Monday, October 31, 2011

It's not that I'm doing it wrong, it's just that I'm doing it in such a way as to annoy the hell out of you on purpose.

So I'm doing this wrong. Apparently.

What am I doing wrong? The fact that I can't find any of my panties (true story)? The fact that I fed my dogs cereal for a few days because I didn't get to the store? The fact that I wander aimlessly around and talk to myself on a regular basis? The fact that I never return my Redbox movies and I might as well just buy them to begin with? The fact that I mispronounce several words due to a crippling exposure to a Southern accent during my formative years?

Yes. All of that would be correct. Because apparently, I do EVERYTHING wrong. Apparently.

Now for the record I would like to state that this is not my personal opinion. Let's just clear the air right here about that. I find that I am a pretty kick-ass person. I do things differently. I do things experimentally. I do things impulsively. But I don't regret it. And I for sure don't think I'm doing things all wrong.

But here's the situation...lately there have been a few people who have taken it upon themselves to be all up in my bidniss. I heard months ago that I was terrible at being a wife, I was a no good housekeeper, I hated holidays and families, and pretty much had a cold black heart. It was my fault that I believed it. So I worked pretty hard to put all that behind me. And now, as it turns out, I'm not getting divorced right. I'm not sorry enough. I'm not sad enough. I'm not mean enough. I'm not vindictive enough. I'm not angry enough. I'm too angry. I'm too vindictive. I'm too rash. I'm too irresponsible. I'm a bad parent. I'm a bad influence. I just generally embody all the ways to not be perfect.

And that totally works for me.

I hear all these things here and there and everywhere, most often backed by extremely good intentions. And recently God wanted to let me in on a few things He felt about me so I had an email that told me exactly how God felt about my decisions. Again, I believe it to be very well intentioned. But what's that thing the road to Hell is paved with...? Eggshells? Crayons? Can't put my finger on it... So anyhow, turns out that I should be standing by my husband through this situation. A good Christian wife would do that. She would stay with him and wait dutifully for him to come home. It also turns out that I haven't really prayed hard enough I guess, or this wouldn't be happening. And also, I'm a boozer. So that's pretty awesome.And probably I've abandoned my children in favor of partying and boozing and being a sex maniac. And God wanted me to know. But for whatever reason, He was really busy and didn't have the time to shoot me an email or, you know, create a pillar of freaking fire or send an angel or whatever because He is freaking God Almighty and that might be a little over the top. And He is busy.

So let's clear up a few things:
First, I honestly appreciate people who care. I really do. You don't have to care about me or my decisions or the consequences. I get that other people have been through similar situations and want to offer their words of advice. I welcome it. However, advice is not the same as judgement and my road is probably really similar but it's still mine. Advice away. I do take everything into account. But I'm kind of a stubborn little ass and might not listen to you. So there.

Second, my choices and the effect on my children have been agonized over at every turn. As for not standing by my man...it turns out he wasn't really "my" man. Or he would've acted like it. You can't spend your life chasing around somebody who doesn't want you. Or deserve you. I would rather my children see me stand up for myself and take action and have a backbone and some pride and walk away with my head held high. I want them to see me succeed all on my own. I want them to see me forgive. I want them to see me respect myself enough to not be a doormat or a second choice. I want them to know that they are still lovable and strong and capable and valuable and life goes on even after someone else's mistakes turn your future 180 degrees from where you thought it was going to go. I want them to know that someone can wrong you, and it's OK to move on and love people and be fearless and trust again and laugh and let go. So that's the kind of parent I am.

Third, Jesus and me are still pretty tight. Pretty much you can't surprise that guy. He's not all "Oh, crap I was so busy making all this wine that I totally didn't even notice that you were derailing. Otherwise I would have stopped you. Oh well, too late now. Want a drink?" Nope. We haven't had the conversation yet, me and Jesus. But we have had an awful lot of conversations. Sometimes I'm yelling and angry and sometimes I'm hurt and sad and sometimes I tell Jesus funny things that happened to me and sometimes we just sit there. But He always stays calm and level headed which is so irritating. And He always gives me the best advice. But again, I don't always listen. But there has yet to come a time when He has told me that I'm unlovable or not worth saving. He talks to me the way I need to hear it. In my language. There's no such thing as a bad Christian. There are just all different kinds of paying attention.

