if a tree falls...

I come from a long line of jerks, and if anyone needs to drink when they get together, it's the members of my family. I also come from a long line of closet alcoholics who "quit drinking."

For us, that means no booze allowed. No beer before dinner, no cocktails for dessert. The closet alcoholics? Well, they're getting drunk in the bathroom.

They're the ones who need to quit drinking, but somehow they've managed to create and maintain a situation whereby they're the only ones drinking. I have to wonder why I haven't connected these dots any time during the past 16 years.

I was going to call this ironic, but actually I think we've surpassed irony and moved right on to stupidity. I should have said I come from a long line of stupid jerks.

Anyway, do you suppose it'd be rude to bring wine to dinner just this once?

why not ask?

I've spent a lot of time trying to get back to normal, whatever that is. I realize now that it's nearly impossible to return to a prior state of affairs, and I don't want to--mostly. We don't smoke in the house anymore, and it being winter, and me being thin with poor circulation, well, I'm down to about a half a pack a day, as opposed to my normal whole pack a day, and sometimes more if I'm drinking. It's O.K. The house smells better, my clean laundry stays cleaner, and I don't have to feel guilty that I'm exposing my cats to secondhand smoke.

I don't drink much anymore. If I do, I feel sick for two days, my ears fill with fluid again, and I have to sleep and drink seven bottles of water for the first day after. And this is after only two or three beers or a couple of glasses of wine. I won't lie and say I don't want to drink. Just can't, really. And I have to accept this as normal, at least for now. Still, I'm fine with it.

I don't "go out" like I used to. Even visiting old haunts once in a while proves that I'm not in the same place I once was, and often enough, proves that I'm better for it. I miss playing music, yes. Having an ear problem that sometimes impedes speech and muffles my hearing makes it difficult, but not impossible. But then there's this matter of going out, and then not drinking. I don't want to settle for a life without music. It's not permanent, but it's going to be different if I ever make it back. It will still be good, whenever it is that I get there.

What's happening mostly is that I'm getting older. I'm not saying I'm old, but I'm facing the fact that I've reached an age (37) whereby my poor posture is hurting me in ways I never imagined possible. After all of the years of being hounded by relatives and friends to "stand up straight," I've reached a point that musculoskeletally speaking, this is simply impossible without physical therapy and training. Even then, I'm not sure that my body will ever fully recover from the damage I've done. Damn you, elementary school, for having so many short kids and late-bloomers.

Another phase I've entered, is the high-risk pregnancy age-group. That's assuming that I haven't yet reached the perimenopausal stage of my life. And I'm still not feeling prepared to have babies (as if one could ever be prepared for such a thing)! What's difficult about this, is that most of my friends have gone ahead and done it without me. Their kids are beautiful, but also a number of other things. Cute, funny, ADHD, smart, ill-behaved, loving, tall for their age, small compared to me, and well-loved by their parents. And I think it's great--but I don't have any.

One thing this leads me to, is that I'm caught in the middle. I don't need or want to go out much, but on the other hand, my days, nights, and weekends are wide open.  I try to be productive. I read, I write, I watch documentaries, and sometimes movies. I cook, I clean, I do laundry. I eat, and sometimes I sleep, mostly poorly.

My question is, does this really create a gap between me and my friends with children? I try to be sensitive to my friends' needs as parents. It's just that I have no real knowledge or experience as to what their needs may be. I do have common sense, however, and probably some sort of motherly instinct that has thus far only led to the bad habit of mothering my boyfriends, past and present.

Via Facebook, my friends with children need to get out for a drink, or they need some adult conversation, or they need a babysitter to allow for some adult conversation and a drink, in which case I volunteer, but then I won't be there to participate in said activities, a service I also like to provide for my friends with children. Also via Facebook, my friends are entertained by their children, loved by them, and reminded every day why this part of their life is undeniably satisfying. I can't leave this out of the equation, and in consideration of this, I feel I should make it clear that their children are welcome to be a part of the things we do as friends. In fact, it may be necessary.

I try to be sensitive about this parting of ways. I try to plan things around your and your children's schedules. When I call to make plans, depending on the thing we might like to do, I think about what time your small counterparts get out of school, or what day their fathers pick them up, or whether I should just offer to come to your place for coffee so we can both be with your kids and have a semi-adult, little ears present conversation. Who knows, maybe I could even talk to them, too.

