Archive for the ‘TRAVEL’ Category

March 4th, 2013 alcohol, blended families, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, domestic partnership, Domestic Trivia, Driving, family, HUMOR, lesbians, life, New Zealand, Relocation, SEXUALITY, Social Psychology 3 Comments »

Adventures in the Land of New Zeal

Some thoughts on being an expatriate (expat)…An American in New Zealand….

FADE IN:

We’re somewhere between Tapanui and Gore, New Zealand…

nakedbananaI grabbed two bananas on the way out. The perfect portable snack. I give my Significant Other one, and she peels the skin off it completely, and eats it naked. Well she’s not naked. The banana is, I mean.

Though there was this one time–

never mind.

She also takes the wrapper off her baby McDonald’s cheeseburger completely and eats that naked, too. The hamburger. Not her.

Maybe this has nothing to do with her nationality as a Kiwi. Maybe it’s just quirky. But I’m quirky too, so it all works out.

We’re in the car, and I’m riding on the wrong side, since there should be a steering wheel over here. And I notice she’s also driving on the wrong side of the road, but it seems to be working out, because everyone else is also driving on the wrong side. I still getting a little fright when I see the speed limit sign on corners that say 100.

I’m trying to recall place names. All the street signs might as well be in Navaho, because I can never read them. We’re almost NZroadsign1to the town of Pomeranian…No, pomegranate… No Pukaurau. Yeah.

But she’s still the most familiar thing to me, here. I’ve concluded that she is, indeed, human, and I do, indeed, like her very much. (Aside from the fact that I also LOVE HER MADLY AND WITH AN IRRATIONAL INTENSITY). Even if she does refuse to get under the covers when she’s freezing, because it’s just wrong to do that unless you’re actually going to sleep. She will instead cover up with a robe or blanket. Go figure.

But I’m well cared-for. She waits on me hand and foot, and I feel like I’m some kind of royalty. She cooks every night (I guess that’s normal when you’re a mom, but for me, it’s odd). But she brings me my dinner each night; She goes out to buy things I’m out of; she refills my distilled water jug to make my coffee and brings it up to me; brings me my frozen bottle of water (because I like it cold); brings me bagels with cream cheese, sandwiches, homemade cookies and cupcakes,  and other snacks, while I’m tippy tap typing away here at my desk. She pretty much does everything but bathe me and change my nappy.

Although, there was this one time…

Never mind.

She does all these things, plus takes care of the kids and writes her own books, too.  Amazing, really. I don’t know how she does it. I often feel I don’t do enough, but I’m also not used to being in a family unit, and I have read materials on blended families, and apparently it takes 2 years to adjust. I hope not. But I’m certainly finding it a challenge…maybe because it’s a new blended family, and one of us moved from another country. And just who I am, individually. Who knows. Haven’t seen any self help books called, Blended Lesbian Families With One Expat HSP Introvert.

I’m lucky, though, to have a partner who is so understanding and thoughtful, and who will also hold my hand and kiss me in public, and I don’t have to worry about what part of town we’re in, anticipating a hate crime. In fact gay-marriage is legal here, and that’s one thing I wish America would implement, nationwide. Still, there are times when we get looks. We were once sitting on a bench by the street, holding hands, and a car passed by and the driver nearly went off the road looking at us. Like we were a novelty. Like we were two giraffes sitting on a bench. But nothing scary. In fact, most people we pass smile at us, like they are enjoying the show, or like we are this brand new species they’d heard about but never seen in person.

I also noticed that when you’re walking on the sidewalk or anywhere around other people, here, they walk on the wrong side of the footpath, as well; and pass each other on the left, too, just like they drive. That’s something I would have never even thought about. So I always end up bumping into people, and excusing myself for being on the wrong side. I half expect doors to open like drawbridges, or something. It seems that everywhere I look, I see something unfamiliar. Even sounds…you just don’t think about things like that, but a different environment also has different sounds.

New Zealand could be called BirdLand. Birds are only outnumbered by lizards. In the A-frame house we moved from, our bedroom was upstairs within the apex of the structure. Each spring, birds get inside those walls and build nests, and I could hear them skittering about – it was a sound that seemed to belong in a Stephen King novel. A little creepy. At best, they sounded like mice.

I was taking a break from my writing one day and still had my computer glasses on. So I wasn’t able to see clearly farther than 10 feet. In the garden I thought I saw a mouse. Then I realized it was not a mouse, but a bird skittering along. I surmised this only because the mouse flew away.   I’ve noticed that birds in New Zealand like to walk around a lot. It’s as if they don’t know they can fly. Hopping, sprinting, or strolling. Likely it’s some inherent evolutionary trait since the birds have no natural predators. The few predators that do exist were accidentally introduced,  so the birds seem to only remember their wings if they need to get to a tree limb somewhere.  And while Kate watches the birds, she says things like, “It must be so weird not to have arms.”

In fact there are no natural predators here at all. No bears, no wolves, no large cats…(Even though the indigenous possums make sounds at night that will curl your toes, and sound like…well like American possums LOOK. Scary. New Zealand possums look all cuddly like koala bears, but everyone here hates them, as they’ve become quite the pest).

People here think nothing of walking around barefoot. Even in Winter.  Perhaps this bothers me because I have this aversion to letting my feet touch anything that isn’t clean and soft. Like socks. Or velour. Or kittens. One would think I regularly ate dinner with my feet, the way I always have to protect them and keep them clean. So when one of the kids walks through the house onto the wood or stone floor and out to the patio, I cringe. Shoes. Where are your shoes, child?

Things are a tad more “normal” in Dunedin, than they were in Tapanui, since it’s a larger city. In Tapanui, I had sheep for neighbors. Their birthing sounds during lambing season woke me up at night. I never thought I’d be awakened by sheep-noise.

Then again, if you had told me a few years ago I would drop everything and fly (ME< THE ONE WHO’S TERRIFIED OF FLYING) to another country (ME< WHO’S TERRIFIED TO GO TO ANOTHER COUNTRY) and merge my life with a woman who has kids (ME< WHO NEVER WANTED KIDS AND NEVER HAD THEM)…well, I would have laughed you out of the room. What an absurd idea. I mean really. But here I am. Never say never, I guess is the caveat emptor, there.

Although the language here is English, it often sounds like gibberish. What with the accent that is slightly British and slightly Australian, and something else, maybe some native Maori,  I am still training my ear to understand everyone. And the words for things are different, too…

To wit:

For cars, a trunk is a boot,

and a hood is a bonnet,

a windshield is a windscreen,

a fender is a wing,

a freeway is a motorway.

A wrench is a spanner.

Stealing is pinching.

A counter is a bench, except when it’s actually a bench.

An elevator is a lift.

A garbage dump is a tip.

A sweet potato is a kumara.

Cornstarch is corn flour.

Fries are chips and chips are crisps.

Hamburger/ground beef is mince.

Lobster is crayfish.

A cookie is a biscuit.

Cotton candy is candy floss.

A corn dog is a hot dog, but a hot dog doesn’t really exist. When I longed for my dill and sweet relish on my hot dog bun, which was not a bun but a roll, everyone looked at me funny.

Oatmeal is porridge.

Jelly is jam.

Green onions are spring onions

Cantaloupes are rock melons

Bell and sweet peppers are capsicum.

A rutabaga is a swede. (Imagine my dismay when I saw a sign on the road for Swedes, 3$, and I thought they were into human trafficking)

To broil is to gill, and to grill is to barbeque

Ketchup is tomato sauce (and it’s not the same).

Carryout is takeaways.

A pharmacy is a chemist.

A trash can is a rubbish bin.

An ice chest is a chilly bin.

Gas is petrol.

A diaper is a nappy.

Sheet rock is gib board.

A carpenter is a chippie.

A farmer is a cockie.

A street musician is a busker.

A ladybug is a ladybird.

When you’re pissed here, you’re drunk, not angry.

An apartment is a flat.

To phone somebody is to ring somebody.

A paper cutter is a guillotine (Kate said one day she needed a guillotine, and I remarked “Was it something I said?”)

An eraser is a rubber (I thought she was REALLY confused when she asked if I had a rubber)

Hiking is tramping (when she said “let’s go tramping” I was not enthusiastic)

Galoshes are gumboots

Bathing suit is a tog

A store is a shop – one of those things that actually makes sense to me, considering we call it “going shopping” not “going storing.”

And one that continues to come up–pudding, for Kiwis, is any dessert. So when they ask you if you want pudding, best to ask which kind. The first time this happened, Kate said we were having pudding, and there was this meringue-ey type thing called pavlova in my bowl.

“I thought we were having pudding?” I said.

“That is pudding,” she said.

Frowning, I said, “This is not pudding. Pudding is one specific thing. How do you people understand each other?”

For instance, once she said, “Let’s have a squizz, shall we?”

I thought she said Squids, at first. I’m not even going to tell you what I use the word Squids for.

“No, squizz,” she said.

I wasn’t sure if she was inviting me to have a specialized coffee drink made from some native plant, or what. But she explained that squizz means LOOK.

See why I’m always frowning and saying “What?”

Confused communications can sometimes cause discomfort. Like when she said, “It’s 21 degrees”  and I get my coat and then I’m hot and realize she meant Celsius.

New Zealand is the land of few words. They believe in economy, I suppose. No need to use all those variations, just pick something, and call it that.

There are also many uses for the same word– like, turn signal is an indicator. Even though that word doesn’t specify what it indicates. At least turn signal makes clear you’re signaling a turn.  After tossing that debate around a while we decided to agree on BLINKER.

I was surprised to learn that the things I had become accustomed to having at my fingertips, are not available here, which served to make me more thankful for the abundance I enjoyed in America–it really is the land of plenty.

New Zealand has a population of  about four and a half million. About a million less than Colorado, where I’m from. Queen Elizabeth II is the head of state, and New Zealand is therefore a constitutional monarchy. Executive political power is exercised by the Cabinet, led by a Prime Minister. Maori is a native tribe and one of the official languages here; the Maori name for New Zealand is Aotearoa, which translates as “land of the long white cloud.”  Experts believe New Zealand was first settled by Polynesians between 1250 and 1300 CE. King Edward VII proclaimed New Zealand a dominion of the British Empire in 1907.

This is a young country, as the age of countries go. I have to remember that things are a little more primitive here, because New Zealand is an island country, and most goods are shipped in at great expense.  I mean, 80 million years of geographic isolation has consequences. Those costs are reflected in what we pay at the register. So prices here are three or four times higher. And the products tend to be of poor quality. So when I pay four times more for something, and then it doesn’t work right, or it breaks, I have a little American fit.

That being the case, and even though there are some of the most beautiful sights in the world, here, there are all kinds of things about this Land of New Zeal that I found foreign.

Houses have no central heat and air, (and no window air units either), and no screens on the windows. And American TV is not available. You have to buy DVD’s or rent them from an online service, and they usually only have old things. We use a VPN service to hide our IP and fool the Cyberspace Powers into thinking we live in California, so we can get programs online sometimes and use the laptop to stream it to the TV. No premium cable with Showtime, or HBO. And I miss my DVR. Although I have discovered an affection for Dr. Who.

Most everyone here uses a plunger contraption, or a “jug” that heats water that you pour over instant coffee. Drip coffeemakers– They’re a little hard to find.

And they use milk for cream. No flavored creamers. No more Belgian Chocolate Toffee and White Chocolate Macadamia Nut. Even plain Coffee-Mate creamer is rarely available, and when it is, it comes in a tiny jar that costs about 6 bucks.  But fortunately, I have discovered some Nescafe instant coffees that are really good, and I drink them everyday. Cappuccino, Mocha, Hazelnut and Vanilla latte. Yum.

Some things that I have always taken for granted as a staple in the U.S. isn’t even here. Like rubbing alcohol and peroxide are specialized items, and when you find them, they’re in tiny bottles and are expensive, as if they were made of gold bouillon shavings. I was spoiled by the huge bottles in the U.S. available for 69 cents (not huge bottles of bouillon shavings, but of peroxide and alcohol).

Speaking of alcohol…The wine and beer I so enjoyed is either not here at all, or hard to find and crazy expensive. I have found that I like Speight’s cider and a thing with Ginger and Lime…sort of tastes like wine; and this German cooler thing with berry flavors called something that looks like RECORDING. I’d have to look at the bottle to tell you. But it’s really good.

If you smoke, it’ll cost you $20 to $30 per pack, depending on if you buy 25′s or 30′s. Most people, therefore, roll their own, and that’s still expensive. And forget about finding many American brands. If you try to ship American cigarettes over, it will cost you about $200 pteetertableer carton in customs fees.

That fat bottle of Reunite Lambrusco I used to buy for $6, is something like $20, here, when you can find it. If you want an ice chest (I mean, a chilly bin) it will cost you $100 or more.

Other things I miss—my Teeter Table, which is really great for my back issues. My Cherryot (AKA Chevy Blazer) with heat and air. Finally got a vehicle I loved, got it paid off and then realized it wouldn’t fit in a suitcase to take with me. And my cats, Monkey and Biscuit, whom I  couldn’t bring, so had to re-home. Perhaps I miss the Cherryot and the cats more than anything else. Strange, the things you discover about yourself in circumstances like this.

But I also miss vanilla wafers, fried okra, bacon (they have bacon here, but it’s not crispy, and it tastes different).

I have been ordering some things, when I can afford the forwarding shipping services, like my Arm & Hammer toothpaste. But I miss my Krispy Kreme donuts, Fritos corn chips (for Frito-chili pie), 8 O’clock Hazelnut coffee, pistachio pudding (not Kiwi pudding which can be anything, but American-pudding-pudding), dill pickles, Miracle Whip,  and crab legs. It’s impossible to get an all-you-can-eat buffet of crab legs here, like you can in America. No Red Lobster or Joe’s Crab Shack either. Which I find odd, since New Zealand is, after all, an island in the middle of the ocean.

And there’s no–horror of horrors–Walmart. I know, because once I asked someone where Walmart was, and they directed me to the place in the picture—>>>>

But I do have the love of my life, so all that is secondary. How often does a person find their perfect partner? No one ever said she wouldn’t be in ANOTHER COUNTRY. It is what it is…

So…back to these expat differences….If you order electronics, or as I did, have your computer shipped over, that will be another $300. And you won’t be able to use it because the plugs are different. I had to buy an expensive converter just to charge my Sonicare toothbrush and Nook Color. The outlets here have three holes, and they’re canted in such a way that I have to use a flashlight and keep turning it this way and that, to figure out how to get something plugged in. And most houses only have one electrical outlet per room. Amazing how many things we Americans are used to plugging in.

There seem to be primarily houses with only one bathroom, too. Even 5 bedroom houses usually only have one. We were lucky enough to find a house in Dunedin that was large enough for all of us, and had a sort of master bedroom upstairs with a bathroom and walk-in closet combination. Like a master suite.  But it’s rare to find that. In fact, it was the only house listed that had two bathrooms.

Speaking of bathrooms….let me just tell you my first vivid experience in that regard.

When we still lived in Tapanui, we had to go to Dunedin to shop a few times…that was, at the time, two hours away.  After walking around forever, I had to use the facilities. Kate led me to an outdoor public toilet. It was like a large booth. It had an electric sliding door (which reminded me of the aforementioned Dr. Who police booth). I thought that was weirdly cool. When I got inside,  and did my business, I noticed that the toilet paper dispenser wasn’t manual. It was also electric. And it decided how much you needed. You hit the button and got  brrrrrrr…. two sheets. I kept hitting the button. Brrrrr...two more sheets….brrrrrr, two more.

That’s when I discovered my Aunt Flo was in town. (Hopefully you’ll all know what I mean).

Dammit. And me, with no feminine hygiene products.

The toilet paper dispenser was certainly not helpful. It took a while to create a temporary solution while we walked back into the mall area where there was a Countdown supermarket, where I purchased my supplies, along with ibuprofen because of that, and because we were both getting sore from walking.

Then we had to find an indoor toilet, because I was in no mood to deal with brrrrrrrrr-–two sheets, again. As aggravatingly comical as that was. It’s amazing how everything is different in another country.

So I’m in the stall, trying to get the pads open because I need those first so I don’t have an accident (all you female species out there know exactly what I mean). I’m pulling on the package trying to get it open and I flip the whole package into the air and naturally, it rolls under the door out into the main part of the bathroom.

I know other women are standing out there and I am horrified. So I just get it over with quickly, opening the door and saying “that was fun…” grab the package and dash back into the stall.

