Rises and dips in the road

Where did I leave off? Oh yes. Moments before Matt came home. Up in my tiny room which I was decorating to make less drab by hanging sarongs on the windows, I heard his voice slightly boom as he greeted his son. Suddenly he was upstairs just over the threshold with his arms outstretched which then encased me a hug that was sweet, protective and incredibly imbued with love. In a slightly hushed husky tone he asked me how I was in a way that people use then they really really want to know the complete answer. It brought tears to my eyes. All the angst I had been feeling traveled down my body and out the crevices in the floor boards.

Later still he and I went to the grocery store to pick up some essentials, mostly milk which his son demanded in a not particularly whiny way. “How’s your heart Dharma”? My reply was "slightly broken", which is how it feels. I cannot recall ever having left while the love was still so front and center, not pushed to the far corner of the room so that I could move on without the ache being so strong. Honestly I think this is the first time I have a broken heart. I do not think it is a bad thing for me to experience; it is rather reassuring to me because it means that maybe I do not have an ice core after all.

After his son and he completed a wonderful science experiment – making hydrochloric acid to but into balloons that they lit to fire up the gas – Matt and talked until about 2am. We covered all sorts of topic, including his divorce, a post-marriage relationship which he is still obsessing over just a bit, his sons, my relationship, the nomadic existence I have mapped up, and reminisced our past just a little. Did I mention we were involved a thousand years ago, actually had a city hall wedding? No? Well we did. I went up to my little room and finished Rubyfruit Jungle which I had decided to reread. Truly not her best work by any definition except for it’s boldness.

Tuesday I unloaded more of my things, set up my little travel bookcase and settled into my non-routine. Eli was home all day as he homeschools but he was pretty quiet. Matt came home in the evening and asked if I wanted to go for a walk after he brought Eli to his mom’s house. Since I hadn’t left the house all day except to grab things from the Purple Beast I thought it sounded like a fine idea. At about dusk we walked a path to the Saugerties Lighthouse which bears no resemblance to any other lighthouse I have seen. It looks like a rather stately home, made of brick with large windows. The top floor is a bed and breakfast which I think would be delightful to spend a few days in surrounded by water; watching, listening to the tides go in and out, trying to identify bird calls and breathing in the solitude. I think I will go there a few more times while I’m here.

The next day was the sunny and the most amazing quiet I have experienced in forever. No television, I listened to no music and there is no street traffic to speak of. I felt joy radiate in the silence. At the behest of friends via the internet who were horrified that I had not ventured outside the entire day I drove across the bridge into town and found the Muddy Cup where I browsed the oddly laid out books, ordered a too sweet chai and had a slice of lovely quiche. Once again Matt and I stayed up after midnight talking. It has been such a joy to gab and gab with an old dear friend where the comfort level is wide and deep.

Yesterday was a bit the same except not as sunny and my mood was sadder, feeling more uncomfortable in my skin. I suspect some of that is related to Her Geekyness deciding to cut off contact for the moment. No idea how long it will last, no idea what it means but after almost five years of regularly, almost compulsive contact I think it left me a bit adrift. Certainly having to firm plans and nowhere relatively permanent to live is also part of the unmoored feeling. I suppose that feeling we could still talk and email somewhat at will gave the illusion of something of my former life intact, a sheen of respectability. Without it my transformation to gypsyhood is complete I suppose.

Today I began to feel a little guilty, at least I think that's what the feeling is, that I am happy being unmoored even as it can leave me unsettled. Sometimes I wonder what it says about me that I am not, like many people I know, able to celebrate 15 or 20 years with a person; that the idea of regular job makes me break out in hives. As I write this I am riding the Metro North to Grand Central Station where I will hop on the subway with my over weighted back pack to see Greg and Janet (they are having an open studio tomorrow 3/28 in Brooklyn from 2-5pm, contact me if you want the address!) and hang there for a few days. After that my plans once again drop in the murky river which I hope will carry me to a happier place in my soul, will allow me find who I really need to be, how to take care of myself without losing my center to others, and earn enough money to continue on the path of evolution.

Initial visions of the next stop

Life has become more surreal. I have just arrived in Saugerties. The room is barren in a “in shambles” kind of way. Single mattress and box spring on the floor, a small but neat table, and a horribly beaten up small foam filled couch. How do I know its foam filled? Because the covering on the seat is almost completely devoid of fabric, the top of back has tears displaying white poly fill. The walls are painted soft lovely lavender in distinct contrast to the century old, scratched wide plank pine floors and the sad furniture.

The younger son is home, listening to NPR while making tea or some beverage for himself. Imagine that, a teenager not texting, in front of the computer or television. Hell I was surprised to see there was a television in Matt’s home, I fully expected there not to be one. From downstairs there is a banging as if Eli is repairing something, or building something. Who knows? Marketplace is covering the latest economic news in between banging, odd noises coming out of the boy. From the moment I opened the door the aroma of fried food, like grilled cheese sandwiches made on the stove and the butter burned assaulted my senses. The scent is present even upstairs in my little room. The house is down the road from a river. Out of the window I can see what looks like an old mill that has been turned into condos that are no doubt over priced for the area but I suppose “having a water front view” helped sales. I have barely seen Matt in the last 8 years or so. The boys and I have had almost no interaction with for their entire lives so it should prove interesting to live in a house of testosterone after living with no males for over 20 years.

I have not unloaded much stuff because it feels odd right now. Since I cannot figure out how to get on their wireless (later I discover that there is none), not sure my computer is even finding it, I am drafting this in word until I can figure things out. It could be good to not be online for a bit. I still have my phone if I need contact. I brought in the audio books so I can finish listening if I desire. Staying in Sunny’s basement gave me the opportunity to search some of her book shelves so that in addition to finishing up my rereading of Rubyfruit Jungle and two other books I brought with me, I have three of her books to tide me over.

