Oooooh m'gosh

It's been awhile. It has always been a while lately. I'm lax.

This latest L.A. venture has been an odd one. It's a mash-up this time between new and old, family and friends. There are moments that remind me "this is why I don't live here." But there are other moments that make that not so clear. I think it's the days. The days in L.A. are not my cup. The nights...the nights are better. Most of the time. Half of the time.

If I lived here, where would I live?

I can't picture living here again. Sometimes, though, I wish I could scoop up certain people, certain places, certain moments, certain nights. I'd scoop them up and take them back with me to where I better belong. I'd drag their tanned asses back to New York...back where it's close and quick...back where I don't have to drive on the freeway and the night doesn't end at 2.

I'm ready for a higher echelon and a caliber of quality. I'm more than ready to say goodbye forever to the trash and the flakes and the draggers and the hangers-on. I'm done with being drained and I'm done with being less. You hear that? I'm welcoming you in, so fucking come on in. And you others? I'm kicking you out. So get the fuck out.

Oh So THAT's What Happened!

According to Dr. Jennifer Crocker from the University of Michigan,

Some people think kids can’t stand to hear anything negative so they only give them praise, but research shows that those are the kids who are the most vulnerable when they experience a setback.

Yup. That about covers it.

Don't

• Don't tell me you're going to do something and then crap out.
• Don't call me back after an unpleasant phonecall and then try to hang up when the callback doesn't go your way.
• Don't try to convince me that you're calling for one reason when we both know you're calling for another.
• Don't get angry at me for your own shortcomings.
• Don't placate me.
• Don't think I don't know.
• Don't pretend you want to know what's going on in my world if you're just looking for sympathy for yourself.
• Don't treat me like I'm someone else.
• Don't throw money at me.
• Don't whine.
• Don't even attempt excuses.
• Don't think you can feed me sugar-water.

Just fucking don't.

Blah Blah Me Me Me

Hmm...some update-y thingies:

So my granma's out of the loony bin. I asked my mom if she was lucid and sane now and she answered "as much as she ever was". Hee.

I was blessed with a free ticket to a Krishna Das private concert. Freaking awesome. And kinda coolio that last weekend was a Guns N' Roses concert and this week it's kirtans. Neat-o.

My phone is going bonkers coo-coo cocopuffs. A couple weeks ago it erased my calendar. The other day it erased all my contact numbers. Now it is having trouble syncing at all. Mercury goes out of retrograde November 17th. November 17th.......

Surge-urge-ury is coming up. I'm excited and scared and nervous and happy and sad and curious and lots of stuff. I'm not good at asking for help and I'm going to need a lot of it. I know my friends love me and will do what they can, but I also know I'm going to have to rely on them more than I think they realize. I'm not going to be able to vacuum or do laundry or change the litter box or pack my suitcase for Christmas or anyfing. I'm afraid that I'm going to be left to my own devices too much. It's a very "alone" feeling. Not lonely exactly. Alone. That's what happens when you go through something major like this and don't have family around or a mate. Since I was teeny tiny I've always said "All by mine self". Well, I can't do this by mine self. Hardly at all. There's also this thing that because this is an elective surgery and not a "have to", I feel almost like I don't have a right to ask for help. Like, if it were open heart surgery or something I had to had to had to have, then I could ask for help. But because it is what it is and it isn't necessary for survival, then I can't.

Then there is the matter of Thanksgiving. And my lack of plans. Something always turns up, but this time it hasn't. Kind of strange. I hope I'm okay if nothing occurs. I mean, I think I will be, but I don't want to start feeling sorry for myself or something stoopidly lame like that. That whole "feeling sorry for myself" thing is boring. Bo-ring.

I've been signing a handful of new clients lately which is cool cool cool. Makes me quite aware that I need to continue doing workshops and teleclasses and such. Perhaps more frequently. Maybe while I'm recovering I'll do some planning/prep on that front. I'll have to fill my time with something, right? More than Netflix, that is.

Alrighty. Tha's that for now.

Goo Goo Grandma

This is really tough. My Grandma is in a psych ward. Her surgery a few weeks ago did not go well and her mind has somewhat snapped.

I spoke with her a couple days ago. At least this time she (sort of) knew who I was. But it was her 80th birthday, and she was complaining that she doesn't like where she is now because they only have stuff for "old people". Ain't that a kicker? But the reason I got off the phone was that she kept talking about wanting to jump out the window and die. I just can't (won't) listen to that.

If only this were unusual for her. It's just her normal personality...a little "enhanced".

Am I upset for her? For myself? For my mom? Unknown.

