Monday, September 17, 2012

Those Thin Fashion Scarves and 4 Hours of Sleep

I think I've finally figure out what it means to be in the moment. No,I'm not talking about this ridiculous YOLO non-sense. That is a retarded person's way of justifying stupidity. I'm not talking about seizing the day either. No, this is a much more precious gift. There are moments in our life where the memory of one singular moment in time is so real and vibrant we remember it until the day we die with every vivid detail as though it were a still photograph we had studied for a life time. These moments can be either terrifying, or joyful. Either way we tend to be unable to recreate them on our own. Most of mine have been terrifying. Over the past 3 months I have had moments that have made me catch my breath, and generally made my heart beat almost through my chest. I have discovered the intimacy of simply holding hands. The magic in doing nothing more than touching your foreheads together and simply being that close to someone. Pressing your hand against someone else's as you smile uncontrollably. The way the breeze passes through your hair, and the flush feeling on your cheeks. Intimacy in all it's glory! I have always believed that BYU is a deal breaker. I wanted nothing to do with it. I applied to RICKs. My only college clothing from that particular round of college is a shirt that reads "Forever RICKS". I proudly own it. I am a Penn State fan regardless of the fact that Ricks became BYU-Idaho. I have bet against the Y, and I have cheered on Utah for years. I'm known for being able to play chess with humanity around me. I have successfully avoided having any direct contact with BYU people who weren't related to me by blood or marriage. I will go to Provo if that is where I am to be. I found a reason to forget the angst, and a person who was able to take the bad taste for BYU out of my mouth. Even better was that it was done in the most amazing, yet simple way. Based on the situation with the Major I have always had a skewed perspective of what beautiful is. I understood "beautiful" and "hot" to be the same. Thursday night I was taught that there is a difference. Beautiful is better than Hot. Beautiful is the thing that makes a woman great, and worth keeping. Hot is what turns you on, for lack of better vernacular. All this time I have tried to be what someone else wanted me to be. I've been a pin-up, I've been a beach bum, I've been a sophisticated woman, and a street racing shorty. I had a period where I figured out that I didn't want to be what the next duechebag wanted me to be, but I didn't know who I was. I figured out who I was and I've started living that. But I didn't feel beautiful. I felt "ok". Suddenly here I am looking into someone's eyes listening to Him tell me that I'm beautiful all the time. In my head I'm thinking " uhm, when I help out at football practice I'm sweaty, and gross, and usually not wearing make-up... not only that but you must clearly be forgetting that day you came over while I was sick and you made me dinner and I promptly threw it back up. there was NOTHING beautiful about that.". Looking closely, and trying to get every ounce of communication off the touch I'm getting to confirm it, I can see in His eye's and feel in His touch that He's serious. I've got to admit. I don't know what that means. What does it mean to be beautiful? How do you quantify that? Well, for the man who has been trying to teach me what that means I will move to Provo and bloom where I am planted. Looking in those eyes and watching the strength in the gentleness. . . I will forget the angst. Because You are the only exception.