And most importantly, I feel good about my own choices. From what I can gather I'm a pretty smart chick. If I do something stupid or for the wrong reason, I'm pretty good at eventually realizing it. And most likely I'll continue to do stupid and ill-begotten things. But I'll learn and I'll live and I'll have stories to tell. I'll experience and win and fail and experience love and loss again. I'll laugh and eat and run and trip and fall and have to explain just how it came to be that I wound up kinda tipsy with a possibly broken nose. I'll give unwarranted advice and judge and make mistakes. I'll piss people off and they'll piss me off. I'll try to make it right by them. I'll apologize and reach out and be thankful for all of the amazing things I have even though I do everything wrong. Apparently.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Thank you. I am aware.

So a couple weeks ago it was OCD awareness week like I said earlier. I had lots of plans. But instead OCD had plans for me. I spent the whole week doing all kinds of stress inducing things and really trying to hold myself together. Which I CAN do, it's just that I have to think about it a little harder than most people and take a bit of medication to do it. But I'm capable of maintaining my illness. It's just that the whole week I was all "Thank you OCD. I am aware of you. For the love of the little baby Jesus I am aware of having OCD thankyouverymuchforthesakeofallthingsgoodandholy!"

Yeah. It's been kinda like that. Did y'all have any idea how hard it is to buy a house and pack it all up and still go to work and be a single parent and have a social life and a mental illness because no one told me and it is EXHAUSTING. But the good news, (at the risk of causing it to fall apart because I am writing it down) I am closing tomorrow! Say what now?! They are loaning me money?! And giving me a house for it?! And no boys have to live there?!!!! And I can paint my bedroom purple and black with zebra accents and put really cool art work on the walls and it's nobody else's business!? This is like being a real grown-up. Really.

But since the fun never stops with me, last night I came home after working all day, rehearsing all evening and driving all over God's green earth to pick up my kids on one side of the city and come home to the other side, I pulled in my driveway to discover that my power was shut off. Why? Because since I am extra on top of things, I already transferred service. And already gave a shut-off date. Which was yesterday because my closing was rescheduled and I forgot about that part. So that was neat. Two screaming children, two dogs intent on knocking me down in the pitch black, and me on the verge of a full blown panic attack because I already packed all the candles and I don't have a flashlight right now. So I conferred with the smartest cowboy that I know who suggested that I calm the frack down because it's only electricity. So I did. And then I called the emergency number to the power company and acted pitiful and they turned on the lights within about 5 minutes. I rule at this.

So yes, mental illness(es), I am fully freaking aware of you! But I am winning.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

I just...

I just... I think I need a minute or an hour or twelve. To catch up and think and get a hold of everything. To clean and keep packing and freak out because I am STILL freaking packing and it's been infinity. I have been taking things apart and breaking down the last 10 years of my life for far to long than any person needs to.

I just...I feel like it needs to be meticulous. I need to clear it out. I need to go through each and everything and decide if I want it or don't want it or if I simply can't handle the emotional attachment to it and I need to get rid of it as soon as possible. I feel like I simply cannot take bad energy and bad memories and distorted and twisted remnants of an old life into my new home. A real home. That's mine alone. Not as defined by who lives there and when they live there, but a real live home that is safe and far far away from this old house that carries so much awful. So I'm trying to clean it and sort it and fix it so that my new home is never endanger of the same fate. My new home will be defined by acceptance and love and trust. But that makes for slow and tiring packing.

I just...need to take a step backwards and look around and laugh at how silly at all really is. I need to take into account the fact that I have become the kind of person I always thought I was. I want to be mindful of how happy and free I am. Because, believe me or don't, I really am.