Staying randomly in people’s homes may prove trickier than I had hoped. Finding one’s rhythm without crossing unknown boundaries is an interesting challenge. Luckily Sunny gave me her leftovers from lunch, yummy rice and beans from the Mexican place down the road from her house, plus the rest of my fried yucca for my dinner tonight. Being physically unrooted is a bizarre state, even at my mother’s home it is hard, though she is giving me large berth, not even using her bathroom once while I was there for two days since it is down in the basement. Her bathroom is her haven, designed and decorated to her specifications down to the color of the towel warmer. Eli told me, “Dad said to make yourself at home.” What does home mean right now? Oh sure I had an answer to one version of that esoteric question. On one hand I know Matt in a historical manner, in a family type way, in a body sense memory way; we have now each other more than half my life. We lived together a thousand years ago as a couple, so yes if I felt like grabbing a book and going downstairs to read on the couch it would be fine. Really. I get the sense that his sons could care less; they have had other roommates sleeping in this room, sharing their space. I am merely another friendly transient. After staying at Sunny’s that sounds wonderful because there is no such common, comfortable gathering space so the idea is compelling. The reality feels tentative. However soon I will venture downstairs, grab a fork, get something to drink and eat my dinner, with a book in hand in the living room. Well assuming I can block out Terri Gross’s interview with one of the actors from “I Love You Man”.

(Since writing this a few hours ago, life has become gentler, easier, and feeling like a good place to rest)

Landing but the ride has only begun *

As I suspected I did not sleep well. Too hot, tossed and turned. Slept two hours woke up cranky but back to sleep quickly only to wake two hours after that. Woke around 7 am and decided to just be awake.

The radio provided memories and feelings again today. At some point I remembered that a song played yesterday that brought a name for the long ago past up from the depths. Mr. Keirmeyer? Something like that. He was my gym and health education teacher back in junior high. He was an unlikely ally in my burgeoning adolescence which was heavily colored by depression. If I remember correctly he reached out to me and to my mother to act as a support. It has been probably decades since I thought of him; he was blond and really tall as I remember.

This morning I heard "Addicted" by Saving Abel, a favorite song of Her Geekyness. It's totally her kind of song but I also like it; the sound of it works. Then I heard a song became a favorite of mine when I heard on So You Think You Can Dance, it was one of my favorite numbers from the last season. Stark played this as the second song of that incredible set at DNE this summer. I adore everything about this piece. As I sang along this morning the tears flowed without thought, just pure sadness, loss. Immediately after this I changed stations and I caught the end of a bizarre song that rarely gets played anywhere, which luckily just made me laugh as if I was just as mad as the lyrics implies.

Somehow near the end of my trip I totally missed a turn off and drove an additional good fifty miles to my already long day. I am going to blame Dawn who in an attempt to get me hooked on audiobooks, succeeded as I listened to Nick Hornby's "A Long Way Down" - it's amazing! Yesteday I had started the other book she gave me, Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman. Unfortunately the second cd had a skip and I had to stop listening to it yesterday. Dawn may have convinced me of the charm of audio books, at least while driving - great stuff. Plus these were two truly excellent choices, from what I've heard so far! Of course almost no food all day and emotional/physical exhaustion may have contributed to the extra drive time as well.

In the end, after eight hours of being on the road I landed at Sunny's. Sunny kindly put me in her amazing massage chair for 15 minutes which was a miraculous experience. Afterwards I announced that while I realized I need to not be in a relationship right now I wanted to marry this chair (not sure this is exact one but she has one very much like it!). We went out to dinner and afterwards I began to get settled in the basement space. I also checked the boxes I had shipped and realized that all of my Cooks Illustrated bound magazine volumes had gotten lost. It is very sad but at least I know exactly which books I am missing. Sigh. This will be an expensive thing to replace. Oh well, another opportunity to practice letting go.

Now I just feel rather surreal and am trying to make friends with this hobo life I have assigned myself for the moment.

*Thanks to Dru for inspiration of the post title.

In which our heroine embraces her gypsy spirit

There has been a lot that I have not been writing about, most prominently I have not been discussing the turmoil between Her Geekyness and me. We had to process, cry, laugh, and agonize a great deal; I felt that privacy was necessary so there was no mention of such things here, on twitter, or facebook, so please know I wasn't keeping anyone out so much as respecting the relationship. In the end we decided to separate. We both have things we need to work on, living together our baggage crashed against each other so that rather than enjoy and revel in our differences they began to bristle, leaving us raw.

Unlike what happens other places I will not be enumerating her faults, recounting she said/she said arguments. What I intend to do is talk about my patterns in relationship, areas where I think I need to do some examining and growth. I will also talk about my less esoteric journeys, starting now!

As many you know I love my neighborhood of South Park, but Dayton itself, and Ohio? Eh. I never felt at home so given the separation I decided to head east but I did not know where specifically. Again in an uncharacteristic move I wrote to my Dance New England community, to my GLBT Knit elist and a handful of friends far and wide asking for cheap housing in either the Boston area, Hudson Valley (New York), or Western Massachusetts. Given my work plans which mean I need to be in California in June and New Hampshire in August I wasn't looking for anything long term. The responses I received eveloped me in love and validated my choice to actually reach out rather than do something last minute and fume that no one cares (see? baggage). In the end I received offers of couches, guest rooms, crash space in about seven states.