So I put the 2×4 on, and start on the plugs. But these are tampons from another country. Foreign plugs. The plunger was recessed, and like an idiot I tried to use it without pulling it out first (so to speak) but of course it wasn’t working, so I’d wasted one and had to throw it away. But again, bathroom trash receptacles are also different in NZ. There was a slot in the bin attached to the wall, and I thought that was where I was supposed to put it, but discovered that wasn’t the slot at all…the tampon fell down and into the stall beside me where I hoped there was no one else who heard it hit the floor and looked down to see way too much of my personal business.

Freshly horrified, I pulled out a second tampon and pulled the plunger out ’til it rested behind the cotton wadding, (like it was SUPPOSED TO–see, I went to college) and then I get that where it was supposed to go.

Now, I didn’t want to leave the stall, because I’m afraid the ones who’d seen the pads roll out, and more horribly, the person in the stall who’d seen the discarded tampon, might still be there, and I simply didn’t want to face them.

I turned to flush, but then couldn’t find the flushing mechanism..these toilets were also of a foreign nature…there was a panel on the wall behind the toilet, and I tried to figure out why, hoping to find the button to push..finally realized the whole panel was a button, and pressed it to flush. I’m used to a handle on the side of the tank, and to find myself standing in front of a toilet, trying to figure out how to flush it was sobering and a bit humiliating and also a little funny.

By now, I’m laughing, (maybe because the screaming meemies were building) because I felt like not just a Stranger in a Strange Land but the grandest idiot in the village. It was like being in a coma and then waking and forgetting how everything worked…having to relearn everything.

So I waited for what I thought was an appropriate amount of time and came out to wash my hands and make faces at Kate…laughing, and unable to tell her all that had just befallen her beloved.

I’ll stop there, because this has gotten way more lengthy than I intended.  And now that I have shared the Aunt Flo Fiasco, I can’t take any more, nor, probably, can YOU.

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June 28th, 2012 angst, anxiety, Biscuit, cats, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, chaos, chemistry, Cherryot, Colorado, commitment, critics, Denver, domestic partnership, dreams, EMOTIONS, experience, Facebook, fatigue, fear, happiness, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), hope, Internet Dating, intimacy, lesbians, life, love, luck, meaning, moving, New Zealand, panic, passion, phobias, problem-solving, PTSD, RELATIONSHIPS, Relocation, risk, romance, sacrifice, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, soulmates, strength, stress, TRAVEL, triggers, Xanax No Comments »

Land of New Zeal

Only five more days, and I will be on that flight….The excitement is finally becoming stronger than the fear and stress. Not that I don’t still worry…I’ve never flown to another country before, and dealt with all that entails–like going through customs. I’ve read the Air New Zealand website through and through. All the restriction on baggage and contents, how to check in, what to have ready in zippy bags, how much each can weigh, how big each bag can be. It’s hard to make choices about what to bring when it’s all you’re going to have for a while. If something should be amiss, and they say, “You can’t take that, or your bag is too big,” or whatever, I don’t know what to do because of course I’m only taking a paltry amount and all of it is crucial to me. Just have to hope that doesn’t happen. I have my large cargo/checked bag–pretty standard; and I have a small carry-on rolling bag, and my softside satchel, doubling as personal purse/bag. That’s it. It’s pretty amazing to see your personal requirements reduced to such a small collection of objects. But it does have a way of putting things in perspective. There are things you think you need, which, when it comes down to the wire, you realize you really don’t, or that you can always replace.

I’ve been living like a pauper in this HOT apartment…spending my days on the airbed in front of my computer (which I will mail out the day before, ahead of me). This computer is the only thing that keeps me in touch with my sweetie, and there will be an almost two-day period when I won’t be able to video chat with her all day as usual–see her face, communicate that way (Sounds silly, I know, but we have become quite addicted/dependent on seeing and communicating with each other while we wait for this reunion). I will only have my iPhone and Facebook Messenger until I reach Los Angeles, and then when I get to Auckland, I will have the phone she sent me to contact her between transfers there, in Christchurch and then Dunedin, where she will be waiting for me. And then we will have a wonderful week in a cabin by the water…a fireplace…the gifts we will exchange…and most of all, each other, finally. It is very much like two soulmates kept apart too long, and finally able to absorb each other again. I am living each moment for that.

This whole process has been a real challenge for me, an HSP–every single trigger is present, and still, I trudge forward with complete certainty. There were lots of stressful things to get done in a short amount of time; giving up all semblance of security and routine; selling or giving away or tossing my belongings; selling my beloved Cherryot–my favorite vehicle I’ve ever had; and of course, my two sweet cats. And there’s my crippling fear of flying…I will be on that plane from LA to Auckland for 13 hours…so there will be copious amounts of Xanax.

The truth is, no one can know the breadth and depth of what two people share, except those two people. And we are both quite clear about what we have, and how precious it is. There will be naysayers, and those who speak from their own painful experiences, but unless they have had this, felt it all the way to their marrow, as I do, they cannot and perhaps will not be able to understand it. And I don’t care. As my darling Kate posted recently:

“Sometimes life presents you with gifts of rare value and beauty. After unwrapping them, you don’t look at them and say no, it’s too much, or it must not be real because something this beautiful can only be a deception. You take it and cherish it, value it, and carry it around in your heart where it will never tarnish, no matter what the weather outside.

Jae is such a gift. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve her, but I’m going to make sure she’s safe and loved and happy always. I carry her in my heart.”

Things change when you find true love. YOU change. You are willing to do and sacrifice many things you never would have dreamed of before. And I have had my share of challenges and heartaches and despair…but I have always resonated with this quote, which has become a sort of mantra for me, to bolster my courage when things seem too daunting to conquer:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”(Theodore Roosevelt)

I will ignore the naysayers and critics and be thankful to those who encourage such love and possibility, as I cannot imagine my life without her now, and wouldn’t want to. She is everything to me and I can’t wait to get started on the beautiful life we’ve planned. Love like this is rare, the very odds were so against it ever happening, and so many odd, synchronous things happened to bring us together. Most people don’t ever find this at all, so I will not take this good fortune for granted, especially after the slew of misfortunes my life has been. I will embrace it, leap off that cliff and FLY.

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May 23rd, 2012 distraction, Driving, girlfriends, HUMOR, Kate Genet, Kelli Jae Baeli, New Zealand, obsession, Relocation, soulmates, Walmart 2 Comments »

Driving me to Distraction

I am so obsessed with Kate. I miss her when we’re not talking.I mean, we only talk once a day for 8 to 12 hours. That’s not near enough. I do so love yahoo video chats. Although it can be maddening to feel like you’re in the room with someone you’re wildly attracted to and madly in love with and not be able to touch them. Repeatedly.

I thought about her while driving over to Wal-Mart…it’s a long way over there from here. First time in my life there hasn’t been a Wal-Mart or two within 10 minutes. And there was lots of traffic. Somehow I always go do errands during some sort of rush-hour. Although around here, I haven’t discovered exactly when it ISN’T some kind of rush hour. Except maybe 3 a.m. Which is when I usually go shopping. And usually why it’s Wal-Mart, because they stay open 24 hours.

Anyway, I got distracted…what was I talking about? Oh yeah. Being distracted.

I kept having to be extra careful because I was daydreaming about her. My soulmate, who is the love of my life and soon-to-be-wife. I shouldn’t drive with her on my mind. (I guess it could be worse: I could be trying to drive with her on my body. That would ensure an accident. Maybe I need ensurance. Since I’m so assured of having an accident if she is on my mind or body.

Where was I? Distracted again.

So….all this means I shouldn’t drive. (Which is good, because when I get over there to New Zealand, I won’t be. I couldn’t fit my Cherryot in the carry-on baggage. Not even for that extra $70 fee they’re making me pay for my suitcase because I’m also taking my guitar). But then, she’ll be with me over there and won’t be distracting my mind. But she will be distracting my eyes and hands. have a tendency to miss what she says the first time, because I’m staring at her lips. So it’s just as dangerous for me to drive with her in the car. And if she’s ever NOT in the car, I’d be distracted and still dangerous. And also driving on the wrong side of the road. Which is considered the RIGHT side of the road over there. Unless I’m driving on the wrong side of the road, which is the right side of the road over there…and that’s on the left. Did you get that, or shall I try again?

Never mind.

Basically, my point, and I do have one (as Ellen Degeneres says), I guess I’ll never get to drive again….but what great distractions I’ll be having!

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April 13th, 2012 AUTHORS, BOOKS, chemistry, commitment, CREATIVITY, dating, domestic partnership, Fiction, independent author, indie publisher, intelligence, intimacy, Kate Genet, lesbians, love, meaning, New Zealand, novels, passion, purpose, romance, TRAVEL, universe, Writer's Block, WRITING No Comments »

Cosmic Giggle

It’s been a busy and eventful few months. The biggest news I have mentioned, but it only gets better. Against all odds, against all logic, I have managed to meet the woman of my dreams. She is from New Zealand (who knew that my soulmate would be hiding on the opposite side of the world? Kind of a cosmic giggle, there, though I would prefer she had been nearby when this started. Like in the same country).

But be that as it may, the more time we spend getting to know each other, the more we see this magical kindredness; this inexplicable bond that can only come from two people who are meant to be together. We have many challenges ahead, but we are both sickeningly happy about the whole thing.

She is, like me, an author, and this is how we initially crossed paths. She wrote a review on one of my books and I wrote to thank her, and we exchanged some communications, and then eventually, she send just the right email, said all the right things, and a set of possibilities was born.

Now, we have become so close, so connected. I have never felt so understood, so appreciated, so adored and so loved. We are the very cliche of a whirlwind romance, and of two people who have fallen hopelessly, irretrievable in love. We have all the usual symptoms: constant, obsessive thoughts about each other, a constant need to be together (like Velcro), physical reactions to each other that are powerful even when we are not in the same room–a mere photograph or thought can engender the same response as if we were touching.  I miss her MADLY right now. She is currently at her home in New Zealand working on that book, and will be back here in July for a while.

How did I manage to get so lucky? She is intelligent, funny, witty, genuine, sincere, ethical, sensitive, creative…and it is icing on the cake that she is also incredibly beautiful. She is feminine, just quirky enough to delight me, and I have to say that the New Zealand accent is sexy as hell. (Think Lucy Lawless/Xena). She is not just some things on my list of the Ultimate Partner, but ALL THINGS on that list. I can scarcely believe my good fortune, after a life of cursing the luck fairies. Perhaps there really is some force in the universe that evens things out. My only regret is that we didn’t meet earlier. Even one complete lifetime with her would not be enough.

As many of my readers know, in the last year I have been suffering, for the first time, with writer’s block. My last two relationships sucked the creative life-force out of me somehow.  And that was capped off with betrayal and abandonment by my best friend, when I needed her the most. I still don’t understand how any of that made sense to her, but I had to find a way to move on, as painful as it was. I had not succeeded in doing that, and was circling the drain when Kate appeared. She managed to spark my creativity again, give me back those things that make my life worth living: Hope, Love, and Purpose. I knew that if I went much longer without them, I would likely not survive. So in a very real way, she has saved my life. And she has given me so much more than that. More than I ever dreamed possible. I am so proud to call her mine. She is my soulmate.

Another perk that I would have considered a scary specter, is that I am going to New Zealand at the end of the year, and will likely move there for awhile, where she has a house. I have always been fearful of getting on a plane, even more so of going out of the country. But I would board a hundred planes to be with her everyday. We will be getting married there (where it’s LEGAL), and after things are wrapped up there, we plan to return to Colorado and get a house in the mountains.

All very romantic and idyllic, and the stuff of dreams. But this is no dream. It is very real, and we both feel that we are in each others’ marrow. It’s as if we have known each other through several lifetimes, and have been searching for each other. The placard above the Door of my Life used to read, Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. Now it says Dreams really do come true. I have never felt a connection like this in my life. I adore her with every cell in my body. I finally know what it is to be truly happy….24/7. I have never felt joy like this. It has colored every other thing in my life and made it so beautiful.

Another thrilling aspect of this scenario, is that we both share the same passions–the strongest of which is the writing. We will be forming a Indie publishing business to handle all our books, soon, and are looking forward to that process.

We are also writing a book together, as well (Hanging the Moon–one that we think will be a series)…the process of which will begin in earnest after she finishes her current project, called Building Character. I managed to come up with the title for it, and she came up with a brilliant cover idea, which I rendered in anticipation of the project completion. The book is in first draft, but already, it is brilliant, and I feel it will do really well when we get it out in both print and digital form.

So, having moved to a new apartment for another year here, I will then be moving to another country–to be with my Kiwi girl, the love of my life. And the future is not just bright, but blinding–somewhat like a quasar.

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February 22nd, 2012 aggravation, Aging, anger, angst, anxiety, apartment, betrayal, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, chaos, Colorado, conflict, crisis, depression, despair, desperation, disability, disillusionment, domestic violence, Driving, EMOTIONS, exes, fear, friendship, frustration, grief, guilt, harsh realities, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), hope, Human Nature, Lakewood, life, loneliness, love, luck, meaning, midlife crisis, moving, need, panic, phobias, problem-solving, PTSD, purpose, RELATIONSHIPS, Relocation, sadness, sensitivity, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, Social Psychology, stress, trust, U-Haul, women, Writer's Block, WRITING, Xanax No Comments »

Stupid, Honorable, High-Road Seeking Fool

In a post from a few years ago (two posts, actually, under Going to Denver Because You’re Dead) I chronicled this transition of moving to Colorado to start a new life; again reinventing myself, with the hope of somehow finding my new place in this ever-changing, ever-challenging world.  I got rid of three-quarters of everything i owned, packed a U-Haul trailer behind my Cherryot, and off I went. A journey that lasted 30 hours on many days of little sleep. By the time I arrived in Denver, i was exhausted, lost, and had this sensation of being on another planet. I was not used to driving in big city traffic, with all its interchanges and exits and geographic complications. I didn’t know how to get to this new apartment I had secured for myself by phone and online. I ended up off an exit in a bad neighborhood, worn out, my iPhone battery overtaxed and at that crucial moment, dead. I launched into a full-fledged panic attack, with some unsavory gang-bangers headed my way, and I dug the .25 out of the console and clenched it, hoping i would not have to use it. The gang-bangers wandered off, and i fell completely apart. I couldn’t go on. But then i realized that there was no one to save me but me. It was a familiar feeling. Somehow i managed to calm myself down, wait for my battery to charge, and checked the map against the street signs i could see, and re-route. I tried again to find where i was going, and got lost again. Finally i just stopped in the road and got out and approached the car behind me–several Latino guys in a jacked up car, and just point-blank told them i was lost and needed to find a a certain address. The driver was kind and helpful and told me exactly how to get there, and i did.

After that, i tried to fashion a life. I didn’t know anyone. I used the internet to meet as many women as possible, hoping to make new friends, find dates, and finally that partner i just knew had to be hiding here somewhere. Long story short, I dated 22 women that first year. All of them either I rejected or they rejected me. Then I met one who seemed genuinely interested. I wound up eventually moving in with her, and so began a nightmare of epic proportions that lasted another 9 months. Her mother would NOT move out of the basement as promised, her family hated me, my girlfriend quit her job started smoking pot every day all day, and drinking, (When she had presented herself as a non drug user and not a problem drinker when we met–and knew that was criteria I would not budge on) and not communicating, and hitting me when we had sex, and sleeping all the time, or having meltdowns where she would destroy the house and scream, all the while using my money to pay her mortgage and her truck payment and not paying MY bills. It ended with me calling the cops and she being arrested for domestic violence against me, and then me having to move in a few days, while injured and upset and exhausted.

There was so much more to that process but I’ll skip it all and just say it was another few weeks and months of stress and misfortune before things settled down. [For blogs about this situation, see  Birthday Bash ; Fleeing Field Mouse  ;    Happy Effing Anniversary  ; EXTENDED STRESS Hotel. ;    Trauma Biscuit  ;  The Biggest Lies of All ]

Then I met someone else, four months later. Someone who made me feel things i hadn’t felt in 12 years. I was falling in love with her, and it had only been two months. My hope was renewed. I thought maybe it was my turn. That all my suffering had finally paid off somehow. But she could not feel sexual/romantic attraction to be 24/7–and thought she should. So we’d go platonic, and then she’d change her mind and want sex. I don’t get how someone can have sex with you 35 times in two months, but wonder if she had any attraction. Her attraction, though, she said, came and went, she said, and this became an on-again, off-again trial by fire. I continued to be patient and loving and kind and nurturing, and I made it all about her, and still, it ended. Trying to take the high road, as always, I agreed to be just friends with her, but then i saw very quickly that she could not be there for me. She could only handle her drama. All the while, I was dealing with my midlife crisis of getting older and facing that upcoming 50th birthday, and being reminded at a funeral for her friend’s girlfriend, that i didn’t get to go to my father’s funeral because my selfish petty family never told me he was sick or dead. And they left me out of his obit as a surviving family member. And i sat in that church–me, the atheist, listening to all that stupid blather, and wondering how many people would attend MY funeral. I realized it would not be many. And that also made me profoundly sad that I had gotten to this point in my life and didn’t have the fundamental things I should have by now. I had nightmares about my dad. Nightmares about me in a casket and no one there to say goodbye to me. Nightmares of drowning in an ocean with sharks circling me, and everyone I knew standing on a boat and watching, but not helping me. But she made it clear when I awoke from those nightmares the morning after that funeral service, that there was no room for my pain. She said “I really can’t take any of your negativity.”

