Just when you thought it was safe to crack open the Kindle (TM)

I have spent the last day or so downloading some good reading on the Kindle.

I have a love-hate relationship with the damned thing. On the one hand, I love the fact that at least 40% of the books I have on it are in public domain, so they were classics, and free. WIth the old BA in English Literature, people often forget that I am literate... or at least have pretty diverse reading tastes. And when you are supporting two children, a husband and a dog single-handedly, you don't have alot - or sometimes ANY - disposable income. So the public domain works on Kindle amuse me greatly.

I also love the Kindle for when I really want a new expensive book and I can get it on the Kindle for half that amount (not always, but often enough that I am still enthused). For example, in the past month, amazon and their Kindle allowed me to get the latest Jennifer Egan novel and Tina Fey's memoir (still reading Egan, downloaded Goon Squad this evening, Bossypantsis a solid C+).

Yet I am still old school. I love the feel of a book in my hand, the ability to -GASP - write or underline my favorite parts at will (and yes, I am aware of and do use the highlighting function of Kindle. I just don't give a shit what other people found fascinating - embracing my inner autism spectrum). I like the heft and smell of a book in my hand. Well, not that dusty, moldy, silverfished disintegrating one...aaaaa-chooo! I even like the look of all those damn books on my shelves. Yes, the very shelves that make me look like a hoarder.

Scary, huh? Keep in mind that this only ONE side of the "library" (i.e., small bedroom that I have dedicated to my books). I love my books, but they are numerous.

Which brings me to my final hate for the Kindle.
I read.
Alot.
Hours a day, when I can. While others watch television, eat and interact in society, I read.
While others form relationships, I read. (No thanks, yuck.)
While others do things like have a life, and vacations (a word I hear used and see in print but never actually experience, unless I am unemployed), I read.
Hell, I don't even knit anymore. Reading is a jealous mistress.

Apparently the Kindle battery cannot keep up with me. It actually has to be charged! Well, not that often. But inevitably, when I am in the middle of reading something on the damned thing that I don't want to put down.

Yes, I am aware I can read on my MacBook and my iPhone - and I do. In fact, I tally this capability under "The Reasons I Love My Kindle." But the iPhone is smaller than a book. And the MacBook (despite its jaunty name) is larger than a book (well, a book I want to schlep around with me to the john and kitchen and car). And the Kindle, while not a book, and a bit heavier than the average trade paperback, simulates a book. Somewhat. Especially when tarted up in a purple skin and ensconced in a purple case, such as this.


I could continue reading on my the Kindle's soft gray screen - which sometimes comforts me and sometimes maddens me - or I could continue blithely on using the MacBook or iPhone. I could even tether myself to the wall while the damned thing is charging and keep on truckin'.

Or I could get really scandalous and resort to my back-up plan. It's wild and dangerous, but so worth it.

I could read this:

I like to live dangerously. And it is one of the last 2 works of Neil Gaiman I have not read.
Yes, a walk on the wild side.

Namaste.... I see you in me.

Tonight I went to a Step meeting on Step 7.

Tonight I bitched, and then I shut up and listened. I was given the gift of perspective by someone who has been in this program for a hell of alot longer than I have, and it was just that. A gift.

Tonight I felt that when that same person asked for something that she needed, I needed to give that gift back.

This is how the world works. Not how it should work, but how it truly does.

To see it any other way means we are just kidding ourselves.

Let's try to give a gift back today.

Love and gratitude

I am the mother of teenager.

That is probably not the sentence one would expect as an opening for a blog post titled "Love and gratitude, " especially from me, who despises teenagers and all of their ilk.

But I do love my daughter. I love both my daughters. Both of them are basically awesome and interesting. I suspect I might like them even if I did not give birth to them.

It's been a rough few weeks. And I have basically been crawling home each night and feeling like crawling under a big rock when I see that the kitchen is filthy, and everyone is looking at me to come up with some great meal to wow them and fill their stomachs. It's been rough. And it has exhausted me.

Tonight I came home and the kitchen was clean. The dishes were done. And dinner was on the stove.

After I checked to make sure that I was in the right house, I went in and thanked my daughter.

Chloe made a delicious meal of grilled Creole chicken, macaroni and cheese, and green beans. And the kitchen was clean.

After dinner, I washed the dinner dishes. And I came into my bedroom and sat down. And breathed.

I am thankful I have a daughter who can make me understand love. I am not a perfect mother. I am not even off work and home enough to be a decent mother.

But I do love my daughters.

And I am thankful for them both. And the kitchen is clean.

Independence and interdependence

This is going to be a purposefully vague post, as I am not sure how comfortable I am writing about certain recent events. Quite frankly, I am a bit tired of thinking about and talking about and dwelling on recent events, and really would just like to rewrite the history of the past week. Since this is impossible, I blather on....

Today is the 4th of July, a civic holiday here in the U.S. which commemorates the signing of the Declaration of Independence in 1776. It's a heavy holiday, very symbolic. However, I just read a report that states a large percentage of Americans don't really know what it is even about. They know the bunting and the fireworks, and the day off work. But not much beyond that. Kinda sad, as I used to say.

I do not consider myself much of a patriot. The last presidential administration made this tantamount to godlessness, and yet I don't embrace that ideology. I do not consider myself a patriot, partially because I don't want to be that Ugly American that was so successfully celebrated by that administration. I also don't want to consider myself the center of the universe in some short-sighted, idiotic way. However, I did take offense when that administration played fast and loose with civil rights, and when the yes-men of that ideology now look desperately to blame someone else for the consequences. I don't pretend to know the answers, only the facts of history. And to have lived some of them a little too close to the bone.

