Conditioning

I have been with people, friends, family etc, every weekend pretty much continually for the last four or more weekends. It has been wonderful! But there is something negative that I had forgotten about when you are around people so much. You start to feel alone, when you are alone.
I know that sounds redundant. But I prior to this month of visitation I was a girl perfectly happy to go to the movies, dinner, shopping or what have you alone. And now I very nearly needed someone to accompany me on a shopping expedition this last Saturday. It was a close call... and even though I shopped alone, I must confess I met a girlfriend from work for dinner.
But it was Sunday, after church, when I realized that I had almost started to regress to a time when I had first moved to Eagle Lake. I remember that long journey conditioning myself to like the sound of my own silence. In fact before this last month I had come to rather enjoy my own company.
Sundays after church can be one of the lonliest times for a person. It is a time that for me is very connected to family and friends. All of my life you were supposed to be with people on Sundays. And most of the time I am.
But this past Sunday I found the silence of my little house empty. I had just decided to throw a big pity party for myself when I was reminded of something important. Something gounded in a reality I needed to come to grips with. I don't have to be with people to know I am loved. A large part of my new sense of being an adult comes from this realization and this sense of self-value where one can be loved in absentia... "Ahhh, zis is true" says the little German psychologist in my head.
You should know I am fine. Its just so odd, how you can regress so easily to need something that is honestly not even a real need. Just a comfort or conditioned response to being alone. We people, we're a funny lot.

Saturday Jeans

I have these jeans that I love... they have patches and are so fadded the cuffs are mostly white, the denim is soft and worn, the pocket is missing a snap... They are pretty much the perfect jeans. They are straight legged all the way down. We girls know that in the boot-cut, flar leg, stylized jean fashion extravaganza that is offered a good pair of straight-legged jeans are hard to find. They might be considered a little too long, but to me they are perfection... besides, of course, the old appearance. I wear these jeans on Saturdays, my off day. They say to me come on now get comfy, have a weekend. I love my Saturday jeans.

Waiting...

Long story short, I waited in an airport rental car agency for around 5 hours. It was one of those very 'me' situations and a hell of a long day. Early on in the evening I realized I would be stranded well into the night. I sit down to wait and have this overwhelming need to be rescued, immediately. Not rescued in five hours, not in three, but now. This need was so intense that tears welled in my eyes. I urgently wanted someone to save me from this situation. This need went against all my self-imposed constructs, all that I try to maintain.
I don’t ask for help. My reason’s span a spectrum from distrust and fear to basic pride. I cope. It’s what I do and generally, especially in a crisis, I keep a cool head. It’s only after the immediate threat is vanquished that I scream, yell or emote.
I trust my family, if it is within their power to help me they will. I trust God, I ask him for help all the time. God is there. He answers, listens or comes to me. Always, even if I am unaware or don’t ‘feel’ it. I trust in that. With other people, even friends, there is this fear. Fear that the answer to my request for help will be a portal into the way they value me. Am I a priority? Do I count? Would you make time to be there for me? Maybe, maybe not. To protect myself I unconsciously constructed these rules: Go to family first. Weigh all possible outcomes. Don’t ask for help when you aren’t sure of the outcome. Make sure that when you do ask, that the situation doesn’t sound as dire as it is. Don’t ask for help from people you know well. Even then "ASK" has a little red caution sign attached that reads "at your own risk."
When, for various reasons, I couldn’t find anyone to pick me up, my constructs did me no good. They fell away and to my horror I realized that they were actually hiding me not protecting me. I saw that I wanted something very basic. Something, in fact, very cliché. I wanted another person to see me as valuable. And here, in my time of vulnerability, disappointment and strandedness, I wanted that value to outrank obligations, commitments and distance.
Hours later I was picked up by a good friend of mine. The next day I kicked caution to the curb and went on my road trip anyway. On the way I re-examined my waiting experience. I admitted. I want what poets and Kings and farmers and wanderers have wanted for centuries. And it scares the hell out of me to admit it. But it frees me, too.

