Lucy turns ten

You all know the story by now.

But the story behind the story, is how we came to terms with adoption.

When we got the very first phone call, when Lucy was still in utero, I was jacked up on fertility drugs. Sam was lining up syringes along the kitchen sink every morning, and watching me cry myself to sleep most nights.

Our responses to the question "are you interested in adopting" were different.

Mine was an immediate yes.
Sam was more "I don't know about this."

My answer was based solely on my desire to have a second child.
His answer was more about the reality of having an adopted child and a biological child, and raising them together, and whether it would feel different or forced in some way.

It took him about 5 seconds of holding Lucy the morning she was born to realize that was not going to be an issue.
It took me 10 years to come to terms with my immediate "yes".

The bottom line is that, in saying yes to adopting, I was acknowledging in some deep down part of myself that I would never have another biological child. It was something I knew. It was not a choice (there were plenty of reasons why I was not able to conceive a second time). It was, rather, accepting that I no longer had a choice.

No matter how badly I wanted it, no matter how far down I reached within myself for the strength to keep trying, I knew it. If I wanted to have another child, I had to look elsewhere. And it has taken me ten years to accept the truth.

Ten years to stop hating myself for giving up.

Ten years to stop discretely scanning the faces in the grocery store, wondering if one of them was Lucy's biological parent.

Ten years of secretly resenting the person who was able to grow this precious beautiful person that is so obviously my child.

Ten years of avoiding the questions about her ancestry for school projects.

Ten years of leaving her family medical history blank at the pediatrician's office.

Ten years of feeling guilty for saying she and Max get their blonde hair and blue eyes from their grandparents. I mean, maybe they both do. But I only know for certain that Max does.

Ten years of tiptoeing around the details in front of Lucy, and wishing them away.
Wishing I had been there to prevent them from putting erythromycin ointment on her eyes at birth, since she had an immediate reaction to it.
Wishing I had been there right from the beginning so that she hadn't spent any time alone in the nursery.

Wishing I could have looked her biological parents in the eye and thanked them.

Today, ten years later, the fact of her adoption is - in fact - not that important. She is so much our child that it is impossible to mistake her for anyone else's.

People talk about the miracle of birth, and the gift of adoption.
But in my reality, birth was a gift, and adoption was a miracle. And I am so glad I can finally see that.

I am privileged, and I see what is going on here.

I have spent a great deal of my adult life working on my sensitivity.

It was with great reluctance that I posted this essay here. I do not want to be insensitive, or seen as jumping on any bandwagon. I hope I am more successful and evolved than some of the people I have seen sharing their thoughts - and I am using that term very loosely here - about two events that happened last week. These events may seem wholly unrelated, but a single, important fact connects them: two people died and left their families heartbroken.

The first event was the shooting death of Michael Brown, an unarmed teenager walking on the street outside his grandmother's house in Ferguson, MO.
The second was the suicide of Robin Williams at his home in unincorporated Tiburon, California.
(And seriously, they need to get incorporated so that we can just say "Tiburon" because really, do you care if they are incorporated or not? Me neither. /tangent)

I can't stop thinking about them, these two people who were here, until suddenly they were not. Judging by social media, other people can't stop thinking about them either. And that is a good thing.  Their lives had value. Both of them. Their deaths matter. Between the ice bucket challenge videos, there are Robin Williams quotes and people sharing their personal experiences with depression or offering support to others, and there are also photos of what appears to be a militia taking the streets of a town in the middle of America, Americans with their hands raised in the air on the street outside of their home chanting "Don't shoot" and video of children and journalists being hit with tear gas.

I wince as I look at my computer screen lately, through the tears and the anxiety attacks that seem to come in waves as I scroll. People are dying all over this world, and the planet is looking pretty bleak these days, but the two people whose deaths are affecting me and my life the most right now, and making me feel the most helpless and hopeless and confused, are Robin Williams and Michael Brown.

