tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25505509571686141142024-03-18T23:15:35.737-04:00The Not-Right WriterBlog by a woman who is a writer, mother, knitter, Buddhist, meditator, reader, and editor, recovering from life and who isn't really good at any of it!Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.comBlogger414125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-76276788006748084712019-05-17T19:18:00.000-04:002019-05-17T19:18:44.504-04:00Back again....Greetings!<br />
I have resurrected the blog and am going to make more of an effort to share my life here and less of it on Facebook. <br />
For those of you on Facebook, come on over here. The water is fine.... <br />
<br />
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<br />Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-29795156945810399392018-01-01T00:31:00.000-05:002018-01-01T00:31:46.652-05:002018 is a whole new bag of tricks....So after determining that I had neglected blogging long enough, and that I needed another or new outlet since I haven't posted here in so long... I decided to make 2018 the year that the blog resurrected itself...<br />
<br />
And here we are.<br />
<br />
<br />
I look at the coming year with many ideas.<br />
<br />
However, I must be honest and state the first and most overwhelming emotion I have is GRATITUDE. <br />
<br />
I have been learning a lot about gratitude these past few years. <br />
What have I been doing that would lead to KNOWLEDGE about GRATITUDE, you might ask? <br />
<br />
WELL.... that is a multi-layered answer coming right at ya. <br />
<br />
First, I have been walking a Red Road, the Native American path. I have recognized and honored my Cherokee ancestors: two women who married my seventh and eighth great grandfathers. And I have apprenticed myself to a Hopi elder. Because she came into my life at a time that I needed her, and threw me a life raft I have been clinging to ever since. For this, I am eternally grateful. <br />
<br />
She has her own presence on the World Wide Web - a place governed by Grandmother Spider (one of my teachers as well) - so I won't go into any detail here, outing her or giving any of her details here. My relationship with her is so important to me. <br />
<br />
When the student is ready, the teacher appears. <br />
<br />
I accept this as truth now. <br />
<br />
I also walk with a being I knew at first as Grandmother Pipe Spirit, and now I know as the Grandmother Arrow, or Cherokee Arrow Woman, "Ani Yun Wiya," who has added much clarity and kindness in my life. <br />
<br />
Because - if you have not gathered this by now - I am the type of person who is very hard on herself. I criticize myself and hold myself at a much higher standard than I do you.... I love you, but it's myself I can't stand, have a hundred reasons to change and things I should/need to do... and nothing that I do will ever be enough to satisfy my crazy standards....<br />
<br />
So part of my lessons is simply to approach myself with clarity and kindness. This is not so easy for me. <br />
<br />
And yet I feel gratitude because I feel I have been led to the place where I can finally work on these life lessons in a gentle and meaningful way. <br />
<br />
So it is with gratitude that I stop at this moment, on the cusp on 2018, and beckon to you, reader. <br />
<br />
Welcome to a new space. <br />
<br />
Please come along. <br />
<br />
And be gentle with yourself. <br />
<br />
We are on this road called life together. <br />
<br />
And none of us gets out alive. <br />
<br />
Aho. Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-47021124544699191552015-04-25T07:37:00.000-04:002015-04-25T07:37:18.977-04:00SavedToday's gratitude goes out first and foremost to a really awesome person who helped me through the Google product blog to recapture my blog. I am forever grateful. <br />
And then a second bit of love from Google: my email from Google calendar this morning saying "You have no events scheduled for today." Ah, bliss. <br />
This weekend shall be spent doing some writing, hopefully some reading, and working on the great unpacking of my house. I am completely broke, so I am trying to make that work in my favor and stay at the house and get some work done. Of course, how to get around 11 counties in the next week before payday (driving about 1000-1300 miles) is another quandary I am now in, but no doubt I will come up with a creative solution. I usually do. <br />
So I am off, ready to enjoy Saturday, a day where at least in theory I will not be forced to put other people's demands at the forefront, leaving nothing for myself but exhaustion and bitterness. Let's see how this pans out....Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-43828202973454924642015-04-24T14:07:00.001-04:002015-04-24T14:07:00.790-04:00google-site-verification: googlea008652adc9caf25.htmlTerre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-83676781967328062142015-04-24T13:41:00.001-04:002015-04-24T13:41:41.943-04:00Can you see this?Apparently my blog URL has been highjacked by some nondescript "art paintings.net" crap. So if you can read this, please comment! Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-67029327806658244452014-12-06T09:27:00.001-05:002014-12-06T09:29:10.327-05:0069 years doesn't seem so long for a life. But that could not happen....When I was younger, my mother always said she would die young. Since all the people in my family always walked around talking about how sick they were and how they were going to die any minute - including my grandmother who lived to just 6 months short of her 98th birthday and a cousin who has been at death's door now for over 50 years and last I saw is still going strong - I didn't pay full attention to her words. <br />
<br />
Today would have been my mother's 69th birthday. I miss her something fierce and still cry on my long commute to my job at least three days out of five remembering something about those last 10 months of her life as the cancer ate away at her while I stood by helplessly, urging her and her doctors to take better care of her health, never being taken seriously.<br />
<br />
I try to make myself remember the good things. Like our silly game we played, going to a flea market or a Goodwill and having a little contest to see who could come up with the tackiest thing. It was a game we loved, and we each won an equal number of times. (The ability to spot tacky is a genetically passed-down trait for us Southern women, y'all.) Like the love of books, which she also passed down to me. <br />
<br />
Or like her statement that I was the great shame of her life. Yes, that is a good thing. <br />
<br />
I have evolved to feel sorry for my mother who was brought up in a culture of misogynistic shame. Because of this, she hid her pregnancy with me, and drove herself to the hospital on October 30, 1969, to labor and give birth to me alone. No one in my family, save my mother, knew I existed for the first couple of days I was on this earth. She had strongly considered giving me up for adoption. And then my grandfather showed up at the hospital. He had been looking for her to tell her that her own mother was in the hospital. He convinced my mother that she was better than the shame, and so was I. She called my dad and told him he was a father. He showed up at the hospital and stepped up. I have no idea how his mother took the news, but I know she spoiled me rotten my entire life. <br />
<br />
It took me until after my mother died to see this as a fairy tale - I got to live. I got to grow up with my family. <br />
<br />
I wanted to talk to her about it. Other than one phone call she made to me at work, screaming and crying, calling me "the great shame of [her] life," we never really got to talk about it. Every time I brought it up, she made it clear it was not for discussion. Then she got sick and I did not want to bring up anything else unpleasant for her to deal with. <br />
<br />
So I feel like I am missing a piece of my history. Maybe that's why I like digging in genealogy and am fascinated by the past. <br />
<br />
Maybe that's why the person I feel most comfortable with at present is the narrator of my novel who is long dead and yet spilling his own confessions and history into my fingers as I type. <br />
<br />
Maybe that's why I feel drawn to champion those who are not championed and empower them to champion themselves. <br />
<br />
No one should live in shame.<br />
<br />
No one should apologize for their existence.<br />
<br />
No one should suffer at the hands of another and be made to feel "less than." <br />
<br />
No one should be unwanted. <br />
<br />
