I'm a Mutha

... which is why I haven't posted in a while...

I Now Pronounce You Un-divorced

Yes, it’s true.  You can change your mind after a divorce is finalized and the decree is issued.  It’s amazingly simple.  More simple than getting re-married, even.  All we did was file a Motion to Vacate and put it in the Judge’s in-box.  No fee.  No court hearing.  An official signature and Court stamp later, and we are back to normal marital status, as if the divorce had never happened.

Well, barring the emotional scars, anyway.  But, those are healing and fading into the past as we move on into our new and improved future.

Crazy Broke - But I’s Edumacated!

If I were to do it all over again, I would have gone straight from high school to McDonald's and worked my way up the corporate McFood chain.    It would probably beat having 32 hours a week cut down to 15 and then to 12 due to politicaly junk and the bottom line. 

Also, I’m sure I’d rather deal with a metal mouth, pimply teenage shift leader telling me what to do than… well, you know… that's another story for another day.

Do you want fries with that?

 Photo credit: http://www.ravenmoore.com/blog

Creepy!

T and I are convinced that there is someone living in the rafters above our classrooms.  This person must climb down from hiding and live in the annex at night.  There are strange noises, suspiciously moved ceiling tiles, altered thermostats, lights turned on, etc….  We have even had a couple of rumors from students about men “working” in the women’s restroom.  That doesn’t sound so odd except for the fact that we have not been scheduled to have anyone work on the bathrooms.in the building at all.

So far, we refuse to tell anyone out of the fear of being diagnosed with a mental disorder. Now, since I am a psychology instructor, I am considered crazy by default.  T, however, still has a reputation to uphold.  For that reason, I shall remain silent.  (If you catch the obvious irony in this, wink.)

Greetings from the Suck-Fest

My boss resigned.  While this may seem of little consequence to most people, it is actually very sad news for me.  JD was my soul boss; the most awesomest guy on the planet. He somehow made every day okay even when we all knew it wasn’t.  (No, I’m not being co-dependent here; there are a good number of us there who feel this way. Work was like a funeral when we first got the news.)

I don’t blame him for leaving.  It was a good decision for him.  Maybe I’m a bit jealous.  Mostly I’m just concerned about what will happen next.  It doesn’t look good because the vultures are already gathering…

Photo credit: http://www.tlcgraphix.com/categories_2/work_sucks_t_shirts.htm

Got Those Moves Like Jagger

Ha! I did it!!!  I spotted co-dependency a mile away.  And it wasn’t me!   

It was a mother- grown son co-dependent relationship with Baby Boy manipulating and leaching off kind-hearted Mama.  The oppotrunity came about to discuss the situation (yes, time and place appropriate).  It went something like this:

So, he’s a 45 year old man and you are still treating him like a baby?

Yes

Is something wrong with him that he can’t act like an adult?

Well, no.

Is it your fault that he’s got multiple felony warrants?

No. I didn’t raise him like that.

He is only doing that because you are allowing him to.

You’re right.                     

What’s so bad about letting him suffer his own consequences? 

Hmmmm…. (she almost got it and then, but her defenses kicked in)… He could get in big trouble.

And what’s the worst thing that would happen then?

He’d have to grow up.

So, you basically taught him how to be irresponsible? 

Yes.  (You could actually see the light bulb come on, I swear!  It was beautiful.)

Her husband was right next to her, interjecting “amen” and “you’re right” the whole while.  With her light bulb still on, she thanked me and hugged me.  Her husband, with this like proud sort of glow, shook my hand.  It was really cool.

Was it co-dependent of me to intervene?  Probably.  But, I feel like somewhat of a vigilante, right now.  A hero, if you will.  Just go with it.

Taking Off My Mask

I have hidden behind a mask for so long, trying to be who other people wanted me to be. 

Insecure.  Afraid of being rejected.

And, now… I don’t know why I ever did that.  Being me is pretty dang cool. 

Silly and smart, angry yet optimistic, joyful but realistic, grounded yet in the clouds.  A thrilling adventure!

Picture credit: http://www.northernvirginiamag.com

One Day at a Time

What is different? 

What needs to change? 

What is working? 

What can be better?
How will we know when it’s time?

I know I have to have my eyes wide open.  See things as they are, not as I want them to be.  Otherwise I will live in a dizzying vacillation between the hope of Fantasyland and the anger of unmet unrealistic needs.

Note to self:  Steady.  Pace yourself, girl.  You have a brain as well as a heart.  Use them both wisely.

Second Chances?

I want to jump in with both feet.  Love with abandon.  Move in to the home we bought together but never got to live in together.  Decorate. Plan.  Dream. Live. 

A fresh start; a second chance.  Basically, I want to run back to Fantasyland where everything is all pretty roses- and no thorns.

I wouldn’t say I’m scared.  I no longer live based on fear. But, I am cautious.  I know my tendency to make decisions based on emotion.  To jump into things too fast because my heart runs way ahead of my head.

Yes, you said everything I wanted to hear.  I’ve even seen evidence- “fruits of repentance” and all of that.  We are getting along perfectly.  Things are great.  It’s like it was in the beginning- before the trials, trauma, tragedy, or the mundane chores of the daily grind came our way.

Is it a second honeymoon period?  Will we go back to that dark, ugly, desperate place?  Worse than roommates.  Enemies, really.  I don’t want to go back.  I won’t go back. 

So I'm Just Now Figuring This Out

I made a bold and daring confession to my teen and my, um ex-husband, or, er, boyfriend in one of those we-are-really-happy-to-be-a-family-again moments: I’m guilty of being a controlling person.  I had some idea of how we should all live our lives and what we should have looked like as a family and I tried to force that to happen.  I always said I was being controlled but really I was the one who was controlling.