Full disclosure, lest you feel the need to call me out for discussing subjects I know nothing about - I hear you. I am not a mental health professional, nor do I have any experience interacting with law enforcement, aside from a few parking tickets. I am not going to hold up my six degrees of separation to try to gain some credibility. I am white, and currently my mental health is stable, I am married to a man, and I am not living in poverty. Things are good, for me and my family.

And that is precisely why I should say something. Because I am privileged, and I see what is going on here, and I refuse to wear blinders to continue on my happy way.

Here's what I do know:

1. Depression can be as deadly a disease as cancer. You do not need to be a mental health professional to know that much, but sadly I fear that this is not an acknowledged fact in the mainstream. Robin Williams died because he was ill. His death was a direct result of mental illness. Period. Just because he wasn't homeless, just because he had a family who loved and cared for him, just because he had access to healthcare and medications, doesn't make him any less ill than the guy sitting on the corner begging for change, barefoot and months from his last shower. Just because he died at his own hand, rather than at the hands of someone else, does not make it his fault, or his choice. (Side note: the numbers vary across the country, but generally speaking a significant portion of the people killed by police each year are mentally ill.)

2. And speaking of police killing people, let's talk about that. I expect police officers to hold their fire until they are staring down the barrel of someone else's gun and they have no choice - no other alternative - than to draw their weapon and be prepared to defend themselves. I mean, are cops in Ferguson not schooled in self-defense? Is there really no other way to protect and serve without shooting unarmed people? I have friends and relatives who are cops - some in in NYC, which I think we can all agree is a pretty good place to use as a reference for this conversation - and I know that they have been injured trying to subdue a suspect without using their weapon. And it is terrible that they were injured in the line of duty, while serving and protecting their community, but the bottom line is, even when they were faced with a very aggressive individual, they did not shoot them. In an ideal world - the one in my dreams - I thought this was how it was everywhere. A fictional sheriff from Mayberry said it best:

This is not the reality. I knew that on some level, but when I saw the armored vehicles rolling up to a line of peaceful protestors, I realized that things were much further from how I thought - and dreamed - they would be in this day and age.

I know that these events deserve much more than a blog post. But I have no idea what to do, or how to help, other than letting people know how I feel. The bottom line here is that both of these deaths were not unavoidable, and they are both symptoms of much bigger problems: In this wonderful country of ours, people discriminate all day every day. I feel fairly confident that every person has experienced some form of discrimination, felt some shame or helplessness. And I can assure you that there is discrimination against both people of color, and people with mental health issues.

I know this is true, because just last night I was at work and a couple walked in the door - he was black, and she was white, and from my vantage point behind the bar, I personally witnessed other customers look over their shoulder to watch them walk in.

My god you would think they were walking in naked, the way that people turned to look, and then quickly looked away again.

Then just the other morning at the therapist's office, as I waited for my appointment, I kept my head down. I did not make eye contact with anyone but the receptionist and my therapist the entire time I was in there. And as I was walking out through the waiting room, I saw someone I recognized - and as soon as I did I averted my eyes so as to avoid acknowledging that we were both in an office to see someone about our mental health.

As though there was some shame in getting help. In healing, and hopefully recovering. I was choosing not to share this experience, not to find an ally in this long and exhausting journey.

In both of these instances, the silence was deafening. It pulsed and it grew between us. Everyone in the room was aware of it, but no one was willing to take responsibility for it. To own the truth.

When Robin Williams died, his family and close colleagues knew he was battling depression. The rest of us were completely unaware, until it was far too late. And that is because depression is not always easy to spot. At times it is completely silent, a dormant volcano with the pressure building as all outward appearances remain unchanged. What is sad to me is that his beloved family were left so powerless. They had loved him and supported him and encouraged him to get treatment. Aside from standing next to him 24 hours a day - which is no way for anyone to live, and would not have helped his depression one bit, I'm sure - they had been there for him. Let him know he was loved, he was needed, he was important and valued. But the pressure was so great that it blocked out everything, like having a terrible throbbing migraine that impacts every moment of your life while it is there inside your head.

The same goes for racism. It can be a silent, unspoken, equally dangerous threat. 