What I mean by this, is that a lot of times, my friends don't ask if I'd like to join them when they take their kids to the zoo, or when they're going out for lunch kids in tow, or when they take them rollerskating or laser tagging and the like. All things I enjoy, albeit I've often enjoyed them sans children. Not by choice, but by circumstance.

O.K., so I'll concede that I never, ever want to play laser tag. It just seems like a germy activity--like video games at Salisbury Beach.

This all boils down to what I began with. Nothing is ever going to go back to normal, if normal is what my life was two, six, or eight years ago. I've changed. You've changed. I still need you and I still need us. Both with your children present, and without them.  I only hope you all still need me despite my lack of genetic counterparts. I assure you that I know how it works, and knowing that, I know I may never have any. This might only be sad if I find myself without friends, too. If there is a gap, I'd like to find out what it's made of, and how to close it before it's too late.

An aside, how the hell did this creep up on me?

people like that.

I knew it would happen. I've been sick for almost a year, and it's kept me under the radar, for the most part. Now, I'm feeling better and getting out more, and what do people do when you're out? They judge. Not based on reality, no. They do it quietly, and don't ask many questions. And I'm totally fine with being judged for what I do, even by complete strangers. But being judged for what they think I did, it's another story altogether. As for anyone thinking I'm not sorry for any mistakes I've made over the years, they haven't been here.

Not for the times I've denied myself happiness over and over again, or not for every day that's gone by that I rehash any one instant during which I could have said or done things differently. To the one person who's seen me at my absolute worst, and knows sure enough how damaged I was by someone else's actions, as well as how hurt I was by my own inactions...well, I don't expect you to vouch for me. You're a coward. So I'll fall as gracefully as I can into the "people like that" category. I saw it coming. I probably have it coming.

Most days, I can get past all of this.  Most days, I can avoid writing about it on the internet, and in turn find that I can't really write about it anywhere. In fact, what's suffered the most for every snide remark, every sideways glance, and for any dig, intended or unintended, is my writing. I write about me, mostly, and how I feel about the day, my situation, my friends. That way there's no intrusion. And honestly, I'm tired of talking about myself here. To the point where I thought the other day that I should just end it now.

My blog, I mean. I looked it over and concluded that it was all just drivel, and that I lack focus and a theme. In retrospect, it was more like an alarm sounding. I think that it's ruining my writing, wasting my time, and feeding the elephant that only grows larger every time I happen to step out the door (which again makes it way to Facebook and becomes largely misunderstood).  On the other hand, I've been doing this for years. It introduced me to a very good, and hopefully lifelong friend, and it's kept me occupied at times during which I really needed to stay occupied. It's helped me sleep, and it's pulled me out of bed at 6 a.m.

I guess I'm just trying to determine how much good comes of it, and how much of this other crap (see above) is too difficult to avoid if I continue with it. Because I could be more specific, but I won't be more specific. I'm not the only person in the world who has occupied a space on the internet with vague statements about non-specific things. I'd sure like to change that, though. Here's what I know. 

Sometimes, I've hurt people. I'm not the only one. What makes me better than my worst actions, is that I try every day not to make it a regular occurrence. What I'm still learning? 

I need to be hard on myself. I don't need to punish myself. And I need to figure out sooner than later the difference between the two.

to shreds.

What if I suddenly changed course? And what if I don't have that choice right now? Those two questions have been haunting my thoughts more than they should be these past few weeks. Enough to give me a stomach ache, and enough to cause me difficulty sleeping. 

Also, I've been dreaming about riding a bus. Like, often.

Anyway. I know me and my fickle heart all too well, and I know that it sometimes steers me wrong, and in every which direction. But then, often enough it doesn't, and I know one thing for sure. I've never been able to ignore it.

I don't know how much of this happens on account of fate, and how much of it I impose upon myself. It doesn't really suit me to sit around counting my blessings. I'm not saying that I don't appreciate them. I do. I'm just terrified of contentment, at least for comfort's sake. I'm not even entirely opposed to comfort, if only it weren't so predictably conducive to making me cease all movement in any particular direction. Comfort seems so rigid in its rules. Even in the most serene water, if you throw even the tiniest of all pebbles, it's still going to make a ripple. And today, I happen to like ripples, or at least the idea of them. The problem is, I only have this rock.

Ripples are one thing, but a tidal wave? I know I'm not ready for that.