After reviewing everything I decided a number of things, plus other things unfolded that are helping to shape the next few months. Being a jewish buddhist, flavored with neo-paganism I decided that I would leave on the Spring Equinox, today. This decision was made about a month ago. I will be staying in Saugerties New York until about the end of May when my friend is planning on moving to New Paltz. As it turns out I have been invited to a wedding back in Dayton for late May. Her Geekyness also started making plans as well - which include beginning a certification program that will make her even geekier (if that's possible!) and together we figured out a time that coincided with the wedding date and my California plans. This means I will return to Dayton for the wedding and stay through the beginning of June to take care of our babies while she is getting schooled down in Atlanta. I may head directly to California from Ohio. Or not. It's all open right now. Either way I will need to find another place to lay my head after NCDC's camp until DNE's camp. Oh yeah, and beyond that since I have no plans. Hell maybe I will see if Steven is still living in Thailand and go hang with him there in the fall.

My focus will be on being alone on purpose, writing, internal growth. For the next two months I will be able dance at the Frolic, or drive up to Northampton to dance (I can't link to Dance Spree since my system sees a trojan there, bummer), to see friends. I am hoping to spend at least part of Mother's day with Sunny since this is the first year in many that I can. Oh yeah, I need work. Or, um, send money folks if you want me to only dance, write and soul search!

love & rocket people!

January was for finishing

Yes, yes I know I totally missed posting in February. Happens. Life has been very topsy turvy. In the meantime I have been meaning to post about this stuff.

I wanted to finish projects in January and I did actually finish a few.


One was a holiday gift for Aunt Suzy. This pattern was easy, fast, reversible, unisex - in other words, pretty much perfect! It's Steam Scarf and free on the web! See perfect.








Another project I finished was the matching sweater for Henry. Here is a photo of Owen's, Henry's is identical but just a smaller size. It's amazing what happens when one stops freaking about the idea of twisted cables and pays attention to the flow of the pattern! The second one went SO much faster and not just because it was smaller. Lesson learned - breath, read the pattern in the yarn, flow in the knitting and less in words.


Finally I finished the sweater I started in November 2007 for Nation Knit a Sweater in a Month. Yeah well that didn't happen. Another lesson was learned here - the right tools make the craft so much more enjoyable. Never again will I use needles that make me feel like I am experiencing nails on chalkboard on every.frigging.row. Once I finished the second sleeve of doom (seriously I reknit serious sections of both sleeves!), the joining and yoke cruised.


The project that gave me the most joy on many levels was the shawl for Michele. It really deserves it's own entry but it was finished in January as well. I searched high and low for just the right yarn but like Dorothy I found what I sought in my own backyard, er, stash. In the hank it seemed okay but did not make my heart race. Then I wound it and fell in love.



However the issue of the pattern still loomed. The one I did was the third pattern I tried. Leaf Lace Scarf, nope. Nereides, nope. Finally tried this one, but started with a size 9 needle. Changed to size 8 and added a pattern repeat. I think it's a winner. After blocking it measured 13.5 X 70 inches.

So that was my finishing month! I have finished two more projects, another getting closer to done. Those matching sweaters still need blocking though. And one of the newly finished projects still needs to be felted, but hey it's done-ish!

More later my beauties. Promise!

Winter Notes

The winter season has never been a vast favorite but I can find it charming nonetheless. I am not a fan of the cold like some, the winter outdoor activities have never appealed - I have never even put on skis (cross country or otherwise), as I mentioned to a friend I find no reason to sled, though I like speed. I do wish to learn to ice skate but have no desire to do it outside on icy ponds.

Still I delight in watching snow fall, marvel at how beautiful bare trees are when encased in ice, particularly when the sunlight alits and makes the limbs sparkle. Shoveling is not a favored activity but I do like some physical labor and really like it when there is enough snow that one must move it in order to navigate the sidewalks and such. The Thursday before last it was delightfully warm, in the high forties to low fifties giving everyone a thin ribbon of spring fever very early in the year. After some of the brutally cold single digits, even going negative, we had just had this was a welcome reminder that it would not always be that cold. Then began the predication of much snow. Since moving to Ohio I have not seen what I consider a lot of snow, and no major ice storms so despite my less than graceful adaption back to winter temperatures I have not found winter so bad. On Tuesday we had snow, not a lot but it was pretty. Then came a freezing rain or sleet, or whatever it's called that adds that terribly frustrating layer of ice atop everything. This was followed by more snow. On Wednesday we had what I consider a reasonable amount of snow, maybe 6-8 inches here in our neighborhood; north of us got 9+ inches which I would have loved, except for the shoveling. The other thing I have noted is the snow here is usually light and fluffy. Not once have we gotten the heavy slushy type of snowfall that feels like one is moving wet cement from around their car - I consider this a plus to living in this area.

I love the quiet that snow brings with it. Cars move slower with more attention, fewer people are bounding about, and there is something about the particular winter sky right after a snow fall that is ethereal and still. All the usual sounds are either in hiding or muffled by the layer of crystallized water covering everything. The sun glints off the fresh sun fooling us into thinking there is mica mixed in with the frost. Except for walking the dog I have remained homebound delighting in the quiet, secreting loving that the cars are covered by a snow-ice-snow layer. It has been with a mix of sadness and thrill that I walked on untreaded snow on the greenway while I alternatively walk inside of others' footsteps and strike out on virgin territory. Because of the ice that fell between the snows sometimes my footstep sink, crushing the false shelf of stability; other times, where it is thicker, I feel inches taller as my perspective changes with the added height.