Happy birthday, Mommy. I miss you. I am still so proud of you I have no words. You are still strong. Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-47190036309221071672014-09-20T20:58:00.005-04:002014-09-20T20:59:10.156-04:00poemymy feelings for you are motile<br />
the blush of love more like<br />
a verdigris patina<br />
on the afterthought of my soul. <br />
bright, brassy hues turn sepia<br />
when marinated in alcohol<br />
and tears' brine.<br />
the goddess in me feigns agape<br />
while i evacuate, out the back door,<br />
the dirty alley's a symphony<br />
of cruelty and lack<br />
- music to my ears, a familiar tune -<br />
no,<br />
i shall not sing for you again. <br />
<br />
9/20/14Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-7745231461397756822014-08-31T21:36:00.003-04:002014-08-31T21:44:07.837-04:00Fulfilling self-assignmentRifling through this month's journal (I am using a "<a href="http://www.michaelroger.com/Decomposition-Books_c_72.html" target="_blank">"Decomposition Book"</a> each month, a la <a href="http://nataliegoldberg.com/" target="_blank">Natalie Goldberg</a>), I found a assignment I had given myself as a result of my working through <a href="http://www.juliacameronlive.com/" target="_blank">Julia Cameron's</a> <u>Walking in this World</u>: to post one of my most obscure poems on my blog. Since this is the last day of the month, I wanted to complete at least one more creative task for August and decided to post this evening's verse here. <br />
<br />
But of course, there is an interesting story to this poem. I am a big fan of the Personal Universe deck. I think I have written about it here before, but feel free to Google away. However, my room is a wreck and I am not really in the frame of mind to clean, so I thought I would let an app that I like to play with, Ghost Radar Legacy, generate the words for me. Google that one too, if you are curious. (I am getting a bit lazy with the linking, sorry.) <br />
<br />
So anyway, for your obscure enjoyment - my verse about not wanting to be obscure, I guess: <br />
<br />
<br />
"What I Want"<br />
<br />
What I want<br />
is to be more than useful,<br />
meaningful<br />
beyond this space<br />
beyond this time<br />
my words more than scattered consonants<br />
dissonate<br />
discovery subterranean<br />
like Richard III unearthed,<br />
in London for a parking structure<br />
mundane, I want the conversation -<br />
alone -<br />
to last. <br />
<br />
(c) tbj 8.31.14<br />
<br />
<br />
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Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-11836057877640097442014-03-03T20:46:00.000-05:002014-03-03T20:46:21.259-05:00Faithful Companions and Unconditional Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Ever since June of last year, I have slept with death in my house. The night my mother died, I felt it slide in under the door like a poisonous mist, creep through the air of sadness that hung palpable, on stealthy panther feet. <br /><br />
Since that time, I can sense when death is about, scratching out with its hoary talons to snatch someone else I love away. <br />
<br />
I looked into my mother's eyes the night she died. I told her she was the best mother in the entire world, thanked her for trying to make me into a good person, acknowledged her sacrifices in bringing me into this vale of tears, and told her we would be okay, that she could go. <br />
<br />A few hours later, she did. <br />
<br />
My dog, Kruzer (named by an animal shelter and we kept it, not wanting to confuse him) kept vigil in the yellow chair beside her hospital bed the last week of her life. He sat, sentinel, the night she died. And he had to go outside, restlessly roaming the yard after she died, as if he couldn't contain his grief. When the funeral home directors came to pick up her body, he howled as if his heart was breaking and then showed his teeth from the gate, knowing that they were taking her away from us, from the house, from him, for the last time. <br />
<br />
Now I am giving him medicine to increase his appetite so he will be more comfortable. I am coaxing him to eat a bite of food. I am racking my brain to come up with ideas of natural remedies so I don't feel so helpless fighting against this. <br />
<br />
But I looked into his eyes tonight and saw the same thing I saw in my mother's. That he was already destined for another world, and he looks to me to say, "go," release him from the bonds here. <br />
<br />
My husband says I'm wrong, takes very little I think or say or do seriously, and for once I hope he is right. He dismissed my feeling the night my mother died that she was on her way. And he is dismissing me now. I hope he is right this time. <br />
<br />
Some may be horrified that I am equating my dog's decline with my mother's demise. I acknowledge this. But my dog is a sentient being. My dog has shown me unflagging, unconditional love. No human has ever done this. My mother came the closest. <br />
<br />
It's something in the eyes. The windows of the soul. The soul escapes, even when the windows are closed. For this, I weep. <br />
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<br />Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-5151161479963467942014-03-02T02:01:00.000-05:002014-03-02T02:01:09.586-05:00Death, Dying, Endings and MeIt's been a strange day.<br />
<br />
I have been living through this grief process shit now for over 2 years. On June 13, 2012, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. She died on June 12, 2013, one day short of a year from that diagnosis. One day short of a year to make decisions, know that the end was more than likely imminent, and get "her affairs in order." Except she didn't. In the midst of dealing with the fact that I can't call and kvetch or bitch or cry to her, I am having my guts ripped out dealing with the twisting in the wind of her estate, her dilapidated hoarder house, giving away her horses, discovering that her belongings were stolen, house broken into repeatedly, memory disgraced and disrespected, funeral not paid for, and the grave has no headstone. <br />
<br />Deep breath.<br />
<br />For the past three weeks or so, my dog has been eating less and less, and becoming more and more lethargic. Today my dad paid for a vet visit with his vet for my dog. Our vet four days ago told us it was a "sour stomach" and nothing was wrong. My dad's vet says that it's elevated calcium and liver enzymes, and most likely parathyroid cancer. Either we do an expensive blood test or we watch him get weaker and weaker and die. So we did the blood test. And now we wait a week. And then go from there. I want him well, but failing that, I want the absence of pain for him. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I look at another sentient being who has given me absolutely nothing but unconditional love and watch him approach death. <br />
<br />
I know that to live is to eventually die. <br /><br />I get it. <br /><br />This fact does not make it hurt any less. <br />
<br />
And of course, life conspires to cry along with me. <br /><br />A week ago I received Ariel Gore's memoir, <a href="http://hawthornebooks.com/catalogue/the-end-of-eve" target="_blank"><u>The End of Eve</u> </a>and just finished it today. I am bereft with sorrow for her, and reliving my own mother's illness and death, making the inevitable comparisons. Intense writing at its best, this is a talented author's masterpiece. She has always written in such a way that I felt her words, but this hit me on another whole level. Highly recommend it. <br />
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<br />
Right now my life is full of changes. It has been an overwhelming couple of years. In the midst of all of this, I have discovered I am living a life I hate, and basically I want to escape being myself. I am discovering what I really want to do, but also what has blocked me from it - an insidious self-hatred that poisons everything I do. I am tired of trying to analyze its source. I am more interested myself in the psychic surgery to remove its roots. Failing that, I look toward the ultimate escape. <br />
<br />
To answer Mary Oliver's rhetorical question, what to do with my one precious human life? <br />
<br />
Fix it or forget it. <br />
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(Image from URL: http://www.mailman.columbia.edu/academic-departments/epidemiology/research-service/death-poverty)<br />