Unknown

The other uncle has cancer. Now it's in his lungs too. Monkey see monkey do.

Pops sees trains in the canal and my dad in the next room. Dementia and hallucinations and senility oh my.

Pops can't walk. Pops can't see. Pops can't be Pops.

Grandma's out of her fucking mind.

Man doesn't call when he says he will. I don't like that.

I stole my friend's one free night.

Haven't slept in days. Days and days and days.

I can't think.

Hospital Shit

Grandma's in the hospital again.

I realized today that I hadn't told anyone that. It's actually pretty serious. She has a bleeding ulcer and apparently is quite out of her mind. She keeps saying that she's ready to die and she just wants to let go. She's talking to people who aren't there and she's imagining the hell out of things.

Wish I could say that behavior was unusual.

Okay, that's exaggerating. It is unusual. But the woman has gone delirious before. Unfortunately, she's the worst kind of hypochondriac...sometimes she's right. You know "The Boy Who Cried Wolf"? It's like that, only it's been going on for almost eighty years. I've long since abandoned sympathy.

That, of course, makes me feel like a total shit. I wish I could care. I wish I could muster the concern and consideration that "should" be "normal" for a granddaughter to feel for her grandmother. I've just run out, I think.

But this is actually a real ailment this time, right? It isn't one of her imagined illnesses designed solely to garner attention and favor. Here's the thing, though: it didn't have to get to this. So many of her real physical dilemmas have been caused by her mind creating the manifestation in her body. In addition, if she's just seek medical attention at the first or even second sign of symptoms, so much of what has become deadly serious would have been nothing more than minor.

So I do care and I am thinking about her and all that. But I don't feel like I care as much as I'm supposed to. Whatever that means. Seems to be a theme though. Back when my uncle was dying, I believed I wasn't concerned enough over him too. I guess that shows more what my mother has drilled into me as the standards of love rather than what is natural for me. Yay guilt.

My Mom Is Right: I'll Never Get Married

I don't remember what it feels like to have a boyfriend.

I forget what it's like to have a partner...a mate. What's it like when you're not single? Is it reassuring and comforting? Is it like having a cushion behind you or a net under your feet? Or is it a burden? Is it frustrating to constantly have to think of another person? I don't remember if it's a pain to worry about two schedules instead of one.

I sometimes think I want that again. Sometimes I think I miss collusion and company. Whenever that happens, I try to imagine my energy being shared. I picture the phases: meeting you; getting to know you; sharing vulnerabilities, passions, dreams. It seems tiresome.

I've got far too much to focus on to remember the color of someone's eyes. How can I be expected to memorize a new cell phone number? There's no way to equitably divide my time.

And yet some late-night conversation might be nice. It could be lovely to have enough human touch. Enough human touch. That's what most of us are really hungry for, you know. There's just no substitute for that yet.

Would I be able to let it in if relationship suddenly came to my door? I don't know if I would even recognize the signals if someone were to unexpectedly send them my way. Do I have blinders on? Or just really dark sunglasses?

Long Time No Tippy-Type

It's been awhile.

I've been busy.

I'm glad I'm busy, that's a good thing. Although I feel a little like I'm losing myself in all the commotion. Sometimes it's fun to not recognize my life. Sometimes it's just tiring.

That has been a problem. I'm so TIRED all the time. I'm not getting any less sleep (although many people have argued to me that 5 to 7 hours is not enough to begin with) but I'm more tired than I was, say, a month ago. Maybe it's not anything to do with getting less sleep, but rather I'm doing more in the time I'm awake.

It's tough being a responsible adult. I'm doing all that crazy stuff like paying my bills on time, keeping my apartment neat and presentable, juggling social activities, delving into school and studies, building my private practice. I mean, DAMN!

There's a leeetle bit of my snotty princess-y rebellious inner teenager wanting to be an irresponsible brat. She's rearing her ugly head quite a bit lately. It's like the closer I get to accountable responsibility and self-care, the more she wants to fuck up.

On an entirely different note altogether...

My mom read my blog

Yeah.

If you've ever read my earlier posts (especially "Fucker Mother" and various posts written during the holidays) you'll realize that's not exactly a good thing. I can be a bit harsh. A tad.

Surprisingly, she was cool. Way cool. Yeah, I just said "way cool". We ended up laughing our butts off over my gingerbread house and by the end of the conversation we were swapping recipes. Go figure.

Grody. Yeah, I said Grody.

Wow this weather sucks.

That's right. I'm blaming my melancholy on the weather. Melancholic. I was a colicky baby. I have a cowlick in my hair.