Yesterday I noted how similar snow can be to sand - it polar opposite in one's ideas of ideal landscapes, vacations and temperatures. In the street, where the walking is some of the easiest the snow has been churned up by tires and has the gritty texture of dampened sand. The soft crunch under my feet is satisfyingly dense and reminds me of beaches on both coasts, though in truth it probably more similar to the collection of sand on the boardwalks, bathroom stations and other sites further from the water's edge. From there I head to the greenway and walk the virgin area where the snow now resembles the sand dunes on Cape Cod - weightless and easily blown about by wind, my foot gently submerges briefly before kicking up a wisp of snowy crystals as I step.

This morning I woke, knowing by the way the light was falling that it was before 8am though I had no clock by my head to confirm it. I had given up on falling back to sleep despite how I love and crave sleep because it just seemed to beautifully quiet to miss. As I walked the dog this morning I watched my breath as I exhaled but this time carefuly noted as the breeze carried it to and from. I wondered how I had failed to notice this before after all the times I seen my breath but never bothered to watch it dance on air.

It's A New Day

Two weeks ago today I was nervous. At 11:00 that morning I had an appointment with the psychiatrist at the crisis center I had been to the Monday before and given what a treat (NOT) that had been I was hesitant despite the so-called therapist and the apparently competent nurse telling how wonderful this doctor was.

Happily they were right, the doctor was calm, efficient with a kind face. I was also in much better spirits and better able to present myself, which no doubt helped her assessment of me - "You clearly have a good handle on your issues and know what you need to do to take care of yourself". That is very true, I just forget to actually take care of myself sometimes. As we were going over my medication she noted that the therapist (what a peach, again NOT) had written a different one. Smiling, I said, after correcting her three times I gave up. The doctor nodded. In that visit I also learned that my medication had gone generic and would only cost me $4 for a 30 day supply. I was doing proverbial cartwheels for hours about that information. One of the things I had been dreading was figuring out how to pay for happy pills that I expected to run more like $100 a month on no income. Did I mention we are both still out of work?

It has been almost two weeks since I started back on the medication, and a few days on the full dose (side effects required me to build up to the appropriate dosage). Yesterday I noticed that I was feeling happy in a way that had been largely missing for what feels like forever, but in reality has been a few months. The other day I noticed that my food cravings have changed. This was a positive side effect that I remember the strongest from the very first time I went on anti-depressants - I lost my food cravings which are clearly most emotionally driven and some of my appetite. It was an enormous revelation to me as someone who has battled with disordered thinking around food and my weight for the majority of my life. The other day I went to pick up some soda for Her Geekyness and thought "hm, ice cream sounds good". However the reality was that was patterned thinking because I walked away from the ice cream case empty headed. Me, no ice cream! Seriously for those who don't know me in real life, I consider ice cream a food group. I have since bought ice cream to have on hand but I recognized this moment as a sign that the pills are doing something positive.

This morning I got up first and took Puppyman for his morning stroll and damn if it wasn't beautiful out. The sky was all shades of light blue with cloud ranging from wispy white to deep pearl gray. The light was bright despite the sun being largely covered by a band of gray. The trees were bare, their silhouettes looking elegant in the morning light. It was a perfect winter morning except that the recent warm days had melted away the snow. There was a barest suggestion of snow falling, so slight one could think that were seeing things. The air was still and no one else was out but us. Everywhere I looked the sky was beautifully different in it's shading and clouds, the sunlight lit the house and tree limbs subtly.

It is a new day.

Holding my breath with hope

The television is on, it's early, nothing is really happening but yet everything is changing. My heart randomly seems to stop, tears well up at nothing in particular. The last time I watched an inauguration was Clinton's with his promises and charm; what I remember was hope and Maya Angelou. Now I am glued to the television. I am moved and fearful.

"The people we are waiting for is us". That piece of Obama's message was just stated again and it was projected that it will be a theme in his speech. That would certainly echo Kennedy's "ask not what your country can do for you but what will you do for your country" theme. It is a far cry from Bush's style of engagement with this country. We will just leave it that.

This is a day I always hoped for, very much tied in my mind with the hope of a woman president for this country, since I was a child. Raised in a democratic household, an academic household, and a feminist household gave me a sense of the injustice in the world but also they somehow managed to cultivate my innate hopefulness in humanity. That hopefulness, my optimistic nature has been scoffed even by my father who said a number of times that I would outgrow what he called my naivete. I would like to think that I have not.

My mother's first political activism was campaigning for Kennedy even though she was not old enough to vote (one had to be 21 years old at that time). She felt so connected to him that she sent him a birth announcement when I was born. it is had for me to imagine, even today doing the same with any president. I suppose it was a different time, or perhaps it was more about how connected one can feel to a public figure. It is true that I feel like I could actually have a conversation with Obama, but my mother's act feels like a stretch and yet I can imagine people sending birth announcement to him as she did all those years ago. She also received a formal acknowledgement from the White House. It is postmarked 11 days before he was assassinated.

Growing up my parents marched for civil rights, the women's movement, and against the Vietnam War. I went to a number of these events, though I remember little of them I am certain that they contributed to who I am today. I have no conscious memory of King's or RKF's assisnations but they too shaped me as they were topics that ran our kitchen table. Vocal condemnations rang out again Nixon and his politics. When Shirley Chisholm was campaigning her image littered our home, buttons on labels, and words of hope whispered, shouted. Stories that though my grandfather was a white European, an escapee from Dachau, he was so dark (helped by lying in the sun at every opportunity) that he and my grandmother were refused service. Even looking not white enough left one vulnerable to prejudice.

Today we have an African-American president. How did we get here? I don't actually know the answer, on a really deep profound level. I really don't. I am awed that we are but I also do not think this changes everything. Not even close but what a start to the potential new world. Now my heart has regulated, the tears have stopped (mostly), and my breathing is easier (again, mostly) because he is now officially our president and it does change everything regardless what happens next.