It's just...it's just that sometimes the hard parts are way the frack louder than all the good positive things I haven chosen to accept from this time in my life. I have chosen to accept my inner strength and my value and my ability to succeed and grow. I choose to have no regrets.  So it's this weird dichotomy where I'm happier than I've ever been while still being right in the middle of this devastating collapse of my world around me. It's almost like my world was a fabric box surrounding me on all sides. I was so happy there. It was safe and wonderful and everything I wanted because ignorance is truly blissful. Then suddenly, God pulled the cord and the whole thing fell down or opened up or however you want to see it. The curtains to the stage were pulled back, the shades were pulled up and all the lights came on. And holy crap, look at what is really out here. It's taking me a few moments to let my eyes adjust to it all. I never had this hunger for life or this will to have it fully because I didn't even know it existed. So I want to remember that.

I just...I just...I just don't want to be disrespectful to the people or specific person that helped craft that old life. Because I was happy there. I just want to remember that they have had the curtain pulled back too. And all of everything that there is to feel and see and do is lit up and ready for living. I don't want to de-value his role in preparing me to handle all that space and opportunity. What didn't kill me actually made me stronger. But only after it almost killed me.

I just...I'm doing just fine.

It's like I'm Mother Effing Theresa. But so much better looking. And probably I smell better.

Written October 18th, 2011 not like that changes anything I just don't want to be mis-leading.

Every time I post now I feel like I'm starting all over from scratch because I have been so sporadic. But I have OCD. I have an illness in my brain that is exhausting 24/7. And all that plus the minor irritant of going through the most painful and challenging and gut checking and self-esteem testing and emotional and trust breaking and trust rebuilding and legally exhausting period of my entire life as I know it so far or hopefully ever. You know, kinda like a little mosquito that buzzes in your ear. The divorce mosquito. It's a bit annoying you could say.

So last week was OCD awareness week. And I so had all these plans of taking a different aspect of the illness every day and posting my experiences, triumphs, and challenges with each. I was totally going to be insightful and educational and accessible as a person with mental illness. But I didn't. Because I was busy. And when I wasn't busy I was tired. And when I wasn't tired I was crying. And when I wasn't crying I was probably with one of the coolest guys I know having a beer and checking things off the bucket list. Because the only thing better than checking off life experiences is sharing those experiences for the first time with somebody cool. Who may or may not smell like pine needles. And for sure does not have poison ivy.

So things are happening. Things are being done. Steps are moving forward. I'm gonna get around to my own special OCD awareness week and fulfill all of those great posts. But in the mean time, I rescued a dog.

OK, In case you are new, I'm Angela. I rescue stray things. Stray dogs, cats, children, furniture, cars, boys, etc. ( I don't, however, rescue stray anything to do with birds because EWWWWW and also I don't rescue straying partners who I may or may not know but probably know because it happened to my...friend. Right.) So, I'm driving home the other night and it is just after dark. probably 8:00, again not that important in the grand scheme of things but details give life to a story, I've been told. Providing that those details are NOT about my vagina. I was told that those details give too much life to the stories. Your loss. Anyhow...

In my neighborhood, driving along and my lightening fast reflexes keep me from running over a little Schnauzer in the road. Kinda just hobbling along, so I figured it's hurt or something. No collar so I knew I was taking a risk to find it's owner. I was really hoping to NOT have another dog of my own. But if I almost hit that dog, then someone else was going to for sure hit that dog and the dog seemed mildly unenthused by it's near-death experience. So once I came to a stop, I opened my door and called to the dog and it came right to me and let me pick it up. And it was muddy and shaking and I am a huge sucker for needy little dogs. (Insert divorce joke here because I am too classy for that). Immediately my children were celebrating that we got a new dog and started calling it Patrick. Note learned from past experience: When you name them, you are way more likely to keep them. Which is why I simply refer to my children as Hey! and Cut It Out!. (That was a joke. They have real names. I just forget what they are from time to time.) So I explained that no we are not keeping "the dog who shall not be referred to as Patrick". To which the didn't believe me because honestly, I really do take in lots of stray things.

