And this time make sure you break it good..... break it hard.......
Into a million little pieces, so be it.
So I remember.... so I will let this go.... so I will move on.
Go ahead, break my heart..... please.....
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
The Measure of a Man
The X has a very "special" relationship with his mother. It is an on going joke that she is his Wother (Wife/Mother). She cooks for him, cleans his house, does his laundry. Recently while we were chatting about his recent relationship ending, we talked about the "wother" effect. I told him, "It was very hard while we were married to compete with your relationship with your Mother. No one could ever take care of you as good as she could." It was frustrating, to say the least, that she felt this was a women role. And when I didn't do this good enough, she stepped in.
I know that many men are "mamma's boys" and having a son of my own I hope I have a good bond with my son. But I DON'T want to "take care" of him for the rest of his life. I want him to be a good husband and father someday. I hope to teach him to take care of himself and one step further, to "man up" and take care of the women in his life. Somehow as women we get something from taking care of people, after all it is our role as Mothers to take care of our children. But the problem is we sometime forget that our job is to also teach our children to take care of themselves. Even though we CAN do it for them, it is best to stand back and let them do it for themselves. Now, don't get me wrong, the X can certainly take care of himself. He does well for himself professionally, he can cook, do laundry, take care of his house and kids. The problem is he LETS his mother do these things because, well, she will. And for me, standing back and looking at this dynamic all of these years later, I know that I didn't want a man that needed to be taken care of. I wanted a partner. Women were not put on this earth to take care of you. It was my hope that WE would take care of each other. Hence, why he is the X.
In my opinion (and of course just like assholes everyone has one) the measure of a man is getting to the place where you don't LET people take care of you when you don't need it, just because they will. It feels incredibly lazy and selfish.
The true measure of a man is a son who says "Mom, I can do this. You sit down. After all, all the years you spent taking care of me, let me take care of you." And if this were me, I would know I taught my son well.
Because as Mother's, Wives, Caretakers it is nice to be taken care of sometimes too.
I know that many men are "mamma's boys" and having a son of my own I hope I have a good bond with my son. But I DON'T want to "take care" of him for the rest of his life. I want him to be a good husband and father someday. I hope to teach him to take care of himself and one step further, to "man up" and take care of the women in his life. Somehow as women we get something from taking care of people, after all it is our role as Mothers to take care of our children. But the problem is we sometime forget that our job is to also teach our children to take care of themselves. Even though we CAN do it for them, it is best to stand back and let them do it for themselves. Now, don't get me wrong, the X can certainly take care of himself. He does well for himself professionally, he can cook, do laundry, take care of his house and kids. The problem is he LETS his mother do these things because, well, she will. And for me, standing back and looking at this dynamic all of these years later, I know that I didn't want a man that needed to be taken care of. I wanted a partner. Women were not put on this earth to take care of you. It was my hope that WE would take care of each other. Hence, why he is the X.
In my opinion (and of course just like assholes everyone has one) the measure of a man is getting to the place where you don't LET people take care of you when you don't need it, just because they will. It feels incredibly lazy and selfish.
The true measure of a man is a son who says "Mom, I can do this. You sit down. After all, all the years you spent taking care of me, let me take care of you." And if this were me, I would know I taught my son well.
Because as Mother's, Wives, Caretakers it is nice to be taken care of sometimes too.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Death
| You Are Death |
 You symbolize the end, which can be frightening. But you also symbolize the immortality of the soul. You represent transformation, rebirth of a new life. Sweeping away the past is part of this card, as painful as it may be. Your fortune: Don't worry, this card does not predict death itself. Instead it foreshadows the ending of an era of your life, one that is hard to let go of. But with the future great new things will come, and it's time to embrace them. Mourn for a while, but then face the future with humility and courage. |
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
If
If you can keep your head
While all about you
People are losing theirs and blaming you
While all about you
People are losing theirs and blaming you
If you can trust yourself
When everybody doubts you
And make allowance for their doubting too.
If you can wait
And not get tired of waiting
And when lied about
Stand tall
Don’t deal in lies
And when hated
Don’t give in to hating back
Don’t need to look so good
Don’t need to talk too wise.