But I can't keep kidding myself. Something has to change. For starters, I need to exercise more. I've been down for so long with the strangest of unidentifiable illness that my strength is all but depleted. I'm still shocked that it's claimed almost an entire year of my life, and that not one of at least 12 doctors has been able to pin it down. 

The guesses so far; sinus infection, sarcoidosis, Eustachian tube dysfunction, TMJ, glue ear, vertigo, Multiple Sclerosis, Lyme disease, severe allergies, and non-allergic rhinitis (this seems to be correct, but the cause has remained elusive), and migraine. Not to mention the ever convenient diagnosis, anxiety. And perhaps if I take their happy pills, I won't notice anymore that they have no idea what the hell they're doing, and that they're robbing me blind. On the good side, I've had much better days since I was laid off in September. I'm almost convinced that soon enough, this, and even the ringing in my ears will be a distant and hopefully mostly suppressed memory. Except for the good parts, and there have been a few somehow, mostly in spite of it.

On top of more exercise, I've cut out most caffeine, and a whole lot of sugar. My meals include fresher fruits and vegetables. And a lot of greens. Teas are mostly herbal, and breads are whole grain.

But those are the easy ones. I still have to feed and exercise my mind, and I've been horribly neglectful of it more months. I've promised it that I'll read more, and hopefully watch a lot less television than I have been. But I'm still glad that I watched every episode of My Name Is Earl. No one's going to fault me for that, right?

Thankfully, I still cook often, which sometimes satisfies my creative urges, as well as provides my brain with at least a little bit of stimulation.

So where was I going with this again?

For the moment, I know exactly what I have to do: wait and see. I wish right now that I had patience on my side, but I can, at least, kill some time trying to find it.

two sugars.

It's the day after Thanksgiving, and I'm still thankful. I'm happy with my home, I'm happy with the people in it, and I'm thrilled to avoid shopping on Black Friday of all days. Instead I'm home, coffee in hand, with my all-time favorite sound coming from the laundry basket behind me: cat snores.

I'm pleased that everyone here, including the cats, is relaxing. Okay, so it's actually just me and the cats. But forget this shopping crap. My sister invited me, and I said no, mostly on the basis that I can and most likely would be arrested for assault, possibly with some sort of blunt object, like a television that someone wanted and pushed me out of the way to obtain. And I have no intentions of fighting over a Hello Kitty pillow pal (if there were such a thing) to save five bucks. I'd rather save myself the jail time and sit home reading a book over coffee, thanks.

I borrowed The Time Traveler's Wife from my mom yesterday and started reading it before dinner. Seems a little confusing at first, but I like the idea. Love transcending time and all that. I'm only a few chapters in, but so far, so good. Should hold my attention for the bulk of this morning until I finally decide to face the day, the traffic, and something I've been looking forward to for a long time.

Here's to making up for lost time, and for not letting time damage the very connections that make it possible. And for not letting time turn every piece of the past into nostalgia.

as charged.

Guilt. Both a lovely tool, and horrible curse, indeed. Mr. Fred Rogers spent a lifetime teaching us that we are important. That just being born makes us each a valuable person. He also tried to teach us to live morally, and with a consciousness for our neighbors. But still, here we are, ripping each other to shreds.

I've been observing many a negative response to the Occupy movement, and it would seem it's based on the assumption that every one of them is unemployed and in debt. I suppose that's possible, but I doubt it. 

I would venture to say, however, that every one of them believes that a lot of our problems could be solved, and it's time to let the people at the top of this mess know that we know that they know it can and should be fixed. Not by redistribution of wealth, but by recognizing that we as employees and consumers are still part of the equation that makes them wealthy in the first place. Instead of hiring us, paying us fair money for our good work, and manufacturing (possibly right here in America) superior products for us to purchase with our hard earned dough, they've chosen just to take what we have left, give it to some corporations and banks, then piss what's left into a war for oil. I mean what kind of freedom is it that I should feel guilty for having a few "things?"  And how the hell am I greedy for wanting to live on more than a shoestring budget? 

Is it so awful to finally take a stand and say that we are not all satisfied with our meager paychecks, which aren't even a third of what we need to pay for simple things like groceries, a cell phone, our electric and heating bills, and possibly a few things we don't need, like a new pair of pants, or the internet? And is it wrong for me to wish for my own benefit that it weren't true that someone in India is taking your phone call on behalf of American banks and corporations that operate here, but set up headquarters in other countries to avoid paying taxes here? And that I wish they wouldn't lobby that I pay more taxes than they do? And that instead of lobbying for lower taxes, they take that money and put it into jobs and a better product?