Enter? I think not.

Seriously, I mean I just cannot begin to fathom would possess anyone to okay this design. It is not as though I ever thought the Bratz dolls were an ideal toy, and certainly they wound up being desired and purchased for much younger children than the presumed market. Or were they? So hard to know what toy is really geared to what ages given the number of "spa" and make up like products geared to the under 8 years old set. I did kind of dig their weird proportions, so clearly not life like versus Barbies who look more like (on first glance) and designed as a "realistic" body ideal (though they are not). Mostly I thought the look reminded me of the lollipop heads label being thrown on women (mostly starlets and stars) who are scary thin. Not any better I grant you.

In the comments in the article were not surprising, especially the people who said the woman quoted in the article deserved the dilemma since she was unconscious enough to buy the doll in the first place. While there is that high and mighty piece of me which agrees wholeheartedly, a large piece thinks of that saying which includes words like: stone, cast, first. Really is there anyone who's parenting we totally agree with? I mean assuming you could live on their shoulder for a couple of weeks, not just what you see during visits or what they write about on their blogs. Probably no one. Would I buy any of these dolls for my child? My niece? No I would not. Would I ascribe to all my philosophies full on given the stress of life, the whine of the child (because though my parenting skills so far are stellar, children are born with their own personalities which means we only have so much control), lack of private time to regroup? Sadly, I am certain I would not. As much as I would like to do otherwise I know I would use the television too much, I would not read to my child every day, and would not go for walks every day talking about the species of trees, the migration habits of birds, and collecting autumn leaves to preserve in wax later while sipping warm cider.

However given the realities of the world today I would be tempted to sew all of her clothes, think hard about homeschool networks, and give up cable. And I would not be buying or receiving toys of this nature. Mostly because you know, I don't want strangers making comments on internet about what a slacker feminist parent I am.

Are You There Blog, It's Me Dharma?

Hi,

I know it's been awhile. Too long really. Okay first thing that I need to tell is that I am no longer employed. Yes, it's true. No, I didn't walk. On New Year's Eve I was informed that this understaffed company was going to take three positions into two so I was out. On some level I must have tasted something in the air. I had decided to take Friday, January 2nd off and give myself another 4 day weekend so I was clearing up my desk, tidying up. A lot. I had even tucked the Moderator Training manual in my bag to move it to home since I had gotten to keep a copy after setting up that event. Given the new situation I wrote to the powers that be that I would come in briefly on Friday to finish cleaning up email and leaving a status report on my various projects. I was fully assured it was a "it's not you, it' me" type of break up. They are very happy with my performance, my decision to come back in fit with the level of professionalism I had display, blah, blah. The temp agency is totally happy with me. The job was stressing me to the max so except for the lack of income thing, this is pretty good.

It's not like I had any problem telling dear blog that I was let go, I think it was a lot of exhaustion and perhaps that I treat you sometimes like my dearest friends - I don't talk when I am depressed and going through a lot. Don't get me wrong I am still a bit depressed though without the stress from this job, it's better.

Monday I jumped through a series of fiery hoops in an effort to procure my happy pills. This acrobatic adventured culminated in a visit to the local crisis care center which is probably the most surreal experience of my entire life, which includes tripping on mushrooms and taking the NYC subway system to the East Village. We shall leave it at that as I am not sure I can write it in any way that can convey how warped an experience it is and that some people should not be in counseling.

This week I have also applied for five jobs. So far one is a bit of scheme which purports to turn you into a business coach, giving you all the tools it cost about $29K. Ha, yeah right. The other was one I had written off, but my friend Maria Niles nudged me about told me she wouldn't listen to my protests that I was under qualified. My friend Jennie graciously edited my cover letter into something wonderful and amazing. Withing minutes I received a "thanks for playing" response. Sigh. I suppose it was at least good for me to brave my insecurities and go for it. In that same vein I asked the trainer from the Moderator training to join my Linked In network, which he did. Again, something I usually would think about but never really do. So I am breaking my boundaries, challenging my insecurities and putting on a good face.

More later.

love
Dharma

Work is Hell

It's been a long week. Work has been absolutely awful, as in coming home in tears on Monday. I feel so completely crumbled, torn down by that place; there are small moments of competency, or even a fraction of a second of flow, but mostly I just try to get through each day without breaking down, without walking out in a blaze of curses, without a broken soul. There are bargains made within myself about how long I will, how I will negotiate if ever actually offered the job.

Sometimes I feel like I am living someone else's life and I am not sure how I got here. Who is that person getting up and putting on make up everyday, who is that woman with the closest to chic and hip haircut I have ever seen in the mirror, who is that person picking up clothes the night before. There is no way I know that person who has to remember to take out the nose piercing all the freaking time for work. I cannot figure out where my time goes, aside from work and sleep. How did I once do other things beside work when I last had a full time job? Seriously? I did a lot of things it seems, plus often had a second job for periods of time. Okay, the other full time jobs where not as stressful every damned day which certainly helps to not feel souless at the end of the day, which in turn gives one energy to do other things.

The other day I realized that part of the problem with this place is that there is no intrinsic pay off, just a paycheck. I am not the person that can live like that long term. I do not feel like I am doing bits of good, or supporting associations that actually really make a difference in the world (okay, getting rid of termites is a good thing but not the kind of difference I am talking about). It occurs to me that I need to fill out that application for CASA that I received right after Thanksgiving. Now that is the kind of change, difference I can get behind. Which means it is, of course, a volunteer thing. However if I did something like CASA again maybe a job like this one, but not necessarily this one, bearable.

