Farewell to 2016!

What a year! What a freaking year! 2016 will go down as one of the most memorable years for many people, myself included.

Surprisingly the one event I thought would wreck me was turning 40, and it passed okay. Up to the day I was pretty bummed out but once it was here, and I quietly accepted it, it wasn't so bad. In fact I'm happy with 40. I will admit that it still hits me that I'm this old but I realized that I'm so much better now than 39. Each year I think I get better. I feel more seasoned and I unlock more secrets to life that keep me sane.

I'm also at peace with myself. I took a look back over the years, and while there are lots of regrets, I've accepted that it is time to move forward and learn from those mistakes. They still pop up in my mind but I'm okay with them. I can't change them but I can let them rest.

This year has been in turmoil and I've never seen a country so divided. Yes, there are more episodes in history that are far, far greater but this is the first time in my life. I witnessed many historical events from the safety of my couch. I am witnessing a country so divided that we can not even have calm, rational debates. I am witnessing more acts of violence, racism, sexism and division and I don't know how they started or how to overcome them. I am seeing a lot of ugliness over an important election and feel so polarized that it is hard to see things from a different perspective.

What I am frightened most over is a loss of respect. People being hateful and attacking others simply based on political party affiliations. Most elections in the past, at least for me, was a vigorous debate and then acceptance with whomever lost and the knowledge that the couldn't fuck it up too badly. That changed this year when I realized a candidate embraced almost every single trait and running platform that I could not even be reasonable in my dislike over. A man so stupid that he has already broken most of his promises to his own followers and is choosing his advisers that are unfit for the job...may be unfit for any job on the planet that involves the livelihood of anyone.

This was not a good health year. In January I was diagnosed with IIH (Idiopathic Intercranial Hypertension), or also known as Pseudotumor Cerebri. I thought it was typical migraine and vision disturbances. In fact the only way I learned this was through a routine eye examination late December 2015. They thought they saw a mass on my optic nerve. I found out that I had lost a portion of my vision. It was scary and since then I have battled numerous neurologists and optic nerve specialists. It wore me down and I wanted to give up at times. Now I have a new neurologist and neurosurgeon who believe in treatment. Next Wednesday, December 28th I'll have surgery. The neurosurgeon will be putting in a shunt through my skull into my brain, threading it down through to my ear where a device to monitor pressure will be installed (makes it sound like a car stereo ha!) and then tunneling down into my abdominal cavity. I realized yesterday that I didn't ask what the aftereffects will be and how my recovery time will be affected. Guess I need to do that.

In January (the 10th) I'll be under the knife once again but on the opposite end. :) It's a much needed surgery and one that can happen. So far it is slated to be a simple surgery but it might wind up being a little more in-depth.

I reached out to old friends because I was worried about them. Will we continue talking and maybe eventually become comfortable with each other and build a new friendship...I don't know. But I had to reach out. There was something missing in my life and I had to try. Will it happen? I don't know. Will it be easy? Probably not. Will it take time? Absolutely. And if it is not able to happen then there will not be any hard feelings. I love this person enough to respect her decision but also know that we are two individuals that have a stubborn streak a mile long and I know, for myself at least, that I'm a baby out with the bathtub kind of person. But I miss this person and I miss her insights and her support. I miss being a part of something dynamic but also know that venturing forward, if it happens, will be something entirely different. To quote a song: Que Sera Sera

I reached out to another friend and started talking with her again. I had stopped talking with her after a big bruhaha involving parents. And I missed her crazy ass. She is definitely interesting and I wanted to be a part of that craziness again. She is another past friend that pushed me to finishing things and supported me.

What a year! It's been a tough one but I've never wanted to see a year in the rear view mirror quite as badly as this one. Let's hope that 2017 is far better!

Oh...and my mom remarried. Weird being 40 and gaining a step-father. I see how kids have it when there is a new love involving a parent.

So let's toast and ring in the next 365 days. Hopefully it cannot be worse!

Later Kats and Kittens

This Little Thing Called Life

It has been a while my Kats and Kittens. I've been working on my other blog Every Day Beauty - Be the Beauty in the Mirror. If you haven't seen it, check it out.