They both simultaneously gave me the same “Really?” look (you know, chin down, eye brows raised, mouth open…).  I looked back and forth at them for a minute, waiting for a response until my teen finally says with her best teen voice, “You’re just now figuring that out?  Wow, mom.”

Humph.  I was expecting shock and disbelief, followed by a chorous of "No! That's not true.  You are wonderful and not controlling at all.  In fact, you should be more controlling just to be normal."

After some awkward silence, my ex pipes in: “Thank you for saying that.  We both have our faults and have done harm to our marriage.  We are both guilty of a lot stuff and we have both grown a lot lately.”

Sometimes growth is unflattering.  But, I suppose worth it.

Breaking News... I Think

I’ve heard the gamut: You’re stupid.  It’s your life.  Yay!  What a blessing!  Be careful.  Set boundaries, and so forth.

I get it because I have had all of those responses – and their accompanying anxiety-producing feelings- in my own self.

And I think, Can this be a good idea?
Reconciliation.

Photo: http://vi.sualize.us/sarah_face/light%20bulb/

Grad School Barbie

A new gift idea for your loved ones: Graduate School Barbie (TM).

Graduate School Barbie comes in two forms: Delusional Master's Barbie (TM) and Ph.D. Masochist Barbie (TM).

Every Graduate School Barbie comes with these fun filled features guaranteed to delight and entertain for hours: Grad School Barbie comes out of the box with a big grin on her face that turns into a frown after 2 weeks or her first advisor meeting (whichever comes first). She also has adorable black circles under her delightfully bloodshot eyes.

Comes with two outfits: a grubby pair of blue jeans and 5 year old gap T-shirt, and a floppy pair of gray sweatpants with a matching "I hate my life" T-shirt. Grad School Barbie talks! Just press the button on her left hand and hear her say such upbeat grad school phrases like, "Yes, Professor, It'll be done by tomorrow", "I'd love to rewrite" and "Why didn't I just get a job, I could have been making $40,000 a year by now if I had just started working with a Bachelor's. But noooooo, I chose to further my education, I wish somebody would drop a bomb on the school so that I'd have an excuse to stop working on my degree that's sucking every last drop of life force out of my withered and degraded excuse for a soul..." (9V lithium batteries sold separately)

Grad School Barbie is anatomically correct to teach kids about the exciting changes that come with pursuing a higher education. Removable panels on Barbie's head and torso allow you to watch as her cerebellum fries to a crispy brown, her heart race 150 beats per minute, and her stomach lining gradually dissolve into nothing. Deluxe Barbie comes with specially designed eye ducts. Just add a little water, and watch Grad School Barbie burst into tears at random intervals. Fun for the whole family!

Other accessories include:

Grad School Barbie's Fun Fridge (TM) Well stocked with microwave popcorn, Coca-Cola, Healthy Choice Bologna (99% fat free!),and a small bottle of Mattel Brand Rum (tm).

Grad School Barbie's Medicine Cabinet comes in Fabulous (pepto-bismal) pink and contains Barbie sized bottles of Advil, St. Johns Wort, Zantac, and your choice of three fun anti-anxiety drugs! (Barbie Medicine Cabinet not available without a prescription).

Grad School Barbie's Computer Workstation. Comes with miniature obsolete PC (in pink of course), rickety desk, and over a dozen miniature Mountain Dew cans to decorate your workstation with (Mountain Dew deposit not included in price. Tech support sold separately).

And Grad School Barbie is not alone! Order now and you'll get two of Barbie's great friends! GRADUATE ADVISOR KEN, Barbie's mentor and advisor in her quest for knowledge, higher education and decreased self esteem.

Grad Advisor Ken (tm) comes with a supply of red pens and a permanent frown. Press the button to hear Grad Advisor Ken deliver such wisdom to Barbie as "I need an update on your progress," "I don't think you're ready to defend yet", and "This is no where near ready for publication."

Buy 3 or more dolls, and you can have Barbie's Thesis Committee! (Palm Pilot and tenure sold separately.)

REAL JOB SKIPPER, When Barbie needs to talk, she knows that she can always count on her good friend Real Job Skipper (tm), who got a job after getting her bachelor degree. Press the button to hear Real Job Skipper say, "Sometimes I wish I went for my masters degree" and "Work is so hard! I had to work a half an hour of overtime!" Real Job Skipper's Work Wardrobe and Savings account sold separately.

WARNING: Do not place Grad Student Barbie and Real Job Skipper too close to each other, as there have been several cases of children leaving the room and coming back to find Barbie's hands mysteriously fused to Skipper's throat.

Originally posted at http://ceejandem.blogspot.com/

Book from: http://www.amazon.com/Surviving-Your-Stupid-Decision-School/dp/0307589447#reader_0307589447

Grab Your Shovel!

The digging out of my hole continues…  At least there is some light down here now.

Photo: www.coolclips.com 

The 9 Best Anti-Co-Dependent Phrases to Memorize Today

9) Every behavior has a consequence.

8) Failure to plan on your part does not create an emergency on mine.

7) What can we do differently next time?

6) You have the right to feel that way, however, you must express your emotions in a manner that is respectful to yourself, to others, and to property.

5) I understand.

4) That’s your choice.

3) It is what it is.

2) I’m sorry you feel that way.

1) No.

Light Bulbs and All of That

I have blamed you for hurting me and for your inability to get your priorities in order.  The thing is, I have been doing the exact same thing.  Only it looks different.  I had my junk dressed up in disguise, hiding behind pretense, perfection and religion.

But it’s all the same.  Wrong.

Can I Get Through This Somehow?

I don’t know why the grief stage comes months after the separation/divorce.  Maybe it’s because I was in shock.  Denial.  Overwhelmed.  Distracted. 

Or, maybe it’s because I can handle it now.  At least, I hope I can.

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

There are days when you could ask, “How many times did the baby wake up last night?  And normally I will answer in the 1-3 range.