Right now I need to head upstairs, pick out an outfit so I can go to bed in order to get up in the morning where I will need to run to an office supply store to find pretty invitations that can run on a laser printer for an event that is in less than 3 weeks because that damn association is nuts because if they weren't I could have had the invitations I spent three hours drafting mailed out already. Yes the same association that emailed me at 4:26 Friday December 19th asking "where are we on sending out holiday cards". No they had never said a word about sending holiday cards before that email. Tomorrow I will tell my supervisor that I am taking Friday off so I can have another 3 day work week in a desparate attempt to stay working for them. Tomorrow I will come home and do something fun, or interesting, or in some way satisfying having nothing to do with work.

Why I dig social media

Someone I know on an email list wrote about not liking texting/quick phones of the "I just left class" genre, not understanding the appeal of Facebook, etc. She talked about the lack of deep connection in her life, that she longs for debates with friends, about how she doesn't miss PTA meetings becuase the small talk about killed her. What follows is my response:

I completely understand wanting, craving deeper connection- it is that lack that makes living in Dayton so hard. The friends I have the deepest, long term connections with live far away. Through Facebook I have begun reconnecting with someone with whom I once shared a good bond but as our connective social circumstances shifted we had with one brief exception no real contact in a good 15 years until now where through Facebook we are learning about who and where we are now. Another bonus is that she lives about 3 hour drive from me, or maybe less I don't remember.

With the help of Facebook I am growing my connection with a few people from here (in fact some of them are invading our home the weekend between christmas and new year's - again please excuse the house!). [Here means the list I originally posted this on.]
So while Facebook, email, this list, Twitter* are not the same by any means as having deep conversations in person or even over the phone, it gives me ties that hold me in place - literally and figuratively, eases my sense of isolation, encourages me to reach out more than I would by sending random emails or finding backbone to call people. Like here, I am "meeting" people via these places as which helps. Without Ravelry* I don't think I would have survived this move. The online world is not, absolutely not the same but it can become a vehicle for real life connection.

*I am "dharmawrites" on both Twitter and Ravelry, in case you want to connect with me there.

In which our heroine is, well trying to be a heroine

Yesterday work just about crushed me with the weight of the unknown, the largess that is it's disorganization, the impending week of stress. It is trying thing for me to feel incompetent and yet that is mostly how I feel at this job. Sure I have moments of smooth running but they are not many and the feeling does not last long.

Up notes

• Delighted with the pianist I found for the President's Party in January
• May have gotten invited to a cocktail event at the Banker's Club on Saturday
• My Boys (TM) help get me through the day

Down notes

• Following last year's model for a task as I was told granted me a ton of grief (a repeating motif)
• Trying to find a simple file took at least 10 minutes because of someone's inane idea of appropriate way to store things on a computer (a repeating motif)
• Tomorrow I need to be Cincinnati by 7:00 a.m. until about 5:00 p.m. where upon I need to come back to the office to load up my vehicle so I can prep for the breakfast meeting on Thursday which means I need to be a the hotel (local thank the goddesses without husbands) for 6:00 a.m. The breakfast is immediately followed by a committee meeting, then I go back to the office until 5:00 p.m. If I was not a temporary employee I would get no overtime or comp time at this place.
• I have no background in Pagemaker or InDesign yet I need to produce a "wow" invitation to be printed this week for a January 17th event - an event I have no information on except date and place right now.

There's a ton more but it paints a picture doesn't it? One of My Boys (TM) JP said I looked beaten down yesterday. I wish I was better at hiding my feelings about this job but I'm not, at least not in front of my coworkers. Each day I take many deep breaths, I literally shake off things that get throw at me, gripe and make jokes with My Boys (TM) but I have not found my Zen about this place. Each day I challenge myself with goals about staying, which range from another hour, all the way through six months. Mostly I feel a huge sense of accomplishment when I wake up in the morning knowing I will go back there. If only I could keep that sense of fullness for more than 5 minutes at a time. I suppose I should embrace the 5 minutes and focus on those moments. Actually I do because if I didn't reflect on them several times a day, I would have walked out already. Maybe I'm greedy thinking that work should be more satisfying but most of my other work has been or I've walked. Maybe my memory is fuzzy but I don't remember a place being such a nightmare from day one and every day like this one is but I suspect because I haven't experienced it at this level before in my work life. I have had sucky jobs but I expected them to suck (the Deb Shop in the Hampshire Mall comes to mind where I lasted 3 months working part time).

So I try to come up with schemes that would make it liveable to stay here. Mostly they include working less than 40 hours and dropping an association or two. If I could do that I would be able to lose the feeling of doing a really bang up job followed immediately by the sense of impending doom by all that is overdue somewhere else. It would be nice if I felt confident that I could make that proposal and it would be accepted. Instead I will focusing on getting prepped for the next two days, doing what I can before I leave, then I will focus on getting through until Friday. No promises about next week, sorry.

Bullet Points

Lila, our newest baby, is just so damn cute and has the bluest eyes.

How does one lose a 4 foot curtain rod?

I {heart} my knit groups.

Because I'm insane I just cast on a holiday yesterday and as soon as I find my size 5 short circular needles will cast on another one. According to my files on Ravelry I have 9 (soon to be 10) works in progress.

Wednesday I almost walked away from my job. The post event email I received was that bad. Truly.

Because of a flip comment in an email we will have our first real company in Ohio and I can't wait but I wish some of those folks from HGTV would come over quick. This place hasn't been painted in a decade, there's the half assed wall paper removal happening in the kitchen.

Without "My Boys" at work there is no way I would have lasted there at all. They help made that crazy place fun.

Penn Station makes the most awesome artichoke subs.



Yesterday I scored the best deal on shoes. One pair normally goes for about $90, for me? $20. They look kinda like these to the left. Great for work and everyday. Wore them to knit night today, love them!