Michael Brown was killed in a town where, a lot of people seemed to know there was a problem, an abuse of power within their police department, but no one outside of Ferguson seemed to know, or care, until someone's child was shot and killed in the middle of the afternoon a few steps from his grandmother's house. Racially, Michael was in the majority. The easy thing would be to believe he was enjoying the security and privileges that would come - one would think - from being in the majority. But perhaps it actually made him even more of a target. The police officer was white, and knew he was in the minority, and by all accounts, he claims he was afraid. And I have no idea why he was afraid - I was not there and neither were you, most likely, but even if he was afraid, there is still no excuse for shooting that boy. It is a damn shame that he felt he was not able to do his job without shooting an unarmed kid in the middle of the street. That he had so little training, and so few resources, that he instinctively reached for his gun, rather than, say, simply asking the kids to get on the sidewalk as he drove by. He didn't even need to stop, he could have just slowed down and said something like "Hey guys, use the sidewalk!" with a smile and a wave, and then driven away. There is no other excuse or explanation for what came next, except utter cowardice. And he lashed out with unforgettable, unforgivable violence, because of his fear.

And that is the essence of these two stories. Fear. 

People throughout this world experience racism and depression, and both of these appear to be rooted in fear. It remains far too easy to leave that fear silent between us, hoping that if we ignore it for long enough, it will go away. 

I am here to say that is not true. 

We need to be brave. We need to raise our voices - and not just across social media. Sure - it is easy enough to share a link or click "like" and think your work is done, your position known. That is not enough. We need to bring the discussion to our day to day lives, in our conversations with our children, our friends, and our neighbors. We need to let them know that we care. We need to stand tall and speak the truth. 

Before that dormant monster Fear rears it's ugly head.

Before someone else is killed by the unspoken, pulsing beast that is right there. Growing right in front of all of us, every day, gaining it's power through our silence.

Links:
Police Confront Rising Number of Mentally Ill Suspects

Dealing with Everyday Racism

Eleven Things White People Should Stop Saying to Black People Immediately

Becoming a White Ally to Black People in the Aftermath of Michael Brown's Murder

Robin Williams Didn't Kill Himself

Suicide a Disease?

I will add more links here as I see them, it is frustrating to me that most of what I am reading is a numbered list. People, life is not the David Letterman Show. I do not need or want a top ten list for every crisis. I welcome one solid piece of advice from anyone. Feel free to add your own in the comments. I also have a "depression" tag for some of my posts, so you can find some of my previous writing about my personal experiences with depression.

There has been a serious lack of hotpants lately

I was putting away laundry this morning, and I pulled open the drawer that holds my roller derby garb. Short and tight and sequined and thigh-hi and fishnetted - I was hit with this wave of longing which may result in my putting them on to go to Whole Foods.

If you had told me a year ago that I would have such a drawer, I would have laughed at you uncomfortably.
Because really. I am 35 years old for God's Sake.
Get A Grip On Yourself.
HOW DARE YOU SIR?
Thigh Hi Tube Socks? REALLY???

Oh yes, really.

Even though my doctors have advised me that throwing myself  (or being thrown/shoved/tripped) down on concrete repeatedly was perhaps not the best life choice I could have made in terms of my neck and back problems, I still got that bug, and I've got that drawer full of POWER  in the form of hotpants and brightly colored stockings and torn fishnets. And I will still have it when I'm 80. I might not wear the hotpants by then (You're Welcome and sorry for the visual) but I am going to keep that drawer to remind me that I can do just about anything once. Or until my doctor finds out and forbids me from ever doing it again.

Derby is like a splinter that gets stuck under your skin. Once you start skating that fast, that hard, for hours on end, you just...can't.....stop. The wind in your hair, the feeling of triumph when you finally nail the crossover and can get some real speed going around the turns, that time that you actually managed to block a much bigger and better and faster skater........those little moments are the highest high. You want to do it again,. And again, And more, better, harder, faster, longer, JUST ONE MORE TIME PLEASE MOM I PROMISE I'LL GO TO BED RIGHT AFTER. You are for that moment just you. No kids, no job, no drama.

