happy is not the only happiness.”
“And so our mothers and grandmothers have, more often than not anonymously, handed on the creative spark, the seed of the flower they themselves never hoped to see -- or like a sealed letter they could not plainly read.”
“How simple a thing it seems to me that to know ourselves as we are, we must know our mothers names.”
“No person is your friend (or kin) who demands your silence, or denies your right to grow and be perceived as fully blossomed as you were intended.”
“I think we have to own the fears that we have of each other, and then, in some practical way, some daily way, figure out how to see people differently than the way we were brought up to.”
“The most important question in the world is, ‘Why is the child crying?’”
“For in the end, freedom is a personal and lonely battle; and one faces down fears of today so that those of tomorrow might be engaged.”
“The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any.”
“What the mind doesn't understand, it worships or fears.”
“Nobody is as powerful as we make them out to be.”
“Writing saved me from the sin and inconvenience of violence.”
“Life is better than death, I believe, if only because it is less boring, and because it has fresh peaches in it.” :) [Amen, sistah!]
“I try to teach my heart not to want things it can't have.”
“Expect nothing. Live frugally on surprise.”
Much love – and some peaches,
-s
*the tarot card for my birthday is in fact Judgement. Its’ meaning is:
“It is time for the seeker to look back and evaluate his or her life or a phase in life. [weee-eee-ee-ooooo!] This card represents closure and a sense of summing up what he or she has achieved during the phase that is ending. It is a card of powerful transformative energy [huzzah!]. It also signifies a time of rebirth, a cleansing of burdens and past mistakes, before moving on [!!!]. This is also the card of Karma – of reaping what we sow. One should be aware of how their actions effect others. To a great extent, it can represent awakening to the call of your destiny or an effort to understand your higher purpose. [whoah!] It also represents a judgment in a legal matter.
Reverse - Phobias, obsessions. Denying the truth of the matter. Procrastination. Using obstacles as an excuse for not changing. Stagnation. Divorce. Vain attempts to recapture youth or the past. Letting life pass you by. Failure to face facts. (freaky, eh?)
Sometimes I fear that I’m just running around in circles. I know a lot of people in my family, and maybe even some of my friends think or wish that I would/could just let it all go, just forget the past and all the hurt and be happy. I know when I was about to go into therapy my mom said “Y’know, there’s this new kind of therapy where you just start from today and go forward, you just forget the past!” Then, when I’d been diagnosed and was about to enter River Oaks for treatment (following a breakdown I had on the trip home from my last visit to her house, “strangely” enough), she said, “It’s just a vitamin deficiency!” God, save me from that kind of guilt and desperation. If only our (humans’) faith and will was as strong as our denial sometimes…
Another family member told me fairly recently (last fall, I think) that my mom has “erased” me; that she says I don’t exist anymore. I know that the experiences that caused me so much pain and left permanent scars on my psyche, my body and my life don’t exist to her. She insists that those things never happened, that my memory is faulty, or that I am just lying to hurt her, and she is able to maintain that “truth” no matter what. In a way, I envy her the ability to make the things that hurt her and me just go away – including myself. I just have a hard time believing that it’s really possible. These things are such an intrinsic part of our lives. Whether we like it or not, they are a big part of what makes us who we are. I don’t know. Maybe she’s just stronger than me. Somehow though, that doesn’t ring true either. It may just be my perception – though I know that my friends, some of my family, the volunteers I lecture to at Steps to Hope, and the mental health professionals I’ve dealt with over the years say that I am the strong one, because I am brave enough to face the pain, the past and the truth. I think that when you don’t deal with the past, new pain comes from those old, untreated wounds. As much as the memories of the past hurt, none of that hurts as much as being a motherless child, or knowing that your mother says you don’t exist. That’s an injury that is new every day. Seeing my siblings struggling for sanity and healing in their own ways, knowing that they’ll be having their own struggles for the rest of their lives, and knowing that the damage our families did to us will always be an obstacle to our being a real family in our own rights. I struggle to be peaceful, and to try to wish people – even the people who hurt me – nothing but good, but I am who I am, and I think there will always be a part of me who wishes that I could just have one good go at beating my mother’s ass until I’m too tired to go on, and then when I’ve rested, resurrecting dad, grandpa and grandma and having a go at each of them until I feel better too. Yes, I know that it’s some pretty bad anger when you want to bring your loved ones back from the dead just to beat their asses, but hey, I’ve thought worse.
I can’t help but wonder what mom thinks about all of this. Can she really have forgotten everything that happened? Does she ever have dreams about it? Do everyday things ever trigger her memories of those times? Does she have panic attacks for “no reason”? Does she need “drugs” (prescribed or otherwise – the internet, reading, etc) to give her a cushion from the past? And I wonder about dad too. Did he feel guilt over the terrible things he did? He never hurt us, but he left us with people who did. He neglected us, let us slip through the cracks. For years, my feelings toward dad were untouchable. He was the good one, and that was that. But time and truth – and talking to my siblings about their feelings – told the real story. He could have done so much more for us. He could have taken us out of the hell that was our life with mother, and he could have taken better care of us when he had us. Sometimes I think that he chose death as just one more easy way out of his responsibility to us and to his mistakes in the past. One significant difference between him and mom is that I believe that dad loved us all. I think mom only ever cared for my oldest brother. In a way though, that almost hurts worse, because it’s easier to understand how someone who never loved you could hurt you. I’m sure mom believes that I think she’s the only villain in this sordid tale, but nothing could be further from the truth. As much as it hurts, I’m glad that I have a more realistic view of my other family members than I did when I was younger. I’d rather have pain and the truth than a false sense of happiness based on lies – and other people’s pain – any day (who’s the stronger one?). And it probably seems odd, but I can identify with mom’s perspective more than I can with any other adult (not siblings and cousins, I mean) in the family. I am more like her than I am any of the others, and I have spent more time thinking about the “why’s” and “how’s” of my relationship with her than any of the others. In a strange way, I feel more sympathy for her than for any of our other “grown-ups”. It’s sad and sickeningly ironic that none of this will ever matter.