Friday, September 7, 2012

Aches, Pains, Bills, and Sunshine

Faith is a strange object. It is something we all believe to be a quality held by the best of humanity. Yet if I were to ask a quantifiable definition of the word it would escape the most educated of us. The reality is that no one can actually quantify this almost magical quality. It breathes, and lives, it touches and reaches, it wanes, and strengthens, waxes cold, and hot, it gives, it takes. Much in the same way that life itself is moving and unending so to is Faith. Even if one lacks it in self. There is always someone with sufficient Faith to carry us to our most honorable destinations. Amazingly enough their Faith soon breathes life into our own and our happy arrival is based less upon their superhuman Faith, and more on our own. This "seed" is planted when, and where WE plant it. There is not divine gardner determining who will be a suitable pot. We are ALL given a seed, and as the gardner expected to plant it. How we tend our preciously delicate seed is our own merit. If we so chose we may indeed place it upon the shelf and bother no more about it. We may plant it in the best potting soil known to man! We may simply fill a pot with dirt from some deserted pile and figure it MIGHT have enough nutrients to produce a fruitful plant. We may even drop it in the earth and layer it with fertilizers, hydration, and sunlight. It is our AGENCY to do with it as we please. Though I do not believe we should be startled at the results of our care if we do not tend to things properly. Even if gardening is no where NEAR a talent we have a responsibility to do our best to educate ourselves on the needs of the living thing we are now responsible for. I am NOT a gardener. I kill just about everything I touch. That I have managed to keep a pot full of bulbs alive for more than one season astounds me. I believe the saving graces is my Mother's semi-annual visits. with regular conversations with a person who is a master gardener I have managed. My flowers are not winning awards, but they live. They will get more beautiful as I practice this age old art on them. So too, we must tend to our Faith. Planting it in the best we have. Making room in the center of our hearts we place the small fragile seed, and cover it. Regularly checking in with our own Master Gardener we talk of life, and love, and all things under the sun. Learning to care for our Faith. As we converse we are giving strength to the new growth. As the growth becomes bigger it becomes stronger. It does not shoot up to 60 feet over night. But by small and simple increases it grows strong. It is tender while young and must be protected from the storms that rage around us. Once it is fully grown it will withstand the hurricanes of the negative world in which we find ourselves, and come out the other side beautiful and radiant inside us. I have needed a massage for over 5 months. My arms fall asleep while I'm laying on my back arms at my side. My hands cramp and spasm as I try to give the massage my reputation demands. I ache every day before I ever get moving. but knowing the toll this work takes on my own body I have refused to receive work until I can properly compensate. September is the month when ALL my bills are due. State licensing for my craft, vehicle registration, student loans, phone, liability insurance, car insurance, you get the picture. Adding to this a horrid mistake by a payroll company last year which has left me shoveling out to the IRS more than I would ever believe they deserve. Either way, I'm holding to my budget with unflinching commitment this month, and a massage. . . ISN'T in the budget. A client who is also a friend engaged me in conversation and I stated very plainly that I usually give them the massage I wish I could get myself. This led to the topic of when I had ACTUALLY had my last massage and not the fib I tell clients to get them to take care of themselves. which of course led to my reasoning behind having waited so long. The subject changed again and I thought nothing else of the words exchanged earlier. It is a common conversation for me to have with clients I've been seeing for 2 years or more. I finished up, and left the room so They could dress and went about my remaining duties as if nothing had changed. Typical end-of-shift duties. As I went to the front to turn in my lotion bottle, and see that I had filled out all my SOAP notes the manager on duty greeted me with a look of hesitation. Never a good sign. I asked if I wanted to know what I had done. She responded " there's something for you", and held up a tip envelope. I was confused to say the least, and when I reached for it and she held it back from me my consternation was increased. " You're not going to like this, but you can't be mad at me! it's so you can get a massage from Rick. I wasn't given a choice!" she states emphatically. I snatch the envelope and look at the front. " So Deb can get a massage from Rick" is written neatly on the front. I didn't even need to see the name of my benefactor to know who had left it. "I'm gonna killer her" I state in low tones. I turn to leave and my manager on duty just smiles. My anger is feigned and we all know it. As tears fill my eyes I can not even begin to describe the sense of relief and weight that is lifting from my body. The act was unmatched in kindness and generosity. There is NO WAY the meaning and significance of the act was known to my benefactor. There will never be words to describe the sensation given by Faith rewarded. There are moments in our lives when it may feel as though Providence has forgotten us. In these Abrahamic moments, as the Heavens seem closed to our upturned cries for relief and sustenance, a friend of a more mortal nature steps up and shows us that the miracles in our lives are given BY the divine THROUGH the mortal.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Sacramento is all Leatherby's and Old Town. . . Or So I'm Told.