I did, just last week, receive a job opportunity via the internet I don't "need"...but then again I could have picked it up at the library for free, right? 

The library that's only open three and a half days a week now because the state cut it's funding after it raised taxes and a fair number of fees? Libraries do fall under the "public service" category last I checked. Public schools are in the same boat. When there's a budget problem, you cut things that aren't necessities. So who's telling us neither of those things are necessities? And while I sit here feeling guilty for collecting unemployment after working and paying into it for 23 years, and for not cutting out luxuries like phone and internet, should I feel guilty for attending public schools and using public libraries, or for calling the police when some sex offender used my mailbox illegally to receive his welfare check after he got out of prison?

What I'm saying is that we've been conditioned to think we don't need anything to be happy. I'm arguing that they want us to give them everything we have, and then think we're better people because we did. Because we don't need anything, but they do. Who is "they?" Damned if I know. But I know that my $750 paycheck was becoming a $550 paycheck before I even saw it. At the end of the year even that's reduced once I pay the rest of my taxes, and at the end of the day I sit at home trying to cut more expenses, particularly food, phone, internet, and cable. I'm sure somehow I'm to blame for my lack of ability to pay for these things, even though I've been working since I was 14, and have at least 10 years of experience in the industry that actually chose me, because lord knows I'm not doing what I want. 

We could argue that I'm not doing what I want because I didn't go to college, which for starters I couldn't afford...but hey, I don't have any debt, save $1,000 between two credit cards, and $10,000 for the bare bones car for which I took a loan for $12,500. Oh wait, it has air conditioning and a CD player.  

And I'm insisting that $550 a week doesn't go very far anymore, and I still somehow believe it's a decent paycheck. I know because I once could afford to live on a $300 paycheck and have money to spare. Ah, the 90s. That must have been the point at which I became spoiled rotten, like all of us ugly Americans that want things. Like good jobs that don't threaten our health, financial rewards for our hard work (the bank execs sure receive them), and some freedom to buy our own way to a better economy that keeps us safe, educated if we so choose, and not just fed, but nourished. So, if we're not supposed to want all of these things, why are we fighting under the guise that we want these things for other countries?

I'm confused, and guilty. But I do protest.

end to end.

It hit me the other day right after I saw, for the first time, a 3D ultrasound. I was reading through my "Top Stories," as I do every morning, and there it was. A little alien-looking creature with its face pressed up against its mothers uterus. The father is an friend of mine, and for a second I felt happy for him. After that, though, I realized I don't even know the girl and here I am looking at her genitalia on the freaking internet. That was three weeks ago. 

Yesterday, I saw someone's obituary in the very same feed, which brings me to today. Are our real lives really just a timeline on the internet from beginning to end? And will I ever have the urge to post my unborn baby's picture on the internet before they even have a chance to protest? 

Then again, will I ever actually have a baby? Probably not, and maybe in some small way because of this. Because while we're busy experiencing the most important times of our lives, we're distracted by the nagging urge to post it on the internet before, during, and after we experience it. And in the case of an unborn child, the very most important thing we could do  is shamelessly posted on the internet, most likely for good. No eraseys. 


I'm not saying it shouldn't be done, but I have to question the intent and the good sense of it. Sometimes it forces me to take a long hard look at my internet lifespan and whether or not there's enough content, and whether or not I'm a good enough person to be as happy as everyone looks. I wonder why I don't laugh more than I do, and I wonder when I'll start playing music again, and I wonder if I'll have time before I go to delete my profile completely so no one will turn it into a makeshift memorial for me. 


All of this makes me want to make my life and everything I make of it more tangible. I find myself wanting to mail birthday cards using the U.S. Postal Service (gasp), or wanting to write letters to friends and relatives at least once a week. I want to take a yoga class and not take pictures with my camera that doubles as a phone. I want to play my guitar more often, often when no one will hear it, but sometimes where they can, in which case they can feel free to take a picture and share it on the internet. As long as it's flattering. Because there's no real way to escape it. Even if I don't have a profile, someone else will, and that someone else may want to prove to the world we were really there together. Maybe.


All of this simply led me to one true reality that I decided to post on the internet. I want to live, not distractedly, but wholeheartedly, and the only friends I'd like to share pictures of my uterus with are the ones with whom I'm willing to share the better part of my life with, in person.