Then, there are days when you could ask, “How many hours of sleep did you get?” And I could say something between 5 and 7.  On a great night, 8.

Then, there are the days, like today, when you should ask instead, “How many combined minutes of sleep did you get?” And I would say something like “17.”

Photo: http://joyerickson.wordpress.com

Ooh, This Doesn’t Look Flattering On Me

Coming out of my denial not only made me admit that my life is out of control and looks nothing like my Fantasy Land version, but it’s also opened my eyes to the fact that I try to control things.  And people.  And circumstances.  And outcomes.

I just like it better when I can have some sense of knowing what, when, where, why. 

Hmmm… I think I’m starting to piece this puzzle together.  What else would I get from trying to control everything than a lap full of chaos?

Photo: http://www.howaboutwe.com/

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Healing

I have realized that anger is energizing and grief is draining.

Photo: http://www.featurepics.com

There’s Gotta Be Something More

Sometimes I think that my life should be a lot better than what it is (remember Fantasy Land?).  After all, I’m a good person.  I help people.  I don’t cheat or lie or steal. 

But then, what would I write about if my life was great? 

So now there’s this question:  Why have I always been so content to stay with yuck?  

Wait.  There’s more…So, ok, these questions… What’s up with the circus life?  Why can't things be normal?  And, why am I more comfortable with chaos than with peace?  I like peace!  So, what gives?

Photo: http://www.harmonicflow.com

Your Love Is My Drug

Can someone be addicted to a person?

Photo: http://www.beltina.org

I Think I Prefer the Anger

I dug through the denial so that I could be engulfed by enormous amounts of anger. 

I faced the anger only to be slapped upside the head with an overwhelming sadness.

So now I must bravely face the pain and wait for what is next.

Just Another Day in Fantasy Land

In Fantasy Land, life is grand. Daisies bloom year 'round... and I don’t have allergies. Chocolate has negative calories and grows on trees.

In Fantasy Land, it never rains and I’m married to my True Love forever.

photo credit: flickr

RU N2 Me?

I signed up at an online dating site.  A couple of them, actually.  I didn’t have the best of luck my first time around at online dating years ago.  I was a Trend-setter.  An industry pioneer.  A Revolutionary.  (No really, I got a lot of grief for that article, as online dating was in its infancy stages and I was considered a weirdo for doing it.)

But, I figured things have changed.  Both the online dating scene and I have matured.  We’ve learned from our experiences and now it’s time for us to reunite.  This time, however, I thought that I wouldn’t be looking for Mr. Right (or even Mr. Right now, for that matter).  Just looking.  “Looking” as in keeping my eyes and ears open to what’s good, what’s not so good, and anything in between.  I wanted to use this experience as my “growing relationship,” as Fisher and Alberti say in their completely awesome book, Rebuilding When Your Relationship Ends.

So, let me just give you the abbreviated version of my cyber-experience:

No to the dude with the “My Name Is Earl” mustache. 

No to the guy who wants the Proverbs 31 wife (nice thought, but I can read between the lines, Control Freak). 

Uh, no to the man who used his 1990 Olan Mills family portrait (with his wife cut out) as his profile pic.  (Really, dude?)

Ppffttt… online, schmonline.  Well, back to reality…

Photo credit: http://www.channel4.com

How Cute, You Tried

I love my boss.  He’s a too-cool-for-you-hipster and master word smith (no… ninja).  He is amazingly busy, yet always approachable.  He gets things done, but doesn’t forget the human aspect of business (yes, college is a business- never forget).

But, he often looks at me the way a parent looks at a young child who is learning how to dress himself but hasn’t quite mastered the art of matching his clothes.  You know, the “how cute, you tried” look.   

I don't know what to make of this.  Strangely still, I find it endearing.

Reflection

I’m learning that my anger is a secondary emotion.   It’s covering up my pain and grief.  Anger is also a response to my inability to control someone else.  I can’t make someone love me, act the way I want him to act, do something I want him to do or stop doing something I don’t like. 

But I have spent a great amount of energy trying.  This only leads to frustration.

Like I Said, Random...

Does using the hair drying while sitting on the toilet fall into the “not safe” or “that’s just ridiculous” category?

Overlooking the Obvious?

Sometimes I wonder if I would know a decent guy if he bit me on the nose.  Well, decent guys probably don’t go around biting people on the nose, but you get my point.  I suppose there is something inside of me that just feels more comfortable with chaos and rejection.

Really? Wow.

My day is often sprinkled with disclaimers such as “I’m fun to watch,” “I’m going to go dye my hair blonder,” “Just go with it,” “Don’t judge me!” or “Just smile and nod your head.”  This is my way of acknowledging that what I just said or did was silly or dumb or clumsy. 

I get it, okay?  I can be a total ding-dong.  Fortunately, I have long since given up feeling bad about myself over this and have learned to embrace this quality (even to find it endearing).  It’s how I deal.

Not everyone agrees.  One of my students (who is thankfully months out of my class and graduated by now) used to have a favorite saying after one of my endearing displays.  It was, “Wwwwwwwwoooooooooooowwwwwwwwww.”  Sometimes, she would preface it with “Reeeeeeally?” and look around the room to gain her fellow classmates support.   As a result, I hate “Wwwwwwwwoooooooooooowwwwwwwwww” and it has been banned from my classroom.

So... wow.

Uni-Boob, Rock On!

I’m looking forward to a crazy, rocking concert with Teen tonight. I learned from the last concert that it is advisable to wear a sports bra to events like this. (I like to jump a lot. A surprising lot, given my age, I suppose.)

Oh, and “tennie-shoes.” Boots are a no-no. They leave you with blisters on your pinkie toes. Not fun when you have to trek the 1.5 miles back to your car after the concert.