We all know what a "Man Moment" is. . . But for the men out there who don't; it is those moments when whatever you think is the right answer, you're wrong. You say this thing you think is funny, or cute, or not that big a deal and it turns out to be one of the most insulting things you could have thought. OR!! She's expecting you to read her mind/understand her hints and you miss it completely and end up disappointing her. It happens. They are forgivable moments and as a woman it helps to have a label to put on this inexplicable idiotic behavior. Now that we've got that cleared up: I have moments when because of what The Major did I need help, but I have no idea how to ask for it. I find myself desperately hoping someone will see the inner pain and turmoil and run to my rescue. I pray desperately, through the tears I am crying myself to sleep with, that someone will take over and fight the rest of this battle for me. Or, just simply hold me so I can cry. I am tired. I am very tired. I pretend that I'm not, and I am pretty good at convincing myself of the matter from time to time. Lets face it; I'm not 18 any more. The ability to go non-stop at full speed is not something I can do. So between fighting my personal demons, trying to support people I care for, learning news that is devastating, and maintaining a good working base of medical information in my brain I'm pooped! I don't know how to ask for help. I spent a goodly portion of my life on my own. I hate to say it, but even with 13 siblings I ended up with 'only child' syndrome. I need help. I need someone to tell me to stop, and give me permission to break down. I need to cry, and I need someone to hold me while I do it. These things are both cathartic and healthy! I need someone to tell me to say 'No'. I need someone to hear my silent cries for help and recognize that I can't do this anymore. I need to feel safe falling asleep. I need 6 hours of uninterrupted slumber! I haven't slept through the night in 3 years. I wake up after a short bit from either a nightmare, or a sound that puts me back in a basement. I've only ever trusted one man completely. I know He wont be around forever because no one lives forever, and I was His 'late lamb'. The thought of losing Him scares me silly. It makes me a nervous wreck, and as I realize that the time when He wont be around is getting closer I start freaking out. Now not only do I lose sleep because of The Major, I lose sleep because my Dad wont live forever. Nothing will ever replace Him. He has saved me from myself more than once. Of all the convoluted, painful, irritating, mess of situations that brought Him into the right place to be my Dad I couldn't be more grateful. He is here, and He has always been here when I need Him. So as you get older and suddenly realize your Dad is a Grandpa, and a Great Grandpa is starts to sink in. . . you can fight it, but it hits you. The bond there is undeniable, and no one can ever love you the same. You want to scream at the sky " YOU CAN'T TAKE HIM! I NEED HIM!", but you know it doesn't change a darn thing. Everything that is living must die. It is a PART of living to die! This is scientifically irrefutable. So why bother? I do need Him. I can't keep Him, but I do still need Him. I will ALWAYS need my Dad. But at some point we have to bust out the pull-ups, and move on. Now I recognize that not everyone has this relationship with their Fathers. I have been spoiled in this regard I know. It doesn't change that even if you're not the child feeling this, perhaps you're the Dad a child feels this way about. I have made a mistake tonight I will probably regret for a long time to come. I had someone who would help me through this. Hold me while I cried, and probably would've stayed long enough for me to fall asleep. I decided it was more important for them to get some sleep than it was for me to get help. I gave something I did not have to give, and created a deficit in my ability to be emotionally sound. I gave all the signs I needed and wanted to share. Then shut the offer down because I believed the demand to great, and my deserving of the help to little. Here I sit, pouring out my hurt and pain to an electronic device realizing I will cry myself to sleep once more, and still not feel any better when I wake because I couldn't muster the courage to beg for one night of help. Though my intentions were noble, and of good intention, I have put someone else's wellness above myself and left unable to hold myself together. I have damaged the mental/emotional health of myself, and in so doing put at risk the physical. It is a grave mistake indeed. The worst part is that they are a willing helper. They actually WANT to come to my rescue. I need only ask. . . I unfortunately do not know how to ask. For this I owe the deepest apologies. I am sorry I denied you a chance to serve me because I believed the demands on you to serve others were too great. I set you up for this "Man Moment" and I am sorry. It was cruel, and ungracious of me.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

She's So Fluffy I'm Gonna Die!