If you can dream
And not make dreams your master
If you can think
And not make intellect your game
If you can meet
With triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same
If you can force your heart
And nerve and sinew
To serve you
After all of them are gone
And so hold on
When there is nothing in you
Nothing but the will
That’s telling you to hold on!
Hold on!
If you can bear to hear
The truth you’ve spoken
Twisted and misconstrued
By some smug fool
Or watch your life’s work
Torn apart and broken down
And still stoop to build again
With worn out tools.
If you can draw a crowd
And keep your virtue
Or walk with Kings
And keep the common touch
If neither enemies nor loving friends
Can hurt you
If everybody counts with you
But none too much.
If you can fill the journey
Of a minute
With sixty seconds worth of wonder and delight
Then
The Earth is yours
And Everything that’s in it
But more than that
I know
You’ll be alright
You’ll be alright.
Cause you’ve got the fight
You’ve got the insight
You’ve got the fight
You’ve got the insight
Joni Mitchell If from her new album Shine
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Little Miss Understood
This is frequently how it ends for me. I try to articulate what it is in my head, the A connecting to the B which connects to the C. But most people don't get it. They don't see what I understand. They misunderstand what I try to communicate.
Sometimes I am angry on the outside, but really on the inside I am hurt.
Sometimes I appear to be bold and brave, but on the inside I am terrified.
Sometimes I will push you away when I am really looking for reassurance.
Do I over analyze everything..... yes. It is a fear of being misunderstood that causes me to get it strait in my head so that I can explain. When I am trying to "get it strait" I work through it over and over again.
But I am not always clear, not always able to figure out what is going on for me quickly. I am running in circles chasing my tail trying desperately to understand myself.
When I trust people I let them in. Sometimes in this process of trying to figure myself out, I am vulnerable. Trying to hold on to my self worth with all I've got. But I am so susceptible to other people's opinions of me. It is hard for me to take stock in who I am when I hear things buzzing around in my head. And if I try to talk through it and I get confused and people don't seem to understand, I think my tendency is to undo what I did, take it back, make it right for them.
I wish I could let go completely of everything I know and start with a fresh canvas and repaint who I am, who I want to be. But even if this was possible, I would lose history.
Who am I? Who do I want to be? I'm not sure I know. But I don't think I want to be me anymore.
So it is no wonder that I am misunderstood.
Sometimes I am angry on the outside, but really on the inside I am hurt.
Sometimes I appear to be bold and brave, but on the inside I am terrified.
Sometimes I will push you away when I am really looking for reassurance.
Do I over analyze everything..... yes. It is a fear of being misunderstood that causes me to get it strait in my head so that I can explain. When I am trying to "get it strait" I work through it over and over again.
But I am not always clear, not always able to figure out what is going on for me quickly. I am running in circles chasing my tail trying desperately to understand myself.
When I trust people I let them in. Sometimes in this process of trying to figure myself out, I am vulnerable. Trying to hold on to my self worth with all I've got. But I am so susceptible to other people's opinions of me. It is hard for me to take stock in who I am when I hear things buzzing around in my head. And if I try to talk through it and I get confused and people don't seem to understand, I think my tendency is to undo what I did, take it back, make it right for them.
I wish I could let go completely of everything I know and start with a fresh canvas and repaint who I am, who I want to be. But even if this was possible, I would lose history.
Who am I? Who do I want to be? I'm not sure I know. But I don't think I want to be me anymore.
So it is no wonder that I am misunderstood.
Monday, August 13, 2007
And You....
I can remember being huddled in the corner of their bedroom, they were fighting in the hallway, my only route of escape. Things were being thrown and she was screaming at him. That really wasn't all that unusual, but his anger was. She was frequently out of control, but he usually kept his calm, very infrequently loosing his temper. But when he did.... He was yelling and knocking things off tables. Things crashed around me and I covered my ears, crying, afraid I would be found. She backed into the room where I was trying to make my self invisible. He followed her into the bedroom where he kept on her until she was backed into the same corner where I was kneeling. I'll never forget the look in his eye. He was pointing at her and yelling, his face getting closer and closer to her, spit flying out of his mouth. I was afraid of him. This fight had nothing to do with me. It was between them. It was there issues, and they had many. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Caught in the storm. And as happens when anger and frustration boils over, who ever is in the path tends to get some of the fury. Even when his anger was directed specifically towards my Mom, I was terrified that he would turn to me and say "And you...."