We make it home and I carry the little thing into the living room where my dogs instantly starting getting really excited that they have a new friend. I set the little dog down and it just stood there like a champ and let Lexi and Pete do all kinds of naughty to it, but it's supposedly not naughty for dogs. That's just how they get to know each other. Still, I am thankful that we do not share the same social guidelines as dogs. Then my kids who have actual names were all "Patrick! Come here, Patrick!" and before I could even say "We do not name strays!", Patrick took off towards the sound of their voice and hit a wall. And then backed up, and stood there, and walked forward again into a box. Then a chair, then another wall, then my leg. Yeah. So, being an eyeball expert kind of, I looked into it's eyes to see massive opaque white cataracts. So I now have not only rescued an old dog, but a BLIND old dog. Crap.

At this point I still refer to the dog as "it" because honestly I just couldn't tell the gender. It had the Schnauzer cut so it's but was super hairy and kinda matted and I was not about to touch it on it's uh-oh to see if it had bits or whatever. So, OK, maybe I can wait til it pees and see if it's a sitter and a stander. Which would have worked except that the damn dog apparently just pees just whenever and where ever. And it peed so much. So, so much pee. I only know because I could smell it. But fortunately I have a super power where the second I put on socks I can be instantly and magnetically drawn to the pee spot with my foot. So that was very helpful.

And so it went throughout the night. Blind dog was literally silent while my dogs were apparently on crack. We all tried to sleep and in the morning I left for work and left Blind dog in the house with Pete. Lexi gets locked up during the day because she chews up my crap and honestly I think she kinda likes her little room. i wasn't going to be able to search for the owner til after work anyway and my house already was saturated in pee, so I figured meh, well, whatever it's not really even my carpet anymore after next week. I've got air fresheners. Screw it. (which is a decision I now regret because I find that I keep explaining why my house smells like pee and swear I didn't do it.)

And then I got a phone call from a friend of mine who said a little old lady was wandering around the neighborhood posting signs about her lost blind dog. She was pretty sure that the lost blind dog currently peeing all over my house was the same lost blind dog, so she gave me the number and I called it. The dear woman had some kind of German accent or something and says "Oh! My KayKay! My KayKay" which I took to mean thanks for finding my dog. And she came to pick up the little urine machine and my kids are all "Bye Patrick!" which eerily could work for a dog called KayKay.

Therefore, the lesson learned here:
I am a good person. That is awesome to all of God's creatures providing you are not a bird. I was in the middle of packing and stress and single parenting and tired and overwhelmed, but I picked up that little dog because it needed a chance. And when that dog found it's mama, they both were happy. So, someday somebody is gonna pick me up off the side of the road and dust me off and help me get on my way back to normal. They are going to take me in even though I got trouble trouble trouble and I'm a mad crazy mess. Maybe they'll help guide me home. Maybe they'll keep me. And to thank them, I'm gonna pee all over their house.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Be funny. Go.

Today is make me laugh day. Seriously. It's one of those days that is going to be really emotionally and spititually and physically challenging and I've seen it looming on my calendar for a while. Of course, I will run down each excruciating detail to you later.

But now...

I need you to be funny. Make me laugh. Hit me with your best. You won't win anything. But I'll probably mention you here on my humble little blog. Unless you in no way want to be affiliated with me and need to use an alias or something which I TOTALLY get. I've met me.

Be funny...Go.

Monday, October 3, 2011

I'm going to attempt thankfulness again. Even when I feel like a kick in the balls.

OK, remember how that one time a long time ago I used to do Thankful Thursdays on my blog but I never actually did it on Thursdays because mostly I'm just forgetful and not actually un-thankful but also because as soon as something becomes a deadline like do-this-by-Thursday I instantaneously DON'T want to do it then because I have some sort of problem with authority or calendars or Thursdays and I think everything is better when it happens organically and comes from a place of real life and not an arbitrarily instated day set forth by my own self and then suffering self-inflicted guilt for forcibly manufacturing something or for missing my own deadline that actually has no meaning whatsoever?