Which brings me back to the present moment. The facts are as follows:

1. I survived, as I always have, at least up to this point.
and
2. The freedom I want to embrace today is the freedom to be myself and the freedom not to be a victim.

I have worked long and hard to not be a victim of the violence of others, or the stupidity of others. It has been a hard fight at times. And sometimes I get tired of fighting. I get tired of struggling through even when I feel I should be somewhere else, healing my wounds.

Especially when the wounds are real, can be seen and I have to make sarcastic remarks, to laugh instead of to cry.

So Happy 4th from that bitter, godless snarky old bitch. Make your fireworks be bright.

I'll be going to bed early.

Ch-ch-changes... (my apologies to David Bowie)

One thing that can be expected is change. Daily, sometimes even hourly change.

Today I moved into my new office, and by all rights should love it. However, I was kind of content in my smaller office with the view of the capital bridge. Now I look out on the KY History Center, and can see some pretty tall hills beyond. Lots more room, lots more like. Kind of the corner office with a view, if I lived in the corporate world.

There is a part of me though that asks the jaded questions.
First, someone else had to be moved out for me to have this space.
Second, I had finally adjusted all the vents in the old office to just the right angles to provide me with my subzero air conditioning I love so much.
And I was in a rut.
I like ruts.
Not unlike a hog, but that is the topic of another post.

I have hired a RN as an assistant now. She is already stepping up and taking on some work so I can see light at the end of the tunnel. I am giving her the old office - but I will adjust the vents as she is normal and does not like to be kept at cool 62 degrees at all times like I do. This is going to give me some time back. I might even get a day off occasionally. I might get to see what things called "weekends" are that other people talk about.

However, this may also give me time to look at the other things in my life that are not working.

The upside to being a workaholic is that I don't have to look at the rest of the mess called my life.

Today someone made the comment to me that "it is lonely at the top." I never see myself as at the top. Sure, I am the boss at the place where I work, only answering to the owners (who are a couple of counties away, trust my judgement and back me on almost everything). But because I have been so immersed in this work thing, feeling compelled because I have a family to support and my income has been the one to pay the bills for so long, it feels like the bottom. Of a shoe, or a doormat.

It's all about perspective, I suppose.

This, too, shall change.

Expectations

In All-Anon it is said that expectations are premeditated resentments. I am learning this over and over again, and it is a bitter lesson.

Yesterday was my 7th wedding anniversary. I had kept my expectations low. All I really planned was us going to lunch together about a block away from the house. I left open the possibility of going to an early (matinee) movie, because I am low on money. I know that if we were to actually do anything for our anniversary, I would have to be the one to pay for it, because July 3 marks an entire year since he has had any kind of job.

So I moved heaven and earth and had to come up with plans and contingency plans and arrangements out the whazoo to be able to take the afternoon off of work.

I came home to pick him up to go to lunch, and he says he is not hungry, not interested in going to lunch, and not going anywhere. Of course, the 6 year old hears me mention lunch and so she wakes up - yes, he had her sleeping until noon - and I end up taking my 6 year old to our anniversary plans instead of my husband. At lunch I am so resentful and angry, because in my mind he is getting another day of puttering around the house, and now he doesn't even have to be bothered with his own kid.

Then I realize, that was my expectation. And my marriage does not work for me because of my expectations.

I expect my husband to honor basic plans with me like I see other couples do.

I expect my husband to work a job, like I see other husbands do.

I expect to see him apply for a job or look for work in some tangible way. I do not accept that he is "looking for work online," when he won't answer any calls on his phone. I expect someone who is looking for work would use their phone number and accept calls as a call might be a potential employer or job interview.

I expect my husband to fulfill some sort of fatherly role in supporting his child.

I expect him to try to financially support himself in some way.

I expect to have some sort of relationship.

So after lunch, instead of going home and sitting in my room, I got in my car and drove. I took Tara, the 6 year old, with me, as I didn't want to be alone and she is really the only one in the household who wants to be with me even when I don't have much money. We drove and checked out a bookstore cafe about 40 miles from my house a couple of counties away. We walked through the historic downtown there and I watched her enjoy herself. About halfway through the day the husband sends me a text message that says "Don't go back to work." I stayed out with my daughter and had a decent time. I talked to complete strangers at the cafe, and everyone was very nice.

When I got home I went to bed. About 3 hours later the husband stated he would go to supper with me. At this point I was thinking that I could afford lunch, not supper, and that is why I suggested it instead. But we went to a Mexican meal. At the meal he told me he did not know why I was so stressed out about work. I stated that I take my job seriously. He stated he did not know, if I am working a program, "why [I] let people live rent free in [my] head."

I wanted to say :"The same reason why I have let you live rent free in my home for the last year, and for most of the last 7 years, even when you had a job and should have paid some rent."

I said instead - and he interrupted me before I could get it out the first time, but I interrupted him and firmly made my point: "I am not going to listen to any criticism of what I am doing or what program I am working, because I am at least making an effort and doing something, from someone who is not."

We had planned on going to a movie as well. It stared raining pretty heavily during supper and I realized I had no desire to force any more type of facade from this day. I had been disappointed by this situation for far too long already. The day was a wash. And I could not afford, after paying for a lunch that he would not attend, and then supper, to pay for a movie with all the drinks and popcorn then. So we went back home, and I went back to bed.

So I have realized two things from this day:

1. Anything I expect from another human being on this planet most likely will not happen. I cannot ask or trust anyone to do anything I want or need them to do.

2. Others expect far too much of me. If I were to not fulfill their expectations even a small percentage of the time - much as they continue to not fulfill mine - they could probably learn to do for themselves, just as I have. The people at work could probably do their jobs or get fired. The adults in my household would have to work and support themselves or they would be homeless. The children would be less spoiled.

As far as the future? I expect God is working it out, loud and clear.