One of the hardest things that I am going to have to learn to accept is that, ultimately, none of this will ever matter. With dad dead, and myself dead to mom, I have no choice but to try to stop wondering about their thoughts, feelings, reasons and deeds, and just accept that they were – and are – only able to love themselves and us so much. The end. As selfish as it may seem, I have no choice but to focus on my own raisons d’etre and try to heal without their help. That’s definitely nothing new, but that doesn’t change the fact that I will always miss them, or at least the dream of them. It would be so much easier if we could help each other, those of us who are left, but I know that’s no more than a dream either. It’s time to face up to the fact that I have been alone in this since I was born, and though my siblings suffered too, they were alone in their own way as well, and that, to some extent, we always will be. Chris loves me, his family loves me, and I love them, but there will always be a kind of wall. I won’t walk away from new friends and “family” because of this – that would be stupid, and that’s one thing I’m not – but I have to learn to love myself enough to fill in the empty spaces, because the fact of the matter is that no one else will ever be able to.
So many things are affected by the shadows of my past. The way I watch movies and listen to music; the reason I love the clothes and art and landscapes that I do; my dreams, my beliefs, and the way I judge people. I have noticed that I am harder on any of my friends who are parents than anyone in our circle. I am very quick to anger when I feel that a friend is being a neglectful parent, even if only in thought if not deed. I know that I have huge obstacles to overcome if I am ever going to be the person I want to be, and that makes me angry too. These days, it seems that it all comes down to a whole lot of anger. That sucks – but it still beats hopelessness. I just wish that I could make people see these things about me, so that they can understand my judgmental nature*, my temper, my “moodiness” and obsession with the past, and be patient with me while I am trying to grow and change.
God, I feel like THE eternal teenager. Ugh. :)
At the very least, I can lay my head down each night, knowing that I am not hiding from the pain and the truth (which, unfortunately, are the same thing sometimes), that I am trying to become a better person and hopefully make the world a better place in the meanwhile, and that I am not passing this madness on to another generation. I may be sad, I may be impossible to live with sometimes, impossible to love at others – and to quote Miss Celie: “I’m pore, I’m black, I may be ugly and can’t cook… But I’m here." – I’m here. And to quote the author, Ms. Walker: “Don't wait around for other people to be happy for you. Any happiness you get you've got to make yourself.” Amen!
I’ll leave you all with some more incredibly relevant quotes from this favorite author of mine, and a promise of more ponderings when I can handle it.
“Being happy is not the only happiness.”
“And so our mothers and grandmothers have, more often than not anonymously, handed on the creative spark, the seed of the flower they themselves never hoped to see -- or like a sealed letter they could not plainly read.”
“How simple a thing it seems to me that to know ourselves as we are, we must know our mothers names.”
“No person is your friend (or kin) who demands your silence, or denies your right to grow and be perceived as fully blossomed as you were intended.”
“I think we have to own the fears that we have of each other, and then, in some practical way, some daily way, figure out how to see people differently than the way we were brought up to.”
“The most important question in the world is, ‘Why is the child crying?’”
“For in the end, freedom is a personal and lonely battle; and one faces down fears of today so that those of tomorrow might be engaged.”
“The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any.”
“What the mind doesn't understand, it worships or fears.”
“Nobody is as powerful as we make them out to be.”
“Writing saved me from the sin and inconvenience of violence.”
“Life is better than death, I believe, if only because it is less boring, and because it has fresh peaches in it.” :) [Amen, sistah!]
“I try to teach my heart not to want things it can't have.”
“Expect nothing. Live frugally on surprise.”
Much love – and some peaches,
-s
*the tarot card for my birthday is in fact Judgement. Its’ meaning is:
“It is time for the seeker to look back and evaluate his or her life or a phase in life. [weee-eee-ee-ooooo!] This card represents closure and a sense of summing up what he or she has achieved during the phase that is ending. It is a card of powerful transformative energy [huzzah!]. It also signifies a time of rebirth, a cleansing of burdens and past mistakes, before moving on [!!!]. This is also the card of Karma – of reaping what we sow. One should be aware of how their actions effect others. To a great extent, it can represent awakening to the call of your destiny or an effort to understand your higher purpose. [whoah!] It also represents a judgment in a legal matter.
Reverse - Phobias, obsessions. Denying the truth of the matter. Procrastination. Using obstacles as an excuse for not changing. Stagnation. Divorce. Vain attempts to recapture youth or the past. Letting life pass you by. Failure to face facts. (freaky, eh?)