I think it is similar to most other sports - and I include dance in that category. When everything goes the way it should, and all of the stars align, and your partner has your back.........it is so perfectly smooth and beautiful. And if you end up on your face with a broken tooth, maybe knocked unconscious and bleeding from the nose....well, it's perhaps not as much fun, but you get the same kind of high.

At the last derby event, I wore shoes to be timekeeper. Partially because I needed to concentrate on what was going on. Partly so that I would be able to get out of the referees' way quickly. Partly because I was afraid that in the heat of the moment I might jump on the track and race the jammer in my excitement and enthusiasm. I can't watch standing still. I am leaning forward and rocking to the side around each turn and holding my breath and all the while trying not to scream in my neighbor's ear. I am afraid to look, and feel the longing of being left behind, and I'm afraid to look away and miss a second of the game. Captivated.
You cannot be afraid when you are on the track - it will hold you back and hold you down and keep you from skating as fast and as hard as you can and should. And even if the doctor says that you have good reason to be afraid, that you simply cannot take another direct hit, I can tell you right now you practically need medication to stop. Like, "sign me up at the closest methadone clinic" kind of medication. Being sidelined for any reason is unacceptable. Almost physically painful.

Worse then landing on the concrete, I think..
But when I am not on the track, even in my most desperate hours of wanting to skate, I have to remember that I have a family who depends on me. That I have team mates who love me off the track too. That there are ways I can still be a derby girl, even without my skates on.

Like wearing hotpants and thigh-hi's to Whole Foods at 10am on a Wednesday.

Three Things

Have you ever visited Mighty Girl?

You should. I find her very inspiring, and her style? Well, obviously she's got that in spades, which is something I enjoy vicariously.

And she's got the list. This life list. This Mighty Life List. And she has had several companies sponsor her as she crosses these items off her list. Needless to say, her list is fucking awesome. And some of the items really NEED a corporate sponsor. So yay Maggie for finding a way to make it happen. We should all be so lucky.

In the glaring absence of corporate sponsors (and since I am between jobs, I don't really have any damn sponsor at all except my husband who is basically sponsoring my entire life - so it seems shitty to throw a list at hime of Things I Want to do Before I Die that He Needs to Pay For) I have embraced her goal for this month of crossing 3 items off her list.

Let me rephrase that. I'm not crossing things off HER list, I'm crossing them off my own. 3 items off MY LIST.

Only I didn't have a list. I still don't have a list,. That's on my list for next month.

But in the meantime, I did manage to accomplish three things that I have always wanted to do, or was scared to do, or wondered if I would be able to do, or thought I couldn't do, or some combination of those options:

1. I stood up for myself, and walked out of a job even though I needed the money. I held my head up, and I was the better person. I did not throw a fit, or act like an ass. You know how sometimes, someone says or does something nasty, and for 2 weeks you wander around muttering all of the snappy comebacks you wish you had been able to come up with at the time? I didn't have that. I am 110% at peace with how it all went down, and it was a life-altering experience. I hope you never find yourself in that position, but if you do, I hope that in the end, you look back on it and say "I am proud of how I handled that".

2. I joined the roller derby. Good God. I totally did. I bought skates, I went to practice, and I loved it. I am petrified, and sore, and at the same time completely thrilled. I needed to have something for me. I don't go to the gym (I think we have covered that) and I have never excelled at team sports, but man......I think I can do this.

3. I sent out a query. Instead of thinking of story ideas in bed as I fall asleep, forgetting them in the morning, and then reading the article I had in my head - with someone else's byline - a few months later, I came home, sat down, wrote up a proposal for a story, and faxed it along with samples of my writing. And while of course I hope that it gets picked up, and that they love it, even just faxing that initial letter tonight was an accomplishment. It was a major hurdle. It was something I have always assumed I wasn't good enough to do and tonight I just.......did it. I didn't follow any samples online, I just wrote from the heart, because that' show I write. And if how I write doesn't get their attention, then I'm not writing the way I should be and I shouldn't get the gig ANYWAY. So fingers crossed that something I submitted interests them enough to contact me, but even if I never hear, back, I will be less hesitant to submit my next story idea (but if this doesn't work, then next time I am actually going to follow the professional suggestions).