I really have no idea what I want to say. I had a moment earlier where I was going to rant about something and I thought to myself " this is genius! you should blog this!". . . Of course it's gone now. I should have started the process before I lost it. Perhaps it will come to me again as I rant about ranting. Nope. pretty sure it's gone. Darn it. Well, I've thrown My back out loading the dishwasher. :) Funny story about that actually. I've had a horrid week. News I didn't want combined with emotional frustration due to being female, I suppose, created the perfect storm. I've been in tears, and just a mess emotionally. I need a massage. Either way; the emotional state of one's self directly affects the physical aspects of the self. So with all this emotional turmoil I am left to strain through the physical. With the fatigue setting in I've been volunteering with a high school football team treating injuries. (My feeble attempts to get the attention of the coach I happen to fancy.)I figured I have been carrying my table up and down the steps of my apartment for almost 2 years so I should be able to do this easily. Well I did fine, I've put in 3 extra hours of work including days off. It's not hard work but still. When you have a day off your body expects to use it to rest. So here I am, loading the dishwasher after a week of this non-sense and unsuccessful attempts to get the attention I'm craving. ( note that I'm trying really hard to not be selfish about this and respect the fact that work is something most people prefer to be functional for) I use the most horrendous body mechanics imaginable to place a heavy pan in the lower shelf of the dishwasher. . . *POP* there it goes. Almost stealing every breathe I have in me I feel it slip out of place. First time I've ever really thrown it out. I straighten up only to discover that about halfway there I can barely arch my back let alone get it straight. I lay down on the floor. In the kitchen. Yup, dishes half loaded and I'm on the floor wondering how I missed that bread crumb under the edge of the oven. It took me 2 hours to be able to crawl into the bathroom where I have a linen closet. I pulled the heating blanket from the closet and plugged it in, laid on it and finally pulled myself into bed. All I can think at this point is " really?! loading the dishwasher?! you work 400lb men! you deliver deep tissue to clients who break other therapists and do just fine! you did it doing something so inglorious?! Oi Vey." Clearly I am no master of deep thought. But It was a great reminder that our physical and our mental are tied tightly to each other in our health. We are to care for both to be Well. Wellness is not just passing a physical. It is most intricately woven into the pattern of life that the spirit and body work in unison as a team. Pulling life through the tissue and sinews into animation. They must be treated together as conditions are both. Fatigue of the body must be treated with heart and tenderness. Fatigue of the spirit must be treated with strength of body. As we take vacations we improve our mental ability to warn us the physical is in need of rest. The nutrition and training of our bodies gives the mind a boost of energy. Treat both, and treat them lovingly. Honesty, Awareness, Compassion. The foundation of all healing begins with self.

Friday, August 10, 2012

Apricots From Afghanistan

I enjoy being one of those Massage Therapist who tells you to go try this new burger joint I've just discovered. I do not drink wheatgrass every morning, I don't eat tofu (unless I order miso soup with my sushi.), I have no intention of getting rid of my pinesol clorox wipes or febreeze air freshener, I don't believe a skinny woman is a healthy woman, and I don't think you need 10 hours of Yoga everyday. I believe in common sense. I am the kind of therapist who recognizes that to enjoy life we need to enjoy some of the more indulgent things in life. We can't spend all our time fixing our deficiencies. Learning to enjoy our flaws makes them beautiful. Now I'm not saying we need to stop forward progress, not by any means! Things that stop moving are dead. I don't recommend Zombie status. It's kind of a mess. I'm just saying to stop focusing on all the hype. If you're going to end up dead anyway we might as well enjoy a little bit of the trip. Like any good road trip it is the boring wastelands that give the random moments the biggest stage. Imagine driving along in the mountains and you've been staring at pine trees for a million miles. Then suddenly a stone bridge, and a flying saucer made out of old satellite dishes. You better believe you're stopping to get a picture in front of this great piece of trash that broke the monotony! Likewise if a sign reading "Fishtrap" shows up after staring at tumble weed and suicidal jack-rabbits for 400+ miles. . . again, you seize the photo op. The things we do to improve ourselves are these breaks in the road trip of life. I'm sure there are people who don't mind repeating the same scene over and over, but personally I'm not a fan. I go stir crazy after a couple months in the same apartment. I believe learning things that make us healthier, and smarter, and stronger are good. I do not agree with getting swept up in the hype. There is a level of common sense that has to be applied. Everyone should have a basic understanding of their own anatomy. No I'm not saying we should stand in front of a mirror examining the freckles on our hide parts. I'm saying we should understand how the body metabolizes food, how it moves, how it builds tissue, how it breaks tissue down, and why it does certain functions at all. If you can understand the basics about your body when someone writes an article about the latest diet you can read through it, and determine whether or not it's worth the page it's printed on. Enjoy the little things. Yes cholesterol is sometimes high; so enjoy the butter on your toast sparingly. Yes your muscles stiffen and tighten as we age; so enjoy a little Tai Chi, or Yoga a couple times a week. Indeed, it can be said that too much junk/fast food makes you overweight and morbidly obese; so enjoy the hamburgers with bacon you can eat by not eating them everyday. Like I keep saying : Common Sense. My idea's on life as a Therapist? Enjoy every moment you can for what it is. Even the bad moments are beautiful, you just have to wait a little longer to see the beauty sometimes. Believe that beauty exists and seek it out by improving YOUR corner of the world. Make it contagious with goodness that people will carry to others like an infectious disease. Perhaps then we can infect all of humanity with a brotherly love that doesn't end.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Alien Life