So, athletic gear, cash for bottles of water and an anticipated 5 hours of jumping. This will definitely count as a work out.

Show Me The Money... Please?!

If I take 4 classes a semester, I am considered a full time student.

If I teach 6 classes in perpetuity, I am considered a part time employee.

I was never good at math, but this just doesn’t add up.

Perfect Lives and Delusions

I just found out that someone I thought had a perfect life has had anything but. She had always impressed me as some got-it-all-together snobby chick, but come to find out, it was all a cover-up. A massive façade to hide immense turmoil. A life filled with attempts to disguise an unbelievable mess.

I can relate.

No Matter How Deep Your Pit Is, it’s Only 12 Steps Out

The night I started my 12 step class (which is different from
share groups). I was kind of irritated that the class was so big and that the leaders had never called me after I had registered two weeks prior. I wasn’t sure if I would like anyone. I couldn’t participate my first night because I hadn’t done the workbook assignment that week- because I didn’t have the homework because no one had called me.

But I stayed anyway. I stayed when I wanted to walk out. I stayed and an interesting thing happened. I listened to my story being told by strangers. Different details, same story.

They not only knew, they understood; they could relate. Heads nodded in agreement; knowing smiles were shared. With each person’s share of the day, more bonding was formed. More connections made.

Another “Aha!” moment: It’s funny (funny weird, not funny ha ha) that the one thing we fear the most (being found out) is actually a path to healing.

If At First You Don't Succeed

I read an amazing devotional about a path filled with multiple failures that precede corresponding growth spurts.

I so get that.

Leave a Message at the Beep

I’m sorry I cannot take your call right now. I am too busy making lemonade.



Photo credit: Cindy Coutts http://www.cindycoutts.com

Still Small Voice

So, I’ve been bringing this anger thing to God every day. Like every minute of the day, actually. And today I felt like He spoke to my heart (because what I “heard” was smarter than anything I probably would have come up with on my own).

He said, “Your anger is really lack of faith.”

What?!

What do You mean, lack of faith, Lord? I have faith- faith in You. I just also have anger. Large quantities of it over injustices, unfairness, cruelty, broken dreams…

“If you had greater faith, you would know that I provide. You would know that I heal.”

Oh…. I love a supernatural reality check from time to time!

Ever Have One of Those Days?

It’s tax time! Due to my newfound income bracket, I am positive I will be receiving a refund this year, so I’m on it. I put the tax company’s address into my GPS and headed south.

It took me one hour to drive 5.6 miles. This is partly due to my demon possessed Tom-Tom and partly due to the never-ending unorganized crazy mess that Tulsa likes to call “road work.” When I finally arrived at my destination, it was a brick sound wall for a subdivision. Great.

After driving to the next tax office, a franchise, I arrived to find locked doors. What accountant takes a break at 1 in the afternoon during tax season? I called the number posted in neon orange on their window only to get a disconnected message. Nice.

In frustration at my wasted time and gas money, I decide to head on back to work- but not before stopping at the H & R Block I spotted along the way. I don’t like H & R Block. I’m not really sure why, but I just never have. Repressed memories? I don’t know. Anyway, the poker faced receptionist gave me some paperwork without a word. No, “fill these out.” No “read these.” Nothing. Maybe she is mute. She could have held up a sign or something. Geez.

I took the papers and left. So, I still don’t have my tax stuff done. Maybe tomorrow.

Good Timing

In all of my anger over being wronged, I stumbled upon a quote by John Piper: “The key to being merciful: Be more amazed that you're forgiven than that you're wronged. Not just convinced, but amazed.”

Taking a Stand

I can’t tell you how many times, while sitting at the desk, doing the dishes, folding laundry, whatever, I have had to stop what I am doing and hit the floor. On my face, giving my consuming anger to the One who saved me.

I realize that my anger is grounded in hurt. Wrong. Rejection. Betrayal. But it’s still anger and anger is a dangerous thing. Yes, I have suffered an injustice, but if I let my anger sit, if I stew in it, it will grow. It will turn into bitterness. Hate.

I refuse to let that happen.

True Colors

What color is grumpy? I don't know, so I'm wearing pink.

“I didn’t sign up for this.”

Really? Who died and made you exempt from hard times in life? What makes you so darn special that you get a free pass?

What happened to integrity? Responsibility? Commitment? Sticking it out? Coming together, stronger, because two is better than one…

Who ever said that life was about your comfort, your convenience, your way or the highway?

Grow up.

BTW

My wonderful friend J offers to babysit the little one for me so I can take my older one out for some teenage fun. Excited about this opportunity to have some quality mother-daughter time, I tell my teen, who looks up at the ceiling and says nothing.

I happen to speak fluent Teen, so I know this means, “OMG ru 4 real? IYD!” (That’s “Oh my gosh, are you for real? In your dreams!” for those of you who have managed to avoid anyone under the age of 24 in recent years.)

Can you feel the love?

Lysol Therapy

There is something therapeutic in cleaning my entire house with Lysol (not the smelly disinfectant spray that’s in the nurse’s office in elementary schools, but the spectacular 4 in 1 cleaner that I am officially addicted to).

The lemon breeze smell. The disinfectant properties. The clean-ness of it all. It’s like starting over. (See? Therapeutic.)

So, while the baby sat happily in one of God’s greatest inventions ever, the baby swing, I spent some quality time on my hands and knees (and tippie toes) wiping, scrubbing and scouring.

I know it will get dirty again, but it’s clean now.

Equal But Opposite

Lesson One in my support group was on Denial. Go figure.

The Aha! Moment I got from it is this: My real self, the true me that God created me to be, hasn’t been having relationships. My unhealthy self has been. This means I find “equal but opposite” people to match my dysfunction and help me carry on my pattern.

So, you mean I’m not as perfect as I think I am?!?!