This is the type of article that is not for that one though.

A year or so ago I reached out to a former friend to find resolution to ending our friendship abruptly. I had walked away almost 6 months or so ago prior, putting myself first. Then after a lot of  internal strife, I reached out to explain why and to let myself get closure.

The conversation was civil, I had no intention of delving back in, and we parted ways. It was cathartic.

When it comes to ending things, I tend to ghost. I check out before thoughtfully reaching out and reviewing my choice logically and without emotion factoring in and let me tell you, that is the hardest thing anyone can do. We, as a species, rely on emotion to color a situation. Some use it wisely and some not so wisely.

The ending of that friendship was devastating to me in ways I did not see at the time but have come home since. I can't count the number of times I have had something arise and my first instinct was to talk to her. But I knew that would never happen. It still surprised in each time it did.

I sometimes wonder how she is and I realize where we both took wrong turns. I think about our plans to retire on the beach together with all of our pets. When I see anything Steel Magnolia, I'm reminded that I had always planned on being Weezer.

This sounds incredibly maudlin, doesn't it? It shouldn't be because this is fond remembrance. We had many, many talks that lasted hours. We were always just a text away. And then distance, ego and sheer hardheadedness popped up.

So why, now, am I posting this?

To tell you how a decision that seemed so "right" at that time is not always the "right" thing to do. Sometimes emotion needs to be addressed and compromises given. That comes from the Leadership course I have been taking through University of Michigan. It has opened up my eyes to many things a leader should do.

A leader has to be impartial but also vested. A leader needs to know her reservation price and the BATNA (Best Alternative to a Negotiated Agreement) and what should be revealed and what should not. You have to know how to bring people together to achieve greatness both within the group and within yourself.

Just plug in friendship to all of the "leader" pronouns.

In the end, and what I hope you take from this is that nothing is as it seems. You have to be patient, logical but also allow yourself room for negotiation. Life is all about negotiation. A year ago I knew that I could never resume, and renew, that friendship. Today I know that while it couldn't be renewed, it could be started over. There doesn't always need to be an ending. Maybe it was a pause. Maybe the  issue was stuck and it needed to be turned off and then back on. I don't know. All I do know is that there will always be times I want to tell her something and then pause and frown and then go on.

We would have had an anniversary this year. 12 years of almost daily communication. Happy Cingular Day to you Kat, and I'm always just a phone, text or email away.

This is 40?

This is 40?

Technically I have 1 day to go but who’s counting right? Heaven knows I’m not. It’s not like it isn’t like it is 17 hours and 54 minutes. 40 is just a number. It’s just a number.

Why do people say that? 18 was just a number but we celebrate it. It is the entrance into adulthood. You get to vote. You become responsible for your own actions legally. 21 is just a number but it’s the number on your license that allows you into bars and allows you to purchase those taste libations that make the end of the day so much sweeter.

When you look down at the scale and see your weight, those are just numbers, right? Yet society places a huge (ignore the pun) emphasis on that number. In fact your worth as a person can blindly be judged by that number.

How many sexual partners you’ve acquired over the years is just a number. The number of marriages/divorces and relationships are all just numbers. The numbers of offspring are all just numbers but society keeps track. And all of them are held accountable and we are measured against them. Yet when a woman bemoans turning 40, everyone says, “It’s just a number.”

I had to handwrite this blog out first yesterday because I have to limit the time I stare at a computer screen. My eyesight sucks and it hurts. IIH is definitely taking a toll on my body. It’s rare and as such you have to be your own advocate and educate doctors who may not know about the disorder. I absolutely hate that it has slowed me down. It’s a pain in the ass. Not literally, because the pain is behind the eyes and in my head. Ha! I kill me.

Life throws a lot of curve ball and at times it seems as if I’ve left my bat in the dugout. I get tagged over and over. I’m not going to lie. In recent months I’ve gotten low. Really low. Probably lower than I have ever been and that old familiar demon has reared its ugly head and drags me under. Each day it is a struggle to break the surface and paste on a smile. I find myself cocooned in solitude and I have no one but that insidious being. The people I want and need the most are thousands of miles away and I reach for the phone but stop because I feel like a burden.