"you're from another planet Deb, you don't count." . . . Right. Have you ever considered for a moment that maybe this is MY planet and YOU are the visitor? Perhaps these things you perceived as awkward social mannerisms are, in actuality, completely acceptable amongst the people who ACTUALLY belong here. Your crude nature, and crass behavior is an insult and a violation of the simplest nature of our existence. We are polite and allow you to stay hoping that we can teach you the delicacy of communication. We believe in the subtlety of words. We believe that you say what you mean and you mean what you say, that people who use expletives are simply too ignorant to have the where-with-all to express themselves. Though the crimes you've committed are reprehensible at the least, and I do mean at the least, it would be rude to deny you the chance to correct your ignorance with education. There is a time and a place for uncivilized behavior. This is not that time. Understanding that not everyone agrees upon this theory I entreat you to the notion that everyone is entitled to the right to think. It is a luxury that we are born with, thankfully. You are given the right at birth to think for yourself. You are not however; given the right to impose those thoughts on me. I act on my thoughts in the best way that I know how. If you find them odd it is your right to think so. I only ask that you be aware that reducing someone to an alien life form amongst the rest of humanity is damaging to their self image, and the way in which the think about the world around them. The sort of segregation that belongs to that line of thinking does not produce a creative environment of ideas and learning. It strangles the very essence out of humanity. It places people in tupperware containers that don't allow them to touch or feel another person. With out this interaction creativity is suffocated, and the annihilation of life is certain. Just because someone possesses the fortitude to stand apart, or proficiently express the deepest regions of their being doesn't mean they are from another planet. It means they are in a firm grasp of who they are as an individual and their place in the melting pot of life. It should be an honor to interact with such people. They force us to rise above our norms and exceed our potential. They are the people who encourage and grow us into gods. They deserve our respect and our reverence; not as aliens, or visitors, but as great friends and companions in this journey Home.