Alright, so there you have it. 3 things down.

Next month, 3 more.

Taking to my bed

I have, more then once in the past week thankyouverymuch, taken to my bed. First, it was because I was exhausted from a long and tense night at work. That was followed by a draining series of emails and conversations with my son's teachers and various friends and family. Then, of course, there was the great tsunami of 2010 which came hot on the heels of a late night at work. And now, it's 59 degrees outside, and 61 degrees INSIDE my home on a blustery, rainy day here in Hawaii. Yes Hawaii. Yes 59 degrees.

Yes.

So I am taking to my bed yet again - not just to keep my feet from burning with cold, but to try to catch a quick nap, something I always feel like I need when I am cold and tired.

As an added bonus, today I had an appointment with the nurse practitioner at my Gynocologist's office. My Obstetrician/Gynocologist. What that means is I just had to spend an hour surrounded by women in various stages of pregnancy, and recovery from their pregnancy, and their cute little babies.

Awful.

Terrible Stuff.

You know how pediatrician's offices schedule well-child visits first thing in the morning, before all the sick kids start showing up? They should do that with the OB/GYN office too. If you are there for strictly gynecological reasons - especially due to some sort of traumatic or untimely event - you should have a special time set aside, where you can go to these visits without the attendant emotional angst that leaves you wanting to wrap yourself up in exam table paper, and rock back and forth in the stirrups - which was how the Nurse Practitioner found me today.

I guess I'm STILL not quite over the hysterectomy, folks.

Sorry about that. I'm getting there. I mean, I CANCELLED my appointment altogether last year, so this is progress ! And the visit itself went fine, only one person asked me when my last period was (gosh, the answer "2005" just never fails to get a shocked look !), I got poked and prodded and felt up like a teenager in the backseat of a Subaru (not that I would know anything about THAT.) Everything checked out just fine, and after a brief conversation about extra calcium and bone scans, I was on my way. Back through the dreaded waiting room (avoid all eye contact. AVOID IT.) Down the stairs, out the door, hightail it to the safety of Henny the MiniCooper - a car I would never be able to own if I was even possibly fertile, because there is just no way to get an infant seat in there and still fit behind the steering wheel.

I drove off unemcumbered by diaper bags or bottles or screeching sobs from the backseat. I listened to NPR. I ran a few quick errands, and I headed home. To bed. To count my blessings, warm my tootsies, and take a nap I wouldn't have been able to take if I had a new baby in the house.

And I am almost able to accept my menopausal, post-hysterectomy, crone-y self. Almost.

Who comes first

Well, I think we may have pulled the plug on our foster parenting experiences.

The thing is, you have to set your boundaries in terms of placements, and then, once they are set, you have to stick to them. Which can limit the number of placement possibilities for your family, but can also minimize the stress and drama you are exposed to.

For instance. We take only infants, under a year old.

Period. That's what we are set up for, that is what works with our family dynamic, that is the age range that I feel most comfortable caring for on the spur of the moment...I can usually comfort a crying baby in moments, even one that has been through trauma associated with being taken into CPS custody. Babies are my thing.

When they asked if we would take a medically fragile infant, I asked some questions, thought for a bit, and then said yes. Of course. Of course we would take a medically fragile infant. I understood that the commitment would be much greater. I adjusted my work schedule to be available to care for the baby, and flew to another island for training on the baby's care. But I also thought I understood the extent of the commitment. Which I did not. To be honest, I don't think anyone really did. And the fact is, the level of care required has increased in scope since I have taken custody, and since the baby's most recent hospitalization, and is no longer something I can provide while still caring for my children, and keeping our lives pretty "normal" - whatever that means.

So I threw in the towel. Called the whole thing off. Baby is in hospital again where he will stay, with his family by his side learning how to care for him and bonding with him, while the state finds a better solution. I hope they do their damndest to keep that family together, and keep baby in a very high level of care.