That’s how depression drowns people. The anxiety side makes you fearful of reaching out. You worry about EVERYTHING. No matter how inconsequential it might seem to someone else, anxiety blows it up. The absolute worst thing to say someone with anxiety would be, “Calm down, it is no big deal.” It is always a big deal. Every hushed conversation is about us and it is always negative. Every shut door is about us and it is about how bad we are at something.

But c’est la vie. That is life. Que sera sera.  At the end of the day we all have our own demons. We are all fighting our own battles. All we have is our wits and each other to cling to and support.

So as that clock ticks closer to 40 I’ll have moments of despair where I evaluate my position on the field of life. I’ll take stock of everything I’ve been through and where the next 50 years will take me and at the end of the day I can say this with all certainty. I love myself much more now than I did at 18, 21 or even 30.

I like who I am. I have a lot of scars, inside and outside, that tell stories of what I have been through. All the lessons I’ve learned over 40 years reside within me and some have actually stuck and I have remembered them so as to not repeat them. I’m kind. I’m funny. I’m very empathetic. I’m smart and witty. I’m beautiful inside and out.

Yeah that number on the scale needs to creep downward alongside with the number on the tape measure around my waist but it, like my mind, is always a work in progress.

The number of friends in my life may be less this year but the ones in it are the ones that I know are meant to be. They are the ones that have been there through thick and thin and are worth their weight in gold. So welcome 40. Let’s see what adventures await us!

Love, Life and Losing a pet: Professor Chaos

UPDATE 10/1/2015


Last night we had to make the very hard decision to let Chaos go peacefully. I came home from work and it was very obvious that the disease had progressed extremely rapidly. The neurological signs were present. She wasn't in pain but she was not herself. Making that decision wasn't for us...it was for her. We were with her until the end. I will always love her.


Last night I had a dream that brought incredible comfort to me. I was there in the vet's office crying over her. She was ragged and thin. My dad appeared above me. He was the fat, happy Stan the Man dressed in his overalls with a red t-shirt. He had a toothpick in his mouth. He said, "Red...you know I don't usually do cats. But I'll take good care of her for ya."
He reached down and picked her up. As he did, she changed from the sickly kitty into the ferocious, bitchy Chaos who ruled our lives.
Then they were walking down the gravel road off at the house back home. Leroy and Jack were on his left jumping and prancing to his left and she was on his right just prancing. She looked back with that saucy grin. Her coat was thick and full. She was all filled out. Dad did the Stan wave and they went off.
My heart filled with joy and I slept. I'm still sad and lonely but I know he's got her.

Professor Chaos –

I am going to admit, first and foremost, that there is no way I’m going to get through writing this without a bare minimum of twelve tissues. I’ve been a crying wreck since yesterday. An absolute crying disaster because I do not cry prettily, I’m not a dainty sniffler. I’m not a dew eyed waif gently dabbing at the corner of her eye as she sighs. No, I’m a wracking sobber who blows out gobs of snot and has red eyes swollen shut. I blast my emotions on high volume normally and with grief I ratchet that bitch up to a 100.

Professor Chaos is dying. Okay you melodramatic asses, everyone is dying and we have been doing so since we first drew breath from our mother’s womb. I mean she is dying of a disease. She was diagnosed yesterday with Feline Infectious Peritonitis. It’s a coronary virus that is surprisingly common but is not commonly active. There are two forms, wet and dry. Wet has a shelf life of about 3-5 days when it becomes “active” because it involves an effusion of fluid in the abdomen and chest cavity. Essentially the cat cannot breathe and smothers.

In the dry form the cat has a host of other symptoms and will eventually develop the wet form or will develop neurologic problems. It can take time though. Once diagnosed, the disease may progress between weeks or it may take a year since the symptoms are quite vague. The waiting game is horrible.

I hate the waiting game. I hate that I love this cat so much. I hate that I have to be the one to force food down her every night and that she looks at me as the bad guy for forcing medicine into her. I don’t get to be the cuddle one. I have to clean her face up from the nutritional paste and try not to think about how much I’m going to miss her.