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Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-91516891719119254912014-01-01T21:14:00.001-05:002014-01-01T21:14:25.138-05:002014. Day One.All in all, a better day than usual. <br /><br />I actually slept a full 8 hours. This only happened a handful of times in 2013. Spending the first 6 months worried about my mother's health and watching her die, my decades of experience of shortchanging myself sleep held in me in good stead. So sleeping 8 hours was a big deal. <br />
<br />I actually took the time to make a smoothie that contained 4 servings of fruits and vegetables, 20 g of protein and 3 g of fat. It's my own design, but I did not have time to make it more than 2 or 3 times in 2013. <br />
<br />
2013 was a year spent taking care of everyone but myself, in a lifetime of taking care of everyone but myself. <br />I am hoping to reverse this. <br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"The body is in need of no defense. This cannot be too often emphasized. It will be strong and healthy if the mind does not abuse it by assigning roles it cannot fulfill, to purposes beyond its scope, and to exalted aims which it cannot accomplish." </i> <b>- A Course in Miracles</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
There is a Buddhist precept that reminds us to be mindful of how rare - and therefore, how grateful we should be - to find ourselves in a human birth on earth. The body is part of that. The Soul is an even bigger part of that. <br /><br />Right now, I am going to focus on taking care of both. <br />
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<br />Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-20693052475723763052013-12-31T14:00:00.000-05:002013-12-31T14:00:33.700-05:00And don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.....Goodbye, 2013. <br /><br />
You were a shitty year, and I am glad to see you go. <br /><br />When you leave, you will take with you the last time my family was whole. You will take my illusions that certain things matter. You will drag behind your bedraggled ass my innocence, my ability to blame things on an earlier generation, and my desire to be something else. <br />
<br />
So tonight as I spread out the Tarot cards to see just what I was supposed to learn from this fucked up experiment called 2013, I am not going to miss you. I will not mourn your passing. <br />
<br />You are a bitter old bitch. I can't wait until you are gone. <br />
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<br />Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-79961339019707991062013-11-11T00:38:00.000-05:002013-11-11T00:40:00.080-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It's been a long time since I have blogged. Life has strewn me thin and thinner in places and much has happened.<br />
Much of this blog has been discussion of my struggles with life, whether it be my depression, my physical health, or whatever. And some of it has been my struggles with expectations of those around me and involved in my life. Life has tried very hard to teach me not to have expectations of others. That way, when someone else does the right, responsible or ethical thing, I can be pleasantly surprised on those rare occasions, rather than being in a dull state of disappointment continuously. Often I forget this lesson and then feel devastated by life, et al, all over again. <br />
In the past year, I have watched cancer take my mother's life. I felt helpless as I continued to beat my head against the work post, giving too much of my life and energy to maintain status quos. For this reason, I lost many opportunities to work out lifelong issues and spend time with mother before she died. Sure, she lived in my house, and my husband stayed with her so she was never alone, but I owed her more than that. I owed her myself. And I failed. <br />
In the past 10 years I have spent an astronomical amount of time trying to be a wife and mother. Because my husband has never been much of a provider, and for 8 of those years has made little or no contribution to the family financial situation, I have been forced to work a great deal harder than the typical wife and mother. This has added even more stress to my life. And I am not graceful under pressure. So my home life has been less than idyllic. All I can say for sure is that I have loved my children fiercely, and sacrificed whatever was necessary to take care of them. My health. My happiness. My own interests. My friendships. My sanity. My time. <br />
All the same, I did the best I could. I was not always able to spend as much money on them as I wanted to. I was never able to spend the time I wanted to with them. Since marrying my husband, I have often had to take his part of responsibilities in addition to my own. My older daughter resents the last 10 years, when I stopped being a single parent and started doing something besides working and then coming straight home and focusing only on her. So now she has told me that she has not been happy since she has had to share my focus and is moving out as soon as she legally can. This happens to be the day after tomorrow. <br />So back to expectations. I expected that if I sacrificed whatever I could, I would be the recipient of gratitude, not resentment. <br />
So when I look back on my life, it's not real impressive. It's full of dull aches, unrequited caring and compassion. I am a warrior with fatigue that permeates ever part of my being, My health, emotion, physical, mental, spiritual, is teetering. <br />
So now, having lost a mother, I am now losing a child. Life has decided to do this to me in the space of 7 months. I fear for my younger daughter, who is feeling abandoned. My husband spends his time on the couch, watching football and sitcoms, and playing on his computer or iPad. No job, no job prospects. No financial support. And is apparently incapable of providing emotional support, focusing long enough to have a conversation. More expectations on my part, I suppose. <br />
I feel that I am living in a nightmare. This weekend I spend two days attending the estate auction of my grandmother, who died 4 years ago. I keep waking up and wanting to call my mother and talk to her, cry to her, and be heard by her. Only she was the one who could understand me. Only she was with me from the beginning of my life. Then my firstborn hates me, denies the 18 years I have spent taking care of her, and leaves me as well. Meanwhile, the dead weight of my husband doesn't budge, seems blissfully unaware that anything is going on at all, and is only impacted by running out of cigarettes or me asking him to do anything other than lie on the couch. <br />I worry. I worry about what is going to happen to my youngest when I finally work myself into a state where I can no longer take care of her. I worry what will happen to her if I am not able to fully function as both sole responsible parent and sole breadwinner until she is fully an adult and can take care of herself. <br />
<br />
In regards to the Bukowski quote above, I know my original dream was to become a fusion of mind and soul, spiritually attuned while being grounded and stable. However, lately I have felt like a soul who has lost her mind, and definitely her moorings. Insanity does not feel good. If I could choose to change my course - and I will fight like hell to do so - I regain my mind, and intellectualize my life. I feel most comfortable with this. It's as if the emotional shock has caused a gigantic regression in all my Aspergian traits and I need to disengage. Problem is, I don't have the strength to do so, unless forced to do so. I am scared of what is going to rip off that band-aid. Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-50448032224525542552013-05-25T10:40:00.002-04:002013-05-25T10:41:13.663-04:00Updates on my life...I dropped off the blogisphere after my attempt at the topic du jour exercise, and I do have the desire to drop back in.<br />
<br />
At this point in my life I need a distraction from the stress and overwhelming, oppressive responsibilities in my life. <br />
<br />
Yet I don't want blogging to be yet another responsibility, another "have to" in a long, long list of have-tos.... <br />
<br />
Yesterday I spoke with my mother's home health nurse. She suggested that we look into Hospice at this time for my mother. In the back of my mind, ever since I learned of her diagnosis last June, I have known this is a possibility. I knew that people get cancer, that cancer can be fatal. I knew that mother had this thing called cancer. But I consciously fought against making that connection. <br />
<br />