This has been a very hard decision to make. I feel sick about it. But the honest fact is, this is a very medically fragile baby, and it scares me to be responsible for his wellbeing when his prognosis is so uncertain. My children have already been in the middle of some very scary moments when the baby was in crisis. The stress of caring for the baby definitely reduces my ability to be there for them. The time involved took too much time away from them and their needs............it was just not something that could continue indefinitely.

So while I am very enthusiastic about foster parenting, it is with a caveat. Almost every child in the system has been through trauma. These children deserve everything we can provide, above and beyond their basic "needs" of food, clothing and housing. They need to heal, and be whole, and be cherished, and be the priority. They need foster parents who are kind, patient, and willing to learn about each child's special situation, and particular needs. There will be a lot of appointments. There will be a lot of adjustments and last minute changes and red tape and craziness that doesn't exist in our every day lives.

And while the experience has been amazing and enriching and illuminating and rewarding, it has also been emotionally draining. I remain steadfast in my priorities - my own family must come first. And if the chaos of caring for a foster child begins to affect my children negatively, well, I need to remember who my first priority will always be.

My children first, all children second.

Drama in pediatrics

Ugh.

I was going to go into this long-winded post about, well, everything....but you know what?

I'm calling bullshit.

As a foster parent, I really do have to live by someone else's rules. It's about using my best judgement, of course....but when you are using YOUR judgement about someone ELSE'S kid, well - there is risk involved in that. What if (GOD FORBID) something happened. Which is why you always play it safe. Always always always.

Which is why, this afternoon, after having Baby back in my care for about 4 hours, I called the pediatrician and told them that this was definitely not a good idea.

I am not going into details, because at this point, it's all just too ridiculous to recount.

But let's just say that the major chip on my shoulder from yesterday fell off and shattered in the face of such outragous bullshit.

I caused quite a stir in Pediatrics, offended the attending physician, got my social worker all stirred up in my tempest, and then fled the scene, forgetting to leave the baby's medications. Again. God, I suck. Trust me I do. The doctor even said so, when he suggested that maybe I wasn't competent to care for such a medically fragile child. Well, DUH. I am not a nurse, or a doctor, or a physician's assistant. I didn't even take a college level biology class for god's sake. I took SURVEY OF CHEMISTRY AND PHYSICS. IN HIGH SCHOOL. 18 YEARS AGO. So yeah, probably I am totally unqualified. But sadly, I am the most qualified candidate, and I am doing my damndest.

Let's change the subject, I'm getting all riled up again.

In other news......it's still cold and rainy. I wanted to go to Seattle next week, but frankly I got plenty of Seattle going on RIGHT HERE BABY. I just need to get me some funky black plastic frames for my glasses, and some Doc Martens, and I'll be ready to roll. So the fact that the aforementioned drama has limited my ability to buy planefare is less frustrating - I can close my eyes and pretend. Well, sort of. If only I had AnthropologieTargetTraderJoesandIkea my life would be semi-complete.

Oh, how I miss AnthropologieTargetTraderJoesandIkea. (sigh)

A hard call

I am supposed to be going out to dinner tonight with friends, to celebrate a girlfriend's birthday. It's not going to work out for tonight - I have already phoned my regrets to the birthday girl - and when I actually sat down and thought about it for a bit, I came to the conclusion that maybe it is for the best. We have these dinners 5 times a year - once for each birthday. The birthday girl tonight is a sweetheart, and I haven't seen her in ages. We talk on the phone from time to time, but we never seem to connect in person.

There were a few things about tonight that had me worried. The restaurant they chose for dinner is one that competes directly with the restaurant I work with. Times are tough, and every table counts these days. They are just around the corner from each other, and I felt guilty for going to this other restaurant. But I don't feel comfortable explaining my discomfort. I would almost rather just NOT GO and avoid the whole thing. And I certainly don't want to ask to relocate the dinner just because of where I work, or MY preferences..... Maybe they didn't suggest my workplace on purpose, so that I wouldn't have to hang out at work on my off night. But again, I wouldn't bring it up, because I don't feel comfortable making suggestions with this group anymore.....I feel that I should be grateful that they continue to include me in these dinnners.....