Hop as light...

Wednesday, April 19, 2006
I was tired tonight. I sat out in the backyard. I saw lightening bugs. I watched them dance in the grass and in low tree limbs. It made me think of A Midsummer Nights Dream...

Through the house give gathering light,
By the dead and drowsy fire:
Every elf and fairy sprite
Hop as light as bird from brier;
And this ditty, after me,
Sing, and dance it trippingly.

There is something quieting, something reassuring, in those dancing lights. They produce a lulling melody without notes.

Louder, louder please

DAMN IT! Damn it! Damn it!!

Sometimes saying it alone in my room isn't enough...this is better, but I wish it were louder.

no smile for you...

Since when is being polite code for "hey I want you to leer at me and call be baby!!!"
I was at the gas station buying a soda and I walk in front of this harmless looking man who bends down to get a bag of chips just as I cross in front of him. I almost run into him, stoping short cutting off his reach to the chips. I smile and politely say "sorry." He then leers at me and says [I kid you not] "No problem, baby" in this oily voice. I was so mad! I also felt a little violated.
I hate being called baby, no matter who does it. I can count on one hand how many times its happened, but it never sounds like an endearment. It either sounds belittleing or whiny. The other thing that made me mad was that I couldn't tell from just looking that this guy was one of "those" guys. The kind that leer, etc.
I'd really like men to have to wear t-shirts or badges that let you know exactly who they are. Something like: If you make eye contact, I will think you're into me. Or Hi I'm a nice guy, if your polite so am I. Or maybe even, I'm unavailable. Or If I were a cartoon I'd be a snake with some big gold bling hanging around my neck... I don't know... something.
This guy looked normal in work coveralls, so unsuspecting but he was a sleezoid. The rest of the day I felt like I wanted to walk around with my head down and not making eye contact for fear someone else would think I'm giving them an invitation to call me 'baby' making my skin crawl.
"Baby, baby, baby.... ugh!!"

Disclaimer: Sometimes I overreact to the mundane or the simply unimportant. I believe its called being obsessive ;>

Funny me...

Ok yesterday my friend Chris and I were talking birthdays. Mine is the next in line, and its July 21st. So I started thinking ok I will be twenty-six this year... "la dee da" I go merrily on my way. Then I see my age on my blog thingy and realize I will be twenty-seven this year!! Ok, I know its not really momentus, but its so funny, so very me.
I usually go ahead and say I'm the next age up after Christmas time. But this year I only thought I had done that... so now I'm all a muddle. Good thing I have a blog so I can keep track of how old I am!!
Well at least this year I don't feel like I'm going nowhere fast. In fact I feel twenty-seven and I like it... go figure. I just hope I can remember how old I am until July...

Another me scenario, after work on Wednesday I decide to drive to Columbus before church. I leave my mom a message and then put my cell phone on the seat next to me. On the way a gravel truck in front of me decides to turn and I put on the breaks (ok, I break hard, I was speeding). That's when my cell phone slides off the seat of the truck into a big glass of iced tea in my cup holder. I, of course, don't notice. I drive to Columbus and run my erands. Then I realize Mom hasn't called me back. That's when I find my phone bathing in my tea. I laugh very hard for a while, and remember that I can go get another phone in town. But wait! All my numbers are lost!! I am not the kind of girl who writes them down, I just enter them into my phone. Now I alternate between laughter and anger. So I head over to the CellONE office and redeem my free phone upgrade that I turned down two weeks ago via telemarketer. And reenter as many numbers as I can for the next couple of days...

A note for all you readers out there: When you make your phone list on your cell and save the number, you are not saving it to your SIM card, which is the harddrive of your phone. You are just saving to your phone's memory. You have to manually save each number to your SIM if you want to really save them, then your SIM can go to each new phone you have. Because even tea doesn't corrupt your SIM. Lesson learned!