My parents did the best they could. They weren't perfect. Often far from it. So many things are forgivable, after all, I made it to be a fairly competent, functioning adult. But there is one thing my parents failed me in, and that continues to plague me to this day. Their inability to convince me that I was lovable and that no matter what mistakes I made, or what bad choices or trouble I got into, they would love me. NO MATTER WHAT. I frequently felt like I was bad. That I was a disappointment. That I was a mistake, unwanted and only tolerated. That there was no redeeming qualities I possessed, that made me a good daughter in their eyes. I was always reminded of my shortcomings and can't remember being praised for my achievements or even celebrated for who I was. The older I got, the more often I was reminded of everything that was bad about me. On occasion I was shown off to other people, BUT NEVER did my Mom or Dad tell me that I was special, loved or a good girl. My parents never stood behind me, took my side or defended me. It was always my fault.
So I grew up believing that I was not good, likable or even worthy. As an adult, I would develop relationships where I would get a glimpse of these things. People seemed to like me, and when they liked me, it stirred a desire in me. I would gain some feelings of being likable and even worthy. Often times I would find myself becoming closer to these people emotionally, craving this acceptance. And then something, as it often does in relationships, would happen (there would be a difficult thing, a disagreement or even a differing of opinion) and I would know that I did something wrong and that I was no longer worthy. It doesn't matter how good I had been or how hard I tried to be a good friend or partner, this thing, this bad thing, this mistake inevitably would over-write everything good I felt about myself. And it was all my fault, because I was bad. This has ALWAYS been so hard for me. But up until very recently I didn't understand why in these moments I became a child again, wanting desperately approval and unconditional love. But these relationships are NOT parental relationships, and love and friendship isn't always unconditional. Sometimes for very good reasons, relationship run their course and end. But what I wanted more than anything was approval. For them to tell me they would love me no matter what.
But what I ALWAYS took from this was that something is wrong with me. So wrong that I need to be different, that I was bad and there for not worthy of this friendship/relationship/love. In an effort to prove that I was lovable, I would often try to fix this relationship, by sacrificing some part of something that was valuable to me (my self worth or self respect), and usually only reinforced my feelings of not being good enough when I was unable to "fix" whatever this was. Lots of times, in hind-sight, the issue for them had very little, if anything, to do with me.
I was reminded this past weekend of just how fragile my self image is when you have people you trust knock you down. When even as an adult I know that there are many pieces and parts of me, some good and some bad. I can, in my mind, believe that I am over all a good person with good intentions. Am I perfect? No. Do I have things about me that I know aren't good qualities? Yes. But I would like to believe that on the whole I am a good person. And I would like to believe that the people I trust know this, and love me for me, short comings and all. But when people are angry and they do "my inventory" reminding me of my short comings, forgetting all about any good things, I am put back into that place where I am unable to let go of this judgment.
Like a child, I hear these things that people say, the list of things that are bad about me, and I believe, once again, that I am bad. It's all my fault. I know it shouldn't matter what another may think, and that hidden among this long lists of things wrong with me are the truths that this has more to do with them, than me. But I am that child in the corner again, just waiting for him to say "And you..."
My parents did the best they could. They weren't perfect. Often far from it. So many things are forgivable, after all, I made it to be a fairly competent, functioning adult. But there is one thing my parents failed me in, and that continues to plague me to this day. Their inability to convince me that I was lovable and that no matter what mistakes I made, or what bad choices or trouble I got into, they would love me. NO MATTER WHAT. I frequently felt like I was bad. That I was a disappointment. That I was a mistake, unwanted and only tolerated. That there was no redeeming qualities I possessed, that made me a good daughter in their eyes. I was always reminded of my shortcomings and can't remember being praised for my achievements or even celebrated for who I was. The older I got, the more often I was reminded of everything that was bad about me. On occasion I was shown off to other people, BUT NEVER did my Mom or Dad tell me that I was special, loved or a good girl. My parents never stood behind me, took my side or defended me. It was always my fault.