The home health nurse stated that people who get discharged from home health and into Hospice sometimes do get better and get discharged out of Hospice and back into home health. The thing is, I don't consider home health to be for the healthy. So Hospice, to my mind, are the people who are even farther removed from health. She said she had this conversation with my mother two days ago. My mother has not brought it up in conversation with me. Of course, we don't have too many long conversations as she usually falls asleep when she is talking to me. Staying awake is not her strong suit since she is now taking Percocet and morphine. So I have no idea what to do or where to go from here except into the dark night with her. And hope one of us keeps from losing her mind to guide the other. <br />
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In the midst of all this, life goes on. Work demands more than ever. If 12-14 hours was the accepted minimum, it is demanding 16-18 hours now. I just don't have it anymore. So I rush and I delegate more than I ever have, then I stress about what I delegate, so I stay awake worrying away and not sleeping the hours that I am not there. <br />
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My oldest is getting ready to go to her first prom this year. She has fanagled going to a prom as a sophomore, and she - with typical self-centeredness and lack of concern for others that marks all humans her age - is characteristically hateful and cutting whenever she does not get her way. She wants the last money for the family's groceries to be spent on her nail polish. When she decides she doesn't like that $8 nail polish after all, she wants fake nails bought for her. Then she breezes in and has a meltdown because I won't give her my only decent make-up. Then I have to keep an open ear, because whenever she is denied her way, she turns around and says something cutting and cruel to her little sister, passing on the misery. <br />
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My youngest reels from being a victim of her sister's hormonal maelstrom to watching her beloved grandmother sink farther and farther away from her to spending less and less time with me as I try to support the household financially single-handedly, show her the love kids need to grow up at least somewhat functional, and make sure she has clean clothes that match somewhat (her father is color-blind). It is a testament to her strong personality that she takes each day as it comes, expresses her emotions clearly and appropriately, and keeps her spirits up. I want to be like her when I grow up. <br />
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So pardon me while I regroup. My posts, I hope, won't always be dark. I will try to keep managing my depression while pretending to be Super-Boss, Super-Mom, and the part of Supportive Daughter. <br />
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And in the back of my mind, I will dream of the day I will be a real writer. <br />
<br />
If I live through this. Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-16760853216694139312013-03-24T19:57:00.000-04:002013-03-24T19:57:34.550-04:00Nano Lexington Write InPrompt: "A meal at an unusual time."<br />
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Snowflakes blew in to dot her eyelashes and make the white world even harder to navigate. She looked down at her reddened knuckles, blooming in the pale of her cracked hands. She winced as the bitter cold bit through her wraps, blustering under her coats as she bent down to pick up each piece of gnarled wood. <br />
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The woolen scarf rubbed not unpleasantly against her mouth as she breathed frozen crystals into its nap. She inhaled, exhaled, thinking only of completing this task of gathering wood so she could go back into the small house and bank, once again, the guttering flame of the woodstove. <br />
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Finally, her arms could hold no more. She trudged the last mile back to the dark blot on the landscape, the rough-hewn cabin built so many years ago by an anonymous antisocial, graying now in the twilight. She shook her head again, shrugged the snow from her shoulders. She hated how this whiteout world made the division of day and evening hard to discern. Today of all days, she would have liked a few more moments of daylight. But like so many things, it was not to be. <br />
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At the threshold, she yet lingered. Desiring to get out of the stark frozen outdoors, yet not ready to face the truth of what lay inside waiting for her. Summoning her courage, a mystical idea that she had been assured of by her foremothers, she pushed through the heavy oak door. <br />
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Once inside, she dropped the sticks in the coal box, long empty of the black ore, and half-fell backwards, closing the door behind her and collapsing against it, eyes closed before she looked through damp lashes into the dim oil lamps that half-illuminated the cabin. She inhaled slowly, steeling herself for the evening before her. <br />
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The stove was giving off a low heat, and she opened the iron door to insert only the driest of the twigs into the dancing flame. Groaning, she straightened up and rubbed the small of her back with her splitting hands. Living out among the wild had aged her past her thirty years. Days, hell, nights like this brought this fact into sharp relief. Again she shook this thought off and walked to the water basin. Laid out next to it were the last of her root vegetables from the cellar. This surprise spring blizzard postponed her setting out the seedling she had sown in the past six weeks. She knew the wait for harvest of any sustenance would be delayed further into the summer as a result. If there even was a summer. Tonight she was not certain of anything. <br />
<br />
No matter, she thought. It won't change what I have to do tonight. She sunk the knife deep into the flesh of a shriveled carrot, a dessicated onion, a darkened potato. All she scraped into the warming pot on the wood stove. Having dispensed with the rote mundane chopping, she sighed. Her shoulders sagged as she willed herself to have resolve and move forward. She moved towards the dark back entry of the cabin and stretched out her hand, feeling her way by memory in the dark. She walked slowly forward leading with her hands, fingertips outstretched, until she encountered the smooth worn wood of the axe handle. <br />
<br />
Even now, in the semidarkness of her home, she hesitated. If there was any other way, she would choose differently. She closed her eyes, shutting out the vision of choices she could have made years before. She could not go back. <br />
<br />
She hefted the axe and moved back into the lamplight. In the next room she could hear her daughter, mewing like a weak kitten, waking up from a hunger-fueled nightmare. No doubt she was reliving some version of what had happened the day before. <br />
<br />
Two days earlier, the small creek by the cabin was roaring. Spring had flirted with their hopes, melting the snow and coaxing green shoots of daffodils and wild onion from muddy ground. Her daughter had laughed, jumped and run, despite having spent most of winter sick with cold, flus, pneumonia even. She had smiled to see the child so happy, even while warning her not to overdo, not to go too far from the house, to stay in sight in case she had trouble breathing again. She herself sat in the watery sunlight, allowing herself to lean briefly against the bark of a tree that had been there as long as her family. She closed her eyes, lulled into thinking that they may just make it, they just may survive. The weather would grown warmer. She would plant again. And the rest of her family would return. <br />
<br />
She must have fallen asleep, as the cold, settling into her legs, awakened her. She listened for her daughter's laughter, her voice, and heard nothing. Startled, she sprang up, almost tripping by the uselessness of her numb limbs. She called her daughter's name, again and again, and heard nothing. She raced through the woods, the skeletal trees mocking her as she looked frantically for the child. <br />
<br />
Out of breath, she stopped, leaning forward and trying not to be sick around the sinking stone in her stomach. As she gasped, she heard a small rustle. She rushed in the direction of the sound, adrenaline both propelling and sickening her. <br />
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At a small clearing she stopped. Her daughter lay on the ground, bleeding from a gash in her leg. As the crimson flowed, a creature stood above the child, lowering its gaping maw to feed from her wound.<br />