It has nothing to do with the NEW YEAR. Things are actually better now than they were last year at this time, so it can't be that. Well, partially, it's the neverending "transition" that I seem to be constantly and consistently going through. But it ain't necessarily a bad thing. It's a good thing. Just uncomfortable at times.

And DAMN does this weather suck.

I feel like a mouth-breathing doorman commenting on the weather repeatedly, but I *did* just come back from sunny southern California, where the skies were blue and cloudless. So the contrast is a wee bit noticeable. Not that I would want to be in that sunny southern California on a permanent basis. Or even a temporarily permanent basis. Because as I've already established...

The family brings the CRAZY.

Man, even my kitties seem melancholy. Edgar keeps curling up in the tightest little orange fuzzball imaginable. And Willa, the typical little brat, has been whining for like an hour.

I gotta' get the hell out of here.

Ease Has Been Lost In This Alternate Reality

My parents' house is an alternate reality. The laws of nature don't work here the way you'd think they were supposed to. Linear reasoning is an impossibility and I have long since given up trying to understand what's going on half the time.

In some ways, I'm gaining new perspective and even respect for the places in which my parents are stuck. How can they be anywhere other than where they are what with everything going on? Of course they're fighting. Of course their moods switch faster than you can blink. Of course they're eating themselves into comas. Of course they hold grudges and give silent treatments and roll their eyes and yell about the inconsequential. Their lives have been turned UPSIDE DOWN over the last seven months and it seems like there isn't going to be any letting up soon. So they yell when they're sad and they cry when they're mad and they glare when all they want is a hug.

I'm seeing more how all of their various issues are conspiring together to keep them where they are and make it impossible for them to grow and change. Their house sucks the energy like a whirlpool drain. I find myself grazing in the kitchen, wolfing down mango slices even though I'm not hungry. I catch myself starting to engage in arguments and discussions that really don't make any sense. Even my physical energy is in the toilet. I was sitting on the floor today and I just didn't want to get up. I was amazed I was able to run on the treadmill the first couple of days I was here. Where did I get that energy and motivation? Cuz it ain't there now! (I realize, thank god, the "stuckness" isn't mine and I'm very sure I'll find my drive again once I'm back on my own turf.)

Surprisingly, I am feeling a level of compassion that had been difficult for me to access of late. Yes, despite all the criticisms above these lines and below this post, I'm feeling warmer towards my parents. I think I "get it" more. Rather than feeling distanced and disgusted in amazement at their behavior; I'm finding tolerance is coming easier. There's a little less judgment in my bones. But I still don't like it. I don't think I ever will. And I don't have to, I suppose. Of course I wish things were different, but...

I hope hope hope they heal soon. My folks aren't always like this. They haven't always been this way. Or maybe they have and I've just become more aware of it through my own growth. I don't know. But there is an ease that is missing and I'd like it to be found again.

Hexmas

Again again again.

Christmas fucked my shit up.

That's okay though. It happens. Shit happens. Family happens. Screaming babies happens. Perfectionist parents happens. Strange relatives happens.

Seriously. I'm a little pissed off, a little disappointed. But I'm really feeling okay with things.

Is that the wine typing?

That's okay too.

Merry merry.

Howzit in Hell-A

I have been on my feet ALL FREAKING DAY. Cooking. Cooking all day for Christmas. Oh fun and joy.

The time here with my folks has been up and down and up and down and bouncing like a trampoline. It's amazing how quickly a perfectly benign conversation can turn into antagonism and tension.

Example #1:

Talking to my dad this morning about my forays into holistic nutrition and the like. This is a topic over which we usually connect quite well, owing to his business history. But he's in the vitamin field, and I'm encouraging people to get their nutrition out of food. Somehow, some-bloody-how, he starts pressing me and asking "Well, people don't really want to change their diet and lifestyle and they want a quick fix like a vitamin, so how do you reach them?" And I say that those people won't be the ones coming to me for help. He keeps pressing and saying "Well, but you can only reach so many people, so what do you do then?" And I tell him that there are over 1,100 people in my school this year alone. If we each talk to only one person, that's another 1,100 people who are thinking about nutrition in a new way. He comes back with "But that's only a small percentage of the population. People don't want to change their lifestyles." Blah blah. He kept going on. Anyway. So what was the deal there? And he didn't understand why I might get angry with what he was saying. Gee, dad. You basically spent ten minutes arguing to me that what I'm doing isn't worthwhile because I can't possibly change the world. I HAD ALREADY SAID EARLIER that I AGREED that in certain cases, vitamins were totally necessary and that most people DIDN'T get everything they needed out of food alone. I had also said that the people who aren't willing to make any diet and lifestyle changes probably aren't going to be the ones starting on a serious vitamin regimen either. But he kept coming at me asking how do I expect to reach the people that don't want to change? I'm not going to reach enough people through counseling, Thanks, dad. Thanks for that amazing support.