The second pair goes for about $60 but I scored them for $12.50 and look like high heeled oxfords - great for work when I need to be dressy.

Have I mentioned I lovelovelove shoes?

Now off to bed so I can face the job.

Haunted Streets

Lately when I take Puppyman (aka Wyatt) for a night walk he has been stopping at the beginning of the Greenway to stare across the street in the direction of Brommel Park. I never see anything moving or hear any noises. It takes a few tugs to get him moving. It takes a few more psychic tugs for me to shake the feelings his studious gaze to the north inspire.

Last night I took him out and he did not stop in his tracks however I was spooked by something else. Three darkly dressed children, the youngest was probably no more than six years old, walking, slowly rather aimlessly at 9:30 at night on a weeknight. They might be the kids who are often running after a dog that has escaped and they probably live on Wyoming. But tonight there was no dogs with them, nor were they calling for a lost pooch. There was something rather dangerous in a haunted aura sort of way about them. Their slow movement and dark clothes reminded me of a movie I could not remember but something along the lines of The Riches television which I opted out of following because the desperately dark story lines, the edge of total disaster caused me too much anxiety to watch it. It also recalled the episode of CSI where a house is surrounded by homeless people.

Tonight we reached the spot where he often stops but tonight he was paralyzed. No amount of tugging, coaxing would get him to move. He was smelling something that was absolutely compelling. Giving up I went to turn around and go home but then I thought I would try to distract him a bit and try looping around on the grass rather than trying to get him to walk on the path. Nope he wasn't having any of that either. He headed to cross the street and went to the infamous (in this house) white house and we walked to it's back yard which leads to the alley and back to our house.

My imagination tends to run rampant anyway so as Wyatt sniffed suspiciously my mind became a swirl of activity thinking of wild animals leaving scents (the cemetery one block south has been known to have fox); pheromones of fear left during a mugging (which almost never happens in this neighborhood); to obscure twisted tales that couldn't even fully form in the time I was standing there in the damp, chilled air at the same time I was trying to fathom how to get the dog to move.

Are there energies there that only beings like dogs and babies can sense? Are there deep dramas going on there? Scandalous rendezvouses? Or simple some new animal who we just keep missing who is giving off compelling scents. No way to know but it casts a whole different light on my neighborhood after dark.

It's the small things

We went to the tavern and came home to a huge mess compliments of Puppyman. I am so furious I can hardly talk. The dumping of the cat food bowls is nothing new, annoying and messy but nothing meaningful. He moved my bag to get to a tupperware container located inside that had some chicken and noodles. I decided to be responsible and take it home rather than let it sit around in the office fridge over the weekend. However I was not responsible enough, or perhaps too tired, to remember to take it out of my bag when I got home. Now we have one less awesome piece of rock 'n serve, which sucks.

But the worst of it is that he ripped my bag, which he didn't need to do because the zipper was open. It was a big canvas duffel with a flower print in mauves, pinks, and browns with nice handles that allowed me to carry it on my shoulder. The bag was good for short overnight trips, it held a number of knitting projects along with whatever else I might need for any given day.

Most importantly of all it came from my grandmother's home. I no longer remember whether I snagged from her enormous collection soon before she died, or whether I took after her death when we were doing some cleaning of her hoarder's apartment where the walls were suffocating with her endless piles. It was one of the most tasteful things she owned. Honestly. She had a lot of a lot of things but most of it was cheap and tacky. I called it my Mary Poppin's bag because it could hold an amazing array of things for all occasions if I cared to stock it that way; because it was the closest thing I have ever had to a carpet bag, an item that holds romantic, bohemian imagery and longing in my heart. Yes it had it's faults and I confess to looking here and there for something that better suited for the purposes I needed, but my attachment to this item went far beyond practical needs.

Tomorrow I will look at it again to see if a repair is possible. I will also look for a new bag. If I can do both I will hold both realities - the one that truly suits my needs and the one is attached to my heart.

How to care just the right amount

Balance seems to be the theme of my life right now. Yesterday I worked 13.5 hours so I rewarded myself by going in an hour late. I felt like I totally paid for that when I received a long email from the president of my company with a thousand and one details that needed to be checked up for the event on Tuesday. Let's just ignore the part where there should be an established check list in the files for this event as they have been doing it forever and I just started a month ago. As well as another email ragging on how I did not follow the procedure correctly on one of their systems. Never mind I didn't even know about this system until Monday afternoon, tried to accommodate the request using said system on Tuesday and busted my butt to finish it on Wednesday before leaving at 3 for a different event.

While trying not to curse out loud, while trying to not cry in utter frustration I turned her brain dump email into a table with columns for draft dates, proofing responsibility, etc. I sent it her and received a positive comment about how it would certainly prove to be a useful document to have. Also she noted that as the event manager it was my responsibility to make sure it was all done and that some items were already late. Um, excuse me but I did not have a reference for 80% of the tasks or know of a place that anywhere that had all that data, and if it existed as it certainly should (since they have been doing this event for literally over 10 years) it should have been known to me long before 3 working days before the frigging event!

Did I mention their "training" sucks? That files are buried under seven layers of directories? That this place functions in crisis mode, a lot?

In the end I threw my hands up several time about several things spanning two associations and quite a few events. I stayed half an hour late which mean the net gain of time off today was half an hour. Most people who work here work late, a lot. The place is understaffed and needs a major dose of organizational management to restructure how it runs things. So how do I do enough work to keep things running reasonably, but not trying for a level of perfection that cannot be done here? How do I accept the limitations of not just myself but the whole company since there is little hope of things changing here. Things could run better but it would require someone, even little old me, to look over all the systems and create calendars for each association which would then be coalesced to figure out the crunch times and make recommendations on how to shift staffing, hire more employees, how to incorporate temps during heavy work times. Something, anything like that would help so much.