I want to delete every single picture of her and pretend that I hate her. I want to look at my bank account and get mad at all the vet bills and think about how expensive all these treatments and visits are and how it is impacting our lives. I want to hate her. I want her to turn up her nose at me and go to Dave for petting. I don’t want to see how cute she is and I don’t want to feel how much my heart breaks at the thought of her not being on my bed acting like a little Arctic Fox pounding at her toy moving under the covers.

I want to banish every bit of light that kitty ever brought to my life. I want to forget that she is my first kitten that I loved. I hate that she is ripping me apart. I hate that a 6lb kitten has taken my heart and that when she dies, that piece is going to be gone. I hate that. I want to hate her and I can’t and that sucks.

Is this like losing a loved one? No it is not. Losing a pet is incredibly different. It is a different kind of pain. I can see people around me today at work looking at me with this look on their faces. A look that says, “What’s the big deal? It’s just a cat.” No. She is not JUST a cat. She is MY cat. Some people can be pet owners and have a pet. I’m not a pet owner. She is my family, just a furrier member of my family, so yeah…it is a big deal to me.

Will I recover from this? Yes, because that is what we do with life. But I have a long road ahead with lots of sadness. This illness can be brutal. It can be quick or it can be lengthy. All I can do is pray that she never suffers and that I can make sure she is taken care of and pampered.

I wish I could hate her. It would make this easier. But I don’t. I love this little kitty. I love that she is bitchy. I love that she never wakes up pretty. I love that she looks ratchet quite often. I love her. When she is gone I will continue to love her. I don’t know if I’ll ever have another cat. I can’t think of that right now because all of my love is focused on her. So I’ll continue to feed her every night. I’ll wash her face like a momma cat and I’ll give her medicines and bundle her up. And I’ll pray for a miracle.

 

Respect! R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Respect

 

Hello there kats and kittens it is me, your brave and fearless leader back to let you know that I am alive and well. Well and alive. The birthday month has been progressing quite nicely…okay…so not as nicely as I wished but you can’t have it all.

Today’s topic is Respect. It is one you should know all about if you are above the collective age of 18. I tend to not concentrate much time beneath that age simply due to the fact that it isn’t a very common trait to possess. As you age, you should wear respect like a badge of honor every single day. First the deodorant goes on and then you layer on the respect.

Simple.

 

But wait…you knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, now didn’t you? Respect is a tricky little beast. You give respect but do you get it in return?

My parents, especially my father, really impressed upon me, and my sisters, the fundamental right of respect being given to elders. I still keep that mantra close to my heart. I am not the type of person who insists that respect be earned first. That is simply not how it is done. Nothing pisses me off more than to hear some worthless curmudgeon and slattern insist that: You want my respect…gotta earn it. And I cannot even go into the depths of irritation when I see a teenager actively disrespecting others.

Forget that jazz. That is NOT how it goes. It works on the same premise as a smile. Don’t see a smile on someone else’s face? Then give them yours.

See how easy that was. Yep easy as pie.

But wait… it really doesn’t end there. No, for the bargain price of a few more minutes of your time I am going to let you in on something I have recently learned!

You have to command respect. And you have to do it far more often of people who should readily give it to you but far too often do not. Your friends, and or family, can often be the ones that respect you the least.

I get that the world is crazy and our time is spread thin. We all suffer from time constraints in some way. But I had to recently learn, the very hard way, that I was not being respected. At all. And it was by someone who I loved dearly. I still love her but I had to walk away from a friendship more than a decade long. I couldn’t allow myself to be treated so badly. I was investing time in a friendship that was not being returned and to be honest…it hadn’t been returned, or returned well, in  several years.

But I didn’t respect myself enough to walk away. I kept allowing excuses like: “I’m such a horrible friend”, or the popular, “I suck” to reel me back. It. HURT.

It hurt a LOT. I would call and there would be no return call. (I can call my insurance company and at least they return a call. )

I would text. And it would go days before a response. I am bothered by the no return call but it isn’t as bad as the not replying to a text! Come on…wtf…a text can be read or sent any time of the day!