This is going to take some time to process…

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

My first day back at the gym was weird. I was scared that I had lost too much strength or endurance (I did- boo!), or that I wouldn’t remember how to work the machines (I did- yay!).

But the cool thing is that all of the familiar faces greeted me with enthusiasm, high fives and fist bumps.

I saw some of the same old same old, and I saw some major transformations. D and L are expecting triplet grandbabies in July and are apparently in serious training to tackle the adventure. (It shows, ya’ll!)

K is down at least 30 lbs and the muscles on her arms pop. I honestly didn’t recognize her at first. Her secret? She added running to her routine. Running. Dang! I hate running, but I’m convinced. I might have to give it a go.

The happy, goal-oriented people. The smell of sweat. The clinking of the metal. The hum of the cardio machines. The shouting of the aerobics instructor leading her class upstairs. Feels like home to me!

Goofy Google Requirement...

I'm usually pretty compliant with rules and stuff, so here is the link to the privacy policy:

http://www.ntblifestyle.com/google_just_smile_and_nod_your_head_privacy_policy.htm

(It's on my in-progress "I'm going back to my true love" web site.)

I Hear the Hallelujah Chorus

We are finally done playing musical sicknesses, baby is old enough to go to the gym’s day care and the stand-up tanning booth is my new prayer closet! Life is good.

Git ‘Er Done

It’s amazing what can be accomplished when all of your mental and emotional efforts are not spent on fixing an unfixable relationship.

(My hat is off to Larry the Cable Guy for the fun phrase.)

Gonna Fly Now

Right now I’m feeling the opposite of co-dependent.  What is that? 

No-dependent? 

Anti-dependent? 

I feel strong.  Powerful.  Kind of like that scene from Rocky where he’s running up the stairs and the theme music is playing.  I hope this lasts.

Notes From the Trailer Park

Well, I had planned to post a biting letter to Daddy Carpetbucks under such a clever title as this.  I wrote it in a Word doc on my desktop.  It contained all of the scorn and sarcasm any one person could ever think they would have.  (Yes, I know that sarcasm is anger’s ugly cousin, but if it weren’t for sarcasm, I’d have no humor- if that is what you call it- at all.)

Then, my conscience kicked in and I decided that my anger would be better utilized if funneled into more productive and socially acceptable activities, like lifting weights until veins pop out of my head.

Old Eggs Stink

Most everyone knows that walking on eggshells is not fun.  But, it keeps you occupied.  Then it just gets old.  When the eggs are gone, there is just a horrible smell lingering in the air.  And a question of what to do with all of that extra time and energy?

Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition

My anger sometimes comes out in road rage, sardonic humor (which I realize isn’t humor at all -- except when Jim does it on The Office which is the best television show of all time), and, when I’m really mad, a fervently spoken four letter word. 

I’m working on it, okay?  “All prayer and supplication,” you know…

But really, lately I’ve realized that 41 years of buried anger easily comes out in the car.  In fact, not too very long ago, I had one of my wild arm waving and yelling fits at another driver, only to realize that I knew the person I was raging at.  Worse, it was one of my students!  (Yes, I did apologize later that day before class, and he got quite a kick out of it- and so did the entire class.)

Even when my church music is playing I can rage on.  It goes something like this:

La-la-la

You are the ever-lasting God.  Ever- lasting God.  You do not faint.  You won’t grow…

You stupid jerk, learn how to drive!!  Dude, seriously?!  Get out of my way.

La-la-la Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord, we will wait upon the Lord, we will wait upon the Lord

Sad, right?  Ok, sad in a funny sort of way.  But, hey!  Good thing I’m not Catholic.  Too many hail Mary’s- and it’s just too hard to count those little beads when you’re driving.

Woof and Oink

I read a post that spoke to my heart today: It was a reflection based on Matthew 7:6- Do not give the dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to the pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet and then turn and tear you to pieces.

Hmmm, been there, done that.

The blog read, “It’s easy to settle for anything and everything if we don’t believe we're worthy of anything better. You are sacred and God wants you to protect yourself from those things or people in the world who will tear you down and lead you away from his path and purpose for your life.”

Well said. But, tell me, why are lessons like this learned the hard way?

From now on, I will focus on keeping my pearls to myself, thank you very much.

A Day in the Life

Okay, so I’m driving along on my way to the court because I am being sued by a collection agency/attorney for a defaulted student loan. (My master’s degree in psychology has earned me a job making less than I did 10 years ago as an Outback Steakhouse hostess, but that’s another story altogether.)

So I’m supposed to be there at 9, and I’m running late- I pull in to the parking lot at 8:54. No problem, I think, there’s never anyone here. I’ll grab a spot, put my 50 cents in the meter and run.

Well, the big practical judicial joke was on me. I think Justin Beiber may have been making an appearance. Either that, or it was Everyone in Oklahoma Show Up at the Tulsa County Courthouse Day and I didn’t know about it. So after driving around the block four times and finally parking in a $5 a day lot, I run over to the machine to pay my fee with my bank card. It’s freezing outside. I wait in line, tapping my foot and watching my breath while the people in front of me figure out how to load their crinkled up one dollar bills into the machine. Thank God I have my card and I don’t have to deal with that.

Finally! My turn!

“It doesn’t take credit cards” a voice behind me says as I swipe my card. Right then I notice the small “No credit cards accepted” sign posted right under the card swipey thing.

Great! All I have is my bank card. No cash. I was expecting to use two quarters in the regular parking garage. I run over to the sock-hat-wearing parking attendant who calls me Little Mama and tells me to go take care of my business and pay him when I get back. He says there’s an ATM in the courthouse on the first floor. Thank you, Parking Attendant. And, we’ll talk about that Little Mama thing later.