But since the likelihood of that happening is close to nil, how to I make this work in way that won't make me crazy. I am writing up notes by association where things are summarized, as I learn them; building calendars for events. To do my job reasonably well and work on creating systems because I just need to do that but be able to let it go when I leave, to not feel like I'm on an emotional roller coaster while there, to have things roll off my back and not really touch me. That is the trick, that is my zen riddle.

Levels of assumption

Way back when I heard that one of the ways class gets demonstrated is how one finds a telephone number. It was posited that a lower soci-economic class person would use the phone book (remember those?) and an upper class person would call the operator.

Today was my first experience with the entrepreneurial association and I am their event manager. The event was held at a country club, a venue I'm not sure I have ever been to, ever. I have since learned it is a rather exclusive one at that. It was so clear that the people from this association have money, make major money. It was a joint event with another sibling organization whose guidelines I am not familiar with but for ours I know the members need to be owners, CEO, or a major share holder in a business that grosses at least one million and are under 50 years old. These folks read like that too. So did their spouses, who with one exception, were fashionably thin; who were with one exception perfectly stylish. With one exception the members appeared to all be white; with one exception one spouse appeared to all be white.

The other group had some stickers for spousal name tags since they had left the other format at their office about 2 hours away. At one point a spouse (yes all the spouses were women, and 98% of the members that came to this event were male) folded up a sticker tag that wasn't needed and without even looking for a trash container she handed it to me without even looking at me. It was so clear that as far as she was concerned I was merely staff and would of course handle cleaning up after her. It would have never occurred to me to act like that, to assume someone else would take care of my trash.

In the car returning from the event, my co-worker and I were chatting. Being me, I couldn't help stating out loud how white the event was though I did couch it to suggest that perhaps it was related to the area -southern Ohio and northern Kentucky. He chuckled and said something like "You're not used to that, are you?". No, no I'm not. I noted that wasn't shocked. He said perhaps I a bit surprised. I was but only because I like to be optimist and just because it made sense that this group would be all white did not mean that I had to expect it.

Which leads me to think, would I expect the behavior from a black woman that I received at this event? Probably not but then again I did not expect it from a white woman. It's not that I was surprised exactly but shocked at stereotype being played out.

It's been a very long day what with being on the job from 8am -9:30pm. My bed is softly calling me now. 'Night.

CASA in the casa?

During the four days I had off from work I wallowed, I waxed, and I waned. On one of the more waxy days I contacted my local CASA office. This is something I thought about doing when I lived in Massachusetts and California but hadn't gotten to it somehow.

Yesterday I received an email about my inquiry. This line made me laugh:

Do you have some flex in your schedule?

Flexibility? At this job? For such an honorable activity? Yeah right. But I can do the application and if I pass muster then I will do the training. I don't know what the future holds and this is something I want to do so why put off these steps. No reason at all. The most daunting part is the 36 hours of training: 6-9pm on Mondays and Wednesdays and three hours on Saturdays for the month of March. I checked the work calendar I emailed myself the first week on the job and I don't think any of the events fall on the training days. Of course who knows for sure if I will still be in March. Or I could be there and I will still be doing things to move myself in a forward direction.

Way back in about 1994 or so I trained with Massachusetts Department of Social Services to become a volunteer foster care case reviewer. Since I working at the Smith College School for Social Work I didn't expect a hassle for using my lunch hour, give or take, to do this activity. I didn't get a hassle either. It was not an easy volunteer experience, many of the cases broke my heart, caused an internal wrestling to find the "right" answer, which of course was really only the best answer at that given moment. Sometimes it was inspiring. When I finally ended my service there, which wasn't too long before I left the area in 2001, I felt good about it but knew I had only contributed a drop in the bucket. But a drop is still one that wouldn't be there unless someone had stepped up. Volunteering with CASA would allow me to once again put a drop in the bucket. It's a small drop but a worthy one.

Starting at the beginning

It's December 1st and the first day to try a new attitude about work. I will confess the positivity is not flowing freely. Perhaps a cwaptastic night of sleep is to blame in part. though right at the moment I am distracted, happily, by my three light colored kittens almost playing together - quite a breakthrough. And the moment has passed as they are each on their merry way. Perhaps that is a reminder to take each moment, and try to find some joy even if it is brief.

I have been thinking of writing a post about how my dog is my daily zen lesson but perhaps it really is the cats. I am more of cat person by nature anyway. Marcelle came up on the bed this morning for a cuddle. Instead of craving sleep or crabbing about having to wake up, I found happiness in petting her, having her sniff my face and tentatively lick at the combination of sleep and tears in my eye. After walking the dog, and attempting to find some zen in that moment that was cold and dark, I sat on the couch to check email. Lila, the newest baby - she is still so small, came up on my lap for her morning check in as she often does. She is the one that is truly "my" cat of the six (yes I said six, yes I know we moved here with only four) and I appreciate having that special bond so much it is hard to explain to folks who aren't cat, or even animal people. She is staring at me while she sits on the dog bed now while I type. She just ran over to squeak in my face and sit on my hands as I type.

Sorry I just had to pet her. So often I wish I could take her to work with me. It wouldn't work on so many levels but I swear it would make my day better. She is sitting on my left wrist as a type now, batting at her own tail.

It's now time to get dressed and put a face on. My lunch got packed last night, just need to grab it. Melissa, I am going to give it all that I have today but I may wind up crying in the bathroom at some point. It's just where I am right now.