So I grew up believing that I was not good, likable or even worthy. As an adult, I would develop relationships where I would get a glimpse of these things. People seemed to like me, and when they liked me, it stirred a desire in me. I would gain some feelings of being likable and even worthy. Often times I would find myself becoming closer to these people emotionally, craving this acceptance. And then something, as it often does in relationships, would happen (there would be a difficult thing, a disagreement or even a differing of opinion) and I would know that I did something wrong and that I was no longer worthy. It doesn't matter how good I had been or how hard I tried to be a good friend or partner, this thing, this bad thing, this mistake inevitably would over-write everything good I felt about myself. And it was all my fault, because I was bad. This has ALWAYS been so hard for me. But up until very recently I didn't understand why in these moments I became a child again, wanting desperately approval and unconditional love. But these relationships are NOT parental relationships, and love and friendship isn't always unconditional. Sometimes for very good reasons, relationship run their course and end. But what I wanted more than anything was approval. For them to tell me they would love me no matter what.
But what I ALWAYS took from this was that something is wrong with me. So wrong that I need to be different, that I was bad and there for not worthy of this friendship/relationship/love. In an effort to prove that I was lovable, I would often try to fix this relationship, by sacrificing some part of something that was valuable to me (my self worth or self respect), and usually only reinforced my feelings of not being good enough when I was unable to "fix" whatever this was. Lots of times, in hind-sight, the issue for them had very little, if anything, to do with me.
I was reminded this past weekend of just how fragile my self image is when you have people you trust knock you down. When even as an adult I know that there are many pieces and parts of me, some good and some bad. I can, in my mind, believe that I am over all a good person with good intentions. Am I perfect? No. Do I have things about me that I know aren't good qualities? Yes. But I would like to believe that on the whole I am a good person. And I would like to believe that the people I trust know this, and love me for me, short comings and all. But when people are angry and they do "my inventory" reminding me of my short comings, forgetting all about any good things, I am put back into that place where I am unable to let go of this judgment.
Like a child, I hear these things that people say, the list of things that are bad about me, and I believe, once again, that I am bad. It's all my fault. I know it shouldn't matter what another may think, and that hidden among this long lists of things wrong with me are the truths that this has more to do with them, than me. But I am that child in the corner again, just waiting for him to say "And you..."
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
I Couldn't Make This Shit up IF I TRIED!
So the Rooomie, being depressed about Miss Jessica Rabbit comes home one night and says, "Let's get drunk!" And I'm like, "Bring it!" Because after all, I am nothing if I am not a joiner! So we proceed to VERY quickly POUND a bottle of vodka with an energy drink chaser. Yeah, shocking I know! Because if you KNOW me and my drinking habits, you KNOW I don't drink anything quickly. I am OFTEN the one whose beer gets warm before it is half done and when I do drink I am more likely to pass out fast asleep before I could finish a bottle. And other than a few times in the company of the Egyptian, I have never emptied a whole bottle IN ONE NIGHT! So, in reality, Roomie pounded 3/4 of the bottle while I very pleasantly threw back a few shots. Just enough to not be able to walk strait, you know what I'm talkin' about!
But he was TRASHED!!!! Before I knew if he was laughing so hard, head thrown back on the couch, I thought he would pass out from holding his breath! I even took pictures of him because I'm not sure what was so funny that made him laugh, but I sure as hell knew what I was laughing at!!! Did I mention, he is not the "seasoned" drinker? He didn't know about SLOWLY crashing and burning.... as those crazy asshats who taught me to drink demonstrated so many times.... no, he only knows one speed. FAST! This all happens in about a half hour! So yeah, when he gets down to business, he really gets down to business!!! Which is all fun and games until the phone comes out of the pocket.....