But, like the stupid, honorable, high-road seeking fool that I am, I continued to be supportive and wonderful to her, swallowing my own pain…swallowing my heartache over her not returning my feelings, when it had been 12 long years of me thinking I could never fall in love again after that one gigantic heartbreak with the only woman who had been my first and last great love. I put myself aside again, while KR enjoyed my support, but gave nothing back. As long as i remained cheerful and strong and supportive, she was fine. I hoped it would all normalize and equalize somehow, if I was just patient.

Near this time, having not seen my best friend, JH, in two and half years, though we talked every day on the phone, I was looking forward to her upcoming visit. She knew me better than anyone on the planet and we had been extremely bonded for 11 years. She had planned to move here even before me, but I wound up having to go sooner before I lost my mind, being so unhappy where I was. Finally, then, she came to visit. First, in December. It was to be our bonding time. I had so much I wanted to share with her and i needed her more than ever–to talk to–in person. To help me figure out how to get my life back on track. But I introduced her to my two friends CW and KR (whom I had been dating and fell for, but was now just my friend). JH and CW had instant chemistry, and so it then became about them.  I didn’t get that time with JH. But she assured me she was coming back the next month, to do that. Oh, and also to have me design her book cover. And of course, to see the new love interest, CW.

But that 2nd visit was even worse. Out of the 9 or so outings and plans, that were all planned by my best friend, JH–it was me and JH and CW. Or, it was JH and CW. I began to feel like a hotel, and a chauffeur. None of those plans were me and my best friend. My very missed and needed best friend. None of them. After several days of this, I voiced my feelings, and begrudgingly, she cancelled that date with CW that night and we got Chinese food and alcohol and watched a movie, but i never got the chance to talk with her like I’d wanted to for 2 and a half years. Because she preferred the movie, or talking about CW every few seconds. Another few days passed with the same paradigm. All these wonderful plans with CW, or allowing me to tag along with THEM. They had even made plans to go to Vegas in February, and New York in March for the CW’s birthday, which was near the same date as MINE. Finally I could not bite my tongue any longer.  I had literally drawn blood in my own mouth biting my tongue. I told her how it made me feel (Again) and how much I had needed her, and how I had waited for this visit for two and half years.

Her response was, “Why are you trying to ruin my happiness?”

She was MAD. Actually MAD at me for expecting her attention, and some time together after all that time apart. I became so livid, I knew I would say something I’d be sorry for. I told her I was going to the store and would be right back. I spent an hour sitting in my Cherryot in the park, drinking a Hard Cider, smoking cigarettes I had sworn off of; and calmer, ready to have a rational discussion again, I went back.

She was gone. She had packed her bags and was just………GONE. She ignored my texts and my phone calls, (and after over a month, still no response). I even sent her a text that said “You mean I have lost you because I needed you?” I was met with more silence. Her new girlfriend, CW, then became my EX friend, because she ignored me too, except to send me the name of a counselor she had used. She had her own agenda now, and it no longer included me.  In desperation, I tried to confide in KR, and I was an obvious mess, could not stop crying. She said she couldn’t help me, that I needed professional help. No. I needed a friend, and until that moment, I kind of hoped she’d come through finally, in my hour of need. But now, she was the third betrayal and abandonment within a few days. And no word from her either in all this time.

I called my VA counselor and could not get a regular appointment, because there were so many veterans now who needed help and they were understaffed and booked up. How could i be selfish enough to dismiss those soldiers who had their legs blown off in war, and suffered horrible psychological damage? So I called that counselor CW mentioned. I had a quick appointment the very next day and I thought it went well, and i started to feel like I would be okay. But then I got a call from that counselor, who informed me she couldn’t see me again because I owned GUNS. I am a single woman living alone, and only one of those was my usual one…the other two I had acquired quite by accident and never used. So now I was faced with my fourth abandonment and betrayal–by someone PROFESSIONAL, who I went to for help, because I knew I needed it. I tried to reason with her on the phone, telling her that taking away my guns would not keep me from killing myself if that’s what I wanted to do.  There were a million ways to die, and it would have happened a long time ago, if that’s what I wanted to do. I didn’t go to her because I was suicidal. I went to her because i was profoundly sad and hurt and needed some help dealing with it. Help my “friends” could not give me because they were too busy walking in the other direction, after their own selfish wants. The email exchange is posted appropriately under the entry the Fourth Betrayal.

I now have this recurring nightmare of being bloody and bruised and broken, lying on the ground, and everyone who ever said they loved me, or were supposed to, are kicking me, spitting on me…walking away….

Now it’s February 22nd. My lease is up here on April 1st. I needed to find another cheaper place to live because I’m paying $1200 a month to live here. With more money, I could make other things happen–like fixing my credit that the last relationship ruined, and finally buying a home to call my own. I found a cheap apartment (even though it was up stairs and stairs destroy my knees), but maybe it was some rare good fortune, and I could just deal with it. Even though I didn’t even trust it; I chose to believe that things might be turning in my favor. Then I found out I couldn’t have my DTV dish there, and I was under a bundled contract with my internet, phone and TV. This, after I had already been packing and putting boxes in the garage for a week. I need a TV more than most people. All this time alone. And all those shows with familiar characters and storylines…it makes me feel in some strange way I have this virtual family…and I can also lose myself in the TV, and it keeps me from thinking too much about how I feel. I need that. I NEED IT like I need WATER and FOOD and SLEEP.

Honestly, I have not felt this degree of loneliness and heartache since 1999 & 2000, living in my van, crippled and fighting Big Brother, when all had forsaken me. It is the same now, lo these many years later. I feel crippled on the inside, and it’s no less harrowing and difficult than being unable to walk without crutches…I am lonely because the cold hard truth is no one loves me. Those who professed to, have forsaken me. My cats are the only living beings who I can say for sure have love for me, and how pathetic is that, especially at my age? My heart breaks from abandonment and betrayal. I have cried every day for over a month now. I don’t think I can ever understand or have any peace about what JH has done to me. It’s just three times the injury that CW and KR are also guilty of the same. Theirs is only a lesser crime perhaps because they have not been in my life as long. But does that really make it a lesser crime? The deed is done, no matter how I turn it. And yes, it does seem that JH’s crime is a capital offense. She and I have been best friends for 11 years…how is it that she can throw me away so easily, and for no compelling reason? She has been the only person in my life I could ever depend on. I would have taken a bullet for her. And yes, I realize that I have had her on a pedestal for some time because of that. I made a decision that i will never again need anyone so much, that when they leave, i can’t survive their absence. But it doesn’t take away the pain.

At the very least, it could be compared to a divorce. But it is also deeper than that. I am grieving over a death. The death of our friendship, at her own hand. And still, it seems more intense than divorce or death. When divorces and deaths happen, there are usually other people there to help support you, hug you, tell you everything will be okay and they love you and will be at your side. But what if what has been lost are all those people? What if you have no family and your friends have abandoned you? how much harder is it to pick yourself up off that hard ground, with no hands reaching to help you? There is no ameliorating force to dull the pain or provide strength. The only comfort and strength to be had has to come from inside the person on the ground. And what if that person is particularly sensitive? what if that person’s heart is tender and bruised to begin with? what if that person was reaching out for help with other pains when it happens? I feel that I have been beaten half to death and reached for my friends and they kicked me, and pelted me with stones. Where will I find the strength for this?

I have begun to make new friends, but that process is slow, and it is much too early to lean on those people, even though I desperately need to. They have been as supportive as they can, but it’s awkward to dump this all on them, since they haven’t known me very long. It’s not what I want to build new friendships on..and truthfully, I don’t expect them to stay around either. I fully expect them to just disappear too).

I have tried to keep busy. I have tried to stay in my left brain. I have ignored every painful thought that bubbles up in my mind. I have done all I know to do, and still it is not enough. I still cry every day. Sob. Bury my face in my sweet cats, and douse them with my tears. The medications I’ve tried are not working. The positive affirmations are not working. I am barely getting by. I don’t want to die, but this is killing me. I want to have hope. I want fortune to smile on me. Isn’t it time? Haven’t I suffered enough? Yet, to think this way is to somehow suggest that life is fair and there’s some balancing force that will reward me for trudging on. The truth is it’s all random. There is no fairness, there is only life, and what comes to you. It has little to do with how deserving you are, or how hard you’ve tried, or how good you’ve struggled to be. where does that leave me?

During this time, to have still another computer crash–which seems to happen every 6 months, is another thorn in my side. I was without a computer for a week, and this is not a good thing for me…it’s how I occupy my mind. But I had to sit in front of the TV and struggle through each minute, each hour, each day….I had to order a new computer and spend money on that which I needed for other things. And I am about to move again, in April, when my lease is up, to a cheaper apartment. I hope the extra money will help me reach at least one of my goals, which is to be able to clean up my credit so I can finally buy a home of my own. So now, in anticipation of that, determined not to injure myself by doing it all too fast, I have been packing up all the things I can do without for the next six weeks. I am surrounded by boxes and debris, the detritus of my existence, the things I carry around with me to set up in proper places to create this semblance of a life, but which has become merely the settings for a stage to serve a fictional play that is my life. Shakespeare said “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts…” quite existential–and that’s how I am feeling. I will turn 50 next month. 50. I am closer to my death than to my birth and I still don’t have a home, a partner…and no one loves me. This statement is usually some lament that is not accurate, but shockingly, it is in this instance, TRUE. There is no one in my life who LOVES me. That’s got to be the worst feeling in the universe. Especially while facing this threshold of getting older. I’m afraid. I’m fearful of too many things, now. Fearful of being ill with no one to take care of me. Afraid of something happening to me and no one will know, or even care….terrified of dying alone.

If I give myself to someone in friendship and love, and am repayed with betrayal and cruelty, then I might respond by withholding the precious aspects that make love valuable…but by withholding the very nature of what love is, I garner no interest in anyone loving me, and so I am caught in my own trap of self-protection. So I either have to choose a life of giving with the very real possibility of betrayal and pain, against the choice of loneliness, but without betrayal and cruelty. Which is the more formidable negative? which pain is greater?

Last night I had the same nightmare, over and over. I kept waking up from it, going back to sleep and then dreaming it again. And though I know, emotionally, that it was awful, I can’t remember a thing about the dream.

I can’t just stop caring. Believe me, I’ve tried. And I just go on caring anyway. I wish there was a pill for that, I’d twist the arm of the VA docs until they gave it to me. Sometimes I need to not care so much. It’s really a burden to care. Caring means it matters, and if it matters, it hurts when things don’t go well.

So today, I made the mistake of trying to correct the failing Internet connection on my computer and when using it wirelessly on My Nook. I called Century Link, and the woman wasn’t making sense, had me crawl under unplug and move to other room after I had to hunt for another phone cable and then when i finally get it hooked up in other room she had disconnected me. I wanted to drive down there, find her, and bash her face in. Not the kind of emotions I like to have.

Then Tom calls about my apartment–I can’t have a satellite dish on 2nd floor where my apartment will be. I’m under contract and can’t get Comcast because I am disputing what they say I owe and trying to be in the class action suit against them. So can’t get their service and couldn’t anyway because I’m under contract with Century Link along with DTV, Verizon. But, he said, he will have apt opening up on top floor, but not sure when it will be available because they’re being evicted and might fight it and that will put me over my lease period–and also I can’t climb that many stairs, my knees will blow and moving, will kill me unless I can pay someone to do EVERYTHING. And the past moving experiences have taught me that I NEVER have the help I need, and I wind up injuring myself to the point where it takes me months to get back to normal.

Tom’s supposed to call back.*

SO while I’m waiting, I couldn’t find my charger for my ear bud, and need it, because my neck injury won’t let me hold the phone with my shoulder like some people do, and I keep dropping my phone and If I hold the phone with one hand, like many people do, my hand goes numb, and I drop the phone that way too. If I break that I’m fucked because an iPhone is not cheap to replace.  I did finally find the charger, mislabeled among all the other thousands of cords and cables, and plugged in my earbud. My only stupid victory in months. And I fully expect it to start smoking and catch on fire.

All the while, I am stressed because I’m stumbling through the chaos of packing…and the place is a mess. I’m about to lose my mind.

I’ve been crying again, feeling lost and alone… popping Xanax, drinking Hot Damn and Mudslides and Hard Ciders. Last night I spent $36 at liquor store–had to walk there because I was afraid to lose my parking spot outside because I’m using my garage for all the packing, and if I return to no parking spaces–which is VERY common here, I will have to then move ALL THOSE BOXES in the garage again to make room, and my back and neck can’t take it right now. Now my knees and hips are killing me, because there’s a big hill on the way up to Ohio street by the liquor store, that I simply HAD to climb to get some damn alcohol to try to calm my nerves, deaden my emotions.

I’m afraid I’ll get cancer because I’m smoking again. And that means I’ll deal with dying alone for sure.

I feel fat. I feel ugly. I feel useless. I feel hopeless. I feel alone.

 

_____

*ADDENDUM: Tom called back and said he couldn’t do it. SO good luck finding an apartment, sorry,,etc. SO back to square one. Square one seems to be my default position

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December 20th, 2011 anger, angst, anxiety, AUTHORS, chaos, CREATIVITY, depression, Depressive Realism, despair, desperation, disillusionment, Driving, fear, friendship, frustration, harsh realities, life, loneliness, meaning, PSYCHOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, romance, sadness, self-awareness, sensitivity, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, Social anxiety, socializing, stress No Comments »

Why not Me?

Pulitzer and Nobel Prize-winning author, Pearl S. Buck  said,

“A human creature born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To them… a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create~ so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, their very breath is cut off…They must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency they are not really alive unless they are creating.”

And we now know Buck was an HSP – A Highly Sensitive Person, as it is colloquially called by the pioneer in this research, Dr. Elaine Aron, PhD. Perhaps ironically, HSPs also have the ability to be more adaptable than the average person, if for no other reason than we HAVE to be to survive, and I suspect that the HSPs who aren’t able to, for whatever reason, end up being overwhelmed to the point where they can descend into isolation or even suicide. Especially if they have little support from friends or family.

But HSPs are uniquely qualified to problem-solve. They have a unique brain architecture known in the literature as Sensory Processing Sensitivity. There is a difference in what they feel, as opposed to most others in our society. If two people are being poked in the leg, and one is an HSP and one is not, the one who is not HSP will interpret that as a finger poking them, the HSP might interpret this as an ice pick. So while they might be feeling more pain, they are also more motivated to make it stop, and because HSPs tend to be analytical and creative problem solvers, they are the ones most likely to find the solution.

With the Holiday coming up this weekend, I’m having to deal with many of my least-favorite things. No, I’m not talking about shopping or relatives. I’m not doing either. I’m talking about that dreadful set of decisions I have to make, which I not only want to avoid, but wish I could just sleep through.

I am in that mode where I’m fighting off depression and sadness because the holidays are always a source of pain for me. I can’t even recall the last time I had one I enjoyed, and most of them, I’ve spent alone. It’s made worse when I look around me and so many other people I know are all glowing and happy because they have someone who loves and wants them…it makes me feel sad. I’m happy for THEM, but sad for me, because I don’t have that, and haven’t, for a very long time. Even worse, is when one of those happy people is someone you recently fell for, and they didn’t fall for you, but then went immediately into another relationship and DID fall for the other person; and you watch as they say things about that other person you only wanted them to say about you, and they post happy pictures and remove the ones that had you in them. I want to be happy for them, and I am, but it always comes with a sadness. Why couldn’t it have been me? Why can’t I ever find love? And then the tears come, and the scar on my heart gets opened up again, and I sit and bleed…wondering when I’ll find a spark of hope or inspiration again.

So it’s helpful if I can be social with the friends I do have during the holiday season, since I don’t have any family, but it’s often difficult to catch them on holidays, because they have families and established friends to do that with, and I still don’t know that many people here. I’m not going to be on the list of first chosen to spend time with. Am I having a pity party? Hell yes. I feel pitiful. It feels unfair. And I’m once again feeling terrible about it all. Thanks to the wretched holiday season.