I finally make it past security and up to the 6th floor by 9:10. (I won’t mention the over-capacity crowd and images of the elevator plummeting to the ground panic attack I had on the ride up.) I walk past the first judge’s chambers, (oh, the judge who was on my divorce case, how nice) and go next door, to this other judge’s place. Wow, I must be well-like around here.

Ok, not too bad, I think. I’m only 10 minutes late. In Oklahoma time, that’s on time, right? But then a group of three lawyers cut me in line. One of them turns to me and says, “We all have to stay together because we are on the same case.”

To which I say, “We’ll then you all should have stayed together behind me.” On the inside. Yeah, I’m not sure how the world would change if I actually verbalized my internal dialog.

Anyway, that gave me 10 minutes to wonder why lawyers act like jerks and think they are so much better than everyone else.

I finally get up to the woman at the desk and begin to pour out my story about the two accidents that held me up in traffic, and the crazy parking, and Justin Beiber, and the parking lot attendant, and, and, and… She (very nicely) cut me off and asked me my name.

I told her, she found me on the list, and then said with a sweet Southern drawl, “Oh! All this was, was a scheduling. The attorney is going to send you a letter with the information on when you need to be here. She scheduled it waaaaay out- 6 months!”

So, basically, I didn’t even need to be here today. Nice.

Since I was there anyway, she wrote the pre-trail date on a card and bid me a good day. I went back into the madhouse on the lower level, found the ATM and hurried back over to the parking lot. The attendant greeted me with a “Hey Little Mama” again. I thanked him for letting me get the money as I handed him a $20 bill. He shook his head and told me I’d have to go get change.

I looked around in bewilderment and frustration because there is no other place to get change except back in the madhouse. Parking Attendant then said, “You know what, just go on, Little Mama. It’s okay.”

Near tears, I apparently thought it would be highly appropriate if I threw my arms around Parking Attendant and thanked him. He laughed, hugged me back and asked me if I was okay. Well, I can’t handle that question. It makes me cry. Ugh, I’m already fighting that urge!

As I hurried to my car, clicking the door locker clickie key chain thing, I called back, “I will be!”

“All right, Little Mama, take care.”

You, too, Parking Attendant, you too.

And I think I’m okay with Little Mama for now.

I’m Not Afraid to Throw a Chair

There is a Bible verse that goes something like, “Whatever happens, conduct yourself in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ.”

With years of unresolved anger issues and a self-defeating quest to find unhealthy relationships, I have often failed at this.

I have, however, on occasion, conducted myself in a manner worthy of being a guest on the Jerry Springer show.




Photo credit: http://www.fiveminuteeconomist.files.wordpress.com

I Like Big Butts and I Cannot Lie

The other day, I decided I needed to get out and enjoy the sun, so I bundled up the baby and set off with her in the stroller. It was sunny enough to lift my mood yet cold enough to keep me moving at a brisk pace.

Not long after we reached the bike path/jogging trail near my home, a female biker whizzed by us in one of those skin tight black outfits that looks like a diving suit. I was briefly saddened at the sight of her fit body and rock hard backside. My mind wandered back to a time when I rode my bike almost daily and my own butt had not yet started the descent down the back of my legs. That was back in California, where the weather is, well, nicer, and the land, much flatter (hmmm, like my butt).

In the three years I have lived in Oklahoma, I have been on my bike maybe a dozen times. That hardly matters now, since my bike was stolen about 6 months ago. I guess it’s a case of “use it or lose it.” (Could this also be another reference to my butt?!)

Ugh! I miss the health and fitness world. I put it off (as a hobby, a lifestyle and an occupation) to focus on my now defunct marriage.

Here comes the anger again. I used to… I could have… I should have…

Enough! I thought as I picked up my pace to a slight jog. Enough of this pity party. Enough of this “I can’t work out anymore- and I have low self- esteem because I stayed in a horrible relationship- boo hoo – stuff. It is what it is. Now what can I do to change whatever it is I actually have some control over?”

Ha! That’s more like it. Positive thinking! I am going to get my butt (flat, sliding and otherwise) back into shape.

Yes. I’m going to make some changes.

I’m going to climb my way up that mountain. Mountain climbing should be good for my butt.

Hello, Friend!

It's amazing how many new friends just start coming out of the woodwork when you stop isolating yourself.

I took my wall down. Or, ok, it just collapsed under pressure.

Behind the wall was me.
I was broken.
And people responded.

Thank you, people. New friends. Old friends that are reconnecting. My faith in humanity is being restored. And so am I.

Pollyanna Can Kiss My Flat Mom Butt

If I read another blog about someone’s perfect kids, home or husband I’m going to puke. How many “my life is so great” blogs are there, anyway?

(Did I mention that codependency often comes with a big side of anger? Ugh, focus, Melinda. Deep breaths… )

The Red Suzuki

So, I’m backing out of a parking space at the middle school (junior high for you non-Midwesterners). As far as I know, my reverse lights work. And, this dude in a red Suzuki pulls up right behind me, blocking me in, and parks to let his ‘I’m in no hurry to slowly get my lunch and my backpack and my jacket and talk and dawdle and finally leave’ teenager out of the car.

People, especially men, should be very careful of how they behave. You never know when you are going to run into a divorced single mom who is very much in the “anger” stage of healing.

I thought of the scene from Fried Green Tomatoes where Kathy Bates crashes into another car and says, “Face it girls, I’m older and I have more insurance.” I had to talk myself out of backing into him. (Admittedly, it wasn’t difficult because I am pretty sure I don’t have more insurance than him unless he has something less than minimum liability.)

But that would have been really cool if I did

Out of These Ashes

My healing song as of late is Rise by Shawn McDonald.

I will rise out of these ashes.
Rise.
From the trouble I’ve found
And this rubble on the ground
I will rise.

You Don’t Own Me

Denial…you are on notice. I’m taking back what’s rightfully mine:
My feelings
My energy
My friends
My family
My personality
My sanity
My life

At first, you seemed to provide an answer- I’ll pretend the problem isn’t there and maybe that will make it true. But denial, you come with more side effects than you are worth.