"Oh no, we don't drunk dial!!" I try to tell him, but he can't be stopped. Before I know it there is mumbled heated arguing and then there are tears. So, yeah, I'm off... to bed. You can take it from here, right? Yeah... thought so.
I crawl in, my eyes shut before I even hit the pillow. Because after all, for me, nothing beats the feeling of the bed after I've had a few. Don't know how long I was asleep before I hear something.... muffled talking.... in my room. WTF? I peel one eye open, peer over the edge of my 4 foot high bed to see Roomie sitting on my floor STILL ON THE PHONE. Um, Hello, I SAID NO DRUNK DIALING, especially in my room.... while I'm trying to sleep! But the bed is warm and my eyes close again and the muffled sounds of talking slowly rock me back to sleep.
And then again, I am awakened by something... a noise.... AGAIN in my room.... but this time lying RIGHT NEXT TO ME. So YES: a "bugger" could break in the house and crawl into my bed with me and clearly, unless he was gagging, have his FECKING wicked way with me all while I drunkenly slept. SCARY!!! Ok, so maybe not have his wicked way with me, pretty sure I would wake up for that, especially if he was good with his hands.... but I digress....
WTF? Again. Why is Rommie in bed with me? But, why ask why? And besides there are more pressing issues.... And yes, since you were paying attention I said gagging.... followed by the sound of something wet. OMFG he's throwing up! IN MY BED! On my GOOD sheets!!! And no, previously in the night, there was no mind numbing, earth shattering, glorious, sweaty, hot, naked, multiple orgasms sex that may have made this offense somehow better. Nope, just puke!
I try to wake him, NOPE. So I push him off my bed. Yeah four feet off the floor and like a fecking cat he lands on all fours and SURPRISE, SURPRISE.... he throws up AGAIN.
Good Times, Good Times.
But he was TRASHED!!!! Before I knew if he was laughing so hard, head thrown back on the couch, I thought he would pass out from holding his breath! I even took pictures of him because I'm not sure what was so funny that made him laugh, but I sure as hell knew what I was laughing at!!! Did I mention, he is not the "seasoned" drinker? He didn't know about SLOWLY crashing and burning.... as those crazy asshats who taught me to drink demonstrated so many times.... no, he only knows one speed. FAST! This all happens in about a half hour! So yeah, when he gets down to business, he really gets down to business!!! Which is all fun and games until the phone comes out of the pocket.....
"Oh no, we don't drunk dial!!" I try to tell him, but he can't be stopped. Before I know it there is mumbled heated arguing and then there are tears. So, yeah, I'm off... to bed. You can take it from here, right? Yeah... thought so.
I crawl in, my eyes shut before I even hit the pillow. Because after all, for me, nothing beats the feeling of the bed after I've had a few. Don't know how long I was asleep before I hear something.... muffled talking.... in my room. WTF? I peel one eye open, peer over the edge of my 4 foot high bed to see Roomie sitting on my floor STILL ON THE PHONE. Um, Hello, I SAID NO DRUNK DIALING, especially in my room.... while I'm trying to sleep! But the bed is warm and my eyes close again and the muffled sounds of talking slowly rock me back to sleep.
And then again, I am awakened by something... a noise.... AGAIN in my room.... but this time lying RIGHT NEXT TO ME. So YES: a "bugger" could break in the house and crawl into my bed with me and clearly, unless he was gagging, have his FECKING wicked way with me all while I drunkenly slept. SCARY!!! Ok, so maybe not have his wicked way with me, pretty sure I would wake up for that, especially if he was good with his hands.... but I digress....
WTF? Again. Why is Rommie in bed with me? But, why ask why? And besides there are more pressing issues.... And yes, since you were paying attention I said gagging.... followed by the sound of something wet. OMFG he's throwing up! IN MY BED! On my GOOD sheets!!! And no, previously in the night, there was no mind numbing, earth shattering, glorious, sweaty, hot, naked, multiple orgasms sex that may have made this offense somehow better. Nope, just puke!
I try to wake him, NOPE. So I push him off my bed. Yeah four feet off the floor and like a fecking cat he lands on all fours and SURPRISE, SURPRISE.... he throws up AGAIN.
Good Times, Good Times.
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