The Stranger and the Strangeness

So... my "dad" has called.

I'm not quite sure who would have given him my phone number because my entire family has taken the "just don't talk about it" approach to any paternal aspects of my life. Since everything was such a big secret, I am surprised that whomever gave him my number didn't first ask for permission.

But he's got it. And he called.

His message was pretty brief and neutral. Hearing his voice was quite strange to me, since the last time we spoke it was 1989. When he had called me then, I certainly wasn't emotionally ready to excuse him for his complete and utter absence in my life; nor was I mature enough to realize that he, himself, had his own inner battles. There were other "forces" preventing us from having any form of a relationship... and a cruel cloud of surrounding silence that neither of us fully understood.

When we spoke in 1989, I was devastated. Having my own father ask me how old I was, and when my birthday was, broke my heart. I couldn't comprehend a father not knowing when his own daughter was born. I couldn't comprehend his inability to simply say he was sorry. Knowing he had a kid out there somewhere... who could have needed him... who did need him... and simply carrying on with his life without a care in the world; how could he?


And now I'm a "grown up." Someone who admittedly has made her own serious mistakes. Participated in her own life tragedies. And most certainly, I'm tired of allowing this cancerous silence to continue. Now that I am someone who is strong enough to deal with the pain, resentment, and loss of my fatherless childhood... I'm ready to slowly let him in. I'm not going to say there isn't some level of fear involved. Having a relationship with my father could just as easily become hurtful, as it could become beautiful and rewarding. Healing.


Regardless of the outcome, he is half of who I am. Most of what I like about myself... I get from my father. This is what I have always found ironically profound. I internalized the denial of my father, as a denial of me. Add to that the failure of schools, and my family to support the creativeness that is so deeply ingrained in my very being; and you wind up with a confused little girl feeling unloved, unwanted, ashamed of who she is; trying to be something else... anything else... so that someone would love her for who she was meant to be.


We can't change the past, and that, to me, is the beauty of it. I don't have to spend months on end trying to make sense of the last 37 years without him. Trying to right all of the wrongs. Bandage all of the old wounds. I've got today, and tomorrow. I've got an open mind; a fairly healed heart, and a healthy willingness to simply meet the man who helped to create me. And hopefully, I'll find peace in discovering all of the things I didn't know, before I never get the chance.

Spinning

Holy hell is there a lot going on! I can't possibly verbalize the abundance of emotions I'm feeling right now. Just the thought of trying to is exhausting! So here's a brief inventory of my current dilemmas:

My 84 year old grandmother is STILL in the hospital. She has congestive heart failure, and lives in California... so visiting her is easier said then paid for.

My cat is doing better for now, but she is in some stage of kidney failure. She's gonna die. Right now, it's just a matter of on who's terms: mine or Jesus'. I'll find out what the vet recommends sometime next week.

The schooling program I have been jumping through hoops for for a year has become nothing more than a serious pain in my ass because the people in charge can't seem to send papers where they should in time. Classes are supposed to start next week. In support of my sanity and happiness... I think I'm going to scratch that plan off the list.

My relationship with Mr. Nice Guy, thankfully, is in a good spot. After a mildly neurotic and seriously awkward (for me) exchange of communications, it has now been officially established that we are an exclusive couple. However, with everything that is going on in my life aside from our new relationship, I'm concerned about him getting lost in the shuffle of my busy mind, thinking I'm a hopeless mess, changing his phone number, and boarding a one-way flight to Tokyo.


I sent a message to my Dad, suggesting that we meet sometime this summer. That was two days ago. I have heard nothing back from him.

My brother moved back to town. He's supposed to be staying at my mom's house, but... well that is a very long story. Let me just say that we are about to have an intervention of sorts, a last ditch effort, to encourage her to finally get her house in order. I'm happy to see him, and thankful for the opportunity to get to know each other as "grown ups," but I also have to take care of myself and have healthy boundaries. Because that is something I haven't quite mastered yet... this whole situation makes me a little nervous.

My new job is great, but there have been some sources of stress. Some are simply part of the natural process of settling into a new career, and others are the result of inefficient operating systems. I also have the reality of potentially losing my job in September, if we don't get much needed grant funding. My wounds are still rather fresh from being without a job for 10 months... so there is a legitimate level of fear associated with this. One thing I know for sure, is that I need to lay off the coffee, get some regular sleep, and make time to eat some damn breakfast!

None of this is more than I can handle. I just wish it wasn't all coming at me at once! I've done a lot of growing as a person, and was finally getting a good handle on the good, the bad, and the ugly that makes me who I am. Chaos is not my friend, so it is critical that I maintain some sort of balance during all of this. I just have to remember to... breathe. It wasn't that long ago that I had nearly given up on happiness. I had actually picked up the pen to write it off. But now that I've found it, and now that I have had some time to appreciate how beautiful inner peace and happiness truly are, I'm going to protect myself, and fight whatever battles are placed in front of me to the death!