Here’s the crux of my dilemma. As an HSP, my Sensory Processing Sensitivity means I’m easily overwhelmed and stressed by certain situations. Some of those are chaos, loud noise and too many different types of noises, crowds of strangers, all crammed together in a small space, driving and parking downtown, drunk people. Now, tell me, doesn’t that sound like your average holiday party at a pub? So I am always forced into this awkward position: I don’t want to disappoint any friend I might have who invited me, but I also don’t want to put myself through it, especially since the holidays are already really difficult for me. And sometimes being among drunk strangers just makes me feel more alone (and there’s the added insult that they are all straight people, and I’m gay–another source for feeling like an outcast–why would I want to pal around with a bunch of drunk straight men? Especially when they’re usually putting their hands all over me–or trying. I have had moments when they run the risk of pulling back a stump).  And then, there’s also the parking issue. The last two times I went downtown to socialize, I got two tickets and also got my car towed (and of course this was after I had to spend 300$ on a brake job–so 550$ later, I’m aware of my aversion to going downtown). Driving downtown is also very stressful to me because there’s too much information pelting my senses–

Turn here? [looking at GPS on iPhone]…oops BRAKE LIGHTS!  Nearly rammed someone…Crap! I need my reading glasses because I’m wearing my contacts…what’s that sign say? I can’t read it! oh, take off my reading glasses…. my hands are shaking…oops, I should have turned there…I’ll turn here OH MY GOD THAT’S A ONE-WAY STREET….[backing up]…STOP HONKING AT ME! I CAN’T have an accident….I finally get a decent vehicle and if I have a wreck, I’ll be so upset…I smell something burning…I hope it’s not something under my hood….SAME FINGER TO YOU BUDDY!….plus worrying about paying for it, and being trapped with no transportation….that screaming Serpentine-belt I need to get fixed…so embarrassing when someone hears it, need to get that fixed, but it’s going to be a couple hundred dollars to do…the noise of it is so irritating…is this where I turn? fuck!  I nearly ran over someone on the cross walk…STOP HONKING AT ME!! Did I bring my wallet? What if I have to park in the street? Do I even have change? DO I NEED CHANGE? Stop Honking at me!!

Welcome to my head. That’s a mild version, too. And only about a minute of time in that experience, but it’s what my head is doing.

Now, compare that to a low-impact or pleasant sensory experience….

Wow…the snow is so pretty and there’s so many trees….know where I’m going…it’s three blocks down on Vance, turn right  then into the free parking area. Got a good space up front….walking into the shopping district…it’s so clean, here… the air smells clean, too…yum, this Juicy Fruit gum smells and tastes so good….it feels good to walk, the rhythm of it is soothing to me…I love all the holiday lights strung on everything here…people look happy, walking along…my life is good….I smell barbeque…and popcorn…mmmm……now I’m hungry, but this place has really good food too, so I’ll just order something delicious….the theater is right there…maybe we could catch a movie matinee tomorrow…oh, that’s my favorite Xmas song…..[singing] “have yourself….a merry little christmas….” just around the corner, my friend waits and we’ll have a drink and conversation, and enjoy our connection…maybe we can sit in front of that fireplace…I love fireplaces…so cozy…I love it when she laughs and smiles…she’s a good friend, I feel lucky to have her in my life…this time, I will hug her and not let go first….I’ll just have a nice relaxing drink or two…if we’re there a while, and I drink more than two drinks, I can just walk home…this is my neighborhood, and it’s familiar and safe…what a beautiful night it is tonight….

See the difference? Having that sensory sensitivity might be bad sometimes, but it can also be extremely pleasant other times. That’s why HSPs are generally highly creative, and spend a good deal of time doing creative things–music, writing, art–all three of which I ACTUALLY DO. And HSPs also need to have some control over their environment and their schedules and their social lives., so that they can create a balance of sensory experience.

So, when I am invited into chaos, I always try to make alternate plans so I can see the people I DO know and care about; but they don’t always want to sit in a quieter place and have a cocktail and talk . I guess I really am odd, because that’s one of my favorite things to do. I want to connect with those I care about or am interested in getting to know. Can’t do that in a loud bar where you have to shout at each other, or when the goal is to get hammered.  And by the time I even GET to that location I’m stressed out. Then I can’t have more than two drinks, because I have to drive home, and I just DON’T drink and drive.  And just when I needed a drink the most. Not to mention I’m really nervous because I know that a lot of people DO DRINK AND DRIVE and I’m afraid one of them will hit me.  Call me a party-pooper, but it’s just not the sort of interaction I enjoy. Some HSPs can handle it better because they’re Extroverted HSPs. For the most part, I am an Introverted HSP. I love interaction like conversation and communion in a soothing atmosphere, watching movies, playing a game…but the more chaos and the less control I have, the more stressful it becomes for me. And I’m so weary of having to explain it, and so tired of being made to feel guilty for being who I am. Is it any wonder that it’s easy to become isolated? Or depressed? Is it any wonder why I question the reason for my existence?

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September 24th, 2011 experience, Human Nature, paths, Theodore Roosevelt No Comments »

Being Fully Human

Theodore Roosevelt once said:

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

My sentiments exactly.

We all have a past. We all have things we have done, said, been–that we would have liked to be different. Yet, that is part of the human experience. Part of being fully human includes getting your hands dirty. We know and appreciate joy because we have experienced sorrow; we know and appreciate love because we have been familiar with fear and envy. We do not grow as humans until we live fully in the human experience, in all its wonder and agony and beauty and ugliness.

We cross paths with perhaps thousands of people in a lifetime, and who is to say how many of them are there to learn their own lessons by knowing you, or you, them? We can say that a person inflicted pain on us, or was our nemesis, wronged us, or in some way did us damage, yet perhaps this is the only way we could have learned what we needed to learn. We can indeed thank these people in our minds and hearts for bringing us valuable lessons (i.e., everyone can be a teacher) even though this is often hard to do, because if we blame someone else, we don’t have to take responsibility for ourselves. 

It’s a real challenge to be okay when your past rears its head via the opinions from those who were alongside you during the journey; those who saw the dark side of your soul, the ones who might have felt the sting of your lessons, the pain of your anger or angst or confusion. It then becomes about forgiving yourself; and yet, why would we need to forgive something that is intrinsically part of the process and indeed the very reason we are here? While there is a precarious balance between personal accountability and accepting the inevitability of human foibles, this balance can be had, and is one we should strive for.

I have done so, and continue to do so, even amid my own frustration, confusion and misinterpretations. I am not the same person i was 10 years ago. If i was, it would indicate that i am not evolving. And i find that concept not only unacceptable but repulsive. 

I am not merely a human being, but a human, BEING.

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July 29th, 2011 Attraction, chemistry, dating, Driving, EMOTIONS, happiness, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), hope, kindred, lesbians, RELATIONSHIPS, romance, socializing, SOCIOLOGY, TRAVEL No Comments »

Kindred Romance

This is a bit retroactive, but felt I should post something….

I‘m almost afraid to say it. 
I think I’ve finally met someone normal. Stable. Real. A Kindred. 
 
After the debacle of my last relationship, i am quite gun shy, and yet, this woman has managed to get around my defenses. It’s so easy to be in her company. Everything just seems to flow smoothly. It’s effortless to spend time with her, and I find myself feeling genuinely happy whenever she’s around.

Kelly and I have been dating 3 to 4 times per week for the last month–long, all-nighters of talking and laughing and learning about each other, dinners out, socializing with friends, road trips…and I have to say, it’s been the BEST dating experience I’ve ever had. We’ve done tons of different things, had some great experiences. She is smart, talented, funny, genuine, sensitive, ethical. And as an added bonus, HOT. ;^) I am drawn to her like she’s a magnet and I’m made of heavy metal.

We have so much in common–even weird, esoteric things–that it seems a little bizarre. We’re both HSP’s, which means our brain architecture is very similar. This creates that feeling of having found a Kindred, I think.

I don’t have a crystal ball, so I can’t predict what will come of this, but what i do know with a surprising degree of confidence, is that she and I will probably be in each other’s lives from this point on.

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July 25th, 2011 accident, Colorado, danger, deer, Driving, ethics, mortality, police, sadness, sensitivity, TRAVEL 2 Comments »

Deerly Beloved


Things can change in a nano-second. One minute, you’re moving along in your life, perhaps even having a great day and feeling hopeful, and the next, you are reminded of how precarious life can be. Last night Kelly and I had one of those moments. If anything had been slightly different, it’s possible we would not be alive.

We had spent the entire weekend enjoying various activities and meals and socializing with friends. We were on our way back from a fly-fishing excursion in Deckers, and moving through the pitch blackness of Highway 85, between Sedalia and Highlands Ranch, near the town of Louviers. Kelly had requested my original music on the stereo and “Something in Me” was playing. We were happy and tired from our wonderful weekend.

Then something appeared a few feet in front of her car. A large buck-deer. It was as if it had fallen from the sky directly in front of us. There was no time to react. The only thought i recall is, it’s too close. We’re going to hit it. And then the expletive, FUCK.

Then BAM.

We made impact in the front passenger side where i was, striking the animal in the hindquarters, and it was just gone, as quickly as it had appeared. By this time, she had braked a little, and we were just continuing down the road, slowly, staring ahead, shocked and trying to assimilate what had just happened. I said, “Kelly….pull over. Pull over…” She did and we just sat there for a few minutes, realizing that we had somehow managed to emerge unscathed from a potentially deadly accident.

I think because we hit him while he was running, and impacted his hindquarters, the momentum just spun him toward the ditch. If we had hit him broadside, things could have been so much worse. Since we were in a small car, it would have been easy for him to have flipped right through our windshield.

I recalled all the stories of deer-impacts on roadways. Some of the stories were straight out of a horror movie. The beast is propelled through the front window, severely injuring or even killing the passengers; sometimes the deer would still be alive, and it would be flailing and kicking, and the passengers would be further injured or killed by that. This particular animal was huge. Maybe 8 or 10 point Buck, with a formidable rack of antlers. I imagined us being gored by those as we sat pinned in the vehicle with him thrashing in pain and confusion.

Soon, i was thinking practicalities and mercy. I had to squeeze through the passenger door, as it was jammed a little by the side panel, and I took pictures of the damage, which was, surprisingly, not half as bad as it could have been. Then she called the Sheriff’s department and asked about filing a report for insurance and we also wanted to get someone from game and fish to find the poor animal and either help it or euthanize it. I didn’t think there was any way it was going to survive, though.

I thought about the experience I’d had with a previous girlfriend, where we were on a trip in Colorado, no less, and had experienced the same vision while driving at night–I had been trying to take a nap in the back seat, and Em was driving. In my mind, while dozing, a vivid and violent scene unfolded–quick seconds of tragedy. I had seen us hitting a deer in the road, and it had come through the front window. I sat straight up and in a panic, said “Baby–”
She said, “Did you see that too?”
“I saw a deer and–”
“We hit it and it came through the windshield–”
We both had to stop and get hold of ourselves, wondering at the strangeness of the event. Not wanting to tempt fate, I had suggested that if this was some kind of warning, we needed to change our timeline. So we pulled over and took a break. When we got back on the road, only a few minutes later, we saw a herd of deer crossing the road in front of us, and they were almost out of site onto the other side. We shared a spooky look with each other.

And Kelly and I — yesterday–I took a video only an hour or so earlier, where a deer had been down the slope of the overlook we stopped at. Now, it seemed a portent of things to come…

(This short vid is of us sitting in the car talking only a moment after it happened.)


As we sat there in Kelly’s car, absorbing what had just happened to us, I heard some thrashing sounds, and eventually, we saw it in the hillside brush, stumbling, its back leg obviously broken, and perhaps its back. It was half falling down the incline and trying to walk. We both were overcome with sadness and heartsick to see the suffering of this beautiful beast. Then we lost sight of it, and made some more calls and finally a State Trooper arrived.

He took a report and told us that he would have to go out there with his flashlight and find the deer, and shoot it. It was sickening to think about, because Kelly and I are both HSP’s and thus very sensitive, but we knew it was the merciful thing. This animal would have either starved while suffering or been attacked by other animals-like wolves- and torn to shreds while still alive. A bullet is always a better alternative.

But, amid this tragic event for an innocent animal, we realized that there was much to be thankful for.

We had just had a Near Death Experience. We had beaten the odds.
We felt so lucky. So unbelievably, inexplicably lucky.

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July 7th, 2011 Driving, HUMOR No Comments »

Spider in my Car

This was the only picture of a spider i
could stand to put here, because it’s cute
in a creepy, spidery kinda way. I couldn’t
spend much time looking for one,
anyway, because i would have seen
too many spiders at one time, and that
would have screwed up my whole day.

My best friend called me not long ago, and in the middle of our conversation, she said, “Hang on, there’s a spider in my car and i have to pull over before I freak out.” 

She takes off her shoe to kill it and I warn her that shoes do not kill spiders. They have some kind of shield like on the Starship Enterprise, that engages. You smash them and they get up and walk away. 

She claims to have injured it, but crippling a spider is not really crippling a spider–I mean there’s all those legs. You can break one and they can still ambulate.

“I hit him pretty hard,” she says. “he has to be concussed. I hope he’s not in my hair–”

I’m laughing hard enough to keep from answering, because my best friend’s hair is an ongoing joke in regard to creatures who like to nest in it.

“You know spiders like my hair,” she continues. “Now I don’t where he is.”

My best friend, Justi- A good
example of hair spiders like.


“He’ll wait until you’re back on the road in traffic,” I say. “and then limp onto your nose, dragging that one injured leg, and bite you right between the eyes.”

There is a short silence, and I hear the distant sound of a car horn in traffic. Then she says, “I’m gonna worry about this until I find the body.” 






—————————-
*Apparently, Mazda had to recall 52,000 of their cars because Yellow Sac Spiders liked to build nests in the evaporative canister vent line. No human hair there, but still.

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June 12th, 2011 CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, CREATURES, Driving, HUMOR, spiders, TRAVEL No Comments »

Spider in my Car

cutecreepyspiderface

This was the only picture of a spider I could stand to put here, because it’s cute in a creepy, spidery kinda way. I couldn’t spend much time looking for one, anyway, because i would have seen too many spiders at one time, and that would have screwed up my whole day.

My best friend called me not long ago, and in the middle of our conversation, she said, “Hang on, there’s a spider in my car and I have to pull over before I freak out.”

She takes off her shoe to kill it and I warn her that shoes do not kill spiders. They have some kind of shield like on the Starship Enterprise, that engages. You smash them and they get up and walk away. 

She claims to have injured it, but crippling a spider is not really crippling a spider–I mean there’s all those legs. You can break one and they can still ambulate.

“I hit him pretty hard,” she says. “he has to be concussed. I hope he’s not in my hair–”

I’m laughing hard enough to keep from answering, because my best friend’s hair is an ongoing joke in regard to creatures who like to nest in it.

“You know spiders like my hair,” she continues. “Now I don’t where he is.”

My best friend, Justi- A good
example of hair spiders like.

“He’ll wait until you’re back on the road in traffic,” I say. “and then limp onto your nose, dragging that one injured leg, and bite you right between the eyes.”

There is a short silence, and I hear the distant sound of a car horn in traffic. Then she says, “I’m gonna worry about this until I find the body.” 






—————————-
*Apparently, Mazda had to recall 52,000 of their cars because Yellow Sac Spiders liked to build nests in the evaporative canister vent line. No human hair there, but still.

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April 2nd, 2011 anger, annoying people, anxiety, apartment, bad customer service, betrayal, Biscuit, cats, Cherryot, Colorado, conflict, conversations, crisis, depression, desperation, disability, disillusionment, domestic violence, Driving, fatigue, fear, frustration, harsh realities, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), iPhone, money, Monkey, moving, panic, RELATIONSHIPS, rudeness, sadness, sensitivity, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, stress, Xanax 1 Comment »

EXTENDED STRESS Hotel.

My Cherryot was loaded to capacity, with the things I thought I’d need for two months, until an apartment became available.

 

At Extended Stay, I checked in with desk clerk–started to unload, and had to take several things up first (5 trips in elevator) before I noticed that there was a luggage cart in front with a tattooed guy leaning on it talking to another guy. “Oh a luggage cart!” I said. “I need that.” He said he only had a couple of things and rushed off to get his task done so I could have it.

Meantime, I wanted to get the cats out of the Cherryot so they’d be safe and I’m sure they needed some freedom. That cardboard box in back of crate with litter was bound to be hard to lay next to.

I was trying to figure out what to do to get the cats up there safely. I also knew there was a limit of one animal, and so I had to be careful they didn’t see two.