<br />
The woman went cold. Her own blood thundered in her ears as she grasped a jagged rock at her feet and leapt towards the creature, her makeshift weapon making contact with the side of the creature's head. The creature went limp and the rock came crashing down again and again until there was no more movement. <br />
<br />
At this her daughter began crying in a slight wheeze. The child's body was wracked with each breath. The woman went to her daughter, keeping the creature in her peripherial vision as she tore her own shirt and bandaged her daughter's wound, which was turning black and charred where the creature's saliva had touched it. Pulling on her daughter's arm, she coaxed her to stand and carried her back to the house. Once in her own bed, the child began to cry and clutch her abdomen. Neither had eaten in days. <br />
<br />
The mother tucked her child in and told her to stay in bed. She made her way back to the woods where the creature's gray form lay in the gathering twilight. She bound the creature's limbs with strips of cloth torn from what remained of her shirt. And she began dragging the creature through the woods and back to the shed behind the cabin. <br />
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Once in the dark shed, she felt for a stub of candle her father had left there. She lit a match from a book and pulled the chains from the eaves. Once in a more prosperous time, her family had hung venison and other game from these chains. She wiped away frightened tears as she thought about the being she was about to chain. What would her father say if he could see what wild game she had captured? What would he say if he could see how far she had fallen, how desperate she had become? <br />
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She turned back to the creature and choked back the bile that filled her throat. Swallowing her disgust, she reached and grabbed two limbs, manacled them with hooks and links, and then pulled the chains taut. The creature's gray countenance winced and then went still. She located the rope and tied the lower limbs tightly together too. A small voice in her head, not unlike her mother's, whispered not to make the knots so tight that it cut off circulation. She almost laughed, scorned this voice. Circulation? Do these creatures have circulation? No, she could not care. She could not feel. This was survival. <br />
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Then why did she have no stomach for it? She turned abruptly and made her way to the cabin. <br />
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In the dark, holding the axe, she cannot bear hearing her child cry for hunger any longer. It was time. <br />
<br />
She lifted the axe and walked outside to the shed. She could see the silhouette of the creature in the moonlight reflected from the snow. She almost faltered, then she thought of her child's charred limb, the angry slash of crimson gaping even now. She lit the candle, and the creature's countenance, came into view. She stepped forward, not thinking of mercy or forgiveness. She had to do this. It was time. <br />
<br />
The creature turned its face to the mother. Its eyes sought her eyes. A single tear trickled from the wrinkled eyelid. <br />
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The woman shut her eyes. And brought the axe down. It was time. <br />
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(c) 2013 Terre Brothers Johnson, short story from writing prompt. Rough draft. No edit. <br />
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<br />Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-79415123330300590602013-02-11T07:11:00.002-05:002013-02-11T07:12:18.397-05:00Life, it's how it goesWell, the blog has been on hiatus since last Wednesday, when I worked a record 23 hours. Since then I have just been trying to get caught back up in breathing, eating, and sleeping, and of course, working at least 12 hour days, so I've once again had to put writing on the back burner. <br />
<br />
My solution is try to play catch up at some point this week. As I am still behind in most things, I can't make any promises of when this will happen. <br />
<br />
Most of my life is me trying to complete tasks that are imposed on me from without - so I don't want to approach this in the same way. I want writing to be something that I do unencumbered, not something I cram between babysitting people who don't want to meet their own obligations. <br />
<br />Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-5666765568957293902013-02-05T20:25:00.000-05:002013-02-05T20:25:34.731-05:00TdJ: My children's health.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I am so glad that this topic falls on a day that both girls are relatively healthy. Hopefully this will limit the kvetch to a tolerable level. <br />
<br />
At the moment my daughters are in a weird position. The older daughter's father has been court-ordered for 15 years to provide health insurance for her. He started doing this about 18 months ago. So she actually has health insurance. <br />
<br />
My younger daughter has only me, and since my 60-100 hour per week job does not provide health insurance she goes without. Unfortunately, she is the much more sickly of the two. <br />
<br />
My oldest daughter has no allergies, has had two or three stomach bugs and one ear infection in her entire 17 year life. <br />
<br />
My younger daughter is only 7, but has had 20+ ear infections, 100s of stomach bugs, and has had to have two teeth pulled, when she had a severe allergic reaction to the anesthesia. She's also allergic to 2/3 of the antibiotics that have been prescribed to her. <br />
<br />
I've done everything I can - short of being able to afford to provide actual health insurance - to ensure their health. I breastfed the oldest for 2 years, the youngest for over 3 years. Neither child ever had to drink formula, and neither was started on solid food before 4 to 6 months. I tried to feed them healthy food, and they did well until others started giving them starches, grease and junk food. At some point I got too busy to fight all the bad influences, and so their diets aren't the best, but as long as I am cooking, their diets are at least better than average. At some point, I realized that genetics must play into it, and since I was fairly healthy as a kid, all their problems are probably the fault of their fathers. <br />
<br />
Yeah, I like that theory. <br />
<br />
This is something I am concerned about. Since I am so limited in what I can do for them, I live in fear that they will get sick or hurt and I won't have any way to help them. I guess this the fear of most parents, but in this household, one severe illness could mean homelessness for us. We can do less than most people can do to prevent it, so I probably drive my daughters crazy with my herbal/nutritional/energy work/alternative medicine approaches. They are all I have. <br />
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Yes, indeed, my daughters are all I have.<br />
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<br />Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-67151409520629336572013-02-04T22:24:00.001-05:002013-02-04T22:24:13.289-05:00TdJ: StressStress is one of those things that has been suffocating me lately. Work. Home. Finances. My mother's health. My health. It's all been a bit overwhelming. <br />
<br />
There is no cure for stress. <br />
<br />
And I can see clearly the physical effects of stress on my body. And my mind. <br />
<br />
My cognitive levels are definitely affected by it. I feel like about 100 people are demanding things of me hundreds of times a day, and I can't get anything done for the constant interruptions. <br />
<br />
Tonight I actually came up with the idea of making a request form that each person at work who is demanding something of me has to complete. That way I could track all the demands and they could see what priority their demands really are. <br />
<br />
The bottom line is I am doing lots of things others can do for themselves. <br />
And I am resenting them and myself for it. <br />
<br />
So it is time to stop.<br />
<br />
I mean, really. <br />
<br />
I am so stressed that even writing this little piece on stress is too much. <br />
<br />
So good night. Sleeping will help my stress. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-34399759898278370862013-02-03T09:51:00.000-05:002013-02-03T09:51:54.204-05:00TdJ: SpiritAnother loving coincidence from the Universe: today's topic. <br />