You see, I didn’t want to admit that I find people who need to be rescued because I wanted to be rescued. I didn’t want to admit that I felt lost and broken inside. I didn’t want to admit that my life had become unmanageable.

But I admit that now, so your power is broken and has been rendered ineffective in my life.

Yeah, I’m gonna be alright.

I’m a Believer Who Struggles With...

I started going to a church support group so that I can work on my long-standing relationship issues and my jaw-dropping ability to attract drama (and some not-so- good-for-me-people) into my life.

I could have gone to any number of share groups.  The Love and Relationship Addiction  class fits my bill.  The Hurt, Habits and Hang-ups class, likewise.  But, for some reason, on that first night I went to the Co-dependency group and I’ve stayed there for weeks now. 

Every attempt at sharing on my part has been difficult.  I think it’ll be easy.  After all, we only get 3-5 minutes to talk and we can even say “Pass” if we’d like.  But, I wanted to share because I know it’s part of my healing.

It’s hard.  I feel naked.  Exposed.  Vulnerable.

It’s just that I’m not used to sharing my feelings.  In true co-dependent fashion, I have always been an “Everything’s great!” kind of person.  You know, a Stepford Wife.  If anyone gets too close to finding out the truth- that nothing is great- I shut them out.

The night I shared about my divorce was a big one.  It was my third week and I really didn’t feel completely safe yet.  I, however, realized that “completely safe” could take years (maybe decades), and I don’t have that kind of time.  So I shared anyway. 

My husband and I had been separated for months and I had known about him filing for weeks, but somehow saying it out loud to a group of women who I hoped might not reject me made me cry.  I couldn’t even look at them when I was talking because it made me get into that high-pitch, blubbering sob-talk that no one can understand.  So, I stared at the floor and spilled my guts in a somewhat comprehensible manner.

Then I was done and they thanked me for sharing my story.

How nice: no advice, no hugs, no sad looks of pity, no questions, no fixing.  Then, the next person started her turn and I was relieved that I hadn’t said “Pass.”

I can’t remember exactly what the next four people said because I was stuck in some kind of post-traumatic shock coma, sniffling and trying to keep the waterworks from my eyes from soaking my t-shirt.  (Um, warning to those of you who are also about to take the vulnerability plunge yourselves: That first dose is surprisingly difficult.)

Ah, but I am so ready to move on.  This is right where I need to be.

I Was Country When...

The worship leader at our new church reminds me of a modern day Barbara Mandrell.

I’m kind of jealous.  I don’t think I’m allowed to be jealous in church.

It’s Worse Than I Thought

I was looking through some old journal entries and notes to my now-ex.  What a huge, sad wake-up call. 

I feel stupid.  Pathetic.  Embarrassed.  Is my self-esteem that stinking low that I had to hold on to this?

No, it’s not chocolate.  It’s definitely poop.

What Relationship?

I keep thinking that I am missing my supportive partner: the one who is by me in good times as well as bad.

To be my friend. 
To help me laugh at life. 
To help me see the blessing in the midst of trial.

But the truth is, I never had that to being with.
Admitting that is hard.

Is it Chocolate or Poop?

I have no idea why I’m posting this.  I just think it’s a really funny line from a movie and it makes me giggle.

Either that or it’s an unusual analogy of my life…

“Wife is restored to her maiden name.”

How should I react to this?

a) It was supposed to be forever.  I didn’t know that forever was 9 ½ years long.

b) Dear Daddy Carpetbucks,  The “old,” “fat,” “wrinkly,” “worthless,” “trailer park hooker” says thank you.

c) Bye.

Internal Dialog

I may appear to be friendly, encouraging and patient most of the time.  But, the truth is, I am not.  Well, today I am not, anyway.

It’s not like I’m a total bitter angry Grinch, but I do have my moments where my internal dialog goes like this, “Are you freaking kidding me?!  Shut up before I kill myself.  Were you raised by wolves?” and so forth.  I try to monitor but it’s no use.  Some peopled just irritate me.

Empty Well

I stumbled upon Lori's poem.  It’s beautiful.  It made me cry. 

The problem is that I was at the public library at the time.

http://www.narcissismfree.com/blog/?p=79

Sawing the Zs... or Not

Really?!  I look tired? 

Gee, I don’t know why.  I just spend my nights in peaceful uninterrupted rest and spend my days relaxing by the shore, sipping on a drink that was served to me in a pineapple by a tall dark and handsome man named Paco.

If I hear one more "You look tired" I’m going to scream.

Crazy Talk

Me: You filed for divorce?

Him: Yeah, I filed for deh-vor-ess, but I want to still date you.  And then, if things work out and we get married again, we can do a prenup.

Huh?  What?  This boy must have sustained a head injury.   Nevertheless, here I go with my crazy making crazy talk in my crazy little head…

He is still interested?! I don’t want to lose him or our marriage.  Maybe we can date?  People get remarried to each other all the time.  If we stay in each other’s lives, we have a chance of reconciliation.  Wait-- I know what he means by “date.” So he wants the fun of marriage without the responsibility.  Why does this surprise me?  He’s already made this clear.  For years, he has made this clear.  But, if I don’t “date” him, he will “date” someone else- soon, I imagine.  If I say no to this, it’s over.  God, I don’t want it to be over.  But why don’t I want it to be over?  We were married, but we didn’t have a marriage.  It was only a lopsided adventure in ‘how can I avoid conflict and how can he avoid being anything this side of decent’.  And he wants a prenup next time?!  A freaking prenup?! When have I ever wanted his money?  Is he delusional? Paranoid?  On drugs? 

And that’s how it went.  I was working myself into a Jerry Springer brawl.  (You know, where I rip off my shirt and throw a chair at someone.) I had to get a grip. 