I emptied a small gym bag and tried to put Monkey in it, but she doesn’t like being trapped, and I felt awful that I’d have to zip it up and scare her, and it was a small bag; I was stressing her more. So I dragged out the big red rolling suitcase, emptied it, and put her in it fairly easily, and then rolled her down the walk, through the breezeway, onto the elevator, all the while reassuring her in a sweet voice that it was okay and I was right here and we’d be in the room soon, etc. I always talk to my cats, explain things to them, as if they completely understand the English language.

I put Monkey in the bathroom and closed door, went to get Biscuit. She’s always harder to manage because these travel scenarios wear her out. Again, I discovered she was lying in the litterbox and wouldn’t come out. She did that on my move here in 09. I had to move a bunch more things, just to get that huge crate turned so I could get the door open wide enough, because I had to reach all the way to the back to get her. Monkey just came out when I asked her to, and then I just picked her up. With Biscuit, it was another story. I would have to be aggressive and just grab her and poke her in the case, because no amount of quiet explanation would get her to do what I needed her to do. And I had to be careful she didn’t slip out the door of Cherryot and run away. Horrifying thought for me.

SO she was in there and I asked her not to cry too loud so anyone would hear. Just as we reached the elevators, and passed a maintenance guy, she cried once, and I hurriedly coughed rudely continually, punching the elevator button. Finally the car came down and I rolled her in, and had another soothing conversation with her, for what it was worth. Even told her she was a pretty kitty and mommy loved her very much.

Got Biscuit in the bathroom with Monkey, and knew Monkey would console her, while I went to get the rolling cart and unload the rest. It still wasn’t there.

Mind you, there was a memory foam mattress rolled up and attached to the luggage rack of the Cherryot, along with the litter box with that 35 pound container of litter, and couple other things. I didn’t want someone to steal it. The bed, not the litter. My friends know that my foamy bed is as crucial to me as breathing, because I can’t sleep on anything else without my back going out.

Finally I procured the luggage cart from Tattoo Guy and began loading it up. Hard to do, since most things were not neatly arranged in one size liquor boxes or crates. Had to be creative with stacking since a couple of the plastic tubs had no lids. I had to pull them out of the garden shed thing off the back porch of house and clean them out. Anyway, it took about 4 trips to get it all up there.

The entire time, I am limping because of my injured knee (thanks to my Awful X– as in previous, X–as in crossed out, gone, no longer applicable), and my hands were so sore, and my spine felt like it had hot bricks for discs, my feet were throbbing, and my neck was making threats to rupture a disc again. If that happened, I was down for the count, and I would be completely immobilized. I hoped for good fortune and carried on.

Once in the room, I had intended to go straight to bed, too tired to shower. But then I had to find things and then I started unpacking in increments, and then before I knew it, I had unpacked everything, maybe it was just leftover nervous energy.

During this time, I was on the phone with my best friend Justi, and my spirits were considerably higher because I was allowing myself to feel relieved that I was somewhere I could rest. Make camp. I told her about the fine art of controlling a loaded luggage cart; it likes to spin around at will like a go cart with one bad brake.

Then I can’t avoid the need for food any longer and about 12:30, I hoped there was a drive thru open. Problem was, I seemed to be in a section of the city that was a fast food dead zone. I drove North on Wadsworth, and saw nothing. I was going to use my Mango fast food app on my iPhone to find it but realized that app was lost in the last screwy update I did where I forgot to select to save apps. I searched it and got it again, while still talking to her, and she was on her computer trying to find me a place to get food too. Then I said I just wanted a cheeseburger and fries. Small. My stomach was shrunk. I had already lost five pounds from stress and exertion in the last 6 days.

“There’s an Arby’s on Jewel,” she offered.

“I don’t want Arby’s, I want a cheeseburger. I’m looking for McDonalds and Burger King, because I knew they were open late, too.”

“There’s also a Wendy’s on Jewel,” she added.

“I don’t want Wendy’s because I want fries and I don’t like their fries. Too fat.”

I finally located the Wendy’s though, and drove past it looking for ARBY’s because she began extolling the virtues of sliced roast beef and cheese sauce and seasoned curly fries. I didn’t see it, and my stomach was growling and I was a little dizzy from hypoglycemia. I turned around and went back toward Wendy’s. “Fuck it, I’ll got to Wendy’s. At least they have cheeseburgers.” And then I discovered they had something called a Baconator, with natural cut fries with sea salt. Enjoyed a playful conversation with the order taker and got my goodies. The fries were delish, and when I got back to the hotel and tried the Baconator, it became automatically my new favorite burger, so it all worked out.

The fact that I would post this is perhaps an indication that vanity is not one of my shortcomings.

There was much I needed to do–I didn’t have time to actually let the emotional aspects kick in. I was afraid I wouldn’t get things done if I was blubbering like a two year old. I had paperwork from the court and advocacy group people to go through, information to fill out, notes to take in Daytimer, figuring out my next steps and priorities. I still had bills I needed to take care of, (that my Awful X had failed to pay, though she had used my money to pay HERS for about 4 months while she stayed unemployed). I had to update my bank account info before the bills came due, etc. I started my water distiller and drank what was left in previous jug, so dehydrated. My eyes were bloodshot, and I looked terrible in the bright light of that hotel bathroom mirror. So I graced my best friend with a photo of that and MMS’d it to her.

I looked like I’d been dragged behind a horse. Or at least my EYES had been dragged behind a horse. Or maybe a goat. A large, feral goat.

On the TV the size of a breadbox, I’m sort of watching some movie called Teen Witch about a coven of high school witches. Ironically it was partly about them discovering their powers to take vengeance on those who had wronged them, and I wished fervently for a little of that craft. Then I started watching another movie and eventually fell asleep.

Next morning, fire alarms go off, pulling me out the door onto the balcony muttering what the fuck? It stopped and I went back to bed, then the alarms went off again, just as I was dozing. I went back outside to look around to see if there was any smoke or firetrucks and heard a guest below me mutter What the fuck? which made me think that was quite the appropriate response. My nerves were raw by now, this 6th day of the debacle, with 3 hours sleep, on top of 2 on top of 2 on top of 3, on top of 5 on top of NONE and none. I was certainly not going back to sleep now. I checked to see if my direct deposit had been transferred to the new account from the old one, and it hadn’t. I’m getting more and more stressed. I called the bank and they said it would happen within an hour. So I got dressed and went to the front desk to arrange to pay for another day.

Enter, stage right, the archetype of Rude Managers. Anne, I think her name was. I had missed checkout time at 11. And because my money didn’t transfer to my new account yet, I explained and said the bank was correcting, would be ok within an hour, but she said I had to be out by 3p. She wouldn’t let me pay for another day, even with a credit card, she said I had to pay for the week. I said the agreement I had made with them on the phone was to pay for two nights and then pay for a whole month, for this month and then May, until my apartment was available. She said I had to pay for the week. I said I could pay her cash or use a credit card for one more night and then she’d have over a thousand dollars for me to stay the month, and she wouldn’t budge, she said get out by 3p. Now, this was particularly hurtful and aggravating, because I had explained my predicament to her on the phone, and she knew I was escaping a bad situation. Before walking out the door I said “Just remember, lady, Karma is a castrating bitch.”

SO then I’m freaking out, because now, not only am I dealing with the bank glitch, but having to load the Cherryot AGAIN, with no place to go afterward. I’m not good at feeling helpless or trapped, and this was exactly that situation, in spades.

At Justi’s counsel, I called the Apartments office to see if they had a different apartment that would be available NOW, and if not, a month to month one until the other one was ready. If not, where would they suggest I stay? I was trying to go to the bank while talking to Justi and got so disoriented, I didn’t know where I was. Took me 10 minutes to get the map to make sense on my phone. All the while I’m chanting, I am stronger that her (D), I will get through this. I will be okay. And then I was angry that I was dealing with all this because of her, and for the first time in my life, I used that word I hate so much. I shouted, “She is such a cunt!”

Then I had to pull over and take a deep breath, because I was losing it and I had to keep control in order to get myself out of this situation. I continued to chant I’m okay…I’m strong enough to deal with this, it’s just temporary, I’m okay…

I went to the bank, and they were so nice. They did a credit memo, based on my direct deposit, and made $2000 available to me, in cash. I’m standing there at the counter at the bank, tears streaming down my face, my body throbbing, my knee killing me, desperately needing a drink of water, food and some sleep. I redeposited enough cash to cover the 200 dollar security fee, and $20 application fee I wrote temporary checks for at the Apartments, plus some fees for the cashier’s check. Traded out the other cash for that. I kept hearing that song in my head by Billy Pilgrim: Got my own falling-apart-ment….

SO I left with a sealed envelope of $2000 and felt slightly better. Except for the possibility of being mugged. That would have been the first horseman of the Apocalypse. I tried not to think about it. At least I had money. I’d be very careful. I also had the $300 from pawning my guitar–which i was loath to do, as it is beloved, and a symbol of happier days when i was playing and singing with my band in front of a receptive audience… But strangely, having cash is not always helpful these days. Most people won’t take it. And temporary checks are shunned. And I didn’t have a debit card yet to get to my funds that way.

As it turned out, with the apartments, I didn’t even have to go to the second choice of a month to month or third choice of asking them to refer me elsewhere, because they had an apartment. It was a 2br,  with a private garage – it cost more of course, but just as Justi said, I make more now and can afford it. Plus when I get my storage, I’ll have an extra $135 from not paying that; and my Cherryot pays off in May, so starting in June, that will be an additional $330 per month I’ll have. I was relieved, though still shaky and skeptical…

I spoke with Shelia (had spoken to Kayla earlier too) they all knew the story of what had happened. When I got to the Apartment office, Kayla came out of the far office with her arms wide, saying “You poor thing! Come here, you need a hug~!” and she gave me a big hug. It almost made me cry. She said not to worry, I was home now, and everything would be okay. That also nearly made me cry, because it did feel like home. All the things home is supposed to feel–safe, pleasant, convenient, with supportive people around you.

Before any business was done, Shelia came over to sit with us and the two asked me details of what happened. I talked about more of what I’d been through and details about D’s arrest and that night when she threw the gun in koi pond. They were both rapt. It was like sitting with two old friends. They know I’m gay and they don’t care. They were supportive and encouraging. It felt so good and went a long way to relieve my stress. I said I would be writing all about it.  Kayla said I ought to do a memoir about it. I said I already have a memoir about events 10-14 years ago; I had hoped never to have this kind of thing to write about again, at least not if it was nonfiction, and happening to me; but this is another kind of drama that would work as a memoir, yes. Or I could just make it fiction. They both said they would LOVE to read it.

Kayla rushed through the application process. When I went out to get my banking information, I grabbed the new final proof for Achilles Forjan and gave it to Kayla. She was genuinely thrilled and said she couldn’t wait to read it.

So then, I went back to the bank to get a cashier’s check, and re-deposit the 200 and 20 to cover the temp checks I wrote for security deposit and app fee, and trade off cash for cashier’s check. Always nice to be recognized and waved over to a clerk at your bank–but I wish it wasn’t because I had been in there earlier in crisis mode.

All this, I did without a single Xanax.

I headed over to my new place, feeling relieved, stunned, exhausted and a little happy, all at the same time. I kept thinking, and miles to go before I sleep…

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March 29th, 2011 abuse, aggravation, anger, angst, anxiety, arrest, betrayal, cats, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, chaos, Colorado, conflict, coping skills, courage, court, crisis, CURRENT AFFAIRS, depression, desperation, disability, disillusionment, domestic partnership, domestic violence, DOMESTICA, Driving, EMOTIONS, exes, experience, Facebook, fatigue, fear, friendship, frustration, harsh realities, HEALTH, herniated disc, Human Nature, injury, LAW, lesbians, liars, lies, life, mental illness, money, moving, pain, PEEVES, PHILOSOPHY, police, problem-solving, PSYCHOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, Relocation, sacrifice, sadness, singlehood, SOCIOLOGY, stairs, storage, strength, TRAVEL, U-Haul No Comments »

Vamoosing

Suspended my Netflix account.
Still packing, desperately needing boxes. Downstairs, I pulled up everything in that storage room, which was the contents brought so far from storage when I actually thought I was going to be living here permanently, and her mother had finally moved, so I could do that. But only after we had ripped up the carpet down there and cleaned the unbelievable nastiness her mother lived in. goodbyepenbleach fumes, up and down stairs, aching body. I realized I would have to leave some things behind because it wouldn’t fit in my car or in storage, and I simply could not make another trip up those stairs carrying things. I was lucky I hadn’t ruptured another disc already. So I made some hard choices. All my art supplies, boxes of many things like old floppy discs, which I hoped my writing was not on without having been transferred last time I tackled that project. Took some pictures.
Called Qwest/DTV to put account on hold can’t believe they did that again, since I just took it off and switched it about a month ago. Called Extended Stay again. Still trying to work out a way to get a room for two days. Not enough on my credit card for that. Not enough cash left in the bank. Qwest needed my new service address, so had to call then on 3 way call to get the address.
Debra called–victims advocate. Told me where the court testimony will be heard from me. Victims Witness office. Court building in Brighton. She said it’s likely D will only get 1 year probation.  Still don’t know what all the charges are.
On Facebook, my friend WendyC sent me a message:
Jae,
Psycho Bitch is writing about you on Facebook! She doesn’t realize that she is “friends” with me and Brian!! lolol Do you want us to verbally attack her…or…wait to see what she writes about??
11 hours ago
D. ya, the dumb bitch lied and had me arrested for domestic violence. She distroyed my house and then told PD I did it. I NEVER expected this from her. I am so glad to be rid of her.

Infuriating. Especially, since in front of the cops (and for their benefit on Wednesday, she said “I just want to say, I’m sorry and I love you.”) How dare she blame me for what she did. Coward.

Surprisingly, when I called to beg for help from HHB card -a manager gave me a one time credit of $76. I intended to use that to pay for the u-Haul, as I had previously misread the data and where it said balance, I thought it meant available balance. So I didn’t have what I thought I had and now needed it because I had to go turn in U-Haul and HAD NO MONEY to pay for it. She said it would post on Thursday.
Then I realized after I hung up that wouldn’t help me pay for U-haul Now. Then I remembered I had those temp checks so I was going to pay that way. Then wen I went to turn in U-Haul she said the amount went through fine. Weird. So I didn’t have to write a check to them. Even though I wasted one by starting to write it.
Then I realized I needed that card balance to pay for my hotel, since they would not take cash or a check. And of course I didn’t have my debit card yet on new account. So I thought of pawning my Adamas. I hate to do that. It’s a $2000 guitar. And I love it. And sentimental value of my music days. But it IS a liquidatable asset. And I had to have some money. She even suggested putting the cash on one of those Walmart mastercards and using that, but they wouldn’t take that either because it wasn’t a “real” one. Pfft. Had to pawn Adamas.
I had to come up with a way for me to organize all the things I had to accomplish; problem solver extraordinaire. I had to alter it a little because of constraints my friend CW had in her schedule, but made it work.
  • I would take hotel stuff plus mattress and bedding and fireplace to storage. Make room in storage for other things.
  • Get the cats and crate and PC, take to CW’s downtown by 11am.
  • 1pm, court in Brighton.
  • After court, back to CW’s to pick up cats, PC, using keys CW gave me.
  • Take her keys to her at work downtown.
  • Get chg of address done at post office.
  • Go back to storage for hotel stuff and mattress, add to Cherryot, attach mattress rolled up on top.
  • Check in at hotel
 Now that sounds simple enough, except it involved more struggling, lifting, carrying, etc. CW has apartment on 3rd floor. But she was trying to get ready for work and I started without her a little. But she came down and helped me carry Crate O’ Cats the rest of the way. Carried up my computer and monitor, too. I tried to open the water dish with lid on it for them inside but it had of course all leaked out. Replaced it and headed for court in Brighton.

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August 30th, 2009 accident, Cherryot, falling down, HUMOR, injury, slippers, storage No Comments »

Cherryot Gymnastics

Storage trip update from Saturday.
So, I’m standing on top of my Cherryot, 1 applying bungees to things I wish I didn’t own, and I’m being careful to step only on the reinforced areas of the roof, and avoid the sunroof entirely, when my foot slipped.

Now, I was wearing my Sketchers which are really comfortable to take my nightly walks in. But I discovered, rudely, that they don’t have um…much…traction. At least not on top of the Cherryot.

So in that surreal, slow-motion movie moment kind of way, I began to fall, feet first, sliding down the side…not so bad, really. I could have slipped and fallen backward and landed on my back. So As my feet are striking the ground, i am at the wrong angle, and I just lunge forward…not in a dive-roll, like I did that time in Colorado Springs 8 years ago, on my apartment stairs…that was truly inspired, and of Olympic quality—no, this fall was awkward. I landed on my feet first, then my knees and hands…skidding ever so slightly.