Right. OK I think I'm gonna start doing that again. Why? Because I have found lately that forcibly manufacturing positive energy and thankful thoughts actually turns itself into positive energy and thankfulness. Basically fake it til it turns into making it. It's weird, really. I mean, I have had some kick-me-in-the-ass days lately. Actually, like 100 people kicking me in the ass and the girls nads and everywhere else they can find to land those kicks. And then they call me fat and stupid at the same time. And make fun of my outfit just as a bonus. Dammit. It sucks.

So I remembered how I used to try and be thankful for something everyday. Even tiny little things. Even in the darkest of the dark of my mental illness. Even if it is only that I am thankful literally for one more second to breathe. Because God knows how close I've come to not even having those. So I can be thankful for the breathing, but also for the people who hold their breath for me. They breathed in deep and jumped in and stayed in the fight with me even when it wasn't/isn't their battle. I can be thankful that there are still people around me who are next to me.

I'm not gonna always do it on a specific day. I might not do it in specific increments of time. I really hate being tethered to schedules and well... rules in general. The new me loves spontaneity and not knowing what's coming next and not always having to do the same thing the same way in the same places. So I guess I can be thankful for that. For getting in a car on a Friday and not knowing when or where we may turn up. For bubble baths that reach the ceiling and restaurants called "I Smell Bacon". For new friends and for just flat out putting myself right in the middle of social interaction. I can be thankful that I have a desire and opportunity to do it.

I can be thankful for getting kicked in the balls sometimes. Because you never realize how good you have it until your genitals take a beating. I mean, being in the painful lonely places helps me see how awesome things are when I come out of that mess. I suppose I am thankful for that. Weird. And I guess I really like the new me who goes and buys a house and reaches out to people who it seems unlikely I would ever reach out to. I guess I am thankful for the absolute blistering white hot rawness of having every emotion, fear, insecurity, ideal, reality ripped wide open and exposed to the world. Because then I get to start brand new. And new me really likes that. Hurts like hell, but then again so does microderm abrasion and bikini waxing and face lifts and we do all those things just to improve our outside selves. I suppose its worth it in the long run to do sort of the same thing to the inside. I wouldn't have minded a warning countdown or something though first. You know, something like "Hey...I'm about to literally kick your life out from under you and crush it up and throw away parts of it and the parts that I don't throw away I'm gonna give to someone else whether you like it or not" That probably might have been helpful... But I'm thankful that it happened how it did. I guess.

I suppose I can be thankful for things like having a new place to fill with new memories and new decor and the same kids and the same dogs. Because some things never change. I'm thankful I have food and water and electricity and a bed and shoes and a doctor and a car and gas for the house and car and a TV and comfort beyond what most people in this world could never ever imagine. Even though I feel like I am literally cracking from the inside out sometimes, I have so much and so many and so great and so safe and so healthy and so abundant and so free and so strong. Those are the kinds of things I am going to remember to be thankful for.

I am thankful for the times when I cry and cry and cry and thankful for the times I can't cry anymore because it has all turned into numb. Then I'm thankful that there are times when I laugh and laugh and laugh and for stories that start out "Well see...there was this pellet gun...". kyf for that. And I'm thankful for times when I feel attractive again and happy again and for the times that I feel desired and listened to and valuable. Because I can pass that on. I'm thankful that that makes me a better friend and mother and daughter and sister and person and kickball captain. Because I honestly rule at that.

I'm thankful that I am allowed to let go. I'm not saying that I am letting go. But I'm allowed to. And it's not for lack of freaking trying. I'm trying and trying and trying. But maybe someday it'll all just release itself. I'm thankful for that. Or or or...someone needs to just forbid me to let go and then I'll be all "eff you. I do what I want!" and then I'll be all emotionally complete because seriously do not boss me! I am thankful that I will never be emotionally complete because I can always get better at letting go and love is all you need and positivity and peace and all that. No reason to get all perfect at it otherwise whats the point in being thankful for all these breaths I take?

So now you know. I plan to be thankful. When I feel like it. And when I don't. And it will not be necessary to kick me in the girl balls to get me to do it. just FYI.