Thursday, May 31, 2012

Naked and Famous

And I quote: " deb you are the most selfish person I know. You don't let anyone in or let anyone get to know you. You hide who you are and they deserve to know. . . " Ok, I'm selfish because I hide a large chunk of time that happened to be the most informative development stage of most of our lives. I have secrets, things about me that no one understands, but you know there's something just not right. It's not like I enjoy hiding these things. I would love nothing more than to share the story and tell it to someone who would listen. I'm smart enough to know that if you are watching you'll know when to ask and it will be because you're ready. I don't find it selfish, I find it a matter of self preservation. There are somethings that can't be taken back. Pieces of facts that once known create an awkwardness almost worse than the unknown. We all know I'm a little off my rocker, a little eccentric, and I am often known to do brash things I later wish I'd held back and only thought about. Let's add this one to the list shall we? You want to know what I'm hiding; here it is. I was 16, as most of us have been, and I didn't want to have sex. He did. Things ended badly and I went looking for a mans approval that this horrible situation wasn't all that bad and I was still worth loving. A man, we'll call him the Major, showed up. Recognizing an opportunity to capitalize on a vulnerable teenager a 32 yr old man convinced a 17 yr old girl she should date him. Disaster ensues and just a hop, skip, and a jump to 23 yr old from 17 we have a girl living in a basement in Colorado praying that today is a good day and that the frying pan isn't in her future. After several months in and out of the ER "falling" and "running into doors" it's evident we're losing steam. The beating and insults just aren't working anymore. The thrill is gone. How do we remedy this? Let me tell you by asking another question; Have you ever wondered what it's like to die? I've been almost there. I've had the room go fuzzy and suddenly realize I'm probably not going to be alive much longer. Just on the verge of "giving up the ghost" I get a reprieve. Ghastly way to do things really, but this is survival we're talking about. While the rest of you were learning how to interact and be "cool" I was trying to figure out how to make the perfect roast so I could avoid having my head slammed in an oven while the gas was running, and my back side whipped with a cricket bat. Gas makes you really sick you know. There are bad people out there. I know. I survived by running away one night. After months of trying to convince my best friend she wanted to come live in Denver I had an out. I would HAVE to be left in an apartment I'd been paying for but never really lived in. I would HAVE to be given some freedom to keep up the facade of "normal healthy relationship". As much as I hate myself for having used another human being like that I could see no other way. Every phone call to the cops had been explained away and ended in another trip to an ER with an assumed name. Did you know I have 37 alias's? nifty huh. I can remember every single one, and the character's back story too. You must have a good back story if you're going to keep a nurse from checking up on it. Thankfully, when you've been sold to a guy who lives in St. Louis you don't see the same nurses as the ones in Colorado. Thankfully. Either way I figured out how to get out. Mostly. I was still so terrified I couldn't seem to get further away than an apartment with a friend. Another pawn. Not that I'm proud of it, nor that He was any better than the Major, but it was something I needed to survive and finish getting out. When you're finally allowed to have a real job and your boss is asking about the hand prints around your arms you have to think fast. I was working as fast as I could. Almost not fast enough. Long story shortened by a few years and paragraphs, I made it out. I don't really remember the details of how I ended up in the Major's bedroom. Mostly because I'd really rather not remember any of it at all, but I was there. Every time I went for the door he stepped in front of me and got another hit in. ( nice thing about being a military intel guy is you know how to ask questions and get answers without leaving visible marks. Nice tricks they learn.)I was thrown into one of those nice big floor to ceiling mirrors that covered half a wall shattering it. Then I had hands around my throat and all I could think was " yup, I'm gonna die.". Boring I know. Why couldn't I have thought something profound, or interesting, or captivating. Sorry, I'm not creative like that. As the room is going fuzzy and I'm giving up I have this sudden urge to go for the door. Don't ask me, I wasn't exactly in the best place to be thinking logically with a guy's hands around my throat more than half starved of oxygen. I went for it. Amazingly I got through it. First time in three hours I'd made it through that door when I went for it. The Major had 2 very nasty knee injuries and his stair case was one of those with a landing halfway down. I jumped, He had to take each stair individually. I jumped again and made it to the ground level. I'm doing good so far right? I throw open the garage door and get in my car. Bottom line, I was halfway to Limon Colorado before my brother-in-law convinced me I couldn't drive to Nuavoo, Il. My mother wishes he'd let me drive, I'm glad he didn't. I had blood and glass in my hair and I really needed a hospital. I called the Pawn. He picked me up and drove me back to my apartment where a couple of cop cars, and an ambulance were waiting. I didn't get out of the car and asked to be driven someplace where I wouldn't have to talk to anyone. So, avoiding the authorities ( this is a habit now and I don't really know what to do, and I'm scared as all get out. . . so no judgement on that decision) we drive to the local airport and the Pawn cleans glass and blood out of my hair and we wait for a bit. I finally go home and the first thing to greet me when I walk through the door is a roommate who say's " who the F&$% called the police?!". Peachy. I've just survived someone trying to kill me and the most important thing is that your phone call got put on hold for 10 minutes while the cops tried to figure out if I was still alive. By the way; I'm alive. I have a bad head injury, bruising and edema of the hydoid muscles, but I'm alive. Just incase you were concerned. I hate hospitals. I hate them because they remind me of having to lie to a nurse when all I wanted to do was scream for help. That there are injuries no one will ever find unless I tell them where to look. I hate being alone. I hate being alone because it reminds me of spending night after night in a cold cement basement not knowing who was coming next, and what they were going to do to me. And that everyone I've ever truly cared for has left me. I hate trying to make friends. I hate trying to make friends because you people scare the hell out of me! I hate that all I want is approval from someone. I hate wanting approval from someone because I'm too strange to get it. I hate being awkward. I hate being awkward because I don't know how else to be. I don't understand the social rules, and norms, and all the stuff I'm expected to know. I was a little busy just trying to stay alive, and figure out how to avoid another beating. I hate being strong. I hate being strong because I'm not. I survived years of that abuse. What more do you want from me? I hate being vulnerable. I hate being vulnerable because that is what got me into this mess in the first place. I am not strong. I am not confident. I am not socially acceptable, and I am most certainly NOT okay. Honestly; do you think if you'd had your head knocked around that many times you'd be okay? I know I don't always get it. I know I'm a little strange. I'm trying. I'm doing the best I can to make-up for the years I lost. I'm sorry if I cling a little too tightly. I'm sorry if it seems like I'm obsessed. I'm just terrified. NO one was nice to me for years. I don't understand "nice". I'm sorry if I had to use you to get out of that situation. I only hope you'll understand why I did it. Hopefully this wont change things too much. Then again it probably will.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Hello My Lovelies