And the issue of money does enter the equation. I began 2009 choosing a cash-only lifestyle. And I do not have any cash right now. I used to think nothing of throwing down my platinum AMEX for these dinners - but not anymore. These dinners are to celebrate a birthday, so I definitely need to have extra cash on hand, to chip in for the birthday girl's dinner.....something that I never used to think twice about, but now I have to consider very carefully. My income and expenses have changed considerably. And that is not something I feel really comfortable opening up about with these women - especially at a birthday dinner.....and maybe, you know, that's a sign for me that I shouldn't ignore. If I *don't* feel comfortable being honest, then maybe I *shouldn't* be hanging out with them. They deserve better then that - these are awesome people, and great friends.....

And with that I begin to touch on how much our relationships have changed. Things have changed a lot since this group of ladies started going out on a regular basis 3 or 4 years ago. I feel like a 5th wheel. A stranger in their midst. I don't have much contact with them other then these every-few-months girls nights out....and I don't feel like I am their really good friend anymore. Of course, I don't know how much time they are spending together other then these dinners - maybe we ALL only see each other once every few months ? I honestly have no idea.

When taken all together, the prospect of tonight made me nervous. Uncertain. Not just a fun night out with the girls - it's loaded with all sorts of worry, concern, stress.......which is SO not what this is supposed to be about ! It's supposed to be FUN ! Birthday celebration ! Girl's Night OUT ! Woo FUCKING HOOOOO.

And for me, right now, well....not so much. And if I said anything, I would feel like a spoilsport. A pouter. A "take my toys and go home" kind of girl - which I am definitely NOT.

This is just the sort of thing that I will worry myself sick about...... and it seems so ridiculous. Stressed over going out to dinner ? Afraid of offending friends by sharing my fears and concerns ? God, I'm a schmuck. It's all moot anyway - I'm not going, so the problem is solved, essentially.

Troublemaker

I think I may have mentioned this before, but I am, um, loud.

And, sometimes I am rushed, and do not take the time to be as nice as I could be. SHOULD BE.

I try. Oh, how I try. I am all too aware of my shortcomings, and they eat away at me in a constant inner dialogue that is far too annoying to relay here.....suffice to say - I will always go there. Assume it was my fault. That I was in the wrong. That I hurt someone or offended them, or infuriated them.......and of course, that is accompanied by the guilt, and the inner dialogue which kicks into high gear at a higher volume, and makes me, well, a teensy bit crazy.

Today, I got really aggravated at work. There was a communication problem, perhaps a language barrier, or maybe I was just being an impatient, short tempered bitch. God knows stranger things have happened.

And today, when I was frustrated, and I tried to explain why I was frustrated, I was unsuccessful. I don't know why. It was as a result of a mistake made by someone else, and perhaps by the end of the discussion, I was no longer trying to be diplomatic - or friendly. I ended up being quite, well, loud.

And here's the thing. I am aware. I try. I apologize. I make amends. I try to change. I OWN MY ISSUES. But when it's just plain NOT my issue......well, fuck 'em.

So, today, when I was frustrated, I ended up having to apologize - and I wasn't even sure for what. And that really pissed me off. More then the *thing* that had frustrated me to begin with. Because dammit - I didn't do anything to apologize for. Being loud is not a crime. Frankly I was loud only because the person I was speaking to was louder. And the person who was really the root of the problem doesn't like loud. Doesn't like swearing either. But usually, is fairly good at communicating, or asking questions, or clarifying. Not this time.