So I sat down with myself, talked to my sister and realized that respect was missing from my life. Sasha brought up the fact that I, generally, take quite a long time before someone runs out of chances with me. And she is right. I tend to give people I like quite a lot of leeway. But I’m too old to keep doing that. Some things have to be nipped and not receiving respect is the big one that I am no longer ignoring.

I was not being respected and I was not respecting myself enough to walk away.

And so, with a heavy heart and an equally heavy soul, I walked away. I didn’t try one final outreach. I didn’t try one final text. I didn’t try one final message. I just walked away.

 It was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. It hurt.

And then I realized things really hadn’t changed much because I had been disrespected for so long that the silence meant nothing. Somewhere along the line I had become a last resort of sorts. I was only needed on this person’s time and never on mine. I would get the call and/or text when she needed to talk about something. The only time I was outreached OTHER than that was if she thought there was something wrong in my life like marital problems etc.

Do you know what the real problem was? Respect.

Ask me if I miss her. Yes.

Ask me if I want things back like they were. NO! I can’t and I won’t.

The excuses and the passive aggressive statements? Nah…I’m good.

Let me give YOU some advice. Respect yourself. Respect others. Treat your friends like they matter.

If someone takes the time to call you then you should CALL THEM BACK.

Do not be a douche bag and do NOT ever use the excuse, “I’m a horrible friend/person” because you know what? If you do that then it is a self fulfilling prophecy.

The moral of this story is to wear respect each and every day. Remember that politeness, charm and respect are all wonderful accessories that make you stand out among the crowd. Wear them proudly!

Free At Last

Media Justice

 

Hello my kats and kittens! It has once again been a while since I last posted a truly profound blog (and profound is just my way of thinking that I'm important to you and you view me with respect) about anything that flitters through my mind at that particular time. This post is a little bit different and it has weighed heavily on my mind for weeks. Please bear with me if I ramble.

It should come as no shocker that I am a fan of writing. I love it in any form. Meme’s, texts, emails, blogs and articles. It is a fantastic medium and a bastion of communication. However…I’m truly jaded by the media. In any form.

Let me explain and then I will get into the nitty gritty of our conversation. We are having a conversation, right? You with me? Good.

In my lifetime to date I have witnessed the death of true journalism. Journalism itself is a truly remarkable thing to read about and I have graciously provided you a link so you might peruse it yourself. The start of journalism, and the subsequent evolution into realism, was to create a medium of communicating facts, verifying these facts and using objective methods. The problem that revealed itself over time was that writers will always be biased in some form. It is human nature.

The problem I have with media today is the demise of any form of objectivity and the birth of “sensationalist journalism.” Wading through articles, even accredited news reports and not simply the fly by night websites, is that bias has completely overtaken journalism. If I were to point out one specific nature of these hostile takeovers is the use of adjectives, adverbs and pronouns.

So far in this blog I have intentionally used certain words to lead you towards a feeling. And that feeling, that I have hopefully accomplished, is that of a gloom cast over media.

You should know me by now so it should come as no real shock that I am targeting a few specific examples of truly biased media reporting that has made complicated situations even more difficult to have enough information and simple facts.

I’ve purposely steered clear of posting anything to do with the Ferguson case. It is a complicated, convoluted and twisted example of a situation where wording can change the entire light of a very divided issue.

I don’t know if Wilson acted in self defense. I don’t know if Brown was innocent of struggling or assaulting a police officer. As a thinking adult I should have an opinion about the case. When racial inequality, or a controversial death, issues are presented then you MUST find an opinion about at least some aspect of the case. It is imperative that you do because that is where we begin open dialogue to make positive changes to our society.

My problem with finding that middle ground so I can begin forming a cohesive opinion is that the adjectives, adverbs and pronouns thrown around by “journalists” are simply thrown in to make readers, listeners or watchers completely biased.

Let me provide you with an example:

The child was murdered in an unprovoked attack. The white police officer gunned down the  black teenager as he tried to comply with the officers demands.