Mr. Nice Guy and the Dipshit

Things between me and Mr. Nice Guy seriously get better every day. And of course, I keep waiting for the bottom to drop out... for him to find something so wrong with me that he runs like Forrest Gump... far far away and never to return. I am very aware of my little (big) problem, and I'm just dying to confess to it. I was, in fact, so close to spilling my guts last night that I asked him to sign an imaginary waiver that relieved me from any liability resulting from me being an idiot.

This guy... is unreal. He had the tech guy bring me speakers for my work computer after my tower blew up and was replaced with one that had no sound at all. He knew I was secretly very upset because I was facing potentially having to put my cat to sleep. He takes me on real dates. Holds my hand while we are walking. Wasn't grossed out by the enormous tumor-like zit I had on my back, and thought my snoring last night was cute. He took me to breakfast this morning... with his MOTHER! The funny thing about that is that she vividly remembers he and I dancing at her daughter's wedding. She is a very kind and forgiving lady, who also looks beyond amazing at 61!

See! Now I don't even have the "I don't get along with his mother" excuse to sabotage this! Man am I screwed! I might be falling in l-o-v-e with this guy. I've opened up the door a little bit and sent him a text two nights ago that said "I maybe really kinda sort like you." Juvenile, yes, I admit to that. It was a calculated effort to minimize the potential for painfully blatant rejection and provide me with the "escape" I'm always looking for, just in case he didn't reciprocate the same sentiment. Today I sent him a text that said "I retract my previous statement. I DO like you." I'm happy to report that he expressed his affection for me as well. I knew that. Guys don't do the sorts of things he's done for me if they don't like you. That just magnifies the stupidity of my fear.

Here are some of our text exchanges today...

Mr. Nice Guy: With any luck I'll be snoring like you were last night in a min. ;) xxxx

Dipshit (me): Fucker! Another not so sexy attribute of mine. I'm sorry! And embarrassed.

Mr. Nice Guy: It was cute love.

Dipshit: Sure. No wonder you are so tired.

Mr. Nice Guy: Not true it was wonderful and peaceful with you cuddled up to me.

(after our confessions to "liking" each other...)

Dipshit: Hooray!!! I feel like I won the lottery!

Mr. Nice Guy: fuckin a! Let's go on a vacation then.

Dipshit: honey you are prize. No fortune here.

Mr. Nice Guy: You got jipped.

Dipshit: I disagree rather strongly. I don't deserve you.

Mr. Nice Guy: Ohhhh our first argument! Can we skip right to the name calling part? I want to call you dirty names.

Dipshit: What are we arguing about?

Mr. Nice Guy: Who deserves who :)

I think that kinda maybe sorta counts as confessing to my feelings, doesn't it? Although he does deserve the respect of the unabridged version. Last night I was out with him and a group of his friends, and today with his mother... so I suppose that means we are now publicly a couple. I also happily declined a "booty call" from a former lover who was messaging me while I was with Mr. Nice Guy. The fact that I felt it was wrong and didn't want Mr. Nice Guy to think I was interested in someone else tells me that I'm serious about him. So it's time to shape up, let him know how I feel, and quit acting like a scared little child before I lose this guy! The question is: when?!!

Such is... Life; such is me.

So my "secret love affair" at work has been outted, and the "are we this" "or are we that"s have begun. There is no tabloid scandal... and no inner feeling of shock or pressure; I am just literally laughing at myself!

I have this history of having to prove things, and only wanting things when I can't have them. For example, I will play a man in a "man's sport" until I win... because I'm not supposed to. When my hair was stick straight, I longed for curly hair. Now that my hair has wave to it, I want my stick straight hair back! I never diet, because as soon as I utter the words, "I'm on a diet," I suddenly crave shit I would never want if I were left to my own dietary devices and I gain 5 pounds. When I'm single, I think I want a relationship, and when I think I might be in a relationship, I want to cling to my singlehood.

And now, here I am, dating. A guy who just can't seem to screw this up, and won't seem to let me either! What? Now what's a girl supposed to do? His swooning tactics are beyond masterful. He's so attentive that I bet he could tell you the last time I had pepper stuck in my teeth... My office has given him the thumbs up, and his office gave him permission to continue to see me because I "dress nice and not many women around here do."

I will not deny my self-defeating romantic behaviors. I thought C.F. was more amazing than a starry September sky; all the while knowing he would never be completely available to me. And now that this fella would rearrange the stars of the night sky to spell out poetic messages that only he and I knew the meaning of... I feel myself closing off.

I thought I was over this stupid shit! But, to avoid adopting a negative sense of utter failure... I'm going with the first step... and admitting this is a problem. So do I talk about it with him? Do I grab him and say, "No really! I like you... I just don't know HOW to like you?" Personally I would view that as a fast ticket out the door! But apparently, he enjoys riddles and puzzles, because so far, he's stuck around. Over 30 days. A record for my man-tolerance of late.