So, it's been a while. A long while. As I sit here thinking about everything that's happened I wonder what it is that makes some people tick. I wonder why some people make the choices they do. For example, A good manager can either make or break the team. They motivate the staff to be better than they used to be. They may not be the best with the paperwork, but they keep everyone excited to be at work. Not bouncing off the wall but satisfied. They want to come to work each day because they genuinely believe that their manager cares about them as an individual. Not just the numbers on the quarterly statement, but the individual. That having been said, some people choose the paperwork over the employee. I have learned that this is not a good choice if you intend to hang onto your employees and you are in a high turn over market ( i.e. massage therapy). I am also wondering why my dog still loves me. I am probably one of the laziest human beings out there. How I have managed to stay under 300lbs can only be explained by the fact that my metabolism has not been affected by child birth. My dog clearly would like me to move more than I do. That's not really happening. Yet here she sits, next to me on the couch. Patiently waiting for me to get the motivation to move. I pet her, scratch her, love on her, but I know she wants to run. Again, what posseses her to love me inspite of my clear lack of consideration for her breed's need to run. I tell myself shes just too old to run away. I know my brother would laugh and correct me. Which is probably why we've never discussed this.
I have accepted that it's time to start a private practice. I love not having to deal with paperwork, but I'm at this cross road where if I don't jump now I know that I will be pushed off this ledge by the Powers That Be. I've had several things upset and uproot my routine as of late. I was given a calling in my church, and I've been given the opportunity to share what I have learned with my fellow single adults. I had a relationship fall apart after doing everything concievable to make it work. I have lost family dear and close. I have lost friends, and I have some how managed to gain 10lbs. . . Yes I'm going to blame my brother-in-law who happens to be a chef. Cruse him and his holiday cooking which is so scrumptious! Point being here we go. Into the wild blue yonder. . .
You would think that I would learn after all these years that the best way to make a decision is not to look at why other people make that choice, but why would I make that choice. Good luck with that. (Makaio is looking at me like she's annoyed and might try to eat me.)Try as I might I am still looking for reasons to do things. I feel like my compass has never really had a North. When everyone else has awesome motivations for getting in shape, or to get that degree, or to date that human being, or to join that cause, or to do anything. I am not motivated to do ANYthing. I don't care what it is. Just tell me what to do so I can finish it up. ( She finally stopped staring at me. . . I think she's pissed.) I think I've actually given up on a lot of the things I wanted as a younger person. The family, the house, the husband, the lack of stress, done. There's a lot of stuff I thought I could still get, but at some point you just have to accept that regardless of how much you want that it's not meant to be yours.
We talk about Abrahamic sacrifices as a moment in time. Perhaps mine is not just a moment, but an entire life. Talk about a hard pill to swallow eh? better get those gag reflexes under control for this one.
( ok, I better at least give Makaio a massage. She's earned it.)

Bottom Line Up Front? I'm starting a Private Practice.
Be awesome my Lovelies. ( and Jack if you're reading this you owe me an email're lazier than I am in that area.)