Now let’s look at a different example:

Officer Wilson found himself in a life and death struggle as the suspect, after resisting arrest, reached into the officer’s vehicle in a bid to grab the officer’s weapon.

See the power of wording? It dramatically changes how you and I react to the statements. The words are leading us towards a dramatically unbiased opinion. And that is my problem with the entire racially charged issues where a death has occurred.

I don’t know what happened during that struggle and the subsequent loss of a life. You don’t know it either because we were not there and there has been no article or televised discussion where it has not become a racially divided issue.

Sensationalist journalism has become the norm. Is the Ferguson case a racial case or is it an unprovoked attack (on either party)? It is both. It is a tragic affair that has people of all the colors of the rainbow finding facts that one color racially profiles and suppresses the rights of another color. And that is wrong on so many levels. When we keep labeling ourselves then we can’t identify with others of different identities. We, as a society, have largely lost empathy for others due to a lack of unbiased facts.

Look. I’ve seen so many statistics thrown up on social media, which I know is ironic since I am using social media as a platform for my own view, that twists and turns racially charged incidents and thoughts into a miasma of dividing based on skin color.

What saddens me the most in the current race wars is that we are not making changes in our way of thinking because we are being lead without really examining why we think the way we do. Yes. I know that there are people who claim to see right through the issue into the heart of the matter. But you don’t. I don’t. I want to truly think that as a rational adult I can view a situation without placing a “color” on it and thinking more as a humanitarian but I find myself grappling back into the labeling of a person.

“This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning, "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrims' pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."…” And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"”

 

That is one of the greatest speeches ever written. It is a speech of oppression that leads into the promise that through peaceful demonstration and education, all men (women) will one day be equal in the sights of others.

We can’t do that yet. But I have hope that we one day can throw aside the adjectives, adverbs and general labels that are attached to each and every one of us. Describing our physical looks to another isn’t racism. Racism is judging the character of a man without unbiased information. Racism is denying another person life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness through equality, empathy and understanding.

I’m not naïve. I know that there will always be a dividing line between individuals based on something. But you know what? I can hope. I can try to do my part by showing my daughters that we need to focus on facts and ignore sensationalism.

So I leave you, my dear friends, with my solution. Educate the next generation because we are already biased whether we want to believe it or not. We must force ourselves to leave that bias behind as we teach our children to look past skin color, income level, sex and religion. We must teach our children and future generations to look beyond the past and learn to ignore labeling so that true equality can be gained. We must find some way to set aside our differences so we can become a society of uniqueness and empathy for all humankind. Then we can cry out, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty (or whatever you believe in), we are free at last!”

Masks, Monkeys and Throwing a Frake

For the first time in my life I’m struggling to write what I am feeling. This is the fifth time I have started to write and it seems as if each version gets erased. I desperately want to let everything inside me out onto paper and yet…I falter. I read the words and it isn’t what I want to say. So let’s try again.

Life has walloped me lately. It has not been anything big. But it is a lot of little things that have just added up and I crashed this week. I crashed hard.

Let’s take it back a few steps. By now you know that I’m pretty much an open book. It is just how I have to operate. I spent a large portion of my life hiding behind masks and I had to learn how to live without them because they were killing me. They were smothering anything that was ME behind a façade that was not me. I had a smile on my face and a crack running straight down through me. So now I have to be an open book. It works for me. I am very transparent. If I’m upset then you definitely know it. But I try my best to be happy and positive. For the last 10 months that has been my focus in life. Some days are more successful than others.

Fall is a difficult time of year for me. I’m coming up on the anniversary of my dad’s death and sometimes I feel guilty. For the first year I thought of him every single day without fail. And then I started to have days when I didn’t think of him and cry. I remembered things that made me smile. I have never stopped missing him. I’ve never stopped wanting to hear him call me “Red” but some days pass and I haven’t thought about him. And then I feel guilty. But the truth is that life goes on. It moves on. If we continue to dwell on the hard things then our life becomes hard. We stop growing. We stop living. The day we stop reaching for the next is the day that we just stop.