Luckily, in this case, it was a very minor issue - just an order that was screwed up at the cafe. But It was screwed up three times over, and by the third time, the customer was aggravated, and I was aggravated on their behalf - and my own. In a job that is a fast paced as the restaurant business, there is not a lot of time to walk back and forth to the kitchen because of forgotten items. If I have forgotten the items, then it's my problem, and I deal with it. If it is someone else's mistake, I accept that shit happens, and wait for them to fix it, while appeasing the customer.......But if there is a mistake, and I point it out, then I damn well expect a quick fix - just as fast as I would be expected to respond if I had made the mistake myself. (And for the record, I have been known to RUN when necessary.) And if something is missing because we are OUT of it, and I was never told, well then, you had best have a few options for me to present the customer.

Stony silence is not one of the options.

I have the next several days off - or maybe forever.......but whatever the outcome, I would just like to reiterate.....a lesson that can be applied to so many of our life experiences......

If you fuck up, own it. Just own it. It's yours. Fix it, or apologize, or compromise - but make it better.

And she's back.......and she's gone again......

Sorry, bear with me. It's nuts right now. (Derfina, I said "nuts").

I am resurfacing briefly, but I have two more days of head down, ass dragging work ahead of me. And I am totally dealing with an internal struggle, I just wrote a column about how hard it is to live with tourists in your space all the time - and I am a god damned travel agent. My JOB is to make people tourists. A bit of a conundrum, let me tell you.

So with the outer struggle (work at the cafe) and the inner struggle (um, my entire life right now) I am really FEELING it - all torn and confused and bewildered and conflicted.

And the real blood and guts of it is something I touched on recently. I have too many jobs. I am totally torn between different (and conflicting) roles. Thus my feeing of inner conflict mentioned above. It's not just about mental anguish - I am physically beat. I have spent most of my adult life trying to rein in my commitments to work, to friends, to family (and you notice the order those appear in, it's not accidental). With the marriage to my adoring husband (who enables me to live my freakishly accelerated life) and the arrival of my two kids, and now the dog, I have been slowly trying to get a grip. And failing miserably.

So my big challenge in 2009 is to pare down. Minimize.
I am going to work at the cafe.
I am going to write my column.
I am going to work as an independent travel agent.
I am going to freelance.
I am going to develop the business I started a year ago, that has basically been on hold for 10 months.

Oh. Wait. See, dammit. Too much stuff. SHIT this is hard ! I think part of it is fear that I am gong to miss something. An opportunity or experience that is unknown right now, but will become clear later. And part of it (most of it ?) is my completely ADD personality. I am either running around like a crazy person, or asleep because I am so completely fatigued (like, bone deep exhaustion) that I HAVE to stop and rest. And neither of those options is good for me, my kids, or my marriage. The dog can roll with it, he's a terrier for christsakes.... Come to think of it, he and I have a lot of similarities in our personality.

Hm.

11:11

I make a wish every time I look at a clock and it says 11:11

Last night, I was driving home, and looked up and saw that it was "that time" - and I made a wish. For years (and years) my wish was always the same.
"please, PLEASE let me get pregnant"

So I automatically started wishing for that, only to remember with a start that it was impossible. Physically impossible. For me. To have a baby.

And then, I was very, profoundly sad. Because while I don't actually want another child right now (maybe ever) the idea that even if I did want one, I couldn't have one........well, it's a tough thing to come to terms with when you are 33 and three relatives are pregnant or just had babies, and it's just a matter of time before all the rest of the siblings and cousins start reproducing........and then there's all the friends who are boiund to breed. A lot of babies in my future - and none of them are going to be mine.

So I switched my wish - right then and there. New 11:11 wish forevermore.

No, of course I can't tell you what it is - or it won't COME TRUE, silly !

Stuck in Atlanta

Let's just say that this is not my finest moment in travel.

I am so pissed right now, I can't stand it.

It rained in Atlanta today, which apparently grounds flights ?! PEOPLE ! It's fucking RAIN. It's 2008. We can't work something out ?

Why no, no we can't.

I would write more, but seriously, I am just too pissed. And I am in a really shady motel with the kids, and will miss my connection in Seattle tomorrow, so I won't get home until mid-Friday - no work for me Friday morning. Fuck.

I am broke, tired, pissed off, and something I ate has given me gas. Or maybe it's just stress. Whatever. Fuck.