Example #2:

Talking to my mom this afternoon. We were actually having kind of a great conversation. I was able to share things with her that were going on in my life. I was opening up about some stuff that I had been holding back on and I was even considering broaching some really deep subjects. Until she turned the conversation to rehashing an argument we had several weeks earlier. She started telling me how self-centered and self-involved I am. How she doesn't understand it and doesn't like it. How she sees that my friendships change over the years and I don't seem to keep friends very long (Never mind that one of my friends has been since KINDERGARTEN, another is from ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, and others are several years long. Never mind THAT of course.). She said that I obviously don't value my relationships and don't treasure or hold dear my friendships. She loves her friends and wants to keep them around. She also said that the older people get, the more they get set in their ways and the more naturally self-centered they become and do I ever worry that I'm never going to be able to have a long term relationship because I will be so self-involved that I won't be able to let anyone into my life. Holy shit. I mean, COME ON. At that point, I said that I am no longer going to sit there while she calls me cold and hard and self-centered. She left to go take a shower and when she came back, it was like NOTHING HAD EVER HAPPENED.

Seriously. Seriously. Again. Seriously.

So I'm an iceberg, huh? A lonely island iceberg. Nice.

Wish me a merry miracle Christmas, please. I've managed to avoid fights and arguments and engaging and getting sucked in. I'm doing a damn good job, I think. I've even had some fun moments. But I ate some dark chocolate twice today, nibbled too much on my own cooking, and tomorrow I have to deal with 9 more family members. WISH ME FUCKING LUCK!!!!!

Oh, So THAT's What's Going On...

So.

The last two and a half to three weeks I've been a leeeetle nutso. Dealing with a lot of anxiety, some obsessive behaviors, old feelings. Basically coming up against yucky stuff that I couldn't quite explain. And I've been really hard on myself about it.

But my therapist reminded me today that I'm going to be seeing my mother in a few days. And that this is what it always looks like before I see my mother. And I always have stuff come up the two weeks after I see my mother too.

Doh.

How is it that I always forget that?!? I mean, this has been the pattern for how many years now? And each time it happens, I wonder where the hell it came from and what the hell is going on and all that junk.

Not to say I'm stuck in a neverending repeating pattern over here. It is always a bit better each time. The more and more aware I become, the easier it is to find the underlying stuff that's really going on.

I'm glad she reminded me, though. Because some of the pulls make sooo much more sense now. I'm regressing! Doi. I'm flying back to L.A. to go visit my mommy and daddy. Of course I'm regressing!

Knowing what's going on and forgiving myself for it makes it possible to address is and MOVE THE FUCK ON!!

Yay!

More Death Thoughts. Fun!

How could my grandparents NOT attend their own son's funeral? I just found out from my FRIEND last night (not my family) that my grandparents didn't go to my uncle's service. At first I thought that perhaps they didn't make the trip up to North Carolina because they just flew into Florida on Wednesday. But no. Apparently they decided long ago that they didn't think they could handle it. WTF?!?

Maybe that's being a little judgmental considering I too did not attend the service. We all grieve in our ways blahdy blah. But DAMN. Their own son?!?! I'm kind of horrified.

Who would show up to my funeral? God, that is depressing. Excluding family members, I think, barring travel expenses, perhaps 30. Maybe. Not all of those people are friends--ha! If only I had a loving crowd like that. But I think they'd show up if I fucking DIED.

I think, though, that it would take people a while to notice I died. If I croaked in my apartment tonight, I think it would take a week before anyone noticed. Well, maybe not this particular week, what with the holidays and everything, I am very much expected certain places. But in normal life, I think it would take a week. My parents would think I was just busy and wasn't returning calls. My appointments would wonder what the fuck happened, but I don't think they'd come banging on my door. My kitties are totally going to eat my eyeballs.

R.I.P. Dennis Butler

My uncle passed away last night. I realized shortly afterwards that much of the anxiety, tension and other emotions I had been feeling regarding the whole situation were really more about my mother and I than my uncle and myself. It's a heavy burden to be the one called upon to maintain my mother's health, happiness, and sanity.

I'm not sure yet if I'm going to go to the service. I've never had much need for funerals. I achieve closure my own way, and have rarely needed the ritual of a service to do so. Right now I'm leaning towards not attending.

Some of my friends have been wonderful. They know who they are. Thank you.

Fucker Mother

Passive aggressive mothers are DEADLY.