I have been very conflicted for a few weeks. I have so many things happening that at times I feel lost. I have a teenage daughter that spends more time screaming at me than she does anything else. My home has become a battle ground. I don’t know how to communicate with her. I print out therapist advice on communicating and being an enforcer but it never lasts. It is just one series of battles to the next. I can’t seem to win. I’m not being melodramatic. When your daughter is counting down the months until she can leave…it isn’t good. I cry because I can’t give her everything she wants monetarily. I cry because no matter what I do, I can’t teach her empathy for others. I can’t communicate that she MUST learn the difference between a NEED and a WANT. When we argue she blames me for bringing her to West Linn because it is West Linn that is demanding that she have everything all of her friends have.

I apologize to her for not being able to give her a new car. I apologize to her because I can’t just hand her concert tickets whenever she wants them. I apologize to her because I can’t buy her a brand new laptop simply because she thinks the other laptop is too big. And so when the screaming starts…I become a person I do not like. I yell back. I get tired and cave because I’m tired of the fighting.

No one ever told me that teens can be this way. And ultimately at the end of the day I blame myself. Somewhere along the way I pushed too hard or I didn’t guide her enough. Somewhere along the way she learned how to put up masks. That is what hurts me the most. She wears masks to hide the things that hurt her. A bright smile hides frustration, pain, and unhappiness.

See…that is what happens to us. We put up masks. It took me more than twenty years to learn how to get rid of my masks. How long will it take her?

So besides difficult teens, mourning, frustration at work, and a missing husband, I am also learning how to deal with a mom that is dating.

I kinda feel like a forgotten teen. She doesn’t call. She doesn’t write. She doesn’t text. Ugg…what am I going to do with her? I’m still dealing with those feelings regarding her moving forward with her life. Obviously I love her and I support her decision but I’m anxious. I don’t quite know how to talk about it because it is entirely new ground. I honestly feel like a teen dealing with separation anxiety and worrying that I’ll be lost in the shuffle of someone new.

Realistically I know that my mother loves me but she needs a new direction in her life. She can’t mourn forever and still be healthy. Life does go on. It is hard. It can be difficult but in the end you have to keep reaching forward. I think, with time, my conflicted feelings and general weirdness of the situation will mellow out. For as OCD as I am about rules and putting people into specific boxes with guidelines, I know that in the end I’ll just shrug and throw a Frake because it comes down to one very real thing: not my circus. Not my monkey.

That phrase has guided me intensely over the past 6 months and has given me some distance from problems that would have previously had me in a complete meltdown. I’ve forgotten it in the last three weeks but I am going to start writing it down on my hand until it becomes habit again. I really must because if I don’t then I’ll go insane. Way too much on the plate for me to take anything else on.

Boss being a dick? NMC.NMM (Not My Circus. Not My Monkey)

Other people throwing shit my way or throwing me under the bus? NMC.NMM. Okay wait…gotta take that one back because technically it is my circus but I’m not gonna let it get to me. In this circumstance I’m throwing a Frake.

OH? You want to know what “throwing a Frake” means? Picture it. You standing (or sitting, whatever floats your boat) and making that universal rolling the dice motion with your hand. Then you gloriously release it to the sky in an upward swoop! You might also think of the motion as a “catch and release” if ya get what I’m sayin…wink…wink…nudge…nudge. Ya know, pri-vat-e time with the one eyed monster.

Now apply the NMC.NMM throwing a Frake. It is the PERFECT hand accoutrement for the saying. When you can’t say it out loud then you can always throw the Frake.

I’ll get through this rough patch. I’ll guilt trip my mother into calling me more, or at least calling me back because now she will read this and feel guilty. (Yes mom…you should) but she’ll know that I love her. The Kennedy situation will resolve itself eventually. It may take 15 years but eventually we will be able to communicate effectively. I’ll have the surgery that I’ve avoided for months. It’s either that or eventually lose more and more muscle control. It will turn out just fine. Work will get better even if it means me having a “come to Jesus” meeting one on one with some folks. Or I’ll just throw a Frake and say “Fuck a duck” grab my sweet raspberry vodka and sit watching the rain. Win, Win either way.