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For the past few days I have been trying to cultivate a morning routine of reading a chapter from Jacob Glass' "The Crabby Angels Chronicles" and the day's selection from Mark Nepo's "The Book of Awakening." I love both of them, and consider them very spiritual beings who also just happen to be able to write, so this is a joy. <br />
<br />
For the past two weeks I have been trying to steal time from work and housework and meeting every need of the people who live in my house to read Jean Houston's "The Passion of Isis and Osiris." NOT light reading. Great reading, but not light. Not the kind of book that lends itself to being interrupted over 5 times every page. (Which is saying something, because I have been known to devour a 300 page tome in less than 2 hours back when I could do something uninterrupted.) So, needless to say, I haven't gotten very far in it. However, I was able to read TWO ENTIRE PAGES this morning when I was using the bathroom, had the bathroom door locked, and the natives were asleep. <br />
<br />
So today, this is what I gleaned from Jean Houston. <br />
We have been isolated from myth and stories that help us make sense of our lives by industrialization. I would go out on a limb and say that technology also does this. Like the David Foster Wallace quote that I posted yesterday, we are alone. We can't know what others are thinking. However, myths used to serve as a bridge. Unfortunately each generation is farther and farther away from being taught those myths. They shouldn't be "taught;" they should be known. My own children don't even know fairy tales. They are unheard of at their schools, but everyone knows about Captain Underpants. (Not to put down Captain Underpants, whatever gets them reading). <br />
With this loss of story/myth that used to a be a common thread weaving us together in our lives, psyches and morals and ethics, at large in our communities, there is a disconnect. We want to believe in something bigger, more substantial, and more permanent than ourselves. It just isn't readily available in our culture. <br />
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And from what I see, lots of people are filling that void with religion. <br />
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This is not, in and of itself, a bad thing. <br />
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However, from what I have seen, this has served to divide rather than unite. Many religionists are very sect-like in their approach. I am learning that Christians and Muslims alike are very judgmental and convinced that their narrow view of their faith is The One True Path. So we get suicide bombers. Holy wars, and constant bickering. Not what the founders of their religions had in mind at all. I do not claim to be a Christian, and I don't even know enough to formulate a sentence on Islam, but I can tell you, I bet today's extremists have missed the boat. <br />
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So what is my version? It's mine. It's not yours. I do not want you to adopt it or convert to it. I KNOW it is not The One True Path. <br />
So I am not "praying" that you will convert to my beliefs. <br />
I am not "praying" to "save your soul."<br />
I am not going to argue with you or shove my beliefs down your throat. <br />
I am not that sanctimonious or narcissistic to pull that shit. <br />
<br />
I believe Jesus had it right when he said "Love One Another." And when he could ask God to forgive those who crucified him, I believe he was acting as he spoke. This is the standard by which I measure all things. <br />
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I believe Buddha had it right when he said, "Believe nothing, no matter where you read it or who has said it, not even if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense." I also believe the Buddha had it right when he purported that all life is suffering, that suffering comes from desire, that there can be an end to desire, and the eight-fold path (Right view, Right intention, Right speech, Right action, Right livelihood, Right effort, Right mindfulness, Right concentration) leads to the end of desire. <br />
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I believe Nietzsche was right when he said, "One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star." <br />
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I believe Henry Miller was right when he said, "The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware."<br />
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<br />
I believe Walt Whitman was right when he said:<br />
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“This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.”</h1>
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Finally, I will close with a story from Jacob Glass and "The Crabby Angels Chronicles:"</div>
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Our dear Brother Jacob discovered this some time ago as he struggled to see the innocence in others. As he tried valiantly to follow Jesus' entreaty to love others, he grew to resent them more than ever. As with most of you, he thought it would be easier to love others if they would simply be more lovable. On the sidewalks of Los Angeles he would try to practice love by mentally greeting each person wit h an inner "Namaste" - trying to see the Christ and Buddha in everyone. Instead of bringing peace, it simply amplified his own feelings of guilt over the endless judgements that arose from within him as he failed over and over again. </div>
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It was his concept of "love" which got in the way. We encouraged him to simply silently greet each person with "Fuck you my brother - fuck you my sister" instead. Immediately, a lightness came over him as he began to laugh at his own ego thoughts and in that moment he felt his one-ness with every person who he saw and his heart opened wide. Infinite love is not about the words or your concepts of what "spiritual" looks like - it is an experience. </div>
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"You can indeed afford to laugh at fear thoughts, remembering that God goes with you wherever you go." - A Course in Miracles</div>
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Finally, if after reading this, you are angered, I am sorry. Please go pray, and don't tell me about it. </div>
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If after reading this, you feel sorry for me because I am not a member of your church or of your faith, and you want to tell me about it, don't. </div>
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If you want to pray for me, pray instead for yourself that your heart and mind be truly opened to accepting your fellow humans. </div>
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And if you don't want to pray for that, feel free to pray for anything listed below (maybe you can turn it into a Prayer du Jour exercise!):</div>
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1. True Peace</div>
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2. End to "Holy Wars"</div>
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3. Clean, non-engineered food and water for all humans</div>
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4. Cure for Cancer</div>
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5. Guidance</div>
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6. End to Addictions</div>
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7. That No Child EVER Go Hungry</div>
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8. That No Child EVER Be Killed</div>
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9. End to Judgment</div>
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10. End to Hatred</div>
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Namaste. </div>
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<br />Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-66263385963827386922013-02-02T21:57:00.002-05:002013-02-02T21:57:47.695-05:00DFW quote on aloneness and the function of writing<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"We're existentially alone on the planet. I can't know what you're thinking and feeling and you can't know what I'm thinking and feeling. And the very best works construct a bridge across that abyss of human loneliness." </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">- David Foster Wallace</span></div>
Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-82434545549661235972013-02-02T21:53:00.001-05:002013-02-02T21:53:38.375-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-44274673964074232772013-02-02T09:20:00.001-05:002013-02-02T09:26:24.062-05:00TdJ: Wanting to Escape or Kvetchy Tune But I Can't Dance to ItIf I didn't know better - and I do, so I know it is true - I would think I was a broken record. I AM a broken record. The song is called, "My Life Sucks and I Want Out." <br />
<br />
So instead of playing the broken record.... Since it is a Saturday, and I had planned to try to take a day off from the demands of others, I want to explore instead ways I CAN escape, if only for a moment. <br />
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Cooking. Last night I made couscous with saffron and chives, vegetables in a garlic butter sauce and tofu Korma. Chloe was out with friends, but Tim acted like I had fed him dog shit. He shoved the food around on his plate, and before even sitting down to take the first bite, said, "I'm not going to eat that shit." Never mind that I had to clean the kitchen before I even started cooking (and I have not cooked since last Sunday, so none of it was my mess). Never mind that I had worked 13 hours yesterday alone (I know, it was a short day for me). Never mind that I am the only one who has been buying the food for the household since 2010. Never mind he hadn't even tasted yet. Never mind that he could have gone down around the corner to the men's homeless shelter to eat if he doesn't like what I serve. <br />
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The thing that really bothered me is that I let him take away the enjoyment I had in cooking a healthy, balanced meal. Not too many of these get cooked in my house unless I am the one doing it. And I really do love to cook. I just let him take me from a small moment of enjoyment in my long, shitty day of working to support him and my children, and make me bitter and hateful and miserable. And then I let his actions make me sit there and try to choke down my healthy food past a lump of hate in my throat. <br />
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I know that alcoholics are incapable of feeling gratitude and that asking an alcoholic for love/support/acceptance is like going to the hardware store for a loaf of bread. I know that expecting - even for a second - that an alcoholic could meet any emotional need I have is setting myself up for disappointment and failure. YET I still let it make me angry. <br />
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In this situation, I let him short-circuit my escape. It's almost as if my greatest need can be answered by an emotion-Tardis (for all you Dr Who fans out there), and he - and others - keep fucking with the wiring and software. <br />
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I mistakenly thought that someone would have gratitude that after 13 hours of working to support everyone, an hour of cleaning up after everyone and cooking, that I was making them dinner. My grave error. My fault for having an expectation for gratitude, or at least acceptance (and quiet). <br />
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Reading. <br />
Another escape I love is reading. I don't get to do it near enough. When all my other responsibilities at work, home and with the kids are done, there is nothing left of my energy to do it. I am going to try to read a book that I have not gotten past the introduction for two weeks because of work. <br />
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Interruptions also keep me from my escape of reading. I get interrupted to be asked to perform repugnant tasks, answer work calls, answer other calls, fork over money for cigarettes for the alcoholic/canned dog food for the dog/social life (movies, dinner with friends, etc.) for the 17 year old/school events for the 7 year old/reminders that my bills are all due and shut off of utilities from my mother (who cannot fathom why I can't take care of a household of 5, work 65-90 hours a week, and financially support it all on a salary that comes out to minimum wage when you do the math), or look at something on facebook with a laptop thrust in my face. <br />
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Massage. <br />
I have been able to afford 2 massages in the last 10 years. But I love it. It really helps the fibromyalgia, and if I could get massage regularly I think I would feel better. <br />
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Al-Anon meetings. <br />
I try to get to as many as I can. It's hard, because they are at 6:30PM on weeknights and usually I am still going strong at work at 6:30PM, especially if I started work any later than 4AM. (My days are scheduled where I try to do paperwork, emails and scheduling between 4AM and 7AM, take calls and work in office or in the 10 counties our company spans now from 7AM to 7PM, and then do emails and paperwork from 7PM to 10PM or 12AM.) <br />
Sometimes I feel like I am dragging a 1000 pound ball and chain with me up those stairs and then trying to saw through the chain for a hour in the meeting. Sometimes a few links fall off, but the weight is never entirely gone. It is lighter for a little while - sometimes hours, sometimes just a few minutes, depending on what text messages, emails and phone calls my phone has received during that hour while I was trying to escape. Most of them include a chastisement or haranguing for not being immediately available when the caller or inquirer contacted me. <br />
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It's funny how everyone thinks every desire they have is a royal emergency. It's also funny that most of their desires are simply desires to not do what they should or what is their responsibility to do. <br />
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Many days I feel like I am surrounded by people who are simply looking to dump their tasks on me, and that my main task is to say, "Grow up and take responsibility for yourself. It IS your job to do your job, or to get a job, and support yourself." <br />
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Simply mystifying for a person like me with an overdeveloped sense of responsibility.<br />
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Which is why I want to escape. Which is what I want to escape from. <br />
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SOOOOOOOOOO.....<br />
I can escape. Just for a moment. If I want the moments to be longer, I let others wait. I don't let their opinions uproot what I know to be true. I don't even give a moment's attention to stupid comments like I heard last night: "Junk food is a matter of opinion." I know in my common-sense, non-alcoholic heart and brain that junk food like snacks and fast food or greasy empty carbs are not a matter or opinion, it's just what the alcoholic wants to eat. I don't worry about other's desires - they are CERTAINLY not concerned ONE IOTA with my mine. I let other people take care of themselves. There are resources out there for them. <br />
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Don't like what I have to offer? Go elsewhere.<br />
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And then, and only then, will I have time to breathe and take care of myself. <br />
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<br />Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-41695587190035812712013-02-02T07:43:00.001-05:002013-02-02T07:44:13.538-05:00Nothing remains as it was. <br />
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<b>“I g</b><b style="background-color: #eeeeee;">ive you this to take with you:</b></div>
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<b style="background-color: #eeeeee;">Nothing remains as it was. If you know this, you can</b></div>
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<b style="background-color: #eeeeee;">begin again, with pure joy in the uprooting.” </b></div>
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<b style="background-color: #eeeeee;">― Judith Minty</b></div>
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Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-53461237573929777452013-02-01T06:32:00.001-05:002013-02-01T06:32:42.802-05:00TdJ: Physical PainThe beauty of the Topic du Jour technique is that there are only thirty topics. So on months, like the last one, that have thirty-one days, the reader is spared the evil kvetch for a day. Alas, February is only 28 days, so the reader gets no such reprieve. However, it will spare the evil of the last two topics, so maybe.... <br />
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Hmmm, physical pain. I've already said so much about this, it seems redundant to go further. <br />