You want to know the first thing i thought after that? I mean, I was feeling pain already, and I had just recovered from a ruptured disc in my neck a few short months ago…but you know what my first thought was?

I hope no one saw that.

(My friend Tanya said that’s called “Pride goeth AFTER a fall.”)

I actually looked around quickly to see if anyone was about. I would have bled a few extra drops, just so I could take the time to make sure no one saw me do something so patently ungraceful.

The second thing i did was assess the damage. After realizing I could still stand up and was mobile, the next thing i noticed was that I had a nasty splinter in my fuck-you finger. I don’t know when that happened.

I went back to work on storage, but knew that i was done for the day. I had to wrap it all up and come back later to do anything i was planning to do then.

So when I finally got home, I groaned my way out of the Cherryot, knowing I was not going to unload that stuff this time. It could wait until tomorrow. My joints and muscles hurt more than the minor scrapes to my knees and palms. I was just going to stick a French Bread pizza in the oven, take a hot shower and ibuprofen, put peroxide and triple antibiotic on my wounds, wrap up my wrists for support, ice my back, and just lie down and read.

And that’s what I did.

Until now, of course, when i could no longer resist coming over here and writing something.

__________________________
1 the nickname i gave my red Blazer

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August 8th, 2009 Aging, anxiety, awkwardness, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, Colorado, dating, Denver, disillusionment, Driving, EMOTIONS, friendship, harsh realities, HUMOR, Lakewood, lesbians, life, loneliness, midlife crisis, moving, PSYCHOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, SEXUALITY, Social anxiety, social politics, Social Psychology, socializing, society, SOCIOLOGY 1 Comment »

Making Tracks

So my first First Fridays at Tracks.

I went, faithfully following my GPS, and watching the little pulsing blue dot that was me on the map, as I veered repeatedly from the route I was supposed to take. I’ve discovered that if I just drive straight shots through town, I do better. The Highway is confusing and I end up taking the wrong lane and having to circle back and start over.

Later I ran into Tina and her friend and spent a little time with them. Everyone wanted to steal my electronic cigarette. I must get some stock to sell. Or get a referral fee from the guy I send them to online…

Anyway, I have re-verification, now, that one cannot make friends at a nightclub. One must have friends first and go with them, or meet them there. Otherwise, you wind up the solitary creature holding up the East wall. So what do you do when you just moved and have few friends in the area? hang out with them, and make new ones as you can, outside the nightclub. I have spoken.

I went home at a respectable hour, and on the way, got a text from Rheana that she was at Tracks and was I still there? I turned around and went back. I wanted to see Rheana. I hadn’t seen her in years. And besides, i needed the practice driving around.

I was equal parts excited and uneasy. I am, after all, a recovered agoraphobe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many women–gay or otherwise- in one room at the same time. There must have been around a thousand of them. One person commented that it was “A slow night.” I was there a few hours and felt stupid, being alone.

While Rheana danced with her girlfriend, I stood aside and took a few pictures. A young woman sidled up next to me and started a conversation. After initial introductory small talk, she asked, “Do you live in Denver?”

“Lakewood,” I said, “I just moved here.”

“Oh? Where did you move from?”

“Hell,” I said. She giggled, possibly because she didn’t believe me. I couldn’t bear to burst her bubble. There really were many hells to be had on earth.

“Are you a lesbian?” she asked next.

I laughed. “Why yes, I am.”

“It’s just that you don’t look like one.”

“Thank god,” I said, like the true atheist I also am.

“How old are you?” she wanted to know.

I hate that question. “How old do i look?”

She squinted at me in the strobing, pulsing lights. “Twenty nine.”

“Bless you, my child.” Kills me how everyone always thinks I’m younger. I guess I should not complain, since I’m smack dab in the middle of a mid-life crisis.

 

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August 4th, 2009 anxiety, ATHEISM, atheist humor, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, Colorado, danger, Denver, Driving, EMOTIONS, experience, Facebook, fatigue, friendship, GADGETS, HEALTH, herniated disc, HUMOR, injury, iPhone, Lakewood, life, moving, panic, phobias, PSYCHOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, RELIGION, Relocation, Sleep, SOCIOLOGY, stress, TRAVEL, U-Haul 1 Comment »

Going to Denver Because You’re Dead (2)


In this second installment, I am on my way, the tone of the journey being set right away in Joplin, a mere 60 minutes from my starting place…

Fri August 1 at 9:08am~
Jae:: in Joplin at loves truckstop. Having food and getting ice for my neck. It’s swelling. It’s tedious already driving 45mph I feel like I’m going to CO on horseback.

Veep: but not bareback…..right?

Jae: Yes, bareback, where all the trouble is to be found.

First, i get back on the exit and take the wrong turn, winding up on an access road next to the interstate, but not actually on it. And of course there are no convenient on ramps. Just a one lane blacktop that begins to look as though it leads to nowhere. Finally, i have to try to turn around and that’s not an easy task when you’re pulling an overloaded trailer. The best turn around is always to make a complete circle. But of course there was no room to make a circle where i was. I found a “Y” in the road and maneuvered back and forth for a long time until i finally was able to circle around. That wasted a good 30 minutes of drive-time. I got back on the interstate, and endured the sensation of ice water dripping down my back from the ice pack on my neck. Now, every time i got out, my backside would be soaked. It would look like i didn’t make it to the potty. And i didn’t care. I just wanted to get this trip over with. And it had only just started…

Fri at 9:21pm~
Jae: after stop am almost to Wichita. Back on the road now.

Fri at 10:06pm~
Veep: Glad that you missed the Reverend Fred Phelps in Wichita with his “God Hates Lesbians with Cats and U-Hauls” sign…..and that after checking, all your fluids are normal…..Oh, I mean vehicle fluids that is…:-)
Jae woulda kicked his ass!

Fri at 10:05pm~
TPenny: Kansas is so boring!!!!!!! My son, Josh, the architecture student, says Wichita is the ugliest city he has ever seen! LOL! You be careful out there!!!!

 

Jae: Correct. It is also the city of my birth. But believe me it was nothing like it is now. I shall make haste out of mind numbing Kansas. Luya Sat at 12:18am~

 

Somewhere during one of my turnarounds, i got lost again, and came across this big sign that says “This is God’s Country. Where Jesus is Lord.” That explained it. It was a conspiracy against his godless one who was trekking toward a new life. I wish I’d had time to take a picture of that sign.

July 31 at 10:40pm
Veep: she’s GOING….homo

TPenny: This is strange, but I miss you as if we actually saw each other every day while you were here. You let me know you are okay.

Jae: Aw. I will. I feel like that with u too. I think we were meant to be friends, we just didn’t know until we crossed paths again. I hope you’ll come see me soon.

July 31 at 11:05pm~
TPenny: Does anyone else feel like Jae leaving Arkansas has somehow made the entire state feel emptier? I told her that I already miss her as if I saw her everyday, and, hell, I haven’t actually seen her since high school. Weird and sad. Be glad when she gets there and starts her chatter on here. It’s too quiet without her.

July 31 at 11:21pm~
Veep: She’s trying to get some sleep right now and I’m calling again in a bit to make sure she’s ok. Yeah…..I hate the Hell out of it. I’m sad. But it’s good for her…..it’s good to see her happy again, making plans, feeling energized, getting her creative juices “flowing” (I know she’s gonna make something our of that and I walked smack into it…) being somewhere that lifts her up…so even if it ain’t good for the rest of us…if you love her…you gotta listen to what it is she says she needs and support her in it…ya know?

TPenny: yeah, most definitely…it’s gonna be fun sharing her adventures vicariously on here, and, hey, we still gotta do our fear and loathing thing sometime!!!! LOL.

Veep: Oh yeah… Fear and Loathing ..The Road Trip…absolutely. We can stop and picket at Fred Phelps church with dark shades on, cigarettes on long holders…..signs that say ” God doesn’t even hate YOUR ignorant ass…..but wishes He hadn’t wasted the flesh”

TPenny: LMAO!!! That would give me such pleasure, you just don’t even know how much I would love to do that!!!! To him, and a thousand other “good Christians” like him.

Jae: ok shut my eyes for 20 min. Back on road with cats in the cubby hole behind the seats. Biscuit won’t get out of litterbox. She’s lying in it –Freak feline. I’m off.

TPenny: Or that she’s scared shitless, so it’s okay to sleep in there…

Veep: August 1 at 1:13am~ lol….yeah that!

August 1 at 12:25am~
TPenny: Really nasty line of storms around Wichita, but once that line passes, you are free and clear. Maybe just stay put for a bit. strong winds and hail are likely in that storm.

Jae: Thanks Tan! Put I’ll stay. I was about to say I might nap but this is not a gentle rain. Lightning cracked over my head and gave me palps. Whew.

August 1 at 12:40am~
TPenny: What are you doing now???? Maybe you should just get a room for the night and get out of that storm. I’ll give you my card number if you need money for one.

Jae: Wow Tan. U are so sweet. It’s calmed a bit I’m gonna see if I can go slow. If not I’ll pull over again. We have to (re) meet so I can go ahead and call u one of my best friends. Love u for being u. Keep sending weather info. I’m north of Wichita heading toward Salina on I-35 then will go west toward co Loading…

TPenny: Ok. But please don’t be a hard head. If you need to sleep, I want you to sleep somewhere safely, preferably behind a locked door. I’ve just eaten a half can of cappuccino mix, so I’m wide awake and right next to ya. LOL! The storm is moving southeast, so thankfully you should be moving in the opposite direction and out of it.

1:27am~Where are you now? Once to Salina you should have smooth sailing and out of the storms all the way in to the Denver area.

Brian Cunningham: Weather Underground says 50 to 60 percent chance of thunderstorms until 10am

Sat at 1:25am~
Jae: Great. Until the time I’m supposed to BE there. Hells bells. Thanks Tan and Bri for keeping tabs on me. Veep has Been calling me every couple hrs. I have great friends!

Stopped to change to different type of contacts, hoping it would improve the vision. At a rest stop in Wichita area. And that’s when the rainstorm began. I can tell by how it’s rocking me sitting still that it was a good thing I was pulled over. (sigh)

August 1 at 12:46am~
TPenny: Me and Veep are going to do the Fear and Loathing thing. You are going to die laughing when you open your front door and there we stand dressed like that. I’m gonna jump thru the doorway, ducking and muttering about the bats. LOL!

August 1 at 12:53am~
Jae: Lol oh where is my mega butterfly net. Or I guess that would be bat net! Love u guys!

TPenny: re Hunter S. Thompson, I want the long cigarette holder. I’d give it to you but I’m not sure your electronic cig would work right in it.

Jae: I’ll just use my long ecig. It looks that way anyway. And apparently I need to refresh myself on Thompson.

Sat at 12:22am~
TPenny: I did not know that!!!! There’s the new thing I’ve learned today. Well and some stuff about Veep too. I got her to start telling me her life story and I agree with you, she definitely should write this down. She’s evil with her chapter endings too! Stops on a cliffhanger every damn time. Please keep me posted on your whereabouts. And back at cha my sista!

BrianC: August 1 at 10:30am~ are you still in Kansas?

Jae: Dude, I was in Kansas for 40 days and 40 nights, i think. They should not …ALLOW…Kansas.

Sat at 12:20am~
Jae: ok shut my eyes for 20 min. Back on road with cats in the cubby hole behind the seats. Biscuit won’t get out of litterbox. She s lying in it Freak feline. I’m off.

Veep: Biscuit is being a pissy pussy….or trying to tell you that this road trip is a real crapper….

TPenny: Keep those eyes open!!!! August 1 at 1:05am~

TPenny: August 1 at 1:29am~You might just be the bravest woman I know. If I were out there, I’d be like Biscuit – scared shitless!

Jae: August 1 at 2:16am~Really? Maybe u know something I don’t know. U work with cops afterall. But brave? This is my life. I’m usually all on my own.

3:01am~
Jae: pulled over at Mcpherson. am~ sleepy now! Stress and fatigue finally catching up to me.

August 1 at 3:06am~

Tried to get into hotel to use restroom and inside door locked. Resolved myself to debasing some leaves and scandalizing squirrels. But lady comes to door lets me in. Then bitches about how she’s tired of her place being the public restroom for the area. So wait, I think. You came out & called to me & let me in but only so you could complain about having done so? You should just keep your fat ass in your chair, Scooter.

Sat at 3:38am~
Veep: i just called you. no answer. please be bcuz you are sleeping? Pissing on the leaves and the squirrels?

August 1 at 3:53am~
TPenny: All right, I’m going to bed. Hopefully you are talking to Veep. I’ll check on you when I wake up. It was a blast talking to you…but strange in that it seems that we have never stopped talking. Be careful the rest of the way and good luck. Good Night or morning or whatever the hell time of day this is!!!! Be seein ya! (hugs)

Jae: Ditto. We’ve been friends on some other level for a long time it seems. Wish we’d re-met yrs ago! But I look fwd to a fantastic lifetime friendship with you Tan. And I’ll take ur advice on you-know who. Nap time. Catch ya later sweets.

Sat at 4:45am~
TPenny: did u get thru to her? If so, tell her I found my glasses. They were on my head…..LOL!

Sat at 4:56am~
Veep: just talked to her….you goob. I couldn’t go back to sleep because I was so worried that she was hydroplaning into the abyss with all her crap in tow…..when a funnel cloud appeared with an ugly witch on a scooter laughing hysterically at her cat lying in the litter box with John Denver music in the background and midgets……everywhere…..

Jae: That was a laugh i sorely needed, Veep! Thank you!

TPenny: scooter people suck almost as badly as do circle queens!

Jae: Daily dose of pithy commentary we three peas on a pod.

Sat at 4:58am~
Jae: ok after an hour call with TPenny: I guess I should really take that nap.

Jae >>>TPenny: I LOVED talking to u. I told u we’re cosmic twins. XOXO.

Jae: Thanks, Tan.

TPenny: Goodnight you two…my brain just crashed…I’ll check on you when I wake up Jae bird, but please be careful.

Sat at 5:01am~
TPenny: “Murphy is my guardian Angel, see, with a full dance card and A.D.D”……..awesome lyrics


Kansas just never seems to end. That well-known phrase, “you’re not in Kansas anymore” is just wishful thinking or an outright LIE. Even on my GPS, in places, it looked like i was in the big middle of nowhere. In the photo>>>that really is what it looked like. That’s me, the lonely blue dot in the nothingness.

It inspired me to write a poem….

August 1 at 9:32pm~
Jae Baeli:
thru the vast expanse of neverending Kansas
at speeds not quite reaching aunt myrtle
with my home in this shell, and my neck straining forward
it’s rather like being a turtle.

August 1 at 2:18am~
Jae: Thx. U know u can call me. I’m just sitting here. We should at least talk on the phone once since ur right beside me in that hotel bed. Lol

August 1 at 2:21am~
TPenny: You are so bad!!!!! calling you, standby….

I was supposed to be sleeping, but once i got on the phone with TPenny:, it was like we were never anything but close friends all our lives. It’s so strange to know that we shared such a huge portion of our younger years and then lost touch for so long, and that now, it’s as if we are in each others lives daily. Not only that, but we seem to be Cosmic Twins–kindreds. We are so much alike, it’s scary.

That conversation lasted an hour and revived me to the point i could not take a nap. Not that naps were anything i can ever do if i’m driving a long distance, tired. I get those little terrors that make you wake up and go oh my god, i fell asleep at the wheel! You lose track of reality. Your brain gets confused. So the only sleep to be had is after i reach my destination, and then it will have to be drugged sleep so i won’t keep having terrors.

August 1 at 2:13am~
Jae: Refer to status update. In parking lot of hotel. Gonna nap. Storm gone. And Thanks for your concern and especially saying that you’re right next to me in that hotel. Mmm lol

TPenny: The idea was to go inside the hotel…and, ahem, I meant next to you in the Blazer, you goober! LOL!

Jae: Ah… My bad. (your loss) hehe. I’m just talkin smack. Smack-talker. Talker of smack.

TPenny: just another thing that makes you the wonderful goober you are! :)

With a good four hours to go, I could not fathom trying to get a hotel.. That would have wasted valuable time, because i knew i would have to try to dig the kitty cats out, and they had burrowed under in the back and there was no way i could leave them there while i went into a hotel room. Plus, by the time i got in there to crash, it would have only been a few hours before i had to leave again.

So i knew i simply had to stay awake. Coffee, my longtime companion, was finally not enough to get the job done. I stopped and got the 8 hour energy drinks. TWO. Problem was, they didn’t work. I could not tell the difference. So much for the advertising. So i bought a Red Bull and a large Double Strength Rockstar drink. THOSE worked. I was alert. I knew i’d make it then.