It is absolutely impossible to argue with someone who resorts to behavior even a five-year-old would be embarrassed to display. Refusing to engage only makes them more furious.

"Them", "someone"...fuck theoretics. My mother pissed me the hell OFF today. I'm still relatively stewing some seven and a half hours later. As much as I've learned to disengage, the woman can still get under my skin.

And she wonders why I'm NOT looking forward to coming "home" for Christmas? Gee...can't imagine why.

She brings the crazy.

Contrary to Popular Opinion...I Don't Eat Babies

This is me doing something completely out of character.

It's amazing what men with tattoos and lip rings can convince me to do. One even convinced me to volunteer Saturday with Creative Arts Workshops, which brings visual and performing arts to kids in East Harlem. Yup. I spent a Saturday working with inner city youths.

Anyone that knows me will find that surprising. Cuz kids? Not. My. Thing.

Here's the deal: It's not that I don't like kids. I do, to a certain extent. And it's not like I don't know how to relate to them or deal with them or that I'm scared of them or whatever whatever whatever. I'm juuuuuust not enamored. I like them, generally, in small doses. Small doses where I can have brief, fun little interactions and then HAND THEM BACK TO THEIR PARENTS very quickly...before they get cranky. And that's just with well-adjusted suburbanite children. Throw in the underlying issues inherent in a group of "at risk" kids? The vying for attention? The behavioral issues? The sheer cultural divide? Um. YIKES.

And I don't get that glowing, joyous feeling from kidlets, either. You know those people. They're the folks that just LOVE children and find them adorable and precious and God's gift and blahdy blah. The ones who squeal at babies in strollers and squat down to talk to toddlers before addressing the parents. I am not one of those.

I'm not sure from whence the disdain sprang. I think it coincided with when my mother started pressuring me to have babies. She wants to be a grandma so bad she fucking OOZES it. Last Christmas, she said to me (in all seriousness!!):

Honey, if you get to be 35 and you still aren't married and you don't have any children yet...will you PLEASE consider freezing some of your eggs?

I told her to get the hell out of my ovaries. You see this abdomen? It's got a biiiig red circle with a LINE through it.

But back to volunteering...

It was definitely an interesting day. I really was fascinated by the behavior of the kids, even if I didn't exactly like it. I found myself very curious to know where some of their behavior was rooted. Why did one little girl insist repeatedly that she was a boy? Why did one little boy suddenly go from laughing and hanging all over me to crying and refusing to make eye contact? Why did another older boy act out so badly to drive me away, and then once he succeeded, try to draw me back in by showing off his artwork?

I was so impressed that the guy who convinced me to do this actually DOES this all the time. On a regular basis. All year 'round. And LOVES it. It takes a very special person to find this kind of frustrating, demanding, exhausting work rewarding.

And as much as I kept and keep saying "this isn't ME"... Well, earlier I was recounting my experience to a friend and I found myself actually getting excited by the retelling. So I guess that means I was a *little* into it. Oy.

But, mom--this still doesn't mean grandbabies are coming ANYTIME soon.

It's Time to Let Go

My uncle is dying. Any day now.

I've been saying those words for the last six months now.

He's dying of smoking induced cancer. It started with emphysema and graduated to cancer. Now it's riddling his body and has insinuated itself into his brain. About eight months ago, he was given about two months left to live. I like to say that he's past his expiration date.

It is so unbelievably taxing and draining to have someone constantly on the brink of death. Imagine forever having that tickling nose like you're about to sneeze--but you can't. Imagine being right up against that moment when you're about to come--but never achieving full release. Imagine hearing Shave and a Haircut, but never the Two Bits.

Simplistic, corny and inappropriate metaphors. I'm trying to convey the stress of this edge and I'm doing a piss-poor job.

I'm not even close to my uncle. If this were my mother was was taking so very long to finally let go? I can only imagine that drawn-out pain.

With my distance, though. I feel no guilt in knowing that it is time for him to LET GO. He needs to release from life and in turn release his loved ones from being shackled to his never-ending ever-impending death.

I do, however, feel guilt with my anger. I'm angry at him for still holding on. I'm angry at him for refusing to pass on. I'm angry at him for valuing his life of no remaining quality enough to drain the quality from the lives of those he is leaving behind.

At first, I chided myself for thinking that way. It isn't very generous, loving or light-filled.

Maybe it isn't the blissed-out super spiritual tack. But it's real and it's valid. I'm not ignoring or denying the anger, even if I'm not entirely comfortable with it. Anger at the dead or dying is not the most socially sanctioned of emotions, but it's more common than people like to admit.

And it's even more common than that.