I took a breath and said:  No.  That’s not how it works.  We were supposed to be working on our marriage, (“dating”) during the separation.  But you filed for divorce.  Aren’t you the “black or white” thinker?  You are either in or you’re out, right?  I don’t want to date you.  I married you.  You have chosen to walk away from that.  I have to protect my heart above all else.  So, no I don’t want to date you.  I actually don’t even want to see you again.

Yes, it’s true: I managed to finally stand up for myself and spit some words of self- respect out of my mouth.  Let this day go down in history.

Oh, you want to know what happened after I hung up the phone?  Well, I sat there and did this weird combination cry-laugh thing for a minute.  Then I cleaned the house. 

“No” can be a very empowering word. 

Holy Cow It’s Howie Mandel

When I was married, we had been going to a church for two and a half years - and I don’t think a single person noticed when we left.  That’s not church. 

So, after my separation, I decided to find a new one.  The first time my daughter and I visited another one in town, we find our way to some seats at the end of the isle.  Before long, I notice a guy sitting behind us- it was peripheral vision, I suppose, because I hadn’t turned around and actually looked at him. Either peripheral vision or Single Dude Radar.  I think my new-found singleness makes my hyper-sensitive to being alone and hyper-sensitive to other single people.  Maybe it’s based in some insecurity or need to find others like me.  It’s a phase I’m hoping I will outgrow soon.

The time comes to say hello to fellow church-goers so I turn around and see this guy face to face.  And, holy cow!  It’s Howie Mandell!!! Well, not the actual Howie, of course, but a darn good look-a-like.  Let me just note here that I happen to think Howie Mandell is an attractive man.  I can say that, right? (This is so not what I went to church for, really, I promise!)

Anyway, the guy’s name was, well, we’ll call him Harry.  Harry shakes my hand and the hand of my daughter, who immediately wants to play match-maker.  She got the case of the giggles and spent the rest of the service whispering to me, trying to convince me to get his number.  (“Hey, mom, look, he’s taking notes!  Mom, he’s a guy- at church- by himself!” “Get his number.  This is your chance!”)

She even wrote on the prayer request card that “My mom should marry Harry.”  (No, I didn’t let her actually turn this thing in and no, I didn’t ask for his number.  I mostly just sat there and said “Shhhhhhhhhhhhh” to her and “Oh, Lord I’m sorry!” to Jesus.)

I guess we are both trying to deal with my newfound singleness. 

Several weeks later, we still attend and call this church our new home.  But I think we scared Harry off because I haven’t seen him since.  (Sorry, Harry.)

Hear Ya Loud and Clear

Actions speak louder than words. And you are screaming profanities.

And The Pounds Keep Dropping

So I’m down 4 more pounds.  11 total.  This is bad news because I know most of that is muscle weight.  The sad fact is, I haven’t been working out and I haven’t been eating right.  For months. 

I can vaguely remember the feeling of strong muscles, a fit physique, the mental and emotional clarity that comes from a consistent pattern of limit-pushing workouts.

I always used to say that exercise was my therapy.  Dang.  I need some therapy now. 

I’ve got to make a plan…  I see some gym shorts in my future.

Games People Play

Don’t tell me I am beautiful.  And, no, I do not like seeing you.  It’s just a painful reminder of broken promises.  Misplaced priorities.  Lies...

Step Away From the Blinders

I’m trying to come out of denial, but I’m afraid that the anger will overwhelm me.

Burgers and Vision Quest

Braum’s used to make the most rockin’ burger town, but lately, not so much.  (Yes, I went through the drive-through again.)  But, I couldn’t even eat the little hockey puck they served me tonight.  Wendy’s is way better.

Wait a minute.  How did I go from a fitness professional to evaluator of fast food burgers?  I had broken the fast food (and a few other) bad habits years ago, and formed a healthy new life.  Where’d it go?

A little change in marital status, residential status, financial status, dependent status (and some could argue, mental status), and I’m back to square one?! 


I don’t mean to sound like that hyper fitness chick from the 90s but the insanity needs to stop!  I know life can throw some curve balls, but I have got to get a hold of myself.  All of this unhealthy eating, mooning painters and falling while sober needs to end immediately.  If not sooner.

God, didn’t you say, “Without vision the people perish”? I’d like vision, please!  (And this is no time to help me work on my patience!!)

No Rosie the Riveter

I don’t mean to set the whole women’s empowerment thing back 100 years, but I really enjoy (or should I use the past tense- enjoyed) being a wife and mother (or the concept thereof, anyway).  So, while it seems like I should be reveling in my newfound freedom from all of the drama, and just living the single glamorous life, I am not.  I am doing this family thing sans a dad/husband.  And that sucks.

Everyone who has heard about my divorce says something along the lines of “Good.  He’s a jerk.”

I can’t say that I am in any kind of disagreement at this particular moment.  But, it’s still the death of a marriage.  Another failure.  The ending of hope. 

And, the start of the Great Unknown.

The Truth Is

The truth is, some people don’t want to change.  They don’t want to grow, learn, achieve, mature… And helping them is like trying to push a drunken donkey up a hill.  They won’t budge.

I’m not one of those people.  I have an innate desire for lifelong growth.  I think that no matter how great we are now, there is always room for improvement.  Yes, I can look back and enjoy how far I’ve come, but what will I be missing if I don’t press ahead for more?

I am philosophically opposed to New Year’s Resolutions.  Nevertheless, I’d like to look forward to a new and better year in 2012.

As for the drunken donkeys of this world, I’m not helping them anymore.  I figure that if I’m working harder on you than you are, there is a problem.  And it starts with me.  Can you say, “Co-dependent no more”?  I can. And I’m looking forward to what that will actually look like in my day-to-day life in the weeks, months and years ahead.