Bolstered by my renewed hope, I did the math and was chagrined to find that i still might not make it on time. The night agent would only be at the apartments until ten, but i called and he needed me to be there by 9p at the latest. I was saved when i noticed the time difference between stereo clock and iPhone. I realized that that I was on Mountain time, now. I had been given an extra hour.

So I was pumped.

Shoes and Biscuit were still hiding in the cubby hole, and i used a flashlight to check on them whenever i stopped. Monkey had, by this time taken to riding behind my head on the stack, or on the console, leaning on my arm. She was very good at traveling, overall.

When i got closer to Denver, I was so relieved to just know it was up ahead that i didn’t pull over to regroup. I drove right into town, following the GPS, but I had no idea which exit i was supposed to turn on. By this time, it was nearing 8pm.

That’s when my situation became clear. I was in a big city, in big city traffic, on an interstate highway, with cars all around going mostly above the speed limit, and I was driving 45mph with an overloaded trailer behind me, 3 days on 6 hours sleep, 30 hours of drive-time, and it was getting dark.

Then my GPS went blank. I thought it was the automatic shut-off. But it wouldn’t come back on. My phone was dead.

So I’m trying to put the charger into another receptacle and still keep myself not only on the road, but between the lines. Vehicles are whizzing past me, some honking at me, while I’m checking left and right mirrors to keep the U-Haul in the lane–i had about 8 inches leeway on each side, it seemed. Meanwhile, i was trying to get my GPS back up because without it, i was drifting in foreign space. I didn’t know where i was going. I tried to read the exit signs and get some clue, recognize some name that might ring a bell in my belfry. No such luck.

That’s when i realized i was nightblind. Moreso than throughout the rest of the trip, which i thought was simply fatigue. Now i knew i could not read the signs without being right on them. And that, combined with the other issues, was a recipe for disaster. I’d come so far. How stupid and senseless it would be for me to get myself killed now.

I got off on the next ramp and circled through town, stopping in a parking lot. Trying to get my bearings. Trying to make my brain work again. Sitting there, I tried to get my iPhone back up. I knew it had been plugged into the cigarette lighter adapter the whole way. So i thought maybe the receptacle was bad. I put it in a different one and it was red-lining, but charging. It meant i couldn’t pull up the map until it had enough juice. I looked around and didn’t feel very confident that i was in a good neighborhood. Some ominous looking guys were coming my way. I pulled my pistol from the console and stuck it under my right leg. It made me feel better, but i was in no shape to engage in a shootout or hand to hand combat. So I just got back on the Interstate again. I thought if i kept moving until the GPS came back, i could figure something out without becoming a statistic. AGAIN. tried to reassure myself that that time, i didn’t have a gun and this time, i did. It didn’t make me feel much better. Though pulling a trigger required much less effort than what i was already doing.

As I continued down the highway, my iPhone came back on and i tapped over to the map. I was way off course. I got off the highway again and circled back and got back on the other way. A big rig whooshed past me and sent my trailer fishtailing and i had to fight to control it while i stayed in between the lines and braked steadily.

Feeling the stress crawling up my throat, i took the next exit and found another small lot to pull over. Then a call came through.

Veep.

I spoke to her for a moment and told her what was happening– that i had no GPS sometimes. She offered her strength and comfort and then started mapping on the computer to try to help. Then my phone went dark again. It didn’t have enough juice for the phone call and the map. I had to defer to the map. A text came through from Veep with instructions, but i couldn’t look. I felt there was no way she could have understood where i was and which streets were one way, and…i just didn’t believe she could help from where she was, though maybe she could have. I was so tired…

Then the phone rang and it was her again. But i couldn’t answer. I had to concentrate. Even though i wanted nothing more than to hear a friendly voice–to have someone tell me it was okay. But it was not okay. I realized i was exhausted beyond retrieval. And no one could help me. I had to have the map.

I plugged the phone in again using a different cord i had found in my bag. The screen showed no charge and all i could do was wait and hope it came back up. I had to get my GPS back. What was I going to do now? If i had no GPS, I had no navigation. It was like being in the middle of the ocean and your life raft had deflated. And there were plenty of sharks circling. My technology had saved me many times, but this time, it was up to me. My strong, problem-solving survivor had been weakened terribly by stress and fatigue and pain. I wanted sleep. I wanted to stop driving, stop thinking. I wanted someone to just take over. Someone to hold me and tell me it was okay and the ordeal was over. Why wasn’t there someone? Why was I alone again?

And then i felt it. That thing i haven’t felt for years. That thing I thought i had conquered.

Panic.

Unless you’ve had a panic attack, you cannot appreciate the power it has. My pulse was pushing at my throat, i broke out in a cold sweat, felt dizzy, and there were frissons of fear shooting through me like hot arrows. I was in a strange city, a big city. No matter how smart you are, if you’re not used to being in a big city, you can still do something dumb. There were those who would think nothing of snuffing out your life. There is always something you don’t know, that could get you killed. Something as simple as not locking your door. Or being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Or being an exhausted woman alone, and lost. Like me.

Then i went to that other horror that all women carry in the backs of their minds. A fate, sometimes worse than death. I could get raped. And my fear-saturated brain then began to provide all kinds of variations on that theme, to include a replay of the attack i had suffered for real in my first college years in the 80′s. I was feeling the same sensations, i realized, that i felt then. Knowing i was going to die. I was going to die.

DIE.

I started sobbing, and just fell with my head against the wheel. Sure that i was only a speck in vast expanse of universe and I didn’t matter at all. I could be gone in a whisper of wind and no one would know. I was all alone.

Panic, panic, shaking, crying.

I can’t BREATHE.

After a few moments of this hideous lack of self-control, this mindless keening and sobbing, I took a deep breath.

My rational mind kicked in. No one could help me. I could sit there and cry and be afraid, or i could think of a solution. Force my weary brain to comply.

Instead of the interstate, i turned toward the city streets. I remembered that i needed to go the other way and so I pulled over into a warehouse area turned around, stopping at the traffic light. There were no other cars until one pulled up behind me. A Latino guy and a young woman in front, and another Latino guy in the back. I swallowed my fear and stereotypes and got out of the Blazer and walked right up to their window.

Politely, i asked for help. I told them i was horribly lost and trying to get to Ohio Avenue in Lakewood. They were all very nice. They gave me instructions how to get back to the right highway, and then to keep going until i saw Wadsworth, and take that exit. He said it was a few miles down Wadsworth. I thanked them profusely and they were gracious and understanding. The driver even smiled and said. “Welcome to Denver.” I thanked him, laughing a little, and walked back to my Blazer, with tears rolling down my face.

Next street, left, interstate. Wadsworth. Next street left, interstate, Wadsworth.

I chanted that the whole way.

When i turned onto Ohio, and saw the Parc Belmar apartments sign. I just cried tears of joy.

I called the manager and asked him how to get to where he was. The place was huge. I parked where he told me and went into the office, where i signed about 10 pages of the lease, not caring what any of it said. he hurried me through the process because he could see how exhausted i was. He even back my out of that alleyway and told me where i could park until the next morning when the movers would be there.

TPenny: I’m freaking out now. Veep told me that you just got into Denver about an hour ago. OMG I had no idea you were out there all day!!!!! I would have been on here bugging you and makin sure you stayed awake. Let me know when you get to your place.

My ordeal wasn’t quite over, But i knew that it didn’t matter. The worst was in the past. I still had to dig out the cats and get them in a box without them running away. I’m afraid i was a little rough with that process. I couldn’t deal with losing my cats, too. I had to make three trips with the dolly to get the stuff inside that i had to have for the night–airbed, airpump, blanket, sheet, pillow, change of clothes, overnight bag, catfood, litterbox…all those little things we rely on to function. I sent out a few texts letting my friends know i had made it. I took care of the cats, aired up the bed. Then i took an Elavil, and collapsed. Feeling like I i had just come home after surviving a disaster. I was alive. I was here. I had made it.


August 2 at 9:12am~
Jae: Ty so much. Tan. ur support was invaluable. Love you. Veep can fill u in on details as she knows the most about my hell night last night. I’m trying to recuperate but feel like the victim of a disaster, the next morning. I took 2 Elavil at 11:30 last night and yet still woke at 6:30. I flossed brushed & took a shower ( sans the shower curtain ) and that helped but have the shakes. I’m so hungry and have NOTHING to eat. Have to order out as I can’t drive. Or maybe there’s something within walking distance. Can’t begin to describe how squished I feel.

August 1 at 8:56pm~
Veep: Just a little thought before you rest sweetpea
Journey to the end of day,
come the firefly, come the moon;
say a prayer for God’s good grace
and sleep with love upon your face.
Don’t know who wrote it, but i like it and it fits.
I love you,
Veep

August 2 at 9:10am~
Jae: Ty so much, Veep! Don’t know how I would have made it without ur support. You were my rock. Love you for that. I’m trying to recuperate.

August 2 at 9:31am~
Veep: I am so worried about that happening to you……1) missing your regular meds can cause that….2) nervous exhaustion definitely will. 3) sleep deprivation can also. You muscles used up the “stuff” that is usually replenished when we sleep. Your short sleep pattern might contribute to some of your muscular aches for that reason, when you’re on your normal schedule. Sweetpea, you are suffering a lot of things like, translocation….we don’t relocate as well at our age. Your brain is trying to adjust to the altitude, getting its location bearing etc. so is burning more fuel than you are providing. I saw the coffee set up in the kitchen, but warn you that you need extra water right now so that your muscles get the flush out they need. Take some b6 a double daily dose….100mg. That should help with the shakes. It will take you about 3 days to get past this and you know another couple of months for your brain to have a “fix” and be operating kinda subconsciously in the area.

Eat some good protein and green leafy’s with some vitamin c. you’ll feel better quicker.
Feels like you are a million miles away……I’m sad. But I’m happy for you!! Can’t wait to visit….might move it up to November!!

Jae: Thank u for taking the time and making the effort to give me all that info. I’m usually pretty in touch with my body needs. And I am not craving coffee I am~ craving my distilled water while I make more. Also craving those green leafys And my vitamin shake and ginkgo. I will do as you say my Nurse! And I hope u will visit as soon as u can. Love.

Veep: I promise u. It will be as very soon as possible- u get the massage this time

 

 

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August 4th, 2009 Colorado, Driving, moving, Relocation, U-Haul 2 Comments »

Going to Denver Because You’re Dead (1)

Readers of this blog and those who know me personally are aware that recent events are not only pivotal in my life, but a necessary means of maintaining (or perhaps retrieving) my sanity.

I knew that moving would be stressful–I added it up, and I’ve done it exactly 42 times. That makes me somewhat of an expert. Yet, expertise did not make a single one of these moves “pleasant.” It’s just not the nature of the beast.

The only difference this time was that I wanted it more than any other move, planned for it longer, and sacrificed more to make it happen…oh, and I actually paid other people (for the first time ever) to do the loading and unloading. That still didn’t seem to prevent the pain and suffering physically, I assume because I had just gotten over my ruptured disc, and there was inevitably a thousand things to do and no one but me to get them done. For these reasons, I imagined that the drive would be the easy part. Boy was I wrong. Below are excerpts from my Facebook mobile posts, as well as some commentary before, during and after.


Jae Baeli: I got a dash/window mount cradle for my iPhone so I can be both hands free and also take “road pictures”…I will be posting photo diary along the way just for fun July 30 at 3:42pm

Tanya Gotcher: This ought to be interesting!!!!

Wendy Masker: I’m jealous! I love Colorado!!

Jae Baeli: well i welcome all visitors. unless you’re certifiably insane, a drug user, or a drunk. so i think you’re good to go

July 30
Ok. Be glad when Justi gets here to take me to lunch . these stale tortillas topped with gummi bears just aren’t making me happy.

Tammy Johnson: High blood sugar always helps and it’s good to see that you two recognized this and had fried ice cream…….ancient Chinese secret…..Looking forward to your road adventures my friend…..Love you!

Before leaving town, my best friend, Justi, took me to lunch at La Fajitas. She gave me this beautiful White Gold and Aquamarine ring. Now every time i look at it, I’ll be reminded that i have the best best friend in the world.


After our meal, Justi flagged down the waiter and asked, “What do you have for dessert?”

The waiter said, “Flan.”

“Do you have anything else?”

“No.”

“Well you don’t have fried ice cream?”

“Yes.”

And he was off to fetch the ice cream he didn’t have .

Then she said, “Um, didn’t he say he didn’t have anything else? “

“Mmm-hm.”

In a tone laced with that sarcasm i love so much, she said under her breath, “How about some fried ice cream-flavored flan?”

And I laughed. I love her.

Jae Baeli: I could not handle a maudlin goodbye with Justi. So we said “see you later, be careful. I love you.” and then just left it before the waterworks started. July 30 at 4:28pm

The U-Haul

Got to the U-haul place and was informed that my trailer was not there. Somehow the information had not been transferred. This, after I stopped by twice to make sure all was okay. She supposedly had put in the request, but it had not been handled. She tried to make it sound like it was the other person’s fault. But when you know someone had an appointment to come in at a certain time to pick up a trailer, don’t you notice that the trailer isn’t there? I swear.

So, it gets worse. She tells me i have to go pick up the trailer in Oklahoma–about a 60 mile drive, one-way. Without another option, i drive there, and have hell finding the place, as the directions are really bad and there seem to be two addresses the same and only one is the one i need.

Finally i find it and then discover they don’t have a dolly for me there. I’ll have to get that at some other U-Haul back my direction. And then there’s no one to lift that trailer onto my hitch. So i have to do it with her and her 10 year old son. I’m sure my newly healed herniated disc appreciated that.

All this put me 8 hours behind schedule because i had to reschedule the loaders for later in the afternoon. Wed at 7:08pm

Tanya Gotcher: U just started, don’t cry yet!!!!!

Jae Baeli: I know. I got a grip. I refuse to let that one thing screw up my happy happy joy joy.

Okay, so then the movers arrive later in the day, and it becomes abundantly clear that neither of them knew thing-one about moving. I had to give strict instructions on how to stack the tubs, with the heaviest in the front of the trailer and on the bottom.

Then when they got to my TV–that massive, leaden box i wish i could exchange for a massive flat screen–this was a whole new exercise in futility. I had to explain to put it heavy-side against the dolly, with it PADDED SO THE SCREEN WOULD NOT BE DAMAGED. That it had to be on its side to fit through the door, etc. Then he backed through the front door and pulled the Dolly with the TV on it toward the step and lets it just drop down. BAM! I stopped him immediately and explained that he had to push it TOWARD the drop, and control the descent, and let it slide along the runners against the step. Ease it down gently.

Dumbass.

I was afraid the TV might have been damaged beyond repair but couldn’t deal with it then. They were very slow, and when they got all the heavy stuff in, and hauled some stuff to the dumpster, i just told them i could do the rest. I didn’t want to pay them for that extra time to destroy something else.

They had agreed to $20 a piece, but i gave them $60. Not sure why i gave them more. I guess, because i felt guilty being so intolerant and judgmental. It was a pay off to my conscience.

After that, i spent the entire night not sleeping–no–but cleaning and loading the rest of the stuff. Amazing how much is left to do after a three-story house is empty. I flirted with re-injury of my disc as well as doing that to a few more. I was exhausted, but had no choice. Again, it’s always just me. And it always has to get done. By me.

Jae Baeli: Had nap now back to work. have to fix the vacuum. belt came off. I’m near final stages of pack n clean. I want to be done! My cats are starting to freak out because the tallest, softest object in the room is ME.

Tammy Johnson: A woman with tools…..sigh……:-}

I’m like that Dyson guy when he says in that British accent: “I just think things ought to work properly.” WHy is it that a vacuum belt breaks and/or stops working because it gets clogged with things it was designed to handle? And why can’t it refrain from this clogging while i am working my ass off to get things done and don’t need another problem to deal with?

I take a time-out and Monkey is immediately on my chest, as she still believes she weighs 10 ounces. She likes to put her head on my lips so i will kiss her. Love that cat.


Jae Baeli: I am lying on the airbed moaning…And not in a good way.

I had to help with the stuff on the dolly bc mover-guy didn’t quite understand how to do it. Hope my tv works when I get to co. If it doesn’t, I guess I’ll just make Erin entertain me …


Tammy Johnson: The single woman’s lament…….. Fri at 8:23am

Erin Black: Entertain? I can!! I will!!! heehee!!! Sat at 3:23am

Thought i had lost Monkey when the landlord came to inspect. Freaked me out. I was sick. Then i realized she had been in the room the whole time, just doing something she never does–hide.