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I am no stranger to physical pain. I have at least two chronic diagnoses that over 90% of other people I have met are on complete disability for. I always get the reaction, "How can you work?" from these people when I admit that I too share their disease. In all actuality, it never ended my mind that I can't work. In the early 1970s, I remember seeing a comical paperback book title: "It's Been Down So Long It Looks Like Its Up To Me." I have no idea where I even saw that book. But I do know that almost 40 years later, that phrase sticks in my mind. (I don't even know what the book was about. I didn't read it. I sight-read signs and the spines of books when I was three and four as my bored English teacher mother was on bed-rest with her pregnancy with my sister and taught me to read as a lark. Hence, I read alot of things I did not really delve into further.) That phrase kind of sums up what life is like in my nuclear family. If I don't do it, it doesn't get done. Occasionally it gets done, but grudgingly and haphazardly. <br />
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So, while I would like to give into the physical pain, or give myself a break at times, I am too much of a worrier and control freak and not willing to be homeless or live in utter filth. Which, without my efforts, no one else is really invested in preventing. I am aware of this. I have no choice but to accept it. As a result, I work through the pain. <br />
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The ripple effects from this are bitterness (Hello? You have read this blog?) and exhausting (ditto) and increased pain. I have aged 25 to 30 years in the last 10 years. And basically little concern for my own self-care. Simply put, I am too exhausted/bitter to do the things I know I need to do to take care of myself. If no one care enough to help me, why should I bother? And of course, on any given day, I have at least 50 other people demanding my attention, diverting it from any type of need I personally may have. <br />
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Compassion fatigue coupled with physical pain. Wow, I may have found the cure for codependency. <br />
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Or not. <br />
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(image from http://talking2mymoon.wordpress.com/</div>
Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550550957168614114.post-35214106625670184022013-01-30T06:15:00.000-05:002013-01-30T06:15:05.573-05:00TdJ: TravelFor someone who has never been anywhere, I am obsessed with travel. I often fantasize that "some day" I will have a chance to go where I want to go and the list goes on and on. <br />
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My top choice is Ireland. My mother's father's family is from Ireland, departure points from Dublin to the US in the years spanning 1850-1870. <br />
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Insomnia, wanderlust and a subscription to Ancestry.com can be a dangerous thing. <br />
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I am not sure what I expect if I were ever able to get to Ireland. Having a friend who lives there now, I do know that I would get health care when I needed it. I know the country is also having an economic crisis. And that I probably wouldn't make a living wage with my educational background there either. At this point, air fare and lack of energy are still the only reasons I don't pack up and move there. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpMC0EskrScB6djOFbbEgdIEgJE4aWltZf2Y2DmT_PNZEtWnZ2Crio_xBrcMhb7T3oV4NlakcppzAFzDLyz_ezS2pAWqADnRsHx7o0OWlv5orG9K7SE0r6K6LXicfNGNIg7CKh2FSV7WGV/s1600/Wicklow-Mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpMC0EskrScB6djOFbbEgdIEgJE4aWltZf2Y2DmT_PNZEtWnZ2Crio_xBrcMhb7T3oV4NlakcppzAFzDLyz_ezS2pAWqADnRsHx7o0OWlv5orG9K7SE0r6K6LXicfNGNIg7CKh2FSV7WGV/s640/Wicklow-Mountains.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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(this image of Wicklow Mountains from Ireland Chauffeur website) </div>
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Another place I dearly want to go is Jamaica. When it was younger I just wanted to go for the spliffies, mon. And then I started doing some research into the culture there and Rastafarianism. No, I am not Rasta, mon. But every friend I have ever known who has vacationed there loved it. Also pretty sure I could not make a living wage there doing what I do. Alas. But I do believe the overall climate is warmer and there would be way more access to the coast (and hopefully easier breathing) for me. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkuRu8z3Yw-hXWDohDEME81hi_GzFU2VuX26tFFMmVO4IgRAABOMyi7BfjFB3QcJXfbOEfm74AZ9tADNhO_Kmmsud5V41EV7NtO5FVTd2pn3P0Y-DemdC8BzTJq3rI9eIjSwtswK6ecbwH/s1600/Jamaica-Sommerset-Waterfall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkuRu8z3Yw-hXWDohDEME81hi_GzFU2VuX26tFFMmVO4IgRAABOMyi7BfjFB3QcJXfbOEfm74AZ9tADNhO_Kmmsud5V41EV7NtO5FVTd2pn3P0Y-DemdC8BzTJq3rI9eIjSwtswK6ecbwH/s640/Jamaica-Sommerset-Waterfall.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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(this image from http://wandermelon.com/2010/05/27/jamaica-violence-escalates-in-kingston/ and courtesy of Jamaica Tourism) </div>
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I think that the urge to travel is part escapism and part thirst for new sights and experiences. Workaday world can be awfully landlocked, both mentally and emotionally. Travel signifies for me the ability to get a break from all the daily demands of the average of 100 people at work and the family that depends of me for everything. Given the chance to travel "some day," I might be able to reinvent myself into someone who actually enjoys life for a few days. </div>
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Some people I know enjoy travel. Some see it as a chore. I can understand that it could be tiring. I have friends who fly across the country to see their families a couple of times a year and I can see that it wears their kids out. </div>
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An aside: My 17 year old pointed out to me last week that she had never been on a plane. She was very accusatory, and stated that I would not let her go anywhere or enjoy anything. It breaks my heart to know that this is true - financially I have never been able to take her anywhere or go anywhere. I know the resentment that builds from being tied down to oppressive burdens of responsibility. (Just take a look at my daily life.) When I was her age, I graduated from high school and wanted to travel so much, but my mother chose my college (telling family members if it was good enough for her, it was good enough for me, even though it did not offer any of my top 5 career interests in majors and I had at least partial scholarships to a couple of good [Vanderbilt and Duke] schools). Thus my downward spiral began. I have told my daughter that if she can make the money work, she can go to an out of state school. My parents did not pay one cent of my college education, so I really hate to do that to her. However, the Republicans refused to sign the bill which would have saved them from capitalized on my student loan interest that had already been capitalized, so the $79,000 I borrowed for my Bachelors and Masters degrees has now been made into $127,000 and will be over $140,000 soon. So there is no way I can sign on for her student loans too. If I live, I will be paying on my own until I am between 80 and 85. Since I have no retirement and no health insurance, I am hoping I don't live that long. What a conundrum. I want to live long enough to see my children grow up but not long enough to pay my student loans or have to be put in a pauper's nursing home. </div>
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Then there is the ultimate travel. I would love to go tramping about this planet. I actually hunger to do so. But the only trip any of us is guaranteed is the Underworld. I think this is why I am so drawn to reading about different forms of spirituality. When I was younger I was afraid of death and dreaded it like I was running up the down escalator. Now I can think about passing through into another destination. There's too many Books of the Dead that illustrate it. Even if it all myth, it can be my myth, until it ceases to matter. </div>
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<br />Terre Brothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03710143418912568382noreply@blogger.com0