To be continued...

Get Dizzy With It

We had another lovely day of cool air and drizzle. Not exactly the kind of weather that inspires you to conquer the world; more like the kind that makes you aim to become a professional napper, or an actor playing someone who's in a coma. Lucky for me, work didn't require much physical energy, just a lot of social shmoozing to recruit volunteers for the non-profit at the college "Service Learning" fair.

My ceramics time was being intruded upon by the volunteer event, and the rain was making the idea of forgoing my clay time rather tempting. I was also craving my Saturday cheeseburger... as I didn't treat myself to one last week because I had dinner plans that night. But, when I got back to my car, I realized that my cheeseburger money was in my pants pocket... freshly laundered and fabric softened. Pffft!

So off to ceramics I went. Feeling lazy, and certainly uninspired. All of my pieces had been glazed and were awaiting firing, so I was going to have to create something. I actually considered making a cheeseburger, because that was what my mind was dreaming of, but I was afraid I would chip my teeth in an attempt to eat it someday. For the sake of retaining my ability to chew, I decided to go with the ol' standby... a few more serving dishes. Easy. Brainless. Non-cheeseburger-fantasy-interrupters.

Suddenly, a few minutes after two in the afternoon, I became very light-headed, and thought I might pass out. There is nothing soft, or cushiony, in the studio... so falling unconscious and cracking my head open like a ripe melon did not seem like a good idea. There were only two of us there at this point, and I was too uncomfortable with telling LeeAnn how funky I was feeling. I hate drama. So, I kept it to myself. I tried to sit with my head by my knees. Tried focusing on breathing. Nothing was working. I've had these spells periodically over the last two years, and last summer I sought medical attention for those symptoms, as well as having pain in my chest. Unfortunately, I had already lost my job, so getting the necessary follow-up blood work to explore other possible causes wasn't an option. And... the Indian Medicine Woman Doctor Lady's constant insistence that I could be pregnant annoyed the hell out of me. I hadn't had sex in over a year, and having someone try to convince me that Jesus would choose me for his second coming, or I was gonna push out a toddler in a walker, was just insulting. I'll finally confess that I have been secretly concerned (for years) that I may be diabetic. I absolutely hate doctors, and always fear that I'll have some incurable, terminal illness, one that requires me to wear an Eva Gabor wig, and wish that I would have joined a band before I became bed-ridden. It's really rather juvenile... but it's my reality.

Here it is some seven hours later, and I am still not quite right. I had to cancel a visit from a friend to try and nap it off. I've eaten. Rested. Am still drinking water... Tried to hit all of the obvious causes: dehydration, low blood sugar, exhaustion. My last "episode" was within the last two weeks and occurred while I was walking down the hallway maze at work. Again, I was more worried about embarrassment, or an over-reacting do-gooder calling an ambulance and being socked with an astronomical bill... but I think I might have to deal with whatever this is... soon. I'm gonna have to hang up my chicken shorts, and go to the evil man with needles to find out what is going on before I pass out in public wearing ugly underwear. Grandma says you should always wear clean ones in case you get in an accident. I'm happy to report that I do always wear clean ones, but the thought of passing out in front of people is more horrifying than wearing dirty ones. Maybe not.

Anyway...

I did manage to muster up enough energy to move things around in my garage to make room for my brother's motorcycle. He's going to be storing some things in my garage and attic while he searches for a professorship job down state. We haven't been able to see each other much over the past several years, as he's been out of the country, and out of state until recently. The only large item I had to move was my old dishwasher; the only appliance this palace of a house came with when I bought it. I had been wanting to unload it since 2007, but my Honda Civic isn't built for large appliance transport to the dump, so there it sat, for almost two years. I wheeled it out to the curb around 8, and because I live in such an affluent neighborhood, it was snatched up before 9 o'clock! Hell yeah! I'd like to believe a poor woman with five kids picked it up to make her life easier... but I bet it's going to the scrap yard to get $5 worth of malt liquor. What do I care? It's out of my garage, and out of my life.

We can get rid of old shit that we don't have use for rather easily, but we can't rid ourselves of getting old. That's what sucks! When you get to a certain age, you begin to realize that things can start to go wrong; start hurting, stop working, and fall apart. I'm sure it's nothing serious. In fact, the only serious thing about this "gettin' dizzy with it," is my seriously immature phobia of doctors. (Oh... and the needles... do I ever hate the needles!) I've got a job now, so I'm out of honest excuses; and I've always said, "I'm not going anywhere. There's a few more people I'd like to piss off!" So don't you try to make a claim on my 90's era "Booty Mix" ill-chosen CD collections, or come after my new dishwasher just yet.