See her by the wall beneath the covers?

Jae Baeli: This feels like every other move, now. Pain. Exhaustion. Frustration. But this place is almost done. If my landlord doesn’t give me my deposit back I’ll have to kill him.

Tammy Johnson: Remember, friends help you hide the body! Good morning sunshine!! Today’s the day! Woohoo you!!

Jae Baeli: Yes I’m trying to focus on leaving and how good that feels. I am dog tired tho. Landlord will be back with final papers and dep refund chk in a minute.

Then I’m taking a nap. And more ibuprofen.

c’mon baby, let’s get out of this town. I got a full tank of gas and the moonroof down… Baby you can text while I drive…

(continued in next post...)

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June 20th, 2009 Aging, anger, angst, annoying people, anxiety, betrayal, BOOKS, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, Colorado, conflict, conversation, Denver, depression, Depressive Realism, disability, disillusionment, Driving, EMOTIONS, exes, fatigue, frustration, harsh realities, HEALTH, herniated disc, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), injury, lesbians, life, loneliness, memories, midlife crisis, moving, music, novelist, problem-solving, PSYCHOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, RELIGION, Relocation, sacrifice, sadness, self-awareness, self-respect, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, SEXUALITY, social politics, Social Psychology, SOCIOLOGY, songwriter, stress, Supernatural Hypocrisy, The Cognitive Dissonance of a God Cosmology, TRAVEL, triggers, writer 4 Comments »

On the Heels of…

 


I had a marathon conversation last night with an ex from 10 years ago; and reconnected with her (Terra), via something she came across in my blog. The last half of the conversation created a feeling of great discomfort for me–both then, and this morning. My dreams were filled with people from the past, and anxiety tinted the start of my day.

I was aware that in this phone conversation, I had slipped back into old habits and patterns of response and emotion. Our conversation was triggering me like a pack of firecrackers. She is, at the moment, inextricably attached to so many painful memories. She is attached to that battle with the Government/VA, that pain, disability, depression, ostracization, helplessness, and sense of generalized abandonment. While I know she was not responsible for all of that, she was still attached to that time period, and there remains a strong association in that regard.

She has an association also with my first and second bands, and with the only woman who broke my heart; the one I was recovering from, when Terra came along. Terra gave me back that feeling that I was valuable and worth loving.

Last night, I didn’t even realize I still carried all that emotion from my life 10 years ago. The way I somehow became the villain, the scapegoat for everyone concerned. I thought I had healed and left it all behind. (These are the lies we tell ourselves). I guess I had merely buried it, ignored it and got on with my life as best I could. But you musn’t bury something that isn’t dead, or you run the risk of something along the lines of Pet Cemetery…specters raised from the dead to terrorize you. But how do you kill something without a MEANS of killing it? I never got closure in that situation. So I buried it alive.

A lot can happen to people in ten years. I had hoped that talking to Terra might allow me to reposition her in my life–not as that person a decade ago, but as someone familiar, yet new. Obviously, that’s going to be more challenging than I thought. I have a great deal more self-work to do when I get settled into my new life.

This re-connection came on the heels of recovering from the ruptured disc for 8 stressful and difficult weeks, much of which included the most excruciating pain I’ve ever had, being bed-bound, (while my computer crashed twice, by the way); coupled with this renewed realization of how truly isolated my life has become, and how there are few people for me to turn to, here. And nothing that interests me in the least. It all became vividly clear to me during this recovery period. I was even more resolved to move and start fresh. More convinced of my own brilliance in simply identifying the problem and taking steps to repair it, and reach for that happiness I have always so vehemently sought.
This reconnection with Terra also came on the heels of a series of betrayals by a few people in my life–who, in one way or another, showed themselves to be disingenuous, two-faced, and sometimes just plain mentally delusional or downright crazy. (I know most of my readers can relate). When Terra and I got on the topic of various social “Friends lists” I had such a caustic, strained and bitter response to it. No one REALLY has a hundred friends, I argued. That’s just a way for people to create some artificial self-confidence. They are only pictures. And very few actually understand the definition of what being a friend IS. One of those friends abandoned me in my greatest hour of need, after promising to be there for me in exchange for living here rent free. I had two relapses because I was forced to do things physically I should not have done, that she had promised to take care of. Not only was she a no-show, but she stopped calling for weeks, when I was in the middle of needing her help so desperately. And this person had done this sort of thing to me about 4 other times, and I had always forgiven and taken her back when she begged forgiveness and made new promises. So that was another trigger. Friends.

Terra’s mention of my previous bandmates, and other “musical people” topic in general, to include looking at professional photos on the Internet she had taken of them, also triggered me. I have always felt betrayed by them. After I was the one who did the bookings, the management, the publications and marketing, provided the van to carry the equipment, which was purchased on MY credit, and never got reimbursed or compensated for the wear and tear on, and gas for my vehicle, and also being the principal song writer…it was doubly hurtful to be pushed out of both bands. On top of performing with my ex (the one who broke my heart) and being mistreated and insulted by her at every turn…I had to walk away from something that was very much like a marriage to a person I was still in love with; while still being in love with that person still in the band. Now, I see these musical people from my past doing the music again, and enjoying that process and being respected, accepted and admired, and those feelings of betrayal and unfairness well up again. Why didn’t I get to have that? It wasn’t like I didn’t work hard enough for it.
This reconnection is also coming on the heels of a complete and utter dismantling of my own personal SH_vol2_COC_11Feb11frcvr1FINAL2_138x212worldview, which has been a two year process of letting go of all I used to believe about the existence of a god and what my purpose was in this life. Until you have walked down that road, you have no idea how completely devastating it can be at first. I embraced my atheism, and of course found that the Bible Belt is a terrible place to do that. Especially if you’re also a lesbian. This (currently) 630 page book about it (“Supernatural Hypocrisy: The Cognitive Dissonance of a God Cosmology”) was draining to write, but had to be done. Yet, facing my own personal truth with raw honesty also took its toll and I know that it will still be some time before I am completely at peace about it.
This reconnection with Terra also came on the heels of me finding myself isolated again, while those in my life moved, took other jobs elsewhere, found relationships, had children, and generally moved on with their lives, leaving me in the floodlights of waning purpose. Yes, I worked on my self and tried to be the most ethical and honest person i could be, even when it hurt like hell. Yes, I have written 13 books. And yes, I am proud of that. Yes, I recorded more songs and shared them, and yes, I created all kinds of art that was also something about which i was proud. But none of those things engaged me in a healthy interaction with other people on a daily basis. I kept exemplifying the definition of stupidity that I always counseled others about when they sought my advice: doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I had moved from place to place, thinking that it would alleviate the broken parts of my life, and then finally it dawned on me. My mistake wasn’t in moving place to place, seeking the life I wanted, it was moving to the SAME types of places, in the same region, and expecting things to change.

I was saved only by the information from my best friend who had returned from Colorado to inform me that change had come to that area too, in the form of affordability and an even wider variety of experiences waiting to be had. And then I researched again and found that every single thing I was missing in my life, was to be had there. That’s when I gained another caveat about life: Just because you have made a decision previously, it does not mean it still applies now. Things change, people change, and you have to look at the facts all over again and see if that decision you made still applies. Fortunately, I discovered mine didn’t and this opened up other possibilities for me.

So I began the goal of relocating, and it has taken me a solid year to get within 6 weeks of actually getting out of here. Setback after setback, betrayals, disappointments, misfortune, new health issues, and loneliness all colored the fabric of that scratchy cloak, but I wore it. I wore it and I vowed I would be free of it as soon as humanly possible.

And after coming out of a process in which a neurologist told me I had no choice, I created a choice, and having proved that prediction wrong, I was hopeful again. Laughing. Feeling my real self emerging once more.

Then a blast from the past unearthed my tenuous bomb shelter. And I was reminded with as much shock and ferocity, that I never really did have a grip on all of it. I had merely chosen to ignore it until it appeared to move away.

But I’m not done. I refuse to let go of this dream. I will not let this be my life. I will create another one. Again. And while I am weary and struggling to keep my chin up, I’ll push through this obstacle too, because this pinpoint of light shining in a dark place is searing my eyes, and it’s all I have.



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November 11th, 2008 CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, Driving, Human Nature, HUMOR, life, society No Comments »

What Happens When I Leave the House

As most of my readers know, I am shackled with an older car that is systematically falling apart. I hope one day to enjoy the benefits and joy of having a car I don’t feel like I have to park out of sight when meeting someone at a coffee shop. But alas. I won’t belabor the point, as that cross has already been carried.

Since reading every last book I had in the house, I had to replenish my supply, and make a trip to the Library. This is usually an exciting event for me, being the intellectual geek I am, but I was only going to the local one, and let me just say, that it’s very much a reflection of the majority of the population in this little village–Republican, Christian, and Retired. There would always be certain types of books I could never find on their shelves,like, God is Not Great, The End of Faith, and one of mine: ISO (In Search of): Dating, Relationships & Sex for the Discerning Lesbian. But thankfully, I am interested in a wide range of things, some of which meets their approval.

While browsing the shelves someone came in and asked who drove the blue Cutlass. Me. Seems I left my brake lights on. I wasn’t aware that one could leave the brake lights on–the parking lights, maybe…but…anyway. I went out to check. It was raining. A portent?, but anyway, sure enough, they were glowing. I checked the light switches and there was nothing on. I banged on the light covers. Didn’t help, So I went back in to finish gathering and checking out my books and went back outside, checked the lights again and they were off. Mmm. Must have been a short.

Got in. Turned the key.

Nothing.

Okay. Nothing like a dead battery in my situation. I have no local friends. So I went inside to see if i could find someone with jumper cables, and of course, someone who would provide the running engine to jump FROM. I asked the elderly clerk at the desk. All of them there are, shall we say, senior citizens. But that’s reflective of local demographics, so I’m not surprised. One reason I’m anxious to make my move to Colorado.The lady did have jumper cables, and then pried herself off her stool and hobbled to the door with me, holding her keys. From just outside the door she aimed the keyless entry module and her trunk popped open. “I really don’t want to get in this rain…” she murmured. I dashed out to her trunk as she called, “The cables are in the blue tub.”

Pulling them out, I noticed that they were a different species of jumper cables. An older species. Like the difference between humans and amoebas. I can’t recall ever seeing a pair of jumper cables like that. This indicated to me that they had not existed in current use for some time.I tried to Google a photo of these cables, but even in the rich plethora of data on the Information Superhighway, i could not find a likeness. I felt rather like Stephen Jay Gould, brushing powdery dirt away from the skeleton of what i thought was another Archeopteryx, but which turned out to be just a strange gnarling of tree roots. Anyway. In a moment of brilliance, I realized I could just take a picture of the cables, myself. Blame it on lack of caffeine, since, as I write this, I am only on my first cup of the day.

I rejoined the library matron by the front door and there was this awkward moment where I realized it hadn’t occurred to her that I also needed her car engine. She seemed confused about why I wasn’t dashing outside and hooking those puppies up. What was I to connect the other end to? the Ficus tree? I said, “I’m going to need a running car, now, to jump my battery…”

She looked out into the freezing drizzle for a few beats, then I saw understanding change her face. “Well, I really didn’t want to get out into this rain…” But she reluctantly started for her car, braving the vicious torture of water drops on her person. As she does, I’m thinking, what is this aversion people have about rain? she’ll probably go home after work and get in the shower without even thinking about the correlation…And if she suffered such a debilitating aversion, why didn’t she carry an umbrella? Maybe she had an aversion to them, too.

As she pulled around, I began the tedious process of unwinding the 7 miles of string she had wrapped around the cables in three different locations. The string also seemed to hail from the Precambrian period. When she arrived, I opened the hood of my car as a man emerged from the library, noticed, and asked if we needed help. I briefly explained, and he hung around to offer assistance. Men are like that. While I appreciate the help, this type of gallantry has to come with its own version of mild insult: The idea that women are incapable of doing things that are traditionally the domain of men. I thanked him graciously, anyway.

The Library Matron pulled up next to my car, and I said, “pop the hood.” She looked bewildered. I went to her window and she grudgingly cracked it an inch to tell me, “I don’t know where that is.”

I had to tell her to open the door so I could find it. There it was, to the left of her left leg–a lever with a helpful illustration of a raised hood. I pulled it, and she made haste to close the door again after i was barely clear of it, as if the wicked rain also gave off poisonous vapors, which you are wise to avoid.

At the engine, me and the Good Samaritan realized she had one of those batteries that did not encourage jumping. I was afraid to mess with it. I’m so used to having older cars, that the new ones sometimes scare me–I’m not sure if they have security devices to ward of would-be jumpers, that they might be rigged to, like, explode or something. I asked him if he had a standard battery and he said yes and went to get his car.

I returned to the window of Library Matron and through the second minuscule crack in the window, released her from duty. She gratefully re-parked her car and hurried inside, lest the vicious, burning, evil water drops permanently disfigure her well-earned wrinkles and moles. Can you earn a mole? I wonder what you’d have to do for it? Can’t be that you’ll brave the rain to help someone, as this seemed a completely foreign activity for the Library Matron, and she had moles. It must be something like the opposite: you gain a mole for every year of your life in which you were crotchety and afraid of rain.

Done with the footnote? Good. I realize they aren’t at the foot, but that was because you’d have to scroll up and down a lot, and I am loathe to aggravate my readers. Other people, yes. Not my readers….I used to call these parentheticals “digressions,” now I just call them footnotes.

Anyway, so in short order, me and the Good Samaritan got my engine zooming to life and I thanked him for his kindness and shook his hand, saying, “It’s good to know there are still Good Samaritans.”

He countered with, “Well, I’m always for helping a damsel in distress.”

I quelled the knee-jerk response of eye-rolling, and opted for another engaging smile.

Leaving the engine running, I headed for the front library door and was met promptly by Library Matron. (Maybe she did not want me to come back in…I’m the one always looking for books on secular humanism, after all. A despot. An Infidel.) I tried to hand her the cables, and she said she was just giving them to me. I didn’t fall for it. I knew this was not so much an act of generosity as an act of getting rid of some clutter that she had only moments ago discovered would not serve her. In the interest of social harmony, I offered her an indulgent thank-you, against my instincts.

My next stop was the local grocery, and I’ll skip the edifying conversation I had with the Produce Manager and move on to the part where I went outside to load my items into the car. The bell-ringing sentry, complete with the Salvation Army kettle, had of course noticed that I left my engine running. As I was putting the 10 jugs of distilled water (it has no fluoride–more on that in another blog) he said, pointing at my car, “It’s still running.”

“I had a dead battery,” I offered with a smile.

He said, “That’s what I figured.”

Capable of sustaining small talk when necessary, I added, “Yeah, my brake lights stayed on at my last stop and drained the battery.”

He obligingly suggested that I might check the water levels in the battery cells. (not for a short in the brake lights, mind you) “Have your husband or boyfriend pry the caps off and check–”

I let that one go, loathe to again explain that I did not have a husband nor a boyfriend as I was a card-carrying lesbian, and eschewed the chastisement for his assumption. Instead I thanked him, and made my way back home.

——————————————
Addendum:
Biscuit seems to have found another use for the Precambrian jumper cables…

 

 

 

 

 

 

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March 18th, 2008 danger, Driving, HUMOR, inspiration, muse, WRITING CRAFT No Comments »

Drive-By Writing

 

If you’re a writer, you are probably familiar with the tendency to try to write ideas down while driving. I seem to get my best ideas when I’m driving, and it’s the most inopportune moment to do it. Surprisingly, I don’t always have a pen handy. That’s why I bought one of those key chain attachable sharpie markers…

But then there’s not always paper. I know this sounds crazy for a voluminous writer like myself not to have paper and pen….there were times when an idea was so good, I considered to pricking my finger and writing it in blood. That would be a blood-blog.

Today, for example, I was writing not only on envelope, but on the back of the cardboard box the envelopes came in. And periodically honking the horn, because I was using my steering wheel as a desk.
It got so that every time I thought of something, I felt it might be prudent to just pull over. But with all the ideas I had today, I would have never reached my destination….which, paradoxically, was the office supply store to buy pens and paper.

Then, when I got home, I was burdened with the challenge of deciphering what looks like hieroglyphs on the cardboard.

Years ago, when I did quite a bit more driving than I do now, I used to use a tape recorder. I suppose I’ll have to go back to that. Writing things down is just too frustrating, and things I intend to save may be lost because I can’t read it. Never mind the lives I might endanger.

I can see the headlines now:
Local Author Burns a Swath Through the Median while Honoring Her Muse.

———————————
For more of those ideas I had while driving, see Remote Control Yourself and Texting, Texting, One